
Rnnic • r'^ 



THE 




OP 



WITH 



A BIOGRAPHICAL MEMOIR, 




BT 



ILLIAM GIFFORD, 



A NEW EDITION. 




^ E W YORK: 

D. APPLETOI^ & CO., 90, 92 & 94 GRAND STREET. 

1869. 



-3JJ3^ 






By Transfer 

MAR 15 \; 



» 
^ 



/ 



/ 

L 






EGBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ., LL. D., 

I'UET LAUREATE, ETC., 
OF 

THE WORKS OF BEN JONSON 

IS INSCRIBED 

'niE PUBLISHER 






CONTENTS 




BIOGKAPmCAL MEMOIR 7 

ANCIENT COMMENDATORY VERSES ON BEN JONSON . ... 78 

EVERY ISIAN IN HIS HUMOR 95 

EATIRY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR . 425 

CYNTHIA'S REVELS ; OR, THE FOUNTAIN OF SELF-LOVE . . .166 

THE POETASTER ; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT, 20-1 

SEJANUS HIS FALL 236 

VOLPONE ; OR, THE FOX 272 

EPICCENE ; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN 307 

THE ALCHEMIST 340 

CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACY 376 

BARTHOLOMEW FAIR 411 

THE DEVIL IS AN ASS 451 

THE STAPLE OF NEWS 484 

THE NEW INN; OR, THE LIGHT HEART .^ . . . ' . . . .516 

THE MAGNETIC LADY ; OR, HUMORS RECONCILED .... 548 

A TALE OF A TUB 576 

THE SAD SHEPHERD ; OR, A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD ... 603 

THE FALL OF MORTIMER 615 

THE CASE IS ALTERED CIS 

ENTERTAINMENTS — 

PAET OF K.IXO JAMES's ENTERTAIXMENT, IN PASSING TO 3113 COllONATION . . 642 
A PANEGYRE ON THE HAPPY ENTRANCE OF JAMES, OUR SOVEREIGN, TO HIS FIRST 

HIGH SESSION OF PARLIAMENT IN THIS HIS KINGDOM .... 650 

THE SATYR 652 

THE PENATES ............ 055 

THE ENTERTAINMENT OF THE TWO KINGS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND DENMARK, AT 

THEOBALDS .... 657 

AN ENTERTAINMENT OF KING JAMES AND QUEEN ANNE, AT THEOBAI..DS, ■WHEN THE 

HOUSE "WAS DELIVERED UP, "WITH THE POSSESSION, TO THE QUEEN, BT THE 

BABL OF SALISBURY 658 

6 



♦ . .\ ^^ X 



T 



> ' V \) '\t' contexts. 



^ 



'xirr, ci,r?:EN's masques. — the masque of blackness GGO 

THE masque of BEAUTY 663 

UYMEX.TJi; on, the SOLEMNITIES OF masque AND BARKIERS Al A MARRIAGE . G68 

THE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID • 673 

THE MASQUE OF QUEENS . . . t • • • • • • •682 

THE SPEECHES AT PRINCE HENRY'S BARRIERS 692 

OBERON, THE FAIRY PRINCE 696 

LO^■E FREED FROM IGNORANCE AND FOLLY . 700 

LO'YE RESTORED 703 

A CHALLENGE AT TILT ' '06 

THE IRISH MASQUE 709 

MERCURY TINDICATED FROM THE ALCHEMISTS . 711 

THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED . . . • • 714 

THE MASQUE OF CHRISTMAS . • 717 

THE MASQUE OF LETHE • 720 

THE ■\^SION OF DELIGHT 722 

PLEASURE RECONCILED TO VIRTUE . . 725 

FOR THE HONOR OP WALES . 728 

NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD DISCOVERED IN THE MOON 732 

A MASQUE OF THE METAMORPHOSED GIPSIES . 733 

THE MASQUE OP AUGURS, WITH THE SEVERAL ANTIMASQUES .... 748 

TIME VINDICATED TO HIMSELF AND TO HIS HONORS . . . . . 753 

Neptune's triumph for the return of albton ...... 7o8 

pan's annr-ersary ; or, the shepherd's holiday ..... 7G2 

THE masque op OWLS .... 765 

THE fortunate ISLES, AND THEIR UNION 767 

love's triumph through callipolis ........ 772 

chloridia ' 774 

an expostulation with inigo jones .777 

love's welcome; the king's entertainment AT WELBECK, in NOTTINGHAMSHIRE 779 

love's welcome ; the kino and queen's ENTERTAINMENT AT BOLSOVER . . 783 

EPIGRAMS 785 

THE FOREST . . . ; 801 

UNDERWOODS . . 809 

LEGES CONVIVALES • . 849 

ITIANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS 851 

TDIBER ; OR, DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATl'ER . . 865 

THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR . . • 892 

JONSONUS VIRBIUS ; OR, THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON . . .913 

GLOSSARY 935 

INDEX 941 




MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



BY WILLIAM GIFFORD 



To \Mite the Life of Jonson as it has been usually written, -would be neither a very long 
nor a very difficult task, since I should have only to transcribe from former biographers 
the vague accounts which each, in succession, has taken from his predecessor, and to season 
the whole with the captioiis and splenetic insinuations of the critics and commentators on 
o;ir dramatic poetry. A due respect for the public seemed to require something more. It 
was fully time to examine into the authenticity of the charges incessantly urged against 
this eminent man ; and this has been, at least, attempted. The result has not accorded mth 
the general persuasion concerning him. The reader, therefore, who has the courage to 
follow me through these pages, must be prej^ared to see many of his prejudices overthrown, 
to hear that he has been imposed upon by the grossest fabrications, and (however mor- 
tifying the discovery may prove) that many of those who have practised on his integrity 
and surprised his judgment, are weak at once and worthless, with few pretensions to talents 
and none to honesty. 

Benjamin-, or (as the name is usually abbreviated by himself) Bex Joxsox,' was born in 
the early part of the year 1574." His grandfather was a man of some family and fortune, 

1 Jonson.] The attacks on our author begin at a pretty early period. He knew his own name, it seems, and per 
Bisted in writing it correctly, though " some of his best friends " misspelt it ! This is produced, in the " Biographia Bri- 
tanmca," as " an instance of that affectation whicli so strongly marks the poet's character." But this perseverance in the 
right was a family failing, for his mother (as it appears) wrote it in the same manner. His "singularity" in this 
respect (these writers think) "would iiavo been discovered, had he been more communicative — but it is observable, 
that though his descent was very far from being a discredit to him, yet we never find him once mentioning his family upon 
any occasion." From critics so disposed, Jonson must have had unusual good fortune to escape with justice. The fact, 
however, is that he is once found mentioning his family. He talked of it to Drummond, and had it pleased that worthy 
gentleman to be less sparing of his malice, and somewhat more liberal of his information, we might have obtained enough 
on this head to satisfy the most ardent curiosity. 

2 The year 1574.] The writers of the Bio. Brit, are somewhat embarrassed here, by a line in the Poem left in Scotland, 
m whicli Jonson says that he had then 

" Told seven and forty years." 

Now, this, say they, as the poet was there in 1G19, fixes his birth to the year 157-2, and makes him two years older than 
■s commonly supposed. But these critics should have looked into Drummond, instead of leasoning upon a fact which is 
not l'^ be found there. In Drummond the line stands, 

" Told six and forty years ; " 
and tiie date Eu),>joLned is Januarj', 1G19-20. Jonson was then in his forty-sixth year: in short, there seems no plea for 
questioning the received opinion. The second folio is of various dates, and of little authority. That Jonson was born on 
the eleventh of June, which is also affirmed by those writers, is taken on the credit of another blunder in this volume, 
where, in the verses on Sir Kenelm Digby, " my birthday," is printed for " his birthday," (Sec In the 12ino. edit, IG40, 
both the lines stand as here given. [The poem in question was certainly composed in January, 1619, not in January. 

(7^ 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



originally settled at Annandale, in Scotland, from -wliich place he removed to Carlisle, nnd was 
subsequently taken into the service of Henry VIIT. His father, who was probably about the 
court, suffered a long imprisonment under Queen Mary, and was finally deprived of his estate.' 
If religion was the cause, as is universally supposed, persecution only served to increase hii 
zeal ; for he entered, some time afterwards, into holy orders, and became, as Antony Wood 
informs us, " a grave minister of the gospel." 

Jonson was a posthumous child, and " made his first entry (the Oxford Antiquary says) on 
the stage of this vain world, about a month after his father's death, within the city of West- 
minster." FuUer observes, that though he could not, with all liis inquiry, find him in his 
cradle, he could fetch him from his long coats. It would seem from this, that the residence of 
his father was unkno-sra. Mr. Malone supposes, and on very good grounds,'' that his mother 
married again in somewhat less than two years after the death of her first husband, and it was 
at this period, perhaps, that Fuller's researches found him " a little child, in Hartshorn Lane, 
near Charing Cross." 

His father-in-law was a master bricklayer by profession ; and there is no cause for believing 
that he was either unable or unwilling to bestow on his new charge such a portion of education 
as then commonly fell to the children of respectable craftsmen ; and Jonson was accordingly 
sent, when of a proper age, to a private school in the Church of St. Martin in the Fields. 

From this school it was natural to suppose that he would be taken to follow the occupation 
of his step-father ; but this was not the case. Respect for the memory of Mr. Jonson, or what 
is equally probable, a remarkable aptitude in the child for learning, raised him up a friend, 
who sent him, at his own expense, to Westminster school. Camden, a name dear to literature, 
was then the second master of this celebrated establishment. Young Jonson naturally fell 
under his care, and he was not slovi' in discovering, nor negligent in cultivating, the extraor- 
dinary talents of his pupil. 

No record enables us to state how long he continued with this great man. Mr. Malone 
supposes that he was taken from him when he had reached his thirteenth year ; but " Lord 
Winton " (G. Morlcy, Bishop of Winchester, who, as Izaac Walton tells us, knew Ben Jonson 
very well) " says he was in the sixth, i. e. the uppermost form in the school," •* when he was 
removed ; and he could scarcely have attained this situation, as schools M'ere then constituted, 
at thii'tecn. 

1C19-20 :) it tlicrefore fixes Jonson 's birlli in 1573. See Mr. D. Laing's remark on Joules of B. Jonson^s Conversations imtli 
W. Drummond, &c., p. 39, printed for tlio Shalvspeare Society. Wliat Jonson told Drunimond concerning liis family Is as 
follows: " His Grandfatlier came from Carlisle, and, he thought, from Anandale to it : he served King Henry 8, and was 
a gentleman. His Father loscd all his estate under Queen IMarie, having lieen cast in prison and forfaitted ; at last turned 
Minister; so he was a minister's son." — JVo^cs, &c., p. 18. If Jonson's grandfather came from Annandale, he must have 
written his name Johnstone. — A. Dyce.] 

1 This is our author's own account ; it is therefore worse than folly to repeat from book to book, after Aubrey, that 
" Ben Jonson was a Warwickshire man." Mr. Malone says, that " a collection of poems by Ben Jonson, Jnn., (the son 
of our author,) was published in 1672, with some lines addressed to all the ancient family of the Luc}'s, in which the wri- 
ter describes himself as a ' little stream from their clear spring ;' a fact (continues lie) which adds support to Dr. Bath- 
urst's account" (the impossible story just quoted from Aubrey) " of liis fiither's birthplace." — S/ia/.-., vol. ii. p. 311.* 
This is a strange passage. Young Jonson died before his father, in 1635, and the collection of which Mr. Malone speaks, 
contains several pieces written after tlie Restoration. The very first poem in the book is addressed by the author to John.. 
Ear! of Rutland, and his son, I,ord Roos, who was not born till both young Jonson and his father were dead ! Had Mr. 
Malone even looked at the title page of this little volume, he must have seen that the name of Ben Jonson, Jun., was n 
mere catchword ; for the poems are there expressly said to be " composed by W. S. gent." 

- On very good grounds.] " I found, in the Register of St. Martin's, that a Mrs. Margaret Jonson was married in No- 
vember 1575, to Mr. Thomas Fowler." — Malone. Shale, vol. i. p. 622. There cannot, I think, be a reasonable doubt 
on the person here named ; unquestionably she was the poet's mother. 

3 Letters bij Eminent Persons, Sec. 1813, vol. iii. p. 416. There is yet a difficulty. Grant was head master from 1572 to 
1593, so that if Jonson was in the sixth form, and if the business of the school was conducted then as it is at present, 
(which, however, does not appear,) le must have been under him ; yet of Grant he says nothing. It is probable thai 
Camden, who had a great atfcction fur our author, continued to assist his studies. 



7^3 



•^ The edition of Shakspearc referred to here, and elsewhere, is uniformly that in fifteen vols. 6vo , published m 

MDCCXCIII. 

ir 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. 



Jonson, who had a %varra and affectionate heart, and ever retained an extraordinary degree 
of respect for his old master, thus addresses him in his Epigrams : — 

" Camden, most reverend liead, to wliom I owe 
AH that I am in arts, and all I know " 

and in the dedication of Ecery Man in his Humor, he tells his " most learned and honored 
friend," that he " is not one of those who can suffer the benefit conferred upon his youth to 
perish with his age ; " and he adds that, in acceptmg the comedy, he will find no occasion to 
repent of having been his instructor. All this appears to argue greater maturity and deeper 
studies than are usually allowed ; and I should therefore incline to refer the period of hi* 
leaving Westminster to his sixteenth year. 

From school Jonson seems to have gone, at once, to the University. The person who haJ 
hitherto befriended him, and whose name is unfortunately lost, gave a further proof of kind- 
ness on this occasion, and, if we may trust Aubrey, procurdd him an exhibition at-Cambridge, 
where, according to Fuller, " he was statutably admitted into St. John's College." > Xo note 
of his matriculation is to be found. By some accident there is an omission of names in the 
University Register, from June, 1589, (when Jonson was in his sixteenth year,) to June, 1602 ; 
this may serve to corroborate the opinion given above, that the period fixed upon by Mr. 
Malone for our author's removal to the University is somewhat too early. 

The exhibition, whatever might be its value, was found inadequate to his support ; and, as 
his parents were evidently unable to assist him, Jonson was compelled to relinquish his sit- 
uation at Cambridge, and return to the house of his father." How long he continued at college 
cannot be known. Fuller says *' a few weeks ; " it was more probably many months. He had 
unquestionably a longer connection with Cambridge than is usually supposed, and he speaks 
of his obligations to the members of that University in terms which cannot be justified by a 
slight acquaintance.-' 

On returning to his parents, he Avas immediately taken into the business of h'ts father-in-law. 
Those good people have not been kindly treated. Wood terms the mother a silly woman, 
and tne father is perpetually reflected on for calling his son home, to work at his own pro- 
fession. The mother, however, was not " silly ; " on the contrary, she Avas a liigh-spirited 
woman, fully sensible of the rank of her first husband in life, and of the extraordinary merits 
of her son ; but she was not, apparently, in circumstances to maintain him without labor ; and 
as his father-in-law had readily acquiesced, for many years, in a mode of his education which 
must have occasioned some expense, there seems little cause for the ill humor with vv-hich the 
mention of their names is sure to be accompanied. 

Jonson, however, who, both from birth and education, had probably been encouraged to look 
to the church for an establishment, was exceedingly mortified at this new destmation. That 
he worked with a trowel in one hand, and a Horace or a Homer in the other ; that he was 
admii-ed, pitied, and relieved by Sutton, as Chetwood says, or by Camden, as others say,'' and 

1 Aubrey says " Trinity College ;" and indeed if Jonson had been on the foundation at Westminster, and went, regu- 
larly, to Cambridge, tliis must have been the college : but his name does not appear among the candidates. 

2 In how many circumstances may not a resemblance be traced between Jonson and his great namesake ! 

3 [Jonson told Drunnnond that " he was Master of Arts in both the Universities, by their favor, not bis studie." JVuteJ 
of B. Jonsoii's Conversations, Sec, p. 19 ; and IMr. D. Laing, in his note on the passage, observes that " there is no evidence 
that he had ever the benefit of an academical education." The probability, I think, is, that Jonson spent a short time at 
Cambridge as an undergraduate. — A. Dvce.] 

* Fuller tells us that " some gentlemen, pitying that his parts should be buried under the rubbish of so mean a calling, 
did by their bounty manumise him freely to follow his own ingenious iiicVmntions." — IVorthies of England, vol. ii. p. lli 
This, however, is sjo better founded than the rest. Another story is told by Wood', (probably on Aubrey's authority,) 
that Jonson was taken from his father's business to accompany young Raleigh in his travels. Young Raleigh was at this 
time unborn — at any rate, he was "mewling and puking in his nurse's arms ;" this, however, signifies nothing — th« 
story is too good to be lost, as it tends to degrade Jonson, and it is therefore served up in every account of his life. " Mr. 
Camden reoonmiended him to Sir W. Raleigh, who intrusted him with the education of his gldest son, a gay spark, who 
cculd not brook Ben's rigorous treatment; but perceiving one foible in his disposition, made use of that to throw off the 
yoke of his government, and that was an unlucky habit Ben had contracted, through his love of jovial company, of being 
overtaken with liquor, which Sir Walter did of all vices most abominate." — And yet Sir Walter, who undoubtedly 
Knew Jonson as well as his son trusted this habitual drunkard with his education ! and yet Canideu, who never lost 



10 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. 



Bent back to his studies, arc figments pleasing enough to merit to be believed ; but, unfor- 
tunately, tlicy have no foundation in truth. Neither friend nor admirer followed him to hia 
humble employment ; and he certainly experienced, at this time, no tokens of kindness. His 
own account is, " that he could not endure the occupation of a bricklayer;" and, as his aver- 
sion increased, he made one desperate effort to escape from it altogether, not by returning to 
Cambridge, but by withdrawing to the Continent, and entering, as a volunteer, into the army 
Chen employed in Flanders. Such is the simple narrative of Jonson's life till he arrived at the 
age of eighteen. It is chieHy extracted from his own conversations, and has the merit of being 
at once probable and consistent. 

How long our author had continued with his father-in-law is nowhere mentioned. It could 
not be a twelvemonth, (though Mr. Malone strangely supposes it to have been five years;') 
but it was yet long enough to furnish a theme for illiberal sarcasm while he lived. " Let not 
those blusli," says the worthy Fuller, " that have, but those that have not, a lawful calling ; " a 
piece of advice which was AvhoUy lost upon the poet's contemporaries, who recur perpetually 
to what Mr. A. Chalmers calls his " degrading occupation." Decker and others, who were, at 
the very moment, pledging their future labors for the magnificent loan of " five shillings," or 
writin"- " penny books " in sponging houses, arc high in mirth at the expense of the " brick- 
layer," and ring the changes on the "hod and trowel," the '< lime and mortar poet," very suc- 
cessfully, and, apparently, very much to tlieir own satisfaction. 

Jonson's stay in the Low Countries did not extend much beyond one campaign. lie had, 
however, an opportunity of signalizing his courage, having, as he told Drummond, encountered 
and killed an enemy (whose spoils he carried off) in the sight of both armies. This achieve- 
ment is undoubtedly dwelt upon with too much complacency by the writers of the; Bio. Brit , 
for which they are properly checked by Mr. A. Chalmers, who is not himself altogether free 
from blame. " One man's killing and stripping another (he says) is a degree of military 
prowess of no very extraordinary kind." Mr. Chalmers does not sec that this was not a 
general action, in which, as he justly observes, such circumstances are sufficiently common ; 
but a single combat, decided in the presence of both armies. In those days, when great 
battles were rarely fought, and armies lay for half a campaign in sight of each other, it was 
not unusual for champions to advance into the midst, and challenge their adversaries. In a 

sight of him from his youth, recommended him ! — " One day, when Ben had taken a plentiful dose, and was fallen inv- 
a profound sleep, young Raleigh got a great basket, and a couple of men, who laid Ben in it, and then with a pole car- 
ried him between their shoulders to Sir Walter, telling him their young master had sent home his U\tor." — Oldys^s MS 
J^otes to Langbaine. This absurd tale, which is merely calculated for the meridian of Mr. Joseph Miller, Mr. Malons 
quotes at full as an irrefragable proof that " Jonson was, at some period, tutor to this hopeful youth." 

As young Ualcigh was not born till 1595, Jonson could not well be tutor to him in 1593, the period usually assigned. 
In 1G03, when the child had barely attained his eighth year, Sir Walter was committed close prisoner to the Tower, 
where he rcmaincil, under sentence of death, till March, 1(515, a few months before he sailed for Guiana. Of this the sto- 
ry teller was probably ignorant ; and ho therefore talks as familiarly of Raleigh's home, as if he had been always living 
at large. The " shouldering" of Jonson, in a basket, through the streets of London, the triumphant entrance of the 
" porters" (with a train of boys at their heels) into the Tower, then guarded with the most jealous vigilance, and the 
facility with which they penetrate into the interior apartments, and lay their precious burden at the feet of the state pris- 
oner—all these, and a hundred other improbabilities, awaken no suspicion in the couimentators, nor, as ftu- as I can 
find, in the reader ! 

Mr. A. Chalmers (Qcncval Biography) rejects Wood's account ; yet he adds, " So many of Jonson's contemporaries 
have mentioned his connection with the Raleigh family, tliat it is probable he was in some shape befriended by them." 
JVt't one of Jonson's contemporaries has a syllable on tlie subject ! In fact, Jonson never much admired the moral char- 
acter of Sir Walter Raleigh : his talents, indeed, he held in great respect, and he was well able to appreciate them, for he 
*ras personally acquainted with Sir Walter, and assisted him in writing his History of the World ; he also wrote some 
good lines explanatory of the grave frontispiece to tliat celebrated work. 

[It is now ascertained tliat Jonson did act as tutor to Sir Walter's son, not indeed in 1503, but in 1613, and that young 
Raleigh, not in England, but in France, did treat him nearly in the manner above mentioned. " Sir W. Raulighe sent 
him (Jonson) govcrnour with his Son, anno 1013, to France. This youth being knavishly inclyned, among other pas 
times .... caused him to be drunken, and dead drunk, so tliat he knew noi wher he was, therafter laid him on a carr, 
which he made to be drawen by pioners tluough tlie streets, at every corner showing Ws governour streetched out, and 
telling them, that was a more lively image of the Crucifix then atiy they had : at which sport young Raughlie's niothci 
delyghted much, (saying, his father young was so inclyned,) though tlie Fatlier abhorred it." — JVotes of B. Jonson's dm- 
VdTsations, Szc. p. 21. — A. Dyce.] 
I FxoTn 1588 to 1593 — Shak., vol. i. p. C24. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 11 

bravado of this nature, Jonson fought and conquered; and though we may question the wisdom 
of the exploit, we may surel}' venture, without much violation of candor, to admit its gallantry. 
Jonson himself always talked with complacency of his military career. He loved, he says, the 
profession of arms ; and he boldly affirms, in an appeal to " the true soldier," that while h«. 
followed it, he " did not shame it by his actions." ' 

Jonson brought little from Flanders (whence he was probably induced to return by the 
death of his father) but the reputation of a brave man, a smattering of Dutch, and an empty 
purse. Nothing, in fact, could be more hopeless than his situation. In the occupation of a 
bricklayer he had evidently attained no skill ; at all events, having already sacrificed so much 
to his aversion for it, he was not likely to recur to it a second time, and he had no visible means 
of subsistence. His biographers say, that he now went to Cambridge ; but without money, this 
was not in his power ; and, indeed, the circumstance appears altogether improbable. His father- 
in-law might, perhaps, be no more ; but his mother was still alive, and in London, and in her 
house he appears to have taken up his abode. He was not of a humor, however, to profit, in 
long inactivity, of her scanty resources, and he therefore adopted the resolution of turning his 
education to what account he could, and, like most of the poets, his contemporaries, seeking a 
subsistence from the stage. He was now about nineteen. 

" Jonson began his theatrical career," Mr. Malone says, — and he is followed by all who have 
since written on the subject, — " as a strolling player, and after having rambled for some time by 
a playwagon in the country, repaired to London, and endeavored, at the Curtain, to obtain a 
livelihood among the actors, till, not being able to set a tj/ood face tqwii't, he could not get a 
service among the mimics." Although Mr. ilalone gives this, and much more, from the 
Saiiromastix, as if he really believed it, yet nothing is so questionable. What Decker means 
by "not setting a good face upon't," is easily understood : ^ Jonson was of a scorbutic habit, 
and his face might be affected with it at the period of Docker's writing ; but it had not been 
always so, and Aubrey exjDressly mentions that he was in his youth " of a clear and fair skin : " 
r.or is it easy to be believed that he could not get a service among the wretched mimics in the 
skirts of the town. " I never," says the Duchess of Newcastle, whom Mr. Malone (upon 
another occasion indeed) allows to be a good judge — "I never heard any man read well but my 
husband, and I have heard him say he never heard any man read well but Ben Jonson ; and 
j'et he hath heard many in his time." ' With the advantages, therefore, of youth, person, voice, 
and somewhat more of literature than commonly fell to the share of every obscure actor in a 
strolling company, Jonson could scarcely fail to get a service among the mimics, notwithstand- 
ing the grave authority of Captain Tucca.* That our author ever ambled by the side of a 
wagon, and iooJc mad Jeronymd's 2}art, though Mr. Jlalone repeats it with full conviction.* is 



» It Ls not improbable that these daring feats were encouraged by tlie English general. Stanley had delivered up a fort, 
which disgraced, as well as dispirited the army; and Vere, wjio now commanded, made extraordinary efforts of gallantry 
to revive the ancient ardor. He stormed Daventer, and seemed to court danger. In 1591-2, large reenforcements wers 
Bent to Ostend, then held by an English garrison, and with these, I doubt not, Jonson went. 

2 It would be ridiculous to adopt this clumsy piece of wit, and argue from it that Jonson was a bad actor. Capell, who 
also quotes the passage, says, " This is meant of Jonson's ugliness, which is frequently played upon in this satire." — 
Schovl of Shakspcare, vol. iii. p. 23-3. That Jonson was ugly is the dream of Capell ; his features were good. Decker 
adds, (hat he liad " a very bad face for a soldier." Now, he certainly did not play this part amiss. His courage was nevet 
doubted ; but the quotation may serve to show the absurdity of founding positive charges uj)on sucli vague expressions 
To do the commentators justice, they were ignorant of the existence of tliis last passage; for they never examine theis 
way, but boldly and blindly follow one another. 

* His house was open to every man of genius and learning for mere than half a century — Letters of the Duchess of 
JVttBsaslle, fol. 1664, p. 3G2. 

* Tixca IS the creation of Jonson. He is described as a general railer, a man whose whole conversation is made up 
of scurrilous exaggerations and impossible falsehoods: yet he is the sole authority for this part of Jonson's life. The cap- 
tain says in another place, "When thou rann'st mad for the death of Horatio, thou borrow'dst a gown of Roscius, the 
Btagefj and sent'st it home lowsy;" upon which the editor (Hawkins) wisely remarks — " Ben Jonson played the part 
of Jcronymo, as appears from this passage." 

5 "Tiie first observation which I shall make on Aubrey's account is, that the latter part of it, which informs us that 
Ben Jonson was a bad actor," {not a good one, is Aubrey's expression,) " is inconlestabbj confirmed by Decker," (in the 
passage just quoted.) — Shul!., vol. ii. p. 322. It seems to have escaped Mr. Malone, that to repeat a str ry after another i* 
not to confirm it. Aubrey merely copies Decker. 



12 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. 

also very questionable, or ratlicr false altogether. It cannot have failed to strike every one 
who lias read this production of Kyd, (among whom I do not reckon ]Mr. ISIalone,) that the 
author trusted for a great part of the effect of his tragedy to the contrast between the dimin- 
utive size of the marslial (Jeronj-mo) and the strutting of his language and action : — 

" I'll not be long away, 
As, short my body, short shall be n»y stay." 

" My mind's a giant, tliough my buU: he small." 

" I had need wax too ; 

Our foes will stride else over inc and you." 

H(; i.s thus addressed by Balthazar : — 

" Tliou inch of S|)ain, 
Thou man, from tliy liose downward, scarce so much : 
Thou very little longer than thy beard. 
Speak not such big words ; they will throw thee dnwn, 
Little Jcronymo, words greater than thyself." i 

And he signs himself " litfh Jeronymo, marshal." In a word, so many allusions of the most direct 
kind are made to this circumstance in every part of the play, that no tall or bulky figure could 
attempt the character without devoting it to utter ridicule. The fact is, that Jonson was em- 
ployed by the manager to " write adycions " for tliis popular drama ; and that was sufScient for 
Decker's purpose. 

Wood rejects the story of his ambling after a wagon, and tells us that, upon his return from 
Cambridge, (where he assuredly had not then been,) " he did recede to a nursery or ob- 
scure playhouse called the Green Curtain;" but that his first action and writing there 
were both ill." Wood's authority, unfortunately, is of little weight in this case, being wholly 
derived from a vague report picked up by Aubrey from one Jotn Greenhill. It is not too 
lightly to be credited that Jonson should be singled out for his incapacity amongst the un- 
fled"-ed nestlings of the " Green Curtain in Shoreditch." But the matter is of little moment ; 
since wherever he acted, or wherever he wrote, his labors were abruptly terminated by a'A 
event of a very serious nature, which took place almost immediately after his return from 
Flanders. It appears that he had some kind of dispute with, a person whose rank or condition 
in life is not known, but who is commonly supposed to be a player.' In consequence of this 
he was called out, or, as he says, " appealed, to a duel." He was not of a humor to decline 
the invitation. They met, and he killed his antagonist,* who seems to have acted with little 
honor, having brought to the field, as our author told Drummond, a sword ten inches longer 
than his own. His victory, however, left him little cause for exultation. He was severely 
wounded in the arm, tlirown into prison for murder, and, as he says himself, " brought near the 
gallows." 

1 ["It is evident," says Mr. Collier, "that if there be auy truth in Docker's assertion (controverted by Gifford) 
that Ben Jonson originally performed the p.irt of Jerouimo, he must allude, not to the trasedy now under wmsid- 
eration, [The First Part of Jeronimo,'] but to The Spanish Tragedy, whore nothing is said regarding the personal 
appearance of the hero or his representative."— iK.s<. of Eng. Dram. Poet. iii. 208. Gilford's reasoning, however, 
still holds good. The Spanish Tragedy forms a Second Part to The F'irst Part of Jeronimo ; and surely an au- 
dience, to -whom the diminutive hero of the First Part was so famili.ar, would hardly have tolerated such an absurd- 
ity as the personation of that character in the Second Part by a tall or bulky actor. — A. Btce.] 

2 Oldys, in his MS. notes to Langbaine, says that Jonson was himself the master of a playhouse in the Barbican. — 
He adds, that the poet speaks of his theatre ; and Mr. A. Chalmers repeats from this idle authority, " that in his writ- 
ings mention is made of Am theatre.'" So the blind lead the blind! Jonson's theatre is his book of epigrams. See p. G65. 

' I know of no authority for this but Captain Tueca. "Art not famous enough, yet, my mad Harostratus, for 
killing a2)la>jer, but thou must cat men alive." Satirosniastix. 

4 " He killed," Aubrey says, " Mr. Marlow the poet, on Bunhill, coming from the Green Curtain pla3iiou£e." Mr. 
Marlow, the poet, whose memory Jonson held in high estimation, was killed at least two years before this period, in a 
brothel squabble : but whoever expects a rational account of any fact, however trite, from Aubrey, will meet with dis- 
appointment. Ilad any one told this " maggoty-pated " manth.at Jonson had killed" Mr. Shakspeare the poet," he 
would have received the tale with equal facility, and recorded it with as little doubt of its truth. In short, Aubrey 
thought little, believed much, and confused everything. — [The antagonist whom Jonson killed was named G.abriel, 
(in all probability G.abriel Spenser,) an actor belonging to Henslowe's eampany. They fought in Ho.vton Fields, in 
159S. See Mr. J. P. Collier's Memoirs of Edward Alleyn, &c., p. 50— printed for the Shakspeare Society.— A. Dtce.] 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 13 



Here he was visited by a Popish priest, -who took advantage of the unsettled state of hia 
icligious opinions to subvert his mind, and induce him to renounce the faith in which he had 
oeen bred for the errors of the Romish church. This has been attributed by some to his 
fears. " His tough spirit," say the authors of his life, in the Bio. Brit., " sunk into some degree 
of melancholy, so that he became a fit object to be subdued by the crafty attacks of a Popish 
priest." Others, following the ojpinion of Drummond, attribute the change to an indifference 
about all religions. It is probable that neither was the cause. Such conversions were among 
the daily occurrences of the time ; even among those who had more years than Jonson, and 
far more skill in controversy than he could possibly have. His own account of the matter is 
very concise. He took, he says, the priest's word. He did not, however, always continue in 
this state of ignorance ; and it is to his praise that, at a more mature age, he endeavored to 
understand the ground of his belief, and diligently studied the fathers, and those tviser guides 
who preached the words of truth in simplicity.' 

While he was in prison, there were (as ho told Drummond) spies set to catch him ; but he 
was put upon his guard by the jailer, to Avhose friendly warning he probably owed his life, as 
he was the most incautious of men in his conversation. These spies could have nothing to do 
with the cause of his imprisonment, and must, therefore, have been employed about him solely 
on account of his connection with the Popish priest. The years 1593 and 1594 were years of 
singular disquietude and alarm. The Catholics, who despaired of effecting any tiling against 
the queen by open force, engaged in petty conspiracies to take her off by siidden violence. 
The nation was agitated by these plots, which were multiplied by fear; and several sem- 
maries, as the Popish priests educated abroad were then called, were actually convicted of 
attempts to poison the queen, and executed. Jonson revenged himself for the insidious attacks 
made on his life by an epigram, which he afterwards printed, and wliich is not one of his 

best : — 

" Spies, you are lights in state, but of base stuff, 
Wlio, when you've burned yourselves down to the snuff, 
Stink, and arc thrown aside — end fair enough ! " 

It Is not known to what, or whom, Jonson finally owed his deliverance from prison. Circum 
stances were undoubtedly in his favor, for he had received a challenge, and he had been 
unfairly opposed in the field. As criminal causes were then conducted, these considerations 
might not, however, have been sufficient to save him. The prosecution was probably dropped 
by his enemies. 

On his release, he naturally returned to his former pursuits, unpromising as they are 
represented to be. "With that happy mode of extricating himself from a part of his difficulties 
which men of genius sometimes adopt, he now appears to have taken a wife.^ She was 
young, and a Catholic like himself; in no respect, indeed, docs his choice seem to have 
discredited his judgment, which is more, perhaps, than can fairly be said for his partner ; 
but she was a woman of domestic habits, and content, perhaps, to struggle with poverty, for 
the sake of her children. She was dead when Jonson visited Scotland in 16 IS, and in tho 
costive and splenetic abridgment of his conversations with Drummond, she is shortly men- 
tioned as having been shrewish, but honest (i. e., faithfully attached) to her husband. 

1 I know not why Jonson should be reproaclied for this change, as he frequently is. Far from irguing a total car«- 
lessness, as they say, it would seem rather a proof of the return of a serious mind. The great and good Jeremy Taylor 
was a convert to Popery for a short time ; so was Chillingworth, and so were a thousand more of the same descriptior. 
In fact, young men (and Jonson was at this time a very young man) of a serious way of thinking, of warm imagi- 
nations, and of ill-digested studies, are not among the most unfavorable subjects for proselytism. 

s Jonson was now in his twentieth year. I liave followed the writers of tho Bin. Brit., wlio suppose that his first th'M 
was a daughter. In the beautiful epitaph on her, beginning, — 

" Here lies, to each her parents' ruth, 
Ilary, the daughter of their youth," — 
ehe is said, by the poet, to be " his first daughter." She might not, however, have been his first child ; yet I believe, 
from other circumstances, that the biographers are correct. In this case, Jonson's marriage must have taken place, a< 
latest, in 1594, as we know that he had a son born in 1596. This date is tho first of which we can speak decidedly; i. 
is therefcre of some moment in our author's life. From 1596, the years are sufficiently marked ; antecedently to tnk 
period, eome latitude must be allowed. 



14 MEMOIRS OF BEX JONSOX. 



But what -vverc tlie pursuits by which Jonson had hitherto been enabled to procure a pie- 
carious subsistence ? Assuredly not ambUng by a wagon, nor " acting and writing ill " at tho 
Green Curtain. The fortunate preservation of Mr. Henslowe's memorandums, amidst tho 
wreck of so much valuable matter, through the sloth and ignorance of the members of Dulwich 
College, has given a sort of precision to this period of dramatic history which no one was san- 
guine enough to expect. From the extracts made by Mr. Malone, and introduced into his 
excellent History of the English Stage, we are enabled to trace the early part of Jonson'a 
dramatic career with some degree of accuracy ; and we find him, as might be expected, follow- 
ing the example of contemporary poets, and writing in conjunction with those who were 
already in possession of the stage — a practice encouraged by the managers, whose chance of 
loss it diminished.' 

The notices which Mr. Malone has copied from the MS. respecting the dramatic writers 
jerrin with 1597 ; but he has given a curious account of the pieces perfoi-med by Mr. Henslowe's 
comijanies, which commences at an earlier period. As we know not the titles of Jonson's 
lirst dramas, it is not possible to discover whether any of those mentioned previously to 1596 
belon" to him. Every Man in his llmnor is the first piece in the list \^hich we can appropriate, 
and this was then a popular play, having been acted, as Mr. Henslowe says, eleven times 
between the 25th of November, 1596, and the 10th of May in the succeeding year. Before thia 
period, however, he must have written for the stage both alone and with others, arid with 
such success- as to induce Henslowe and his son-in-law, the celebrated Alleyn, to advance 
money upon several of his plots in embryo — a sufficient confutation of the oft-repeated tale of 
his <' ill writing," &c. In this year his wife brought him a son ; ^ so that he had occasion foi 
all his exertions. 

In Every Man in his Humor, and in the Prologue to it, which breathes a similar spkit, we 
find strong traces of the ennobling idea which Jonson had already formed of poetry in gwneral, 
and of the true and dignified office of tho Dramatic Muse : — 

" Indeed, if }'ou will look on Pocsie, 
As she appears in many, poor and lame, 
Patched up in remnants, and old, worn-out rags, 
Half starved for want of her peculiar food, 
Sacred Invention, then I must confirm 
Both your conceit and censure of her merit. 
Hut view her in her glorious ornaments, 
Attired in the majesty of art, 
Set high in spirit with the precious ttwte 
Of sweet philosophy, and, which is most, 
Crowned with the rich traditions of a soul 
That hates to have her dignity profaned 
With any relish of an earthly thought, 
O, then, how proud a presence does she bear! 
Then is she like herself; fit to be seen 
Of none but grave and consecrated eyes ! " 

These lines, which were probably written before he had attained his twenty-second year, do 
not discredit him ; and let it bo added, to his honor, that he invariably supported, through 

1 They usually hired tho writers, and advanced them money upon the credit of their talents, and the progrpss of their 
work, which was shown or reported to them from time to time. 

' To this child, perliaps, the players stood godfathers. A foolish story is told in some old jest book, which would 
scarcely bo worth repeating here, were it not for the notable use which is made of it by the commentators on Shak 
spoare. " Shakspeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson's children, and, after the christening, being in deep study, 
Jonson camo to cheer him up, and asked him wliy he was so nielancholj'. No, faith, Ben, says he, not I ; but 1 have 
been considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for nie to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolved 
at last. I prithee what ? says he. I'faith, Ben, I'll e'en give her a dozen good Latin (latten) spoons, and thou shall 
translate X\\em. This jest (it is Capcll who speaks) will stand in need of no comment with those wlio are at all ao 
quainted with Jonson. It must have cut to the quick, and endangered the opening some old sores al)out the hitter's 
Sejaiius, whose Latinity produced its damnation. This play was brought upon Shakspeare's stage in 1003, (the first yeai 
f){ his management,) and he performed in it himself; and the miscarriage scured Jonson, and he broke witli the man- 
ager, venting his spleen against liim ir, some of his prefaces, in terms oblique but intelligible, and breathing -malice and 
nivy TJie breach was healed at tliis time, but with some remembrance of it on tlie part of Shakspeare." JVHes on Shak. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JOXSON. 15 

every period of his cJieckered life, the lofty character with ^^■hich liis youthful fancy had 
invested the Muse. 

Some judgment of Jonson's situation at this time maybe formed from a memoranduu, of 
Mr. Henslowe's, recording an advance of *' five shillings : " yet even this could not induce )(im 
to have recourse for success to the popular expedients of bustle and -warlike show, Avhich he 
believed, with his classic masters, to outrage probability, and violate the decorum of the stage 
In the Prologue, he says, — 

" Though NEED make many poets, and some, such 
As art and nature have not bettered much, 
• Yet ouKs/or want hath not so loved the stage 

As he dare serve th' ill customs of the age ; 
Or purchase your delight at such a rate, 
As, for it, he himself must justly hate." i 

From a resolution thus early formed he never deviated ; and when it is considered that, in 

vol. i. p. 01. It would be a mere loss of time to strive to fix a period for an event which never took place, though it 
may not be irrelevant to observe upon it, that in every occurrence between Jonson and Shakspeare wJiich has crept 
into the story books of tlio-e times, the latter is invariably represented as the aggressor. Had the foregoing anecdote been 
founded on fact, it would only have proved that the wit and good manners of Shakspeare's return to Ben's civility were 
pretty nearly efjiial. As the story appears in Capell, (wiio thought of nothing less than serving Jonson,) it has yet a 
worse aspect. 

1 This Prologue assumes a considerable degree of importance from its being made the principal basis of the calumny 
against Jonson ; and the reader must therefore indulge me in some remarks on it. " All Shakspeare's plays are ridiculed 
in it," cry the commentators ; and a thousand voices reecho, " All Shakspeare's plays are ridiculed in it." It might puz- 
zle a man of plain sense (indeed, Mr. Malone confesses tliat it puzzled himself at first) to coniprehend how what was 
written in 1596 could possibly " riiliculQ " what was not in existence till nearly twenty years afterwards : but the diffi 
culty is thus solved. The Prologue was not published with the 4to. edition of Every Man in his Htimor; therefore it 
was not written till sonje time before the appearance of the folio ; therefore it ridicules all Shakspeare's plays ! That 
any rational being should persuade himself, or hope to persuade another, that the lines were composed and spoken nt this 
late period, can only be accounted for by the singular power of self-delusion. For many years before and after IGIG, (tlio 
date of the folio,) Jonson was in a state of the liighest prosperity: the favorite of princes the companion of nobles, tlio 
pride and delight of the theatre, yet he is supposed to say that " though poverty maije many poets, and himself among the 
rest, it should not compel him to disgrace his judgment, Sec. ! — Every J\Ian in his Humor had been a stock play for nearly 
twenty years, during which it had probably been represented a hundred times ; yet the author is imagined to beseech tha 
audience that they would he pleased, to-day, to see one such a play, &c. ! As if all this was not sufficient to fool the cred- 
ulous reader to the top of his bent, he is further required to believe, that, after the Fox, the Silent JVoman, the Mcliemist, in 
a word, after eleven of his best pieces had obtained full possession of the stage, Jonson came forward, /or the first time, to 
tell the public on what principles he proposed to construct his dramas — concluding with a hope that the spectators would 
lUce the specimen which he was now about to offer them I — And why is the public called upon to swallow these mon- 
strous absurd' ties ? Because the commentators cannot otiierwise prove that the great object of " Jonson's life was to per- 
secute Shakspeare." " If the Prologue was not written about 1614," says one of the most furious of them, very ingenu- 
ously, " my speculations fall to the ground ! " 

If it bo asked why the author did not print the Prologue with the play for which it was written, it may be demanded 
in return, why many other things which appear in the folio were not printed in the 4tos., and why much that appears in 
the 4tos. is not found in the folio. No better reason, I believe, can be given, than that such was the publisher's pleasure. 

It is more than time to advert to the proofs produced by the commentators to show how the Prologue bears on all 
Shakspeare's plays. 

" To make a child new swaddled, to proceed 
Jl/oH, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed. 
To fourscore years." 

' This is a sneer at the Winter's Talc, ■\rittcn in 1604," in which Perdita, as all the world knows, undergoes these 
various changes I * 

" wiUi three rusty swords 

And help of some few fcot-and-half-foot words, 
Fight over Yoiii's and Lancaster's long jars." 
" This is a sneer at Shakspeare's three parts of Henry VI." I have endeavored. Mr. Blalonesays, Sha.';.,vo\. i. p. 492, to 
prove that two of these three parts were not written originally by Shaks^ieate." PapiP. Again: " There were «ico preceding 



* Mr. Malone also proves that the Duchess of Malfy was written in 1616, simply because Jonson sneers at it in these 
'■'les. Shah., vol. xi. p. 545. Mr. Steevens, still more vial-d-droit, in a n.oment of heedlessness, informs us " that m 
Lily's Endymion, which comprises neaily half a century, all the personages of the drama, with one exception, continue 
unchanged, wearing the same heard and weed for more than forty years." These discoveries are unluckily made —an 
mey may lea-? tlioso who think at all to suspect that Jonson might have other persons in view than Perdita. 



16 MEMOIKS OF BEN JONSOX. 

consequence of it, he braved want and obloquy, -whatever may be thought of his prudence, the ' 
praise of consistency must, at least, be awarded to him. "What else he Avrote in 1597 is not 
known. Two sums of " fewer pounds " and " twenty shillings " were advanced to him by Mr. 
Hcnslowc, upon the credit of two plays,' which he had then in hand ; but their titles do not 

dramas, one of wliich was called the contention of y'ork and Lancaster." Wiiy then might not this be the drama 
•neant?— But were there not t!coscore old plays on this subject on tlio stage.' — Undoubtedly there were : and I could 
produce numerous passages in which plays on the long jars between the two houses are mentioned, all anterior to thia 
period. 

" With three rusty swords." * 

'fliis, liowever, with the rest of the quotation, is merely a versification, as Jlr. Gilchrist has well observed, ofVhat Sir 
Philip Sidney had written many years before on the poverty and ignorance of the old stage. Sir Philip, indeed, says 
'■'■four swords : " of their " rustiness " he takes no notice, and so far Jonson has shown his spite to Sliakspeare But 
how happens it that a yet stronger passage than this escaped the vigilant malice of the commentators .' 

: " to disgrace 

With/«u)' or five most vile and ragged foils. 
Right ill disposed, in brawl ridiculous, 
The name of Agincourt." 
Here the sneer is evident I Here, indeed, as Mr. Malone says, "old Ben speaks out!" Here every thing is changed 
for the worse : tlie rustij sword for " a most vile and ragged foil ; " and the long jars o{ York and Lancaster for " a ridicu- 
lous brawl ! " Ecquid, Jupiter, tarn, lente, audis! — " Not to keep the reader in suspense," however, this atrocious attack 
on Shakspeare was made — by Shakspcare himself! It is found in one of his most beautiful choruses to Henry V. One 
curious circumstance is yet to be noticed : although the commentators dwell upon every trifling expression on which they 
can possibly raise a note, yet this striking passage is slipped over by them all in solemn silence. Slialc, vol. ix. p. 401. 
" Tiiere's method in this madness ! " 

The " foot-and-half words " are " a sneer at Richard III., where we find such epithets as childish^oolish, senseless-ob- 
stinate," &c. It is not Jonson's fault if his persecutors prove as ignorant as they are malicious. Before the date of this 
Prologue (159G) lie Iiad probably translated the ./3r£ of Poetry : there, the lines 

Telephus, et Peleug cum pauper el cxul ulerque, 

Projicit ampuUas et sesquipedalia verba, 
are thus rendered : — 

" Peleus and Telephus, 

When they are poor and banished, must throw by 
Their bombard phrase, and foot-and-half-foot words. 
Here the poet, with his wonted accuracy, uses " foot-and-half-foot words " — not for feeble epithets linked together <•* 
hyphens, but for swelling, vaunting, bombast language. 

" Wliere neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas. 
Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please, 

— nor tempestuous drum." 

There was scarcely a play on the stage, when Jonson first came to it, which did not avail itself of a chorus to waft its 
audience over sea and land, or over wide intervals of time. Enough of both may be found in Pericles, Faustus, Fortuna- 
tus, and other dramas which yet remain ; to say nothing of those to which allusions are made by the old critics, and 
which have long since worthily perished. " The creaking- throne is a sneer at Cymbeline," in which Jupiter, it seems, 
•' descends on an eagle " ! " The tempestuous drum is a ridicule of the Tempest ; " and as that comedy was not written 
till 1611-13, it ascertains the date of the Prologue to a nicety. 

It is to be regretted that Mr. Malone never read Jonson, as he might have saved himself and Mr. G. Chalmers a world 
of trouble in dandling this play backwards and forwards, on account of the last quoted passage. In a " Speech according 
to Horace," ([). 709,) undoubtedly subsequent to the Tempest, wo find the words " tempestuous grandlings." Here the 
allusion is not only to the title of the play, but most palpably to Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and, perhaps, to Prospero 
himself! 

After such overwhelming proofs it cannot but surprise the reader to hear one of Jonson's critics speak thus doubting- 
ly: " Perhaps ShaJcspeare himself, by the help of a proper application, was designed to be included ! " O the power of 
candor ! But far better is the writer's amended judgment. " Other dramatists had indeed written on the jars of York 
and Lancaster, but Jonson doth not appear to have thought tkem worthy of liis notice ! " And best of all is the liberal 
conclusion of Stcevens : " Tiio whole of Ben Jonson's Prologue to Every Man in his Humor is a malicious sneer at Shalt- 
ipenre," vol. xiii. p. 249. 

1 " The following curious notices " (says Mr. Malone, Shak., vol. ii. p. 484) " occur'relative to Shakspeare's old antag- 
onist, Ben Jonson." — When it is considered that Jonson was at this time scarcely ^2, (Sliakspeare was 32,) that by Mr 
Ilalone's own account, he was not known to Shakspeare, whom he could in no possible way have ofiended, the justice of 
cMing him the old antagonist of our great poet is not a little questionable. — Tho notices arc, "Lent unto Bcnjemen 



* It is observed by Mr. Malone, Shak., vol. ii. p. 220, that " such was the poverty of the old stage, that the same person 
played two or three parts, and battles, on which the fate of an empire was supposed to depend, were decided by three 
combatants on a side." Though this be true, yet I hardly expected to find the critic joining our author in sneerinji at 
fihaksipcare. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 17 

occur, at lea^t wfth his name. The " book of which he shewed the company the plotte " 
might haye been the Case is Altered.^ lie was no^Y recent from the Roman writers of comedy, 
and, in this pleasant piece, both Ple/atus and Terence are laid under frequent contribution. 

The success of Everij Man in his Humor appears to have encouraged the author to attempt 
to render it yet more popular. Accordingh'', he transferred the scene, which in the former 
play lay in the neighborhood of Florence, to London, changed the Italian names for English 
ones, and introduced such appropriate circumstances as the place of action seemed to require 
In fact, the attempt w^as to be expected, from the improvement which was visibly taking place 
in his mind. Young '^ as he was when he wrote this drama, it is scarcely to be wondered that 
he should fall into the common practice, and while he placed his scene in Italy, draw all his 
incidents from his own country. It must be added to his praise, that he did not entirely neglec 
the decorum of place, even in this performance ; but there was yet too much of English man- 
ners, and the reformation of the piece was therefore well timed and judicious. Jonson fell 
into no subsequent incongruities of this kind, for the Fox is without any tincture of foreign 
customs, and his two tragedies are chastely Roman. 

"Bit notwithstanding (Whalley says) the art and care of Jonson to redress the incon- 
gruities taken notice of, a remarkable instance of Italian manners is still preserved, which, in 
transferring the scene, he forgot to change. It is an allusion to the custom of poisoning, of 
which we have instances of various kinds, in the dark and fatal revenges of Italian jealousy. 
Kitely is blaming Wellbred for promoting the quarrel between Bobadil and Downright, and 
WcUbred offers to excuse himself by saying that no harm had happened from it. Kitely'.9 
wife then objects to him : ' But what harm might have come of it, brother ? ' to whom Well- 
bred rephcs, ' Might, sister ? so might the good warm clothes your husband wears be poisoned, 
for any thing he knows, or the wholesome wine he drank even now at table.' Kitely's jealous 
apprehension is immediately alarmed, and he breaks 'out in a passionate exclamation* 

' Now God forbid. O me ! now 1 remember 
My wife drank to me last, and changed the cup ; 
And bade me wear this cursed suit to-day.' 

And thus he goes on, imagining that he feels the poison begin to operate upon him. Nothijig 
could be more in character than this surmise, supposing the persons, as was the case at first, 
to have been natives of Italy. But had Jonson recollected, it is probable he would have 

Johnson player, the 22d of July, 1597, in ready money, the some of fowcr poundcs, to be payed yt agen whensoever either 
I or my sonne (AUeyn) shall demand yt." 

"Lent unto Benjemen Johnsone the 3d of december 1597, upon a book which he was to writte for us before crysmas 
nexte after the date here of, which Ije showed the plotte unto the company : 1 say lent unto himo in redy money, the 
Bomeofxxs." 

1 This Comedy is usually assigned to 1598, principally because of its allusion to Antony Munday, which appeared m 
the Wit's Treasune, puDlished in that year. But Antony might have been called " our best plotter " before Meares wrote 
his pedantic coiuindriims ; and, indeed, the words have to me the air of a quotation. I am almost inclined to set down 
this as the earliest of our autlior's dramas ; in 1598 it was already a popular piece, and it bears about it the marks of 
juvenility. , 

It is doubted in the Bio. Dram, whcflier Jonson be the author of this piece, because, says the writer, it is printed with- 
out a dedication, wliich is commonly prefixed to his early plays, &c. I cannot stoop to contend with sheer ignorance : 
but m the first place, tlie play was not published by Jonson ; and in the second, his dedications are more frequent in tho 
folio than in the 4tos. 

2 The reader of tho present day, who has been accustomed to hear of nothing but " old Ben," will start, perhaps, to 
find that he once was young;. Tho appellation was first given to him by Sir John Suckling, a gay, careless, good- 
humored wit of the court, in 1C37 : — 

" The nest that approached was good old Ben.'" 

" Good," the commentators are careful to omit ; but " old Ben " they are never weary of repeating. Mr. Malone says 
that this title was not familiarly given to him during his life. In fiict, it was ncva familiarly given to him till he and 
his friend Steevens took it up, and applied it as a term of ridicule and contempt in every page. That Ben was termed 
old on one occasion shortly after his death, is scarcely a sufiicient plea for making the appellation perpetual, or wo might 
confer it on all the writers of his time. We hear of old Massinger, and old Shirley ; and the publishers of Beaumont and 
Fletcher advertise their readers, "that after they shall have reprinted Jonson 's two volumes, they hope to reprint old 
Shakspeare." See the Booksellers' address, fol. 1679. What would Mr. Malone have said if the editors of any of nut- 
old dramatists had nauseated their readers from page to page (on this authority) with a repetition of old Shakspoare .' 
2 



18 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

varied the thoxight to adapt it more consistently to the genius and manners of the speaker " 
— Preface, p. xii. 

I have given this tedious passage at large, because the happy discovery which it holds forth 
has been received with vast applause by the critics. In Hurd's letter to Mason On the Maria 
of Imitation, it is said, " The late editor of Jonson's works observes very well the impropriety of 
leaving a trait of Italian manners in his Every Man in his Humor, when he fitted up that play 
with English characters. Had the scene been originally laid in England, and that trait been 
given us, it had convicted the poet of imitation," p. 18. Such solemn absurdity is intolerable. 
The truth is, that Jonson co\ild not have devised a more characteristic " trait " of the times in 
which he wrote. Poisoning was unfortunately too well understood, and too common in this 
country. Elizabeth had a favorite, who, if he is not greatly belied, did not yield to the 
subtlest poisoner that Italy ever produced. Osborn says that " he h.o.(\. frequently heard Elizabeth 
blamed for not removing Mary, Queen of Scots, in the Italian fashion, by poisoning her gar- 
ments," &c., p. 231. And, in fact, Elizabeth herself lived from 1594 to 1598 \x\ constant dread 
of beinn- taken off in this way ; and many attempts, which kept the people in a state of agita- 
tion, were actually made to efi'cct it. Two men were hanged in 1598 for poisoning the queen's 
saddle. The arm chair of Essex was found to be rubbed with some deleterious mixture, and 
geveral poisoned articles of dress (among others a girdle) and pieces of furniture were 
publicly burned in Smithficld. 

According to the custom of the times, Jonson regained the property of his comedy by these 
numerous alterations. It was thus acted, for the first time, in 1598, at the Black Friars, and 
Shakspeare's name stands at the head of the principal performers in it.' The commentators 
appear to consider this as a mark of peculiar condescension on the part of our great poet, 
choosing to forget that he was an actor by profession, and that he derived his fortune from the 
theatre. He was not yet so independent of wealth but that he continued on the stage at least 
sixteen years longer ; and, in the course of that time, probably played a part in more than one 
piece not greatly superior to the present comedy, withoixt suspecting that he was conferring any 
very particular obligation on the authors. 

To this period (1598) is commonly assigned the commencement of oiu- author's acquaintance 
with Shakspcare. " Ben Jonson presented Every Man in his Humor to one of the leading 
players in that company of which Shakspeare was a member. After casting his eye over it 
superficially, the comedian was on the point of returning it with a peremptory refusal, when 
Shakspeare, who perhaps had never till that instant seen Jonson,'' desired he might look into the 
play. He was so well pleased with it on perusal, that he recommended the work and the 
author to his fellows. Notwithstanding this kindness, the prologue to his play is nothing less 
than a satirical picture of the Tempest, Lear, Henry V., &c." — Dram. Miscel., vol. ii. p. 56. 

" Every Man in his Humor (says Mr. Malone, in twenty places) was acted in 1598. It 
appears to be Jonson's first performance, and we may presume that it loas the very play which 
was brought on the stage by the good offices of Shakspeare, who himself acted in it. Malignant 
and envious as Jonson was," &c. — Shal;., vol. i. p. 540. And the writers of our author's life m 
the Bio. Brit., after giving lis the same story a little embellished, are pleased to subjoin, 
" This goodness of Shakspeare was the more remarkable, as • Jonson was, in his personal char- 
acter, the very reverse of Shalcspcare, as surly, ill natured, proud, and disagreeable, as Shak- 
speare was gentle, good natured, easy, and amiable.' " ' 

1 The old play probaoly remained al the Rose, whore it had been brought out. 

» Mr. Davies is subject to little fits of inconsistency. lie seems to think, and not indeed without cause, that, provided 
he indulges his malignity towards Jonson, the public will readily forgive the want of truth and sense. " At this time," 
."le says, i. e., 1597, a year before Shakspeare (according to his own statement) had seen or known any thing of our poei, 
" to have observed Ben Jonson with an assumed countenance of gaiety, and with envy in his heart, join the groupe o< 
/aughers and applauders of Henry IV. must have added to the pleasure of Shakspeare's real fficnds," vol. i. p. 278. This 
is forthwith taken for proved ; and the passage is boldly r<>forred to in the Index under the licad of Jonson. " Ben Jon- 
Bon envious of Shakspeare ! " But thus the life of our great poet is written ; and his admirers are not ashamed of it ! 

8 This exquisite character of Jonson is quoted by the biographers, with great precision, from the " Works of his friend 
Drummond, Edin. 1711, fol., p. 222." It is given on the same authority in the enlarged edition of the Tlieatrum Poeta- 
Tum; and more recently, by Mr. A. Chalmers, in the Ocn. Diet, who, after repeating the poet's conversation witli that 
hospitable gonllema ', breaks out— '-'In short, Drummond adds, Jonson was," &c., vol. xLi. p. 156. What will the 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. ig 



Jonson was at this period struggling for a mere subsistence. When his persevering pursuit 
of knowledge, therefore, amidst difficulties of every kind, Avhen his lofty ideas of poesy, his 
moral purpose in dramatic satire, his scorn of the popularity procured by sacrificing to what he 
deemed the vicious habits of the stage, are taken into consideration, it maj' almost be wondered 
why such singular pleasure should be found in combining to overwhelm him A\'ith obloquy. 

With respect to the story just quoted, no words, I presume, arc needed to prove it an 
arrant fable. Nor is the variation of it, which is found in Kowe, any thing better. " Shak- 
speare's acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity. Mr- 
Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the 
players to have it acted ; and the person into whose hands it was put, after having turned it 
carelessly and superciliously over, was just upon the point of returning it to him with an 
iU-natured answer, that it would be of no service to their company, when Shakspeare 
luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him to read it 
through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public favor." > — 
Shak., vol. i. p. 12. 

That Jonson was altogether " unknown to the world," is a palpable untruth. At this period 
(1598) Jonson was as well known as Shakspeare, and perhaps better. He was poor, indeed, 
and very poor,'' and a mere retainer of the theatres ; but he was intimately acquainted with 
Henslowe and Alleyn, and with all the performers at their horises. He was familiar with 
Drayton, and Chapman, and Rowley, and Middleton, and Fletcher ; ho had been writing for 
three years, in conjunction with Mai'ston, and Decker, and Chettle, and Porter, and Bird, and 
with most of the poets of the day. He was celebrated by Meares as one of the principal writers 
of tragedy ; ^ and he had long been rising in reputation as a scholar and poet among the 
most distinguished characters of the age. At this moment he was employed on Evenj Man out 
of his Humor, which was acted in 1599 ; and, in the elegant Dedication of that comedy to 
the " Gentlemen of the Inns of Court," he says, " When I wrote this poem, I had friendship 
with divers in your Societies, who, as they were great names in learning, so were they no less 

reader say, wJiat will ho think, when he is assured that not one syllable of this quotation is to be found in any part of 
Dnimniond? It is the fabrication of one Sliiels, a Scotchman, who compiled, for the booksellers, the Collection called 
Ciiicr's Lives of the Poets, and who, not finding his countryman's character of Jonson quite to his taste, interpolated, 
with kindred rancor, the abusive paragraph in question. This work was published in 17o3 ; the Bio. Brit, in 1757, the 
others later. It thus appears, that of all who have so confidently quoted this passage " from Drummond," not one ever 
looked into him ; and thus has the scurrility of an obscure and hackney scribbler, who lived two centuries after Jonson, 
been palmed upon the public as the express testimony of one " who spoke of the poet from personal knowledge." 

The detection of this flagrant imposture, " this innocent jcii d'esprit," will be ill received. A calumny against Jonson 
is precious in Ihe eyes of the commentators. I shall be quite satisfied, however, if, when they repeat this ribaldry, 
Which they will be sure to do, they give it on the authority of Mr. Robert Shiels, and not on that of " Jonson 's/rieni 
Drummond, of Ilavvthornden." 

1 In the first edition of his Life of Shakspeare, Rowe inserted the usual charges against Jonson of ingratitude, jeal- 
ousy, &c. Subsequent inquiry proved the injustice of this attack, and he therefore, with a proper sense of what was 
duo to truth, to his own character, and to the public, omitted the whole in the next edition. This e.xploded falsehood 
Mr. Malonc, with an intrepid defiance of all that Rowe respected, br/ngs insultingly back to him, because, as he saya 
'' he believes it " ! In a subsequent page, Mr. Malone notices a paragraph respecting Shakspeare which also appeared in 
the first edition ; "but,"' says he, " as Mr. Rowe suppressed the passage in his second edition, it may be presumed that 
be found reason to change his opinion." — Ska!:., vol. i. p. 482. It is a pity that this was not thought of in the former 
Instance ! 

2 '-Lent the 18 of agust 1598, to bye a boocke called Hoate anger sone cowld, of Mr. Porter, Mr. Cheattell and Ben- 
gcmen Johnson, in full payment the some of vi lb." — Shak., vol. ii. p. 484. 

'Lent unto Robert Shawe, and Jewbey the 23 of Octob. 1598, to lend unto Mr. Chapman one his playboocke and ij 
actes of a tragedie of Benjemen's plotte, the sum of iijib." — Ibid. 

3 Mr. Malone wonders why Meares should say this of Jonson, who had only written, the Comedy of Every Man in his 
Humor; and he concludes that tragedy was used for both species of dramatic writing. But Meares expressly dis- 
tinguishes them, and gives the names of the chief writers in comedy, in the next paragraph. It does not follow, be- 
eause we have no tragedies extant of this early date, that Jonson had written none. In the page just quoted, mention 
:s made of several tragedies in wliich our poet was concerned, and in which, probably, "having departed with his 
tight," he retained no property. Add to this, that, in the dedication of Catiline to the Earl of Pembroke, he calls it 

the best of his tragedies " — an expression that he would scarcely have used, had he written none but Sejanus before it 
Rowe knew little of the dramatic history of that age. There was no such thing as writing plays, and then taking 
Uie m to the players for acceptance. Rowe was thinking of the practice of his own times. 



20 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



examples of living. Of them and then, that I say no more, it was not despised." And yd 
Jonson was, at this time, " altogether unknown to the world " ! and offered a virgin comedy 
(which had already been three years on the stage) to a player in the humble hope that it 
might be accepted ! > And this player discovered that Everi/ Man in his Humor " would not 
Jo for the theatre," at a time when Locrine and old Jeronymo, and TiUis Andronicus, and the 
worthless Pericles, were dally exhibiting with applause ! This is but a small portion of the 
absurdities which the world is contented to take on trust in its eagerness to criminate Jonson; 
for this notable tissue of falsehood and folly is introduced solely to prove "the baseness and 
malignity of our poet's conduct towards Shakspeare." 

It would be an abuse of the reader's patience to add another word on the imaginary intro. 
duction of this play to the stage. It was brought out, as we have seen, at tlie Rose, a rival 
theatre with which Shakspeare had not the slightest concern. To be plain: wLoevci intro- 
duced Jonson to the notice of the players, we may be quite sure that it wa? not Shakspeare, 
whose merit, in this case, as far as appears, must be confined to procuring for liis own theatre 
(in Elackfriars) an improved copy of a popular performance." 

Every Man in Jiis Humor, though it did not, even in its altered stale, much improve the 
finances of the author, yet brought him what he valued more. From tliis period, he perceptibly 
grew into acquaintance and familiarity with, the first characters among the wise and great. 
This was not seen with equanimity by his dramatic associates, and the envy which it provoked 
pursued him to the end of his career. The writers on whom the theatres conducted by 
Henslowe and Alleyn principally relied at this time, Avere, besides our author, Chettle, Hey- 
wood, and Decker, men of very considerable talents, but who wrote on the spur of the occasion, 
and were perhaps in little better circumstances than Jonson himself Marston and Decker, who 
had frequently labored in conjunction with our poet, appear to have viewed his success with 
peculiar mortification, and to have lent themselves to the cabal already raised against him. 
What ground of offence they chose, or what motive they alleged, cannot now be told ; but 
Jonson affirms that, at this period, they began " to provoke him, on every stage, with their 
petulant styles, as if they Avished to single him out for their adversary." 

His next piece was the comic satire of Every Man out of his Humor, in the Induction to which 
he addresses the audience in a strain that would not hdve disgraced the Grecian stage Trheu 
Aristophanes was in his soberest, severest vein. 

" I fear no mood stamped in a private h\ow, 
Wlien I am pleased t' unmask a public vice. 
I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab, 
Should I detect tlieir hateful luxuries ; 
No broker's, usurer's, or lawyer's gripe, 
Were I disposed to say they're all corrupt." 

After more of this, Asper (the author) turns from his friends to the stage : — 

" I not observed this thronged round till now. 
Gracious and kind spectators, you are welcome ! 
Apollo and the Muses feast your eyes 
With graceful objects, and may our Minerva 
Answer your hopes unto their largest strain ! 
Yet liere, judicious friends, mistake me not ; 
I do not this to beg your patience, 
Or servilely to fawn on your applause, 
Like some dry brain, despairing in liis merit. 
Let me be censured by tlie austerest brow. 
When I want art or judgment, tax me freely : 
Let envious censors, with their broadest eyes, 
Look through and through me, I pursue no favor." 

1 The critics have already forgotten that Jonson "had ambled by a wagon and played old Jeronymo;" that "hij 
acted and wrote, but botli ill, at several theatres ; " that " he was himself tlie proprietor of a theatre in the barbican ; '• 
that " he had killed Mr. Marlow the poet," and been " tutor to young Raleigh," long before he produced this comedy 
These are falsehoods in which tliey all believe ; though, with tlie same consistent absurdity, they hold that he was a[ 
this time wholly unknown ! 

a The play, as we have it in the folio, was acted, Jonson informs us, in 1598. In the prologues to our ancient diamas- 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 21 

This was not language calculated to -win the audiences of those days, nor did Jonson, on 
any occasion, stoop to court their favor bj' unworthy condescensions to their prejudices. He 
had nobler aims in view — to correct their taste, to inform their judgment, to improve their 
morals ; and to these he steadily adhered through good and evil report, and through all the 
exigents of his checkered life. It cannot, therefore, be wondered that he was no favorite with 
the vulgar, and that those who trusted for a part of their success to the expedients thus openly 
condemned should eagerly raise and zealously perpetrate a clamor against him. They could 
not, indeed, prevent his inlays from beuig received ; but they constituted a party sufficiently 
numerous to be heard even amidst the applause which followed his most popular pieces. 

Every Ma/i out of his Humor was, however, well received. '• Queen Elizabeth, (Davies says,) 
drawn by its fame, honored the play Avith her presence ; and Jonson, to pay a respectful com- 
pUment to his sovereign, altered the conclusion of his play into an elegant panegyric. Mr. 
Collins, the poet, first pointed out to me the peculiar beauty of this address." — Dram. MisccL. 
vol. ii. p. 77. That Elizabeth was pleased cannot be doubted. She was, indeed, among the 
first cncouragers of the youthful poet, and her kindness towards him is thus noticed by Lord 
Falkland : — 

" How great Eliza, the retreat of thoso 

Who, weak and injured, her protection chose. 

Her subjects' joy, the strength of her allies. 

The fear and wonder of her enemies, 

With her judicious favors, did infuse 

Courage and strength into his younger muse." 

Hurd calls this a comedy founded upon " abstract passions ; " and bids us notice " the ab- 
surdity of the attempt." But Hurd is more than usually unfortunate when he meddles with 
Jonson, of whose works, in fact, he knows nothing. In the poet's days, a very different 
opinion prevailed, namely, that the piece was merely personal, and that he had filled the stage 
with real characters. Though this was not the case, yet we may collect, from the charge, that 
the satire was felt, and that he had touched the foibles of the time Avith no unskilful hand. 
"He did gather humors" (the old critic says) "wherever he went:" and a judgment more 
qmck to perceive, or more dexterous to embody whatever was extravagant or ridiculous, will not 
readily be found. To confess the truth, however, the dramatic poet had not far to go, at this 
period, for his materials. The middle aisle of St. Paul's swarmed with new and eccentric 
characters. Every tavern lent its aid, and even the theatres supplied a description of people 
whose fantastic affectations a poet even less observant than Jonson might turn to excellent 
account for the purposes of mirth or rejn-oof. From these and similar sources, our author 
undoubtedly derived the substance of his dramas. The characters themselves are not personal, 
though traits of real life may be occasionally involved in them.' These were readily recog- 
nised, and eagerly appropriated, by Iiis enemies, who thus artfully raised the cry of iJersonality 
against him, of which the echo is yet hcai'd. 

care is usually taken to notice the variations which tjiey had undergone, since their first appearance, if at all important. 
The present comedy had been radically changed ; the names, the place of action, the circumstances, materially altered 
since it was first exhibited at the Rose ; yet not the slightest allusion is made to it in any part of the prologue — a cir- 
cumstance sufficient of itself to prove that it was written and spoken previously to the remodelling of the play, and, 
indeed, on its first appearance, for which it was expressly and exclusively calculated. 

1 Thus Tucca is said by Decker to speak the language of Captain Hannam ; and Aubrey tells us that Carlo BulTono 
was taken from one Charles Chester, "a bold, impertinent fellow," who kept company with Sir Walter JitAia 2/ou£/(.' 
— Letters, vol. iii. p. 514. But besides that there is no similarity between the two characters, as may be seen by turning to 
the dramatis persons of this comedy, the incident of which Aubrey speaks probably took place before Jonson was born, 
though he might have heard of it, and adopted it ; if, after all, the story was not rather made up from the play. The 
only personal allusion which I can discover is to Warston. Puntarvolo says to Carlo Buffone, " What, Carlo ! now, by 
the sincerity of my soul, welcome; and how dost thou, thou grand Scourge, or second Untruss of the time?" Tiie 
reference, which seems very innocent, is evidently to the title of Marston's Satires, (the Scourge of Villainie ;) but thia 
goes no further than a name, for Carlo and Marston do not possess one feature in common. With respect to Captain 
Hannam, he might talk extravagantly and beg impudently, without possessing the other qualities of that undaunted yel 
tmtertair ng railer. Captain Tucca. 



Ealeigh was born in 1552; in his yovUi, therefore, our author must have been vs his cradle. 



22 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



Three distinct notices of Jonson appear in Mr. Henslowe's momoi-andum book for the yeei 
1599. The sum of forty shillings was advanced to him and Decker for a play which they were 
writing in conjunction ; a like sum for another, in which Chettle was joined with them ; and a 
..nird sum of twenty shillings for a tragedy which he was probably writing alone.» None of 
these are now extant ; but Cynthia's Bevels, on which he was at this time employed, was 
brought out in the following year. 

This comical satire (for so Jonson properly terms it) was evidently directed at the grave and 
foi-mal manners of the court, to which, indeed, it was subsequently dedicated. After the atro- 
cious execution of Mary, Whitehall appears to have grown extremely dull. Elizabeth herself 
lost her spirits, and became fretful and morose. The courtiers who could not be gay became 
affected, and exchanged their former fashions for fantastic and apish refinements. Eujj/mlsme 
was now in the full tide of prosperity, and the manners were as absurdly pedantic as the 
lano-uao'e. As Jonson lived much with the great, this could not altogether escape him ; and it 
is not improbable that he was encouraged by some of those about the queen to direct his satire 
against the reigning follies. 

Cynthia s Revels was acted in IGOO " by the Children of the Queen's Chapel." * It was, at 
first, as the title page to the 4to. expresses it, " privately acted." The puerile games, the 
ceremonious fopperies conducted with such inflexible gravity, might, to those who probably 
comprehended both the motive and the objects of the drama, be sufficiently entertaining. For 
its subsequent success, it must have been indebted to the delight which the good citizens took 
in seeing the fantastic tricks of the courtiers exposed to ridicule. The prologue to this play ia 
beautifully written, and would seem to have been originally addressed to a select audience, (per- 
haps at "Whitehall.) The epUogue is in a different strain, and its arrogant conclusion was long 
remembered to the author's amioyance.^ 

That this drama should give offence to those whose grotesque humors it exposed, was, 
perhaps, to be expected ; but it does not very clearly appear why the little knot of critics, 
headed by Marston and Decker, should take any part of it to themselves, as they manifestly 
affected to do. The characters which the majority fixed upon cannot be known ; but the 
leaders seem to have appropriated to themselves those of Hedon and Anaidos. The resem- 

1 " Tiio Scotts Tragedy." The piece in which he joined with Chettle and Decker is called "Robert, the scconij 
King of Scottes." 

2 The commentators, who turn every circumstance of Jonson's life into accusations against him, have here discov- 
ered a notable proof of his " ferocious temper." He must have quarrelled with the " established comedians," they say, 
(meaning Shakspeare, Burbagc, &c.,) or he would not have taken his play from their stage to give it to the " Children," 
&c. These lynx-eyed critics do not perceive that " the Children " were as popular and as Vvell " established " as any 
other company, and that they shared the Blackfriars, at which this play was performed, with the lord chamberlain's 
servants. Having gratuitously supposed a quarrel, the next step is to make it up. " By the mediation of friends, and 
most likely by the good offices of our gentle Shakspeare, a reconciliation was eflfected between this surly writer and tho 
comedians." — Dram. Ms., vol. ii. p. 83. But the " reconciliation," it seems, did not last long. " Some new quarrel with 
the established comedians, I suppose, caused him to have recourse again to the Children of the Ecvels," p. 105. There 
is not a word of sense in all this. It was no more necessary that Jonson should offer all he wrote to the same company, 
than any other person. He had not, like Shakspeare, an interest or a property in the theatre, and he naturally carried 
his talents wherever they were likely to prove acceptable. The critics who insult over his slowness, and affirm that he 
was a year or two " about every play," must have excellent notions of economy, if they suppose that a family could bs 
supported on the sale of it. He wrote, like his contemporaries, for many theatres, and probably mended many playst 
The theatre, however, with which he was most closely connected at this time, was Henslowe's ; and, while his en- 
emies are pleased to suppose a succession of quarrels with this and that theatre, ho was evidently living on terms of 
friendship with thera all, writing, at one and the same time, for the Rose and the Blackfriars, for the Fortune and the 
Globe. 

3 It is alluded to by the anonymous author of Par Pari, m his address to the reader : — 

" Yet be not proudc, though thou their praise dost gaine ; 
'Tis for a belter pen than mine to say, 
By 'tis good, and if you lik.'t you may." 

To bully critics in similar terms was then the mode. There is enough of it in Decker alone to prove that Jonson was 
far from singular in this indecent defiance. But he was probably inflated for the moment with the favorable reception 
Df the court, and would not allow the city to question its infallibility. 

In this year Every Man out of his Huvior was given to the press. It is dedicated to tlie gentlemen of th3 Inns a 
Oourt, and seems to be the first of our author's works that was printed. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JOXSON. 23 

blance is not obvious to us, and could not, one would think, be very perceptible to the keenci 
optics of those days ; but Marston and Decker were eager to revenge the imaginary insiilt, 
and readily consented to lead the attack now meditated against him. Of this, Jonson obtained 
full information, for the secret was ill kept by the poets ; and as they persisted in ridiculing 
him on the stage, he found it necessary to draw up the Poetaster, in which, together with the 
untrussiiig, the whipping, and the stinging, he anticipated and answered many of the accu- 
sations subsequently brought against him in the Satlro7nastix. The high and magisterial lan- 
guage which our author held in the prologue to the first of his acknowledged pieces has been 
already noticed. The same language (but in a loftier tone) is repeated in Cynthia s Bevels, 
where, in imitation of the parabasis of the old comedy, the poet appears to speak in his own 
person. This novelty on the English stage was probably viewed with peculiar impatience, since 
much of the spleen of his enemies was directed against the speeches of Asper and Crites in the 
last of liis comic satires. 

The Poetaster was brought out at the Blackfriars by the Children of the Queen's Chapel, ia 
IGOl.' Its object cannot be better given than in his own words : — 



" tliree years 



They did provoke me with their petulant styles 
On every stage ; and I at last, unwilling, 
But weary, I confess, of so much trouble. 
Thought I would try if shame could win upon 'em. 
And therefore chose Augustus Csesar's times, 
When wit and arts were at their height in Rome, 
To show that Virgil, Horace, and the rest 
Of those great master spirits, did not want 
Detractors then, or practicers against them ; 
And by this line, although no parallel, 
I hoped at last they would sit down and blush." 

As Marston and Decker had headed the cabal against him, he introduced them under the 
respective names of Crispinus and Demetrius. Marston is very 'distinctly marked. Deckel 
might, perhaps, have " sat still imquestioned," at least with posterity, had not the justice of 
the satire filled him with rage, and induced him to appropriate the character of Demetrius to 
himself in an angry recrimination. 

The Poetaster was written (Jonson says) in fifteen weeks, and it is certainly as creditable to 
his talents as his industry. It was favorably received by the public, though it gave offence to 
some of the miUtary and the law. This could only arise from the slavish condition of the stage, 
M'hich was then at the mercy of every captious officer who chose to complain to the master of 
the revels ; for the satire, if such it be, is put into the mouths of such speakers as would almost 
convince an impartial spectator that it was designed for a compliment.^ Of the soldiers, Jonson 
got quit without much difficulty ; but the lawyers were not so easily shaken off, and he was 
indebted, in some degree, for his escape, to the kindness of one of his earliest friends, — "the 
worthy Master Richard Martin," — who undertook for the innocency of his intentions to the 
lord chief justice, and to whom he subsequently dedicated the play. 

But there Avas yet a party which could neither be silenced nor shamed. The players, who 

1 In tliis year " Bengemy " was employed by .Mr. Ilonslowe in " v.-ritiiig adijcions for Jeronymo." Tliey were so much 
to the manager's taste, that Mr. Allcyn was authorized to advance x^^xs. on them. Had the records of any other theatres 
been preserved, we should probably have found the name of our poet among their supporters, for he must have producea 
much more at this time tlian has reached us. Every Man in his Humour, as first written, and performed at the Rose, was 
printed this year. I do not believe that it was given to the press by Jonson, who must rather have wished for its suppres- 
sion, as the improved play had now been four years before the public. It is evident that whatever he wrote for Mr. Ilens- 
lowe was purchased outright : tlie present copy, therefore, must have stolen into the world from the prompter's book, 
as was not unfrequently the case. It is observable that our author's name is misspelt in the title page. There is not a 
single instance, I am well persuaded, in which he writes his name Johnson. 

2 Notliing can more clearly mark the tone of hostility witlr whicli every act of Jonson is pursued than the obloquy 
vvhicii is still heaped on him for tliese speeches. It would be far more just, as well as generous, in us to applaud thu 
intrepid sjjirit with which he dared, in slavish times, to vent his thoughts, than to join in a silly clamor against his " arro- 
gance and ill nature." He stood forward as a moral satirist, and the abuses, both of the law and the military service 
were legitimate objects of reprehension. 



24 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON 

had so long provoked him ^ith their petulance on the stage, felt the bitterness of his reproof, 
and had address enough to pcrsiiade their fellows that all were included in his satire. Jonson 
readily admits that he taxed some of the players, as, indeed, he had a just right to do ; but 
he adds that he touched but a few of them, and even those few lie forbore to name. He 
treats their clamors, however, with supreme contempt, and only regrets the hostility of 
some better natures, whom they had drawn over to their side, and induced to rim iir the same 
vile line with themselves. By better natures, the commentators assure us that Shakspeare was 
meant ; and Mr. Malone quotes the passage in more than one place to evince the tnalignity of 
Jonson, as if it were a crime in him to be unjustly calumniated ! I trust that Jonson Avas not 
«!xhibited in a ridiculous light at the Blackfriars ; and, in any case, it is quite certain that 
the players on whom he retorts were to be found in the companies of the Swan, the Hope, 
the Fortune, and other houses situated on the river, or, as he expresses himself, " on the 
other side the Tiber." It would not redound greatly to the honor of Shakspeare's humanity, 
if he should be found to have used his "weight and credit in the scene " to depress a young 
writer dependent on it for subsistence. I do not, however, think that Shakspeare was meant.' 

Be this as it may, Jonson was induced, after a few representations, to add to it, what he 
calls an Apologetical Dialogue, in which he bore the chief part. It was spoken only once, 
and then laid aside by command.^ It is remarkable, the critics say, for nothing but arrogance. 
It is certainly not wanting in self-confidence ; but it has something besides — a vein of 
high-toned indignation springing from conscious innocence and worth, and a generous burst of 
pathos and xooetry in the concluding speech, to which an equal will not easily be found. 

If Jonson expected to silence his enemies by giving them " a brave defiance," or even by 
proving his own innocence, he speedily discovered his mistake. Decker, Avho had sustained the 
pai't of Demetrius, was (apparently to his own satisfaction) piit forward by the rest,'' and as he 
was not only a rapid but a popular writer, the choice of a champion Avas not injudicious. Tbo 



1 There is yet a charge from which it will not be so easy to exculpate Sliakspeavo. In Die Return from Parnasias, 
written about this time, (1602,) Kenipe and Burbago are introduced, and the former is made to say, " Few of tiie Uni- 
versity pen plays well ; they smell too much of that writer Ovid, and that writer J\I clamor jihosis, and talk too much of 
Proserpine and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakspeare puts them all down ; ay, and Ben Jonson too. O, that Ben 
Jonson is a pestilent fellow ; he brought up Horace giving the poets a pill ; but our fellow Shakspeare hath given him a 
purge that made him bewray his credit." To this, Burbage, who seems somewhat ashamed of his associate, merely re- 
plies, " It's a shrewd fellow, indeed j " and clianges the subject. " In what manner," Mr. Malone says, " Shakspeare 
put Jonson down, does not appear." I should think it clear enough. He put him down as ho put down every other 
dramatic writer. " Nor docs it appear," he continues, " how ho made him hcwraij his credit. His retaliation, we may 
be well assured, contained no gross or illiberal attack, and, perhaps, did not go beyond a ballad or an epigram." But 
with Mr. Malone's leave, if it went as far as either, Shakspeare was greatly to be blamed, for Jonson had given him no 
ofience whatever. I will take upon myself to affirm that the Poetaster does not contain a single passage that can be tor- 
tured, by the utmost ingenuity of malice, into a reflection on our great poet. It will scarcely be credited, that the sen- 
tence last quoted should be immediately followed by these words : " Shakspeare has, however," (i. e., notwithstanding lie 
had written a l)allad against Jonson,) " marked his disregard for the calumniator of his fame " (i. e., for the unotTendini 
object of his ridicule) " by not leaving him any memorial by his will." — Shale, vol. i. p. 541. Let Sir Malone answej 
for the unforgiving temper with which ho has dishonored Shakspeare ; I believe nothing of it. Kenipe is brought for 
ward as the type of ignorance, in this old drama; but a darker quality than ignorance must possess those who draw 
from his language any indications of Jonson's " malignity " to Shakspeare. And again, with Mr. Malone's permission 
how can we be so sure that the ballad or the epigram, which is here supposed to be written against Jonson, contained noth- 
ing gross or illiberal .'' Time has spared two specimens of Slmkspeare's mode of " attack." It so happens that one o) 
them is a ballad, and the other an epigram ; the first written on a person whose park he had robbed, and the second on a 
friend who left him a legacy. If there be nothing " gross or illiberal " in either of these, the " assurance " may be trusted 

3 Not in consequence of the interference of the town, as Mr. D'Israeli thinks ; the town w'ould, probably, have heard 
it with pleasure. Jonson's own account is, that " he was restrained from rejieating it by authority." These words are 
found only in the 4to. edit, and Mr. D'Israeli probably consulted the fol. — Qiiar. of .Authors, vol. iii. p. 135. 

3 Jonson must have been aware of this; for he makes one of the players say of Decker, "His doublet's a littlo decayed, 
otherwise he is a very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays about the town, here ; we have hired 
him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play." — p. 118. And, a few lines lower, he makes Tucca promise that 
" Crispinus (Marston) shall help him." It might have been expected that Marston, who is, in fact, the Poetaster, would 
have been liie principal in the meditated plan of revenge; but he was, perhaps, too slow for the wrath of his associates: 
it IS also possible that he might not be equally exasperated with them ; for it is observable that he is treated with some 
bind of defrrei ce as compared with his 'Uiangcron," and that more than one allusion is mralc to the respectability of liia 
birth. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 25 

Satiromasiix was produced in 1602. Jonson had played with his subject, but Decker writes in 
downright passion, and foams through every page. He makes no pretensions to invention, but 
take's up the characters of his predecessor, turns them the seamij side without, and produces a 
coarse and ill-wrought caricature. Tucca, who, in Jonson's hands, is amusing with all his 
insolence and rapacity, degenerates with Decker into a mere candidate for Tj^burn.' Nor is this 
the Avorst. In transferring the scene from the court of Augustus to England, Decker has the 
inconceivable folly to fix on William Rufus, a rude and ignorant soldier, whom he ridiculously 
terms " learning's true Mcccenas, poesy's king," for the champion of literature, when his brother, 
Henry I., who aspired to the reputation of a scholar, would have entered into his plot with 
equal facility. - 

■In the concluding lines of the Apologctical Dialogue, Jonson announces that, "since the 
comic muse had been so ominous to him, he would try if tragedy had a kinder aspect." ' He 
had two subjects at this time in view. The first, which was written for Mr. Henslowe's * 
theatre, does not appear ; the second, Sejanus, was brought out at the Globe, in 1603. This 
tragedy, in which Shakspeare played a part, met with great opposition on its first presentation, 
and was withdrawn for a short time from the stage. The author, however, suffered neither in 
his reputation nor his peace on the occasion. His fame was too Avell established to be affected 
by the fury of a party, and he proceeded, at leisure, to remodel his play. 

About this time Jonson probably began to acquire that turn for conviviality for which he 
was afterwards noted. Sir Walter Raleigh, previously to his unfortunate engagement with the 
wretched Cobham and others, had instituted a meeting of becncx esprits at the Mermaid, a cel- 
ebrated tavern in Friday Street. Of this club, which combined more talent and genius, perhaps, 
than ever met together before or since, our author was a member ; and here, for many years, 
he regularly repaired with Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, ^Martin, 
Donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant period, call up a mingled feeling of 
reverence and respect. Here, in the full flow and confidence of friendship, the lively and 
interesting "wit combats" took place between Shakspeare and our author; and hither, in 
probable allusion to them, Beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander, in his letter to Jonson, 
from the country. 

" What things have we seen 

Done at the Mermaid ! heard v/ords that have been 

So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, 

As if that every one from whom they came 

Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest," &c. 

1 Although I cannot avoid thinking that Docker has failed altogether in the Unlrussbtg uf the Humorous Poet, I do not 
deem lightly of his general powers. lie was a slovenly and a hasty writer, (perhaps from necessity,) but he was a keen 
and vigorous observer; and ho has occasional flights of poetry which would do lionor to any talents. We liave, I believe, 
but the smallest part of what he wrote ; for, with the exception of Hey wood, none of our old dramatists were more prolific 

2 Hawkins, who, like the rest of his tribe, can see no fault in any one but Jonson, observes on tliis parody, " We can- 
not help being inclined to fovor Decker, who only meant to retaliate the insults of his rival." Then follows the usual 
raving about Jonson's envy, &c. But Hawkins chooses to forget, as, indeed, they all do, that Decker was the aggressor, 
and that, in conjunction witli others, he had been ridiculing Jonson on eveiy stage for three years before he sat down to 
write the Poetaster. Yet this is your " harmless" fairij ! 

3 Jonson does not mean by this, as Upton and others insinuate, that his comedies had been ill received, — for the con- 
trary was the fact, — but that the present one (the Poetaster) had subjected him to tlie censure of the law, the army, &c. 

* The following notice is taken from Henslowe's memorandum book. " Lent unto Bengemy Johnsone at the appoynt- 
ment of E. AUeyn and Wra. Birde the 23 June, 1602, in earnest of a boocke called Richard Crook-hack, and for new ady- 
cions for Jeronymo, the some of x lb." " This article," 3h'. Malone observes, " ascertains tliat Jonson had the audacity 
to write a play after our author (Shakspeare) on the subject of A'lHn-iitc/mrrf ///."— SAa/;., vol. ii. p. 484. If there beany 
" audacity " in this matter, which I am not inclined to dispute, it will not, I suspect, be found on the part of Jonson. I 
cannot discover on what grounds Mr. Malone takes upon himself to question the right of tliose who never acknowledged 
his authority, to use their own judgment, and dispose of their own property as they pleased. It might have been sup- 
posed that Henslowe and Alleyn, the one a very shrewd and the other a very sensible man, could be trusted with provid- 
ing pieces for their own stage. It does not seem a necessary consequence that Shakspeare's selecting a particular part of 
our history should preclude the rest of the world from touching it ; and he " who never," as Mr. Malone says, " took up 
a subject which had not been previously dramatized by others," had surely the least right to complain of those who acted, 
or those who wrote on the same theme with himself. From the sum advanced on this play, the managers must have 
thought well of it. It has perished, like most of the pieces brought out at their theatre, because they endeavored to keep 
Uiem in their own hands as long as possible. 



20 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

lairer prospects now began to open on Jonson. Elizabeth was frugal, and paid as grudgingly 
for her amusements as for her more serious business. Little, besides honor, was therefore de- 
rived from her patronage, and the poets were still left to the resources of their own talents ; but 
James, who acceded to the crown at this period, was liberal to men of merit, and Jonson had 
the good fortune to be quickly received into his favor. 

The court and city prepared to receive their new sovereign, in the taste of those times, with 
a magniacent display of scenery, speeches, &c., and our author was applied to for the design 
and execution of the pageant. Those who have been told so often of his " vindictiveness," &c., 
will be surprised, perhaps, to hear that his associate in this employment was Decker, the person 
by whom he had been so grossly treated a few months before. Jonson took to himself two 
fifths of this splendid " entertaiimient ; " the rest was allotted to his coadjutor. Both seem to 
have exerted themselves greatly, and both printed an account of their respective parts. Our 
author's description, wliich is equally learned and elegant, bears no marks of resentment 
against his late antagonist, who, in his publication, shows himself, in more than one place, yet a 
little sore of the Poetaster. The truth is, with deference to his "friend" Drummond,' that 
Jonson, far from being vindictive, was one of the most placable of mankind. He blustered, 
indeed, and talked angrily ; but his heart was turned to affection, and his enmities appear to 
have been short lived, while his friendships were durable and sincere. 

James was something of a poet, and more of a scholar. What he cultivated in himself, he 
loved in others. lie had discrimination enough to distinguish the pure and classical construc- 
tion of the pageantry which had been displayed before him,* as well as the extraordinary merits 
of the spirited " Paneffi/re on the first meeting of his Parliament," (p. 650,) and he appears, 
from that i)eriod, to have taken the poet under his especial protection. In this opinion of his 
genius as well as learning, he must have been strengthened by the next publication of Jonson, 
who had been summoned to Althorpe to i^repare a poetical compliment for the recej^tion of the 
Queen and Prince Henry, when expected there on their journey from Scotland to London. lie 
must have been well acquainted with this family. He. terms Sir Robert Spencer his noble 
friend, and observes that "his principal object" in suffering the Entertainment (4to., 1603,) to 
come abroad was to do that serviceable right to him which his affection owed, and his lordship's 
merits challenged." The Spencers have been well advised to cherish the name of the author of 
the Fairy Queen, as one of the chief honors of their family. It will not greatly derogate from 
them to acknowledge, at the same time, that Ben Jonson, in his early days, was among their 
friends and clients. 

His next work, as far as any memorial of the date of his writings has reached us, v/as still 
for the gratification of the royal family. May day had been, from the earliest times, a city 
holyday of high account, in the celebration of which our monarchs had often joined. James, 
who loved above them all to mingle in sociable converse with his people, had accepted for 
himself, his queen, and his court, an invitation to keep the festival at the seat of Sir "W. Corn- 
wallis, near Highgate, and Jonson was engaged to give grace and elegance to the " Entertain- 
ment," by a complimentary effusion.^ He did not discredit his employer, and his majesty 
must have found still further reason to be satisfied with his selection. This year also Jonson 
revised liis Sejanus. As it was first acted, a second pen had good share in it ; * on its failure, he, 

1 His friend Drummond. So the commentators deliglit to call him on all occasions. The term is artfully chosen. It 
is meant to cliaiacterizo the superlative infamy of Jonson, which could compel even this generous spirit, in despite of liia 
lender regard for the poet, to blazon his vices, and bequeath tlicni to posterily. 

2 " Tlio king (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) was no less pedant than pageant wise ; and therefore Jonson showed 
particular address in flattering him by the introduction of several copies of Latin verse : " for this they proceed to ridi- 
cule him. The real fact is, that Jonson was very sparing of his " Latin verses " on this occasion, and tliat Decker has, at 
least, three for his one! Where Decker got them I cannot tell — perhaps from his own stores ; for he had a smattering 
of Latin, which he is somewhat too fond of showing : but thus every act of Jonson is perverted by the malice or ignoranco 
of his biographers! 

3 See p. 655. 

* Who tliis " second pen " was is not known. I have supposed it (vol. iii. p. fi, ed. 181G) to be Fletcher, (Sliakspearo 
is entirely out of the question ;) but, if Beaumont's age would admit of it, (he was in his nineteenth year,) I should more 
willingly lean to him. Be he who he may, however, he has no reason to be displeased with the liberal acknowledgment 
of his merits. " I have rather chosen (Jonson says) to put weaker, and, no doubt, less pleasing of mine own, than to aa^ 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



with equal delicacy and integrity, determined not to expose his coadjutor to the chance of a 
second defeat, but to make himself responsible for the whole. The tragedy, thus recast, was 
received Avith applause, and kept possession of the stage till long after the Restoration. "It 
hath outlived," the author says, in the dedication of his play to Lord Aubigny, " the malice ol 
the people, and begot itself a greater favor than the subject of it lost, the love of good men." 

" Sejanus " was ushered into the world by several commendatory poems, to which Jonson 
refers the reader as explanatory of some points relative to its reception. Among these voluntary 
vouchers for the merits of the tragedy is Marston, Avho had long since repented of the part 
which he took against the author, and resumed his old habits of kindness. 

The Satiromastix appeared in 1602. The Maleconient was probably written in the foUov/ing 
year, as two editions of it were printed so early as 160-4. This play Marston dedicated to 
Jonson in terms that do the highest honor to his friend, as they seem to be expressly selected 
for the purpose of confuting the calumnies of Decker.^ 

BENJAMIN JONSONIO 

POETiE 

ELEGANTISSIMO 

GRAVISSIMO 

AMICO 

BUG CANDIDO ET COBDATO 

JOHANNES MARSTON 

MUSARUM ALUMNUS 

ASrERAM HANG SUAM THALIAM 

D. D. 

I'Jor was this all ; for, in the epilogue to this play, he thus adverts to his " liberal and coidiaJ 
friend," and his meditated tragedy : — 

" Then, till another's happier muse appears. 
Till his Thalia feast your learned ears, 
To whose desertful lamps pleased fates impart 
j3rt above nature, judgment above art, 
Eeceive this piece, which hope nor fear yet daunteth ; 
He that knows most knows most how much he wanteth." 

In the succeeding year (1605) Marston again addresses his "most worthy friend," as one 
whose work (Sejanus) would " even force applause from despairful envy ; " yet tlie critics affirm 
that in 1606, when this poet published his So2}honisba,- he attacks him upon the score of this 
very tragedy, Avhich is here declared to be unrivalled. Not a shadow of offence appears on 
the side of Jonson ; yet, because Marston changed his language, therefore, say the commen- 
tators, "it is probable that Ben's natural arrogance and self-sufficiency' had lessened their 
friendship, since we find jNIarston casting some very severe glances at his Sejanus and Catiline." 
As C«<t7i«e was not in being till 1611, no glances could be cast at it in 160G ; for the rest, if 

fraud so happy a genius of his right by my loathed usurpation." — Ibid. The brutal scurrility with which Jonson is as- 
sailed on this point has been noticed elsewhere. " Shakspcare, (says Capell,) was the happy genius whose pen 'had so 
good a share in this play ; ' for which assistance he is hero sneered at by tlie person he gave it to, was quarrelled with at 
the time, and opposed and ill treated ever after " ! — School of Shak., p. 479. It is excellently observed by Davies, after 
much abuse of Jonson, " As this play was universally exploded, I have a suspicion that the only parts which escaped cen- 
sure were those written by Shakspeare." — vol. ii. p. 85. The only saving part of this universally exploded play being re- 
IQoved, the whole became popular. Such is the logic of Mr. Davies ! who adds, however, — with a face like Ancient Pis- 
tol's at his leek, — " Jonson's name stood so high tliat, at the Restoration, the king's comedians, claiming a prior right to 
those of the duke of York, seized upon Srjanus and Caiilinc." 

1 Both Demetrius and Crispinus made their peace with Horace almost immediately after the appearance of this piece. 
It is simple dotage therefore to talk of this fray, as if it had embroiled the combatants for life. Jonson appears to havf 
had no subsequent dispute with Decker ; whatever might be the case with Marston, wlio was exceedingly wayward. 

2 It is not very probable that IMr. M. Lewis ever looked into Marston ; yet some of the most loathsome parts of the MorJ: 
Bre to be found in this detestable play. 

3 This is, no doubt, a translation of Marston's candido et cordato! 



28 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

Marston did not know his own mind, it seems hard to blame Jonson for it, since whatever might 
be the demerits of Sejamts, they could not be greater in 1606 than when he praised it two yrars 
before. In a word, if tliis play be meant, (Avhich is no care of mine,) it Avill be difficult tc 
acquit Marston of the basest flattery or the meanest revenge. The commentators, however, 
3an descry no fault but in Jonson, 

Prior to this publication, an event had taken place which involved !Marston in serious diffi- 
culties. In conjunction with Chapman, he had brovight out a comedy called Easiioard Hoe! 
The play was well received, as, indeed, it deserved to be, for it is exceedingly pleasant ; but 
there was a passage in it reflecting on the Scotch, which gave offence to Sir James Murray, 
who represented it in so strong a light to the king, that orders were given to arrest the authors. 
It does not appear that Jonson had any considerable share in the composition of this piece ; 
but as he was undoubtedly privy to its writing, and an " accessory before the fact," he justly 
considered himself as equally implicated with the rest. He stood in such favor, however, that 
he was not molested ; but this did not satisfy him, and he therefore, with a high sense of 
honor, " voluntamly " accomjianied his two friends to prison, determined to share their fate. 
As usual, the whole blame is thrown upon Jonson, though, in the only record which remains 
of this transaction, he expressly declares that he had nothing to do with the offensive passage, 
" Chapman and Marston (as he told Drummond) having written it amongst them." " He in- 
dulged (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) the sourness of his cUs2)osition in a satirical comedy, 
written against the Scots." ' And Mr. A. Chalmers adds that " it was indeed a foolish ebulli- 
tion for a man in liis circumstances to ridicule the Scotch nation in the court of a Scottish 
king." The steady friendship, the generous devotement, of Jonson are studiously kept out of 
sight, while Marston and Chapman are held up as sacrifices to the " sourness of his disposition." 

They were not released, the biographers say, without much interest ; and Camden and Selden 
are siipposed to have supphcated the throne in favor of Jonson. This is a mere guess, and, at 
best, an unlucky one. Had such been needed, ovir author had far more powerful intercessors 
at court than either of those, whose influence with the sovereign was by no means equal to his 
own. It is probable that no very serious punishment was ever meditated ; or if there were, 
that the desire to spare Jonson operated in their favor, and procured an unconditional pardon. 

When they were first committed, a report had been propagated, Jonson says, that they 
should have their ears and noses cut, i. e. slit.^ This had reached his mother ; and, at an enter- 
tainment ^ which he made on his deliverance, " she drank to him, and showed him a i^aper 
which she designed, if the sentence had taken effect, to have mixed with his drink, and it was 
strong and lusty i)oison. To show that she was no churl, Jonson adds, she designed to have 



1 Written against the Scots! — ^VouId not tliis lead one to suppose tliat tlie Scotch were the principal objects of the 
piece .' Yet the only mention whicli is made of tliem occurs in the following passage.* " You shall live freely there " 
(i. e. the new settlement of Virginia} " without Serjeants, or courtiers, or lawyers, or intelligencers; only a few industri- 
ous Scots perhaps, who indeed are dispersed over the face of the whole earth. But as for them, there are no greater 
friends to Englishmen and England, when they are out on't, in the world, tlian they are : and, for my part, I would a 
hundred thousand of them were there, for we are all one countrymen now, ye kriow, and we should find ten times more 
comfort of them there than liere." — OM Plays, vol. iv. p. 250. This little burst of satire (which is not found in Chet- 
wood's edition) was probably heard with applause. The times were well inclired to apply it ; and so far its suppression 
might be expedient. With respect to tlie " sourness" of Jonson, it would be somewhat difficult to discover any signs of it 
in Eastward Hoe! which is uncommonly spriglitly and good humored. — But the critics never looked into it. 

2 It is amusing to read the different versions of this passage. " His majesty (says the Bio. Brit.) ordered that their 
ears and noses should be cut off in the pillory." And Chetwood, more bloody still, adds, " that it was with the greatest 
difficulty, and incessant solicitations of the prime nobility, Jonson" (no otlier culprit is named, or even hinted at) "es- 
caped a severe punishment, that is to say, having his ears nailed to the pillory, and cut off by the common hangman, and 
perpetual banishment! " — Life of B. Jonson, p. iv. AH this is raised upon the simple passage in the text, for there is no 
others What is j-et more ridiculous, it is higlily probable that most of them wlio have maligned Jonson for " writing a 
satire against the Scotcli," had, like Chetwood and the Bio. Brit., an edition of this comedy before thsra in which the 
Scotch are not once named, or even hinted at ! 

8 At this entertainment " Camden, Selden, and others were present." This i", the sole luth'r'y "or their names being 
eelectcd as intercessors for Jcnson's pardon. And thus his Life is written ! 



* The words of Drummond are, " He was accused by Sir James Murray to the king for writing sc(netMnffag3LlD6t tho 
tota in iplay called Eastward Hoc!'- 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 29 

tii'st drank of it hcrsclt" From such a mother he must have derived no small part of his 
unconquerable spirit. 

Having obtained a pardon,* Mr. A. Chalmers says, Jonson endeavored to conciliate hia 
offended sovereign by taxing his genius to produce a double portion of flatter}^ He had, in the 
opening of this very paragraph, accused him of a rough and savage disposition which nothing 
could tame ! The charge of " redoubled flattery," on this accovmt, is also brought against him, 
but with much more virulence by the writers of the Bio. Brit, It happens, however, somewhat 
unluckily for these ingenious speculators, that the masque which he produced On his release 
was not Avritten at all to flatter the king. The fact is, that there were at this period (1G05) 
several noble and royal foreigners in this country ; and to receive them in a manner worthy of 
the splendor and magnificence of the English court, the queen, who had not forgotten the 
exquisite entertainments of Althorpc and Highgate, " expressly injoined" the poet to prepare 
a masque in which she and the prime beauties of the land might bear a part. This gave rise to 
the Masque of Blackness, in which the king is scarcely noticed, and which those who accuse the 
writer of "taxing his genius for a double portion of flattery to soothe his offended sovereign" 
will do well to read before they proceed to belie his character a second time. 

"Jonson employed a year or two in composing a play." ^ This judicious remark, which 
Mr. Malone has introduced among the strOcing proofs of our author's "malevolence" to 
Shakspeare, is yet capable of some qualification. AVe have seen that this had been rather a 
busy 5'car with Jonson ; yet he found time to produce the comedy of the Fox, one of the 
dramas of which the nation maybe justly proud. It was written, he saj's, " in five weeks," 
and we cannot doubt the truth of his assertion, which was openly made on the stage. No 
human powers, however, could have completed such a work in such a time, unless the author's 
mind had been previously stored with all the treasure of ancient and modern learning, on 
which he might draw at pleasiire.^ The triumph of Mr. Malone and others, therefore, over 
his slowness is somewhat like that of Mr. Thomas Thumb over the giants : " he made them 
first of all, and then he killed them." Before Jonson was three and twenty, he had mastered 
the Greek and Roman classics, and was, at the period of which we are now speaking, among 
the first scholars of the age. Did Mr. Malone think that his " studies lay in Green's Works " ? 
He had written several of his Blasques and Entertainments, and almost the whole of his 
Epigrams ; he had translated Horace, and, as it would seem, Aristotle's Poetics, and prepared 
a voluminous body of notes to illustrate them ; he had made prodigious collections in theology, 
history, and poetry, from the best writers, and, perhaps, drawn up his grammar ; yet the 
charge is still repeated, as if it were entitled to full credit. To be just, however, it was first 
brought forward by the poet's contemporaries,* and almost as soon as he began to write. It 

1 [If Giffbid had lived to reprint the present essay, he would have noticed here a second imprisonment, wliich, soon 
after his release, Jonson underwent with Chapman, in consequence, it would seem, of supposed reflections cast upon 
some individual in a play of which they were the joint authors. The letter from Jonson to the Earl of Salisbury, which 
mentions these particulars, will be found at the end of a note on a later part of this memoir, having been put into Gif- 
fsrd's hands by ]Mr. D'Israeli, " since that note had gone to press." — A. Dyce.] 

2 Shalt., vol. 1. p. 542. 

3 Jonson was in the laudable habit of making large extracts from the striking passages, and writing notes and obser- 
vations of a critical nature on all the books which he read. His commonplace book, therefore, was a repository of 
every thing valuable. Lord Falkland seems to have been astonished at the extent and variety of his collections. He 
Bays, — 

" His learning such, no autlior, old or new. 
Escaped his reading that deserved his view; 
And such his judgment, so exact his taste. 
Of what was best in books, or what books best. 
That had he joined those notes his labors took 
From each most-praised and praise-deserving book, 
And could the world of that choice treasure boast, 
It need not care though all the rest were lost." 

« " Mr. Ben Jonson and Mr. Wm. Shakspeare being merrie at a tavern, Mr. Jonson begins this for his epitaph : — 
Here lies Ben Jonson 

Who was once one 

ho gives it to Mr. Shakspeare to make up, who presently writte, — 



30 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

gave him, however, no concern ; indeed, he rather falls in -with it.' When the heroes of tlie 
Poetaster, which was written in fifteen weeks, maintained that he scarcely brought forth a play a 

year, he replied, — 

" 'tis true ; 

I would tlicy could not say tliat I did tliiit : 
There's all the joy that I take in their trade ! " — 

The Fox was received, as it well deserved to be, with general applause. The author's en- 
emies, however, were not inactive ; they could not venture to question his talents ; they there- 
fore turned, as usual, their attacks against his character, and asserted that, under the person 
of Volpone, he had satirized Sutton, the founder of the Charter House, his friend and ben- 
efactor.- It is not a little amusing to see the calumniators of our poet in that age driven to the 
same absurdities as those of the present day. Two characters more opposite in every respect 
than those of Sutton and Yolpone are not to be found in the history of mankind. Sutton 
inherited a large estate. He was one of the greatest traders of his time ; he had agents in 
every country, and ships on every sea ; he had contracts, mines, miUs, ploughs ; he was a 
naval commissioner, and master of the ordnance in the north ; in a word, one of the most 
active cliaracters of an active period. Now mark the description of Volpone, as given by him 
self in the opening of the play : — 

" I glory 

More in the cunning purchase of my wealth 

Than in the glad possession, since I gain 

No common way. I itsc no trade, no verdure, 



That, while he liv'd, was a slow thing, 
And now, being dead, is no-thing.'' 

This stuff is copied from the Ashmole papers, MS. 38. It is only an additional instance of what has been alre.-i^y 
observed, that the fabricators of these tilings invariably make Shakspeare the most severe. 

It is said by Mr. Malone that the slowness of Jonson is admitted by his friends ; but they do not mean by this word 
what he docs. Mr. Malone applies it to a dulness of imagination, a want of power to bring forth without long and 
difficult labor; they use it of the patient revision of his productions. They speak of him as a prolific and rapid writer, 
whose respect for the public made him nicely weigh every word, — 

" and suffer nought to pass 

But what could be no better than it was." 
Or, as another has it, — 

" Venture no syllable unto the ear, 
Until the file would not make smooth, but wear." 

He was, in truth, too fastidious ; and tliis couplet of Cartwright furnishes the key to that bareness and rigidity which 
we have so frequently to regret in some of his writings. 

1 " Jonson justly spurns," Mr. Cumberland says, "at the critics and detractors of his day, who thought to convici 
Lim of dulness by testifying, in fact, to his diligence. But when he subsequently boasted of his poetical despatch, he 
forgot that ho had. noted Shakspeare with something less than friendly censure fur the ver)' qualify he is vaunting him 
self upon." — Observer, No. Ixxv. What Mr. Cumberland h&A forgotten, it is hard to say ; but this vaunt of Jonson was 
first made in IGOl, while the allusion to Shakspeare occurs in the Discoveries, and is probably thirty years posterior to 
the passage which is here placed before it in point of time ! Besides, it is not of the rapidity of Shakspeare's com- 
position that Jonson speaks, but the carelessness. A man may write fast, and yet not wreck a vessel on the coast of 
Bohemia. The Fox was rapidly written ; but it is not, therefore, incorrect; and what Mr. Cumberland adds of it is as 
creditable to his taste as learning. " It must on all hands be considered as the masterpiece of a very capital artist ; a 
work that bears the stamp of elaborate design ; a strong, and frequently a sublime, vein of poetry, much sterling wit, 
comic humor, happy character, moral satire, and unrivalled erudition ; a work 

Q,uod nee imber edaz, aut.^quilo impotens 
Possit diruere," &c. 

2 " Sutton's biographer, (S Heme,) after noticing this report, says, ' It is probable the poet never intended what 
they think ; for in that age several other men were pointed at, and who was the true person was then a matter ot 
ioubt I ' — Dam. Carthiis., p. 42. It is no longer so. We are better judges of these matters than the contemporaries o( 
Sutton, and decide without difficulty." I regret to find Mr. D'Israeli among the poet's accusers ; for he is an anxious 
jiquirer afler truth, and brings, as far as I have been able to discover, an unprejudiced mind to his investigations. Ilia 
fault is too great a deference for names unworthy of his trust. This is an evil which every day will contribute to abate. 
Twice in one page, {Quarrels of Authors, vol. iii. 134,) he charges Jonson with bringing Sutton on the stage 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 31 

I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no beasts 
To feed thesliambles ; have no mills for iron, 
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder; 
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships 
To threatenings of the furrow-faced seas ; 
I turn no moneys," (Sec. &.c, 

Sutton was a meek and pious man ; Volpone is a daring infidel ; Sutton -was abstemious, but 
kind and charitable ; VoIiJone is painted as the most selfish and unfeeling of voluptuaries : — 

" prepare 



Me music, dances, banquets, all delights : 
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasure 
Tlian will Volpone be." 

Again : Volpone is a creature of ungovernable lust — a monster of seduction. Sutton was 
the husband of one wife, to whose memory he was so tenderly attached, that upon her death, 
which took place about two years before the date of this piece, he had retired from the world 
to a life of strictness and reserve. He was at this time nearly fourscore, and bowed down to 
the grave with sorrow for his loss, while Volpone, in the full vigor of manhood, exclaims, — 

" what should I do 
But cocker up my genius, and live free 
To all delights ? See, I am now as fresh. 
As liot, as high, and in as jovial plight, 
As when, in that so celebrated scene. 
For entertainment of the great Valois, 
I acted young Antinous ! " 

In a word, the contrast is so glaring, that if the commentators on Shakspeare had not 
afforded us a specimen of what ignorance grafted on malevolence can do, we shotdd be lost in 
wonder at the obliquity of intellect which could detect the slightest resemblance of Sutton in 
the features of Volpone. 

The Fox is dedicated, in a strain of unparalleled elegance and vigor, to the two Universities, 
before whom it had been represented with aU the applause which might be anticipated from 
such distinguished and competent judges of its worth.' The English stage had hitherto seen 
nothing so truly classical, so learned, so correct, and so chaste. 

About this time, our author, who had deeply studied the grounds of the controversy between 
the reformed and Catholic churches, and convinced himself, by the aid of those wiser guides who 
followed truth alone, of the delusions of Popery, made a solemn recantation of his errors, and 
was readmitted into the bosom of the church which he had abandoned twelve years before.'* 
Drummond tells us that " he drank out the fuU cup of wine, at his first communion, in token 
of his true reconciliation." Jonson's feelings were always strong; and the energy of his 
character was impressed upon every act of his life; but this story is foisted into his con- 
versations by his " friend," and has, perhaps, no better foundation than many others wantonly 
invented to discredit him. It may not, however, be irrelevant to observe, that more wine Avas 
drank at the altar in the poet's days, than in ours, and that the vestiges of this custom are 
not yet entirely obliterated in remote situations. 

Jonson had not been inactive between the first representation of the Fox and its publication. 
The queen's brother (Christian of Denmark) paid her a visit in the summer of 1606, and oiu" 
poet vas called upon to furnish some of the pageantries prepared for his amusement. 01 

1 There is an allusion to this circumstance in the verse of Jonson's friend, E. S. (Edward Scorey .') 

" now he (the Fox) hath run his train and shown 

His subtile body, where he best was known, 

In both Minerva's cities, he doth yield 

His well-formed limbs upon this open field," &c. 

'•i Among the works of uur author. Wood inserts one printed in 1693, 8vo., and called His Motives. If Jonson really 
wrote such a book, it might be supposed to relate to this circumstance ; but the probability is, that this industrious 
intiquary mistook the writer's name. Of the work itself I have no knowledge whatever. 



S2 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

these Ave have little remaining but a few epigrams in I^atin verse, -which "were dispiaycd rounJ 
the walls of the inner court " at Theobald's," ■^^■hcn the Earl of Salisbury received the royal 
brothers there on the 24th of July. In the subsequent summer (1G07) Theobald's was delivered 
up to the queen in exchange for Hatfield Chase. A magnificent entertainment ^-as prepared 
on the occasion, at which James and his queen, the two princes, the Duke of Lorraine, and all 
the principal nobility were present ; and the house was transferred to the new possessor in an 
elegant poetical apologue composed by Jonson, and distinguished by his usual felicity of 
appropriate character and language. Cecil had done himself honor by his early patronage of 
our author ; and he who was one of the most grateful and affectionate of mankind, embalmed 
the ashes of his benefactor in strains that yet live. 

Previously, to tins, hovrever, Jonson had ■^^Titten his beautiful Masque and Barriers for the 
maiTiage of the Earl of Essex, which was celebrated at AVhitehall with extraordinary mag- 
nificence, in the Christmas of 1606. The poet has entered with some comiDlaccncy into the 
richness and variety of this exhibition, which seems to have astonished the beholders.' He 
drops a word too in justification of the strict regard to the pure models of antiquity, after 
which he usually constructed his fables. — P. 552. 

Hitherto the " flattery to which Jonson betook himself immediately after his release," has 
not appeared so " gross " as his biographers choose to represent it. Unfortunately for them, 
his next Masque, which he calls the Queen's, is still less to their purpose. " Two years (he 
saj-s) being now passed that her majesty had intermitted those delights, it was her pleasure 
again to glorify the court, and command that I should think on some fit presentment," &c. 
This produced the "Masque of Beauty," (a counterpart to that of "Blackness,") which was 
performed at court during the Christmas of 160S. In this, as in the ipreceding one, the 
performers were the queen, the prince, and the prime nobility of both sexes. At present, Ave 



I We Iiave other evidence than the poet's fur this splendid display. Tlie kindness of Mr. D'Israeli lias furnished me 
with the following curious and interesting extract from a MS. letter of Dlr. Pory to Sir Robert Cotton. Sir Robert, like 
most of the great men, at tl)is time, when absent from court, had a correspondent (generally some secretary) there, wSio 
furnished them with regular accounts of the various occurrences of the day. Sir Robert was fortunate in his informant* 

" Inigo, Ben, and the actors, men and women, did their parts with great commendation. The conceit or soul 

»)f the Mask was Hymen bringing in a bride, and Juno Pronuba's priest, a bridegroom, proclaiming that those two 
should be sacrificed to Union ; and here tlie poet made an apostrophe to the Union of the Kingdoms. But before the 
Bacrifice could be performed, Ben Jonson turned the globe of tiie earth, standing behind the altar, (p. 553,) and within 
the concave sat the eight men-maskers, representing the Four Humors and the Four Affections, who leaped forth to 
disturb the sacrifice to Union. But amidst their fury. Reason, that sat above them all, crowned with burning tapers, 
came down and silenced them. These eight, with Reason, their mediator, sat somewhat like the ladies in the Scollop- 
shell of the last year, (p. 544.) About the Globe hovered a middle region of clouds, in the centre whereof stood a 
grand concert of musicians, and upon the cantons sat the ladies, four at one corner and four at another, who descended 
upon the stage — not in the downright, perpendicular fasliion, like a bucket in a well, but came gently sloping down, f 
These eight, after the sacrifice was ended, represented the Eight Nuptial Powers of Juno Pronuba, who came down to 
confirm theii- Union. The men were clad in crimson, and the women in white. They had every one a white plume 
of the richest hern's feathers, and were so rich in jewels upon their heads as was most glorious. I think they hired 
and borrowed all the principal jewels and ropes of pearls both in court and city. The Spanish ambassador seemed but 
poor to the meanest of them. J They danced all variety of dances, both severally and promiscui, and then the women 
took the men as named by the Prince (Henry) who danced with as great perfection, and as settled a majesty, as could br 
devised. The Spanish ambassador, the Archduke's ambassador, tlie Duke, &c., led out the Queen, the bride, and the 
greatest of the ladies." — Cott. Lib. Jalii. c. iii. It appears that Mr Pory was present at the performance of this Masqut 
on Twelfthnight, 1G05-C. 



* Pory is mentioned with great respect by Hackjuyt. He had travelled much, and seen a good deal of courts and pub- 
lic affairs. He was also an excellent scholar. As he was a member of parliament, he must have been a person of some 
property. 

•f Here'Milton found his — " smooth sliding without step:" in truth, he found much more in Jonson's Slasques tlian 
/»s editors appear to suspect, or are willing to acknowledge. 

J This was not wanted to prove the unaccountable folly of Kurd in maintaining that the Masque in the Tempest, which 
Capell, the mere idolater of Shakspeare, atiirms to bo " woak throughout, faulty in rimes, and faulty in mythology," &c., 
'JVotes 071 Temp. p. G8,) and which was danced and sung by the ordinary performers, to a couple of fiddles, perhaps, in the 
Uiucony of the stage, "put to shame all the Masques of Jonson not only in its construction, but in the splenlor of ita 
rIiow." 



MEMOIES OF BEN JO/fSON. 35 



are only told of the rudeness and barbarity of Whitehall ; and Hume is so strangely ignorant 
of th(f manners of those times, as to assert that " James affected a rustic contempt of th»> 
fair sex, and banished them from his court." * Of his contemi:)t I know nothing ; but that 
the ladies Avere not banished from his court is proved beyond all possibility of doubt by the 
records of their names in the pages of our author. Year after year, and many times in the 
course of the same year, (for these masques ■were often repeated,) the court of James was 
thronged with all that was distinguished for birth and beauty, for rank and Avorth, for grace and 
elegance, and every female accomplishment. 

The reputation of Jonson stood so high at this time, that few public solemnities Avere 
thought perfect Avithout his assistance. The king had expressed a Avish to dine with the 
Company of Merchant Tailors, who accordingly met to consult on the most honorable mode 
of receiving him. StoAv has preserved the miiiutes of the court, Avhich are not a little 
amusing : " AVhereas the Company are informed that the King's most excellent majestic Avith 
our gratious Queene, and the noble prince and diuers honourable lords and others, determyne 
to dyne on the day of the eleccion of M. and Wardens, therefore the meeting Avas appointed 
to advise and consult hoAV everie thinge may be performde for the reputacion and credit ot 
the company, to his Majesties best lyking and contentment. And sir John SAvynnerton" 
(afterwards lord mayor) "is intreated to confer Avith master Benjamin Jonson, the poet, about 
a speech to be made to Avelcome his Majestic, and about music and other invencions Avhich may 
give lyking and delight ; by reason that the company doubt that their schoolmaster and schol- 
leres be not acquainted with such kinde of entertaynments." This Avas done ; and StoAV tells 
us that the "Speeches" Avere delivered on the 16th of July, 1607, in a chamber called "The 
King's Chamber." 

It is Avell knoAvn that our author received periodical sums not only from pubKc bodies, but 
from several of the nobility and gentry. These, it has been said, Avere not bestoAved as free 
gifts, or as honorable testimonies of his superior talents, but extorted from reluctant hands 
by the dread of his satire.^ This is mora ccrugo. The ever active malice of his most deter- 
mined enemies has hitherto been unable to discover, either in his OAvn Avorks or in those of 
others, a single syllable to justify the infamous calumny. The truth is, that the monarchs of 
those times, though approached Avith more aAve, and served Avith more respect than at present, 
yet lived more among their people. A year seldom passed Avithout some royal progress, and 
corporate bodies Avere frequently encouraged to feast their sovereign. On all these occasions, 
the custom of the time, — 

" And pity 'tis, so good a time had wings 
To fly away," — 

culled for something more than a bare treat — some introductory comjjlimcnt that might, as it 
were, ennoble the entertainment, and gratify at once the judgment and the taste. As these 
visits were irregular, and without much previous notice, it became an object of no small 
importance Avith those Avho Avere to receive them, to have a person ahvays at command on 
whose abilities they could rely for an entertainment that should neither disgrace themselves 



1 Hist, of England, vol. vi. p. 283. 

2 This is boldly advanced by Mr. A. Chalmers, and in the most ofTonsivo terms. " Disappointed (he says) in the hopea 
of wealth and independence which his high opinion of himself led him to form, Jonson degenerated even to the resources 
of a libeller, who extorts from fear what is denied to genius." To require from this calumniator of tiie poet's memory r 
proof of his assertion would be to no purpose — For he has none. He who produced in the page immediately preceding 
this a wicked interpolation by Shiels, and fathered it, in direct terms, on Diummond, cannot be complimented with the 
supposition of recurring to original documents. But tlie whole of the charge is false. Jonson was not disappointed in his 
hopes of riches. He gave himself no concern about them. Even his " friend " Drummond admits that he was " careless 
to gain." Wealth, in short, ho heeded not, titles he rejected, and the only ambition which he ever felt was tliat of 
which Mr Clialmers seeks to deprive him — an honest fame. 

As to independence, Jonson relied on his talents for it. His story, indeed, furnishes another melancholy proof of the 
instability of all human things. At the age of fifty-one, he probably felt neither doubts nor fears of his sufficiency ; yet at 
this period, lie was struck with the malady that finally carried him off. In tlie twelve sad years that followed, during 
which he did little more than move from his bed to his grave, he felt the evils of dependence ; and let it not be charged 
on him as a crime that he sought to alleviate them — not by " libels," but by humble supplications for relief. Of these 
Roveral are found ; of the others, not one word was ever in existence. 
3 



34 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



nor their s'uests. Hence sprung the several pensions said to have been paid to Jonson, and 
which should rather be considered in the light of retaining fees than gratuitous donation?, and 
still less, forced tributes to malevolence. Great and generous spirits like Sutton might, indeed, 
think their wealth not misemployed in supplying the deficiencies of fortune ; but that most of 
what he received loas hire and salarij, scarcely admits of a reasonable doubt. 

Be this as it may, he Avas now called upon for a Masque to celebrate the marriage of TiOrd 
Haddington. This, which was probably the most costly and magnificent ever exhibited in 
this or any other country, was first performed at Whitehall on Shrove Tuesday, 1608. The 
Scotch and English nobility vied with each other in splendor o£ apparel, and the king and queen 
bore a part in it. 

Jonson was now busily employed on the Silent Woman, and the Masque of Queens, both of 
which appeared in 1609 — the former written, it seems, to ridicule Antony and CleojJatra, and the 
latter to rival Macbeth, " of Ihe success of whose witches he was jealous, as he fancied himself 
to be Shakspeare's superior ! " ' It will be time enough to exonerate Jonson from this charge 
when the commentators shall have ascertained the date of Macbeth, which is very far from 
being the case at present ; meanwhile, we may venture to observe that the production of two 
such pieces in one year, is no less creditable to his industry than to his talents and learning. 
The ilasque was published, with an ample commentary, at the request of Prince Henry, who 
was curious to learn the authorities from which the author had derived his incantations, &c. 
The critics of our daj's have been pleased to sneer at Jonson for the attire of his witches. 
They are always unlucky. " The device of their attire (Jonson says) was master Inigo Jones's," 
whom, still more to confound them, he proceeds to comiDliment in the warmest terms that the 
sincerity of friendship could select. — P. 574. 

The year 1610, not less prolific than the preceding one, produced the beautiful Masque of 
Oberon, and the Barriers, written to celebrate the creation of Henry, Prince of Wales, Avhich 
took place on the 4th of June. The Alchemist, the noblest effort of Jonson's genius, appeared 
about the same time. This comedy he dedicated to Lady Wrbth, the niece of Sir Philixo Sid- 
ney, with whose family he maintained a constant intercourse of friendship ; and, as if he meant 
to show his detractors that his obligations to the ancients were those of choice, not of neces- 
sity, he constructed the whole of this Avonderful drama on the vices and follies of the age, and 
trusted to the extent and variety of his reading for such apt allusions and illustrations as appear 
o spring spontaneously from the subject.^ 

Catiline, which followed the Alchonist, was brought out in 1611. "It was deservedly 
damned," Mr. !Malone saj-s ; but Mr. Malone's aye and no, too, are no good divinity, when applied 
to Jonson. Without questioning the accuracy of the terra deservedly, it will be sufficient to state 
that it was not " damned" at all. It met, indeed, with opposition (like most of his plays) from 
the i^ersevering enmitj- which pursued him through life ; but Catiline continued on the stage 
till driven from it, with every other drama, by the prevailing power of Puritanism. The author 



1 To omit Ilie rest at present, Mr. Davies begins one of his chfiptcrs thus, (c. xxxiii. :) " Ben Jonson's ridicule on Antony 
and Cleopatra. — Ben Jonson in Ills S'dail IVonian has treated this tragedy as a play full of nothing but fights at sea!" 
This good man is a humble follower of Mr. Malone. The sea fights in .Antony and Cleopatra are confined to a stage direc- 
tion. " Alarum afar off, as at a sea figlit," i. c. a cracker was let off, so as to make a. faint noise, jasi to signify that there 
was dijight at a distance; and therefore, when Morose, after enumerating a variety of the most horrid dins, adds, that lie 
would even sit out a play that was nothing but fghts at sea, ho must mean to "ridicule Shakspeare, (bjr one that lias none! 
At that verj' time, too. be it observed, there were scores of plays on the stage in wliicli sucli fights were really exhibited : 
Hcywood has more than one comedy vrith sea fights in almost every act ; and in Dcclccr's Whore of Babylon there is a sea 
fight that occupies the whole of a long scene ; yet Jonson, who knew all tliis far belter than ourselves, and wI:o had been 
stunned a hundred times with rude representations of the Spanish Armada on every stage, could not speak of a sea fight 
without being accused of directing the whole of his ridicule against a stage direction in Sliakspeaie ! It is hard to say 
whether the propagators of these despicable caluuinies, or the believers in them, are best entitled to our scorn. 

2 " Were tiic ancients, (Mr. Ileadley says,) to reclaim their property, Jonson would not have a rag to cover his 
nakedness." With deference to this wise young judge, I am inclined to think that enough would remain to him of the 
Mchemist alone to obviate the danger of any indecent exposure. It is not a little singular that all tlie enemies of Jonson, 
from Dryden downwards, when they have to particularize his obligations to the ancients, refer to liis two tragedies, na 
if he had written nothing besides, or as if they would have had him form a Catiline and Sejan'ts out of his own Jni- 
^igination ! 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JOXSON. 36 

inscribed it to liis great patron, the Earl of Pembroke, as being, in his opinion, the best of the 
tragedies Avhich he had hitherto produced. He calls it " a legitimate poem," and, yre may 
venture, notwithstanding the decision of Hurd,' (who appears not to have read it,) to confirm 
his judgment. But " wc know," says Davies, "from the author's own testimony, that tht 
play was condemned." Assuredly, we Icnoto no such thing. Jonson evidently took a strange 
kind of pleasure in exaggerating the opposition Avhich ho experienced from his persecutors ; 
^nd we are therefore in danger of misleading ourselves, if we adopt his expressions in all their 
force. It is not necessary to praise his conduct in this instance, which, to say the least of it, 
savors of a haughty and inflexible spirit ; though it may not be improper to advert to it occa- 
sionally. 

Besides publishing his play, Jonson found leisure this year to amuse himself with arranging 
that immense farrago of burlesque " testimonies to the author's merit," which accompanied 
the first appearance of Coryat's Crudities. In this he seems to have engaged at the desire of 
Prince Henry, who found entertainment in laughing at the simple vanity of " the Odcombian 
Traveller." Tom, it is probable, laughed more than any of them. His taste in matters of 
praise was not very delicate ; and he had cunning enough to discern that, at the expense of 
some extravagant ridicule, which could not much aff"ect him in his absence, he was amusing 
his princely patron, spreading the knowledge of his book, and filling his pockets for another 
course of adventures. Jonson wrote the distichs, and the introductory character of Thomas 
the Conjate, in the person of " a charitable friend," to which he added some lines on the author's 
name. He procured verses from all his friends, and, among the rest, from Inigo Jones, whom 
he seems to have regarded with iieculiar kindness, and to have recommended to notice "\\ith a 
degree of affection which deserved a better return from the growing fortunes of the architect 
than he was doomed to experience. 

In the succeeding year, our author was probablj' engaged on some of those exquisite masques 
which appear in the folio of 1616, and to which no dates are prefixed. The death of Prince 
Henry threw a gloom over the nation, and saddened, for a short period, the gayety of the court. 
Jonson seems to have taken advantage of the temporary cessation of festivity (for he bore no 
part in the celebration of the marriage of the princess) to make a second trip to the Continent.* 
How long he resided abroad, or what countries he visited, is nowhere told ; we only know, 
from an incidental remark in his conversations Avith Drummond, that he was at Paris in 1613. 
As he was connected with the court, and in habits of intercourse with all the literary characters 
of his time, he must have been amply provided with recommendations to the most distin- 
guished personages abroad. He Vi-as introduced to the Cardinal du Perron, who, in compliment 
to his learning, showed him his translation of Yirgil, which Jonson did not approve. " He 
treated the cardinal Avith all that bluntness which was so much his nature." Drummond 
merely saj^s that he told him " it was naught ;" but this might be done without any bluntness 
of language, were it not a point agreed upon by his biographers, that he must be always 
" brutal and ferocious." His integrity, however, merits praise. Du Perron was a confirmed 
bigot, and, at this period, actively engaged in undermining the liberties of the Galilean church ; 
he had, therefore, little leisure for poetry, and that little was -misemployed. 

In 1614r, Jonson produced his Barlholomeio Fair, a popitlar piece, but chiefly remarkable for 
the obloquy to which it has given birth. " About this tinic," Mr. A. Chalmers says, " he com- 
moneed a quarrel with Inigo Jones, and made him ti>e subject of his ridicule." It is not so 
much the business of Mr. Chalmers to inquire as to write ; but, indeed, ho only repeats what 
has been said by Ste^'ens andgfthers : — 

9 I^F^ * "'^ "''* ^'^^ 

, •. Et plnrcs uno eonclamajit ore sophista;. 

With the exception of Ferabos«c^ Jonson has spoken with more kindness of Inigo Jones than 
of any of his coadjutors, as the reader may see, by turning to his masques. He notices him 
for the fifth or sixth time, ydth. unusual warmth, in the Masque of Queens, and we have just seen 

1 " Catiline, (lie says,) is a specimen of all the errors of tragedy." Mr. A. Chalmers, who quotes tlie passage, jpfiifi 
tits suffrage tCi that of the bishop, and speaks of it with very edifying contempt. 
? [See addition to note, p. 10. A. Dyce.] 



36 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

them playing the fool together in Coryat's Crudities. In the ^Yinter of 1G12, Jones left thif. 
country for Italy, where he resided several years. What quarrel, therefore, could Jonson 
possibly commence with him in 161'! ? In what year Inigo returned from Ms travels is not said, 
but, according to his biographer, (who was also his relation,) it must have been long after the 
appearance of BartJiolomew Fair.^ In the notes to that comedy, (written before I had read the 
life of the architect,) I was induced, from internal evidence, to express my doubts ua to the 
identity of Lanthorn Leatherhead and Inigo Jones; at present, I disbelieve it altogether.'^- 
That some traits of jDersonality are to be found in the character of Leatherhead I do not mean 
to deny ; but from a few obscure hints scattered up and down our author's works, I am almost 
inclined to think that they point at the master of the revels (whoever he was) or his deputy 
Mr. A. Chalmers, however, is so confident of his man, that he rakes into the scurrihty of 
Walpole for fit language to express his sense of the poet's delinquency. " Whoever (says Lord 
Orford) was the aggressor, the turbulent temper of Jonson took care to be most in the wrong. 
In his verses he fully exerted all that brutal abuse which his contemporaries were willing to 
think wit, and which only serves to show the arrogance of the man who presumed to satii'ize 
Jones and rival Shakspeare." It must be confessed that Shakspeare makes his appearance 
here somewhat unexpectedly — much, however, to the satisfaction of the biographer, who 
subjoins, "If Jonson was the rival of Shatspeai-e, he deserves all this (abuse;) but with no 
other claims than his Catiline and Sejamcs, how could he for a moment fancy himself the rival 
of Shakspeare ? " How indeed ! But when Mr. Chalmers shall find leisure to read what he 
prints, he will discover, first, that Jonson had other " claims ; " and, secondly, that he did not 
fancy,himseK the "rival of Shakspeare." 

As no date is affixed to his minor pieces, we know not how he was employed after the pro- 
duction of Bartholomeio Fair,^ till 1616, when he brought out his excellent comedy of the 
Devil's an Ass. A -considerable time must be allotted for the preparation of the folio volume 
which was pubhshed this year, and contained, besides comedies and tragedies, the first book of • 
his Epigrams, several Masques and Entertainments, and a collection of poems called the Forest. 
He seems to have meditated a complete edition of all his works ; but he apparently grew 
weary towards the conclusion of the volume, and never (unless peculiarly called upon) had 
recourse to the press afterwards. The second folio is a wretched continuation of the first, 
printed from MSS. surreptitiously obtained during his life, or ignorantly hiirried through the 
press after his death. It boars a variety of dates from 1631 to 1641 inclusive. It is probable 
that he looked forward to a period of retirement and ease, when he might be enabled to collect, 
revise, and publish his W'Orks at leisure ; but the loss of all his MSS. by fire, and the fatal 
iUness which almost immediately afterwards seized him, rendered all such views abortive. It 
is remarkable that he calls his EiDigrams " Book the First ; " he had, therefore, others in his 
hand, but they have perished. 

1 " After tlie death of Prince Henry, in 1C12, our arcliitect made a second tour to Italy, and continued there some years, 
improving himself in his favorite art, till he was recalled by the death of the surveyor general." — Life of Jones. 

2 The loose reports of the time weigh nothing with me ; and those who have noticed the remarks on the imaginary 
resemblance of Sutton and Volpone will, I flatter myself, be inclined to think as lightly of them as myself. 

3 It may be safely assumed, however, that he was engaged either in seeking or imparting useful knowledge. While 
Ills enemies dream of nothing but his " envy " of some dramatic writer, I find his name, whenever it occars in the wril- 
iug3 :)f his contemporaries, incessantly connected with subjects of general literature. He appears, about this time, (1C15,) 
to have carried on some correspondence with .Selden, respecting the precise import of that passage in -Deuteronomy, 
"The woman shall not wear that which pertaineth unto a man, neither shall a man put on a woman's garment, for all 
tliat do so are an abomination to the Lord ; " c. xxii. 5. In conclusion, he desires his friend toput together what ho had 
collected on the subject, and send it to him. Selden's answer is dated on the last d^of FeOTuary. It contains nearly 
eight folio pages full of the most curious and recondite reading — being desirous, he says, " to show how ambitious ho 
was not only of Jonson's love, but also of hi% judgment." •* * 

Nothing is more remarkable than the respect which this prodigy of learning constantly shows for the attainments of bis 
friend, " With regard (Selden says) to what the Greeks and Latins have of Adargatis, Derceto, Atargatay Derce, (all 
one name,) &c., you best know, being most conversant in the recondite parts of human learning," &c. ; and he concludes, 
after a variety of extracts from the Hebrew, Syriac, Greek, &c. : " In the conneition of these no vulgar observations, if 
they had been to a common learned, reader, there had been often room for divers pieces of theology dispersed in Latin and 
Greek authors, and fathers of the church ; but your own most choice and able store cannot but furnish you with whatevej 
is fit that way to be thought. Whatever I have here collected I consecrate to your love., and end with hopo of your in' 
itrucling judgment." — Vol. iv. fol. p. 1C91. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOIST. 37 

Sliakspeare died this year; what the -world lost by that event need not be toll. Jonson (the 
eommcntators assure us) was freed by it from a man Avhom he <' hated and feared throut'h 
life." He had not, however, much leisure to enjoy his good fortune ; for " such was the envious- 
ness of his disposition, that he immediately became jealous of Chapman, who noio began to groxo 
into reputation, and being, by the death of Shakspeare, left without a rival, strove to continixe 
60, and endeavored to suppress, as much as possible, the rising fame of his friend ! " This 
medley of malice and stupidity is taken from the Bio. Dram. At the period of Shakspeare's 
death. Chapman had nearly reached his grand climacteric, and, with the exception of one or 
two pieces, had written the xvhole of his dramatic works ; yet this is the reverend youth Avho 
" now began to grow into fame," and to excite the jealousy of Jonson ! The reader supposes, 
perhaps, that I have discovered these facts in some "rare MS. ixnes me ;" to the disgrace of 
literature,' they are to be found on the very page which furnished the abuse of Jonson ! But 
we have not yet done with this momentous period. Shakspeare, as we know from the authority 
of Mr. Malone, (enforced in a hundred places,) was persecuted by Jonson during his life with 
unceasing malevolence. While I was engaged on these pages, a letter of that gentleman to 
the Rev. Mr. Whalley was put into my hands by IMr. Waldron, of which the following is 
a copy : — 

" Sir : Having been out of town for some days, I did not receive your favor till last nioht. I 
shall with great pleasure add my mite of contribution to your new edition of Ben Jonson, 
though I have very little hopes of being able to throw any light on what has eluded your 
researches. At the same time I must honestly own to you, that I have never read old Ben's 
plays with any degree of attention, and that he is an author so little to my taste, that I have no 
pleasure in perusing him. However, as I have just said, you may command, sir, my best ser- 
vices, whenever the volumes are put into my hands. They are at present, I believe, in the pos- 
session of j\Ir. Reed. I agree with you entirely that no ridicule was intended against Shak- 
speare in the Poetaster for the use of the word clutch; or in the Case is Altered, for the tchite of an 
egg ; nor against his hot and moist in Othello. Before I was honored with your letter, I had 
observed, in a little work O'f mine that is now in the press, (A Second Appendix to my Supple- 
ment to Shakspeare,) that the dates of the respective pieces refute the idea of his sneering at 
Shakspeare in these places. And, indeed, I believe that, even in those plays of his or Fletcher's 
where a direct parody appears, no ridicule may possibly have been intended. But, notwith- 
btanding this, I think I have brought together decisive proofs of Jonson's malignity and jeal- 
ousy of- Shakspeare. The Return from Parnassus shows they were at variance so early as 
1602, three years oixly after Shakspeare had patronized him by bringing Every Man in his 
Humor on the stage. In the prologue to that piece, his Winter Tale is, I think, evidently rid- 
icided. This had always puzzled me, and I conjectured that this prologue was not spoken 
originally, but added at a subsequent period. On looking into the 4to. edit, which has lately 
fallen into my hands, I find my conjecture confirmed. This, certainly, as well as the torrent of 
ridicule thrown out in B. Fair, in 1614, adds great strength to your supposition that old Ben's 
Jealousy did not display itself with full force till Shakspeare retired from the stage." 

Queen Anne Street East, Dec. 28, 1782. 

The case of our author is thus rendered worse than ever ! It now appears that, so far from 
being relieved by the retirement of Shakspeare, his jealousy did not break out in fuU force till 
that event took place ; and, as he was besides tormented by the " rising fame of a new com- 
petitor," his situation can scarcely be contemplated without dismay. The reader, who has seen 
that he was of a disposition to stem the torrent of ill fortune, will be natm-ally anxious to 
learn by what extraordinary exertions of dramatic power he was enabled to overcome at once 
his " jealousy " of Shakspeare, and his " fear " of Chapman. Comedy after comedj^ he will 
imagine, was now brought forward with a rapidity unknown before, teeming, in every act, Avith 
the most pointed ridicule — the most envenomed malignity. I anticipate his surprise, tliere- 

1 I have said nothing of the biographers : to suppose, indeed, that Mr. Stephen Jones should notice an error, t/ioagh as 
wide as a church door, would be to equal liiin in folly. Better optics than his, (see the Thcatrum Poetarum, p. 252,) when 
.lonson is concerned, " don't (as Bustapha well observes) know a lie when they see it." 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



fore, when lie hears from mo 'the simple fact, that for the long period of Ion years from the 
"death" of Shakspeare, and the "rise" of Chapman, Jonson did not white oxe line for 
THE STAGE ! Eut tliis sur^jrise will be converted into scorn and indignation against his base 
calumniators when he further hears, that, during the same period in which he is accused of such 
active malevolence against both, the only memorials of it to be found are, first, the i^leasing 
lines irnder the print of Shakspeare, and the generous burst of affection on his death ; and, 
secondly, a viva voce declaration to Drixmmond, that "he loved Chapman," and a most kind and 
complimentary address to him on the completion of his Translation of Hesiod ! ^ A date is the 
sj^ear of Ithuriel to the enemies of Jonson. Touch their " facts " with it, and they start up in 
loathsome and revolting deformity. 

The kindness of James for our poet, which seems to have i^rogressively increased, was this 
year manifested by a very substantial act of beneficence. In consideration of his services, he 
conferred on him, by letters patent, a pension for life of a hundred marks. In courtesy, this 
has been termed creating him poet laureat ; and, perhaps, it was so.^ Hitherto, the laureat- 
ship appears to have been a mere title, adopted at pleasure by those who were emploj'cd to 
write for the court, but conveying no privileges, and establishing no claim to a salary.^ Occa- 

1 As there is not a word of our author respecting Cliapmati tliat does not breathe love and esteem for him, the rcadei 
may be pleased to see the return to it. " An Invective against Ben Jonson by Mr. George Cliapman : " — 
" Greate-learncd wittie Ben, be pleasde to light 
The world with that three-forked fire; nor friglit 
All us, the sublearn'd with luciferus boast 
1'hat thou art most great, learnd — of all the earth 
As being a thing betwixt a humane birth 
And an infernall ; no humanytie 
Of the divine soul showing man in thee," &c. 

AslimoU MSS. 

Chapman (whom I am unwilling to believe guilty of this malicious trash) died, I fear, poor and neglected In anotliec 
poem among the Ashmole papers, inscribed " The Genius of the Stage deploring the death of Ben Jonson ;" after no- 
ticing the general sorrow, the writer says, — 

" Why do Apollo's sons 

Meet in such throngs, and whisper as they go.' 
There are no more by sad affliction hurled, 
And friends' neglect, from this inconstant world ! 
Chapman alone went so ; he tliat's now gone 
Commands his tomb ; he, scarce a grave or stone." 

SI The attachment of James to our author is thus noticed by Lord Falkland, in an allusion to the circumstance befiro 
lis. Dorus, he says, would tell 

" How learned James, 
Who favored quiet, and the arts of peace, 
Which, in bis halcyon days found largo increase, 
Friend to the humblest, if deserving swain, 
Who was himself a part of Phcebus' train, 
Declared great Jonson worthiest to receive 
The garland which the Muses' hands did weave ; 
And though bis bounty did sustain his days, 
Gave a more welcome pension in bis praise." 

•' Of all literary tastes (says Mr. Dibdin) James had the most strange and sterile." He probably thought that there wa;j 
something more valuable in liUrature than an uncut catalogue on large paper, and thus far, perhaps, differed from the 
cnlic : in other respects, James cannot be said to evince much singularity of taste ; but it is with this poor prince, as with 
Falstatr, " men of all sorts take a pride to gird at him." There seems no necessity for tliis. If James was not a wise 
man, he was veiy far, indeed, from being a fool ; which is more, perhaps, than can be said of some of his persecutors. 
"James," says Mr. D'Israeli, who had just risen from an examination of his works, " was no more a pedant than the 
ablest of bis contemporaries ; nor abhorred the taste of tobacco, nor feared witches, more tlian they did ; he v/as a great 
wit, a most acute disputant," &c. — Culam. of Authors, vol. ii. 215. All this is simple truth ; and it is mere dotage to re- 
echo, at this day, the senseless and savage yell of the nonconformists of James's time. They thirsted for blood, and 
their rage was kindled against him because bis good fortune or bis good sense kept him from rushing into a continenta 
war, for which he hud neither men nor money ; and which, therefore, by involving liira in difficulties, would, as the> 
well knew, leave him at their mercy, and tlms accelerate that overthrow of the church and state for which they so 
eagerly panted. 

8 Jonson, who was never satisfied vi'ithout procuring all possible information upon eveiy subject in v.hioh he was 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JON SON. 3U 

sional gratuities -were undoubtedly bestowed on occasional services ; but an annual and deter- 
minate sum seems to have been issued, for the first time, in favor of Jonson. The nominal 
laureat or court poet, when our author first came into notice, Avas Daniel, who was long the 
favorite of EUzabeth and her ladies, and who did not witness the growing popularity of the 
youthful bard, or hear of hlT being called upon for those entertainments which he probably c©u- 
sidcred as within his own province, with very commendable fortitude. It is a subject of sin- 
cere regret that many of the latter days of this amiable poet and virtuous man should bt; 
overcast with unavailing gloom on this account, and that he should indulge any feeling of 
vesentment against one who took no undue course to secure the favor from -which he had 
apparcntl)' fallen. On the regular appointment of Jonson, Daniel -withdrew himself entirely 
from court. He died aboiit three years afterwards, beloved, honored, and lamented.' 

We now approach the most unfortunate period of our author's life. In consequence of a 
warm invitation to Scotland, where he had many friends, especially among the connections of 
the Duke of Lenox, he determined, in the summer of this year, (1618,) to pay a visit to that 
country. His journey was made on foot, and he appears to have spent several months with 
the nobility and gentry in the neighborhood of Edinburgh. "At Leith (says Taylor, the 
-water poet) I found my long-approved and assured good friend, Master Benjamin Jonson, at 
one Master John Stuart's house. I thank him for his great kindness ; for, at my taking leave 
of him, he gave me a piece of gold of two and twenty shillings value to drink his health in 
England ; ^ and -\vithal willed me to remember his kind commendations to all his friends. So, 



interested, appears, on this occasion, to Iiave applied to Seldcn for assistance in liis researclies ; and Sclden, who alwaya 
found a singular pleasure in gratifying liiin, drew up expressly, and introduced into the second part of his learned work, 
Titles of Honor, a long cliaptcr (tlie forty-third) " on the custom of giving crowns of laurel to poets." At the conclusion 
of which, he says, " Thus have I, by no unseasonable digression, performed a promise to you, my beloved Ben Jonson. 
Your curio-as learning and judgment may correct where I liave erred, and add ^^■here my notes and memoiy have left mt 

short. 5fou are 

omnia carmina doclus, 

Et calles mijthon plasmata ct liistoriam. 

And so you both fully know what concerns it, and your singular excellency in the art most eminently deserves it." 

1 Tliat Jonson's conduct towards Daniel had always been perfectly honorable, may be collected from many quarters. 
The celebrated John Florio (author of tlio Diet. Ital.) was brother-in-law to Daniel, and apparently much attached to hia 
interests ; yet he always lived on terms of great friendship with our author. In his majesty's library is a very beautiful 
copy of The Fox, which once belonged to Florio, with the following autograph of tlie poet : " To his loving ftither and 
worthy friend, master John Florio, Ben Jonson seals this testimony of his friendship and love." 

Sir Tobie Matliews has preserved a letter of Jonson's — it is an answer to Donne, who had besought him (doubtless 
on prudential motives) to abstain from justifying himself against some false charge. No name is given ; but I am inclined 
to think tliat the person alluded to in the letter was Lucy, Countess of Bedford. She had certainly been, at one time, ill 
disposed towards our autiior; and, as it would appear, by the unhappy jealousy of Daniel, whom, as well as Donne, she 
warmly patronized. In the Epistle to the Countess of Rutland, (p. 684,) there is an allusion to something of this kind ; 
6ut whatever be the cause, the letter is honorable to the poet's feelings. 

If this lady was meant, she was not long in discovering that Jonson had been calumniated. A steady friendship grew 
between them; she showed him many marks of fiivor, and he wrote some beautiful verses in her praise. 

Sin: You cannot but believe how dear and reverend your friendship is to me, (though all testimony on my part hath 
been too short to express me,) and therefore would I meet it with all obedience. 5Iy mind is not yet so deafened by inju- 
ries but it hath an ear for counsel. Yet in this point that you presently dissuade, I wonder how I am misunderstood ; 
or that you should call that an imaginary right, which is the proper justice that every clear man owes to his innocency. 
Exasperations I intend none, for truth cannot be sharp but to ill natures, or such weak ones whom the ill spirits euspic- 
ion, or4;redulity still possess. Jly lady may believe whisperings, receive tales, suspect and condemn my honesty, and I 
may not answer, on the pain of losing her — as if she, who had this prejudice of me, were not already lost I O, no; sht 
will do me no hurt ; she will think and speak well of my faculties. fc!he cannot there judge me ; or if she could, I woula 
exchange all glory (if I had all men's abilities) which could come that way, for honest simplicity. But there is a greatci 
penalty threatened — the loss of you, my true friend ; for others I reckon not, who were never had. You have so^sub. 
scribed yourself. Alas ! how easy is a man accused that is forsaken of defence I \VeH, my modesty shall sit down, and 
(let the world call it guilt or what it will) I will yet thank you that counsel me to a silence in these oppressures, when 
confidence in my right and friends may abandon me. And lest j'ourself may undergo some hazard for my questioned 
reputation, and draw jealousies, or hatred upon you, I desire to be left to mine own innocence, which shall acquit ma ol 
heaven shall be guilty. Your ever true lover, 

Ben Jonson. 

• This was a considerable present; but Jonson's hand and heart were ever open to his acquaintance. All his pleasures 



40 MEMOmS OF BEN JONSON. 

with a friendly farewell, I left him as well as I hope never to see him in a worse estate; foi 
he is among noblemen and gentlemen that know his true worth and their own honors, where 
with much respective (respectful) love he is entertained." This was about the 20th of Sep- 
tember. Jonson probably paid many other visits ; but he reserved the last of them for Tilr. 
WiUiam Drummond, the poet of Hawthorndcn, with whom he passed the greater part of the 
month of April, 1619.' 

It is not known at what period, or in what manner, Jonson's acquaintance with Drummond 
began ; but the ardor with which he cherished his friendship is almost unexampled : he seems, 
upon every occasion, to labor for language to express his grateful sense of ii ; and very de- 
praved must have been the mind that could witness such effusions of tenderiiess with a 
determination to watch the softest moment, and betray the confidence of his guest. For this 
perfidious purpose no one ever afforded greater facilities than Jonson. He ztwe his heart upon 
his sleeve for dates to peck at. A bird of prey, therefore, like Drummond,. had a noble quari-y 
before him, and he could strike at it without stooping. 

It is much to be lamented that our author did not fall into kindly hands. His learning, his 
judgment, Ms love of anecdote, his extensive acquaintance with the poets, statesmen, and 
eminent characters of the age, of whom he tallied without reserve, would have rendered his 
conversations, had they been recorded with such a decent respect for the characters of the 
living as courtesy demanded, the most valuable body of contemporary criticism that had evej 
appeared. Such was not Drummond's object. He only sought to injure the man wdiom he 
had decoyed under his roof ; and he therefore gave his remarks in rude and naked deformity. 
Even thus, however, without one qualifying word, without one introductory or e.xplanatory 
line, there is little in them that can be disputed ; while the vigor, perspicuity, and integrity of 
judgment which they uniformly display are coitainly worthy of commendation. As these 
" Conversations" form the text from which our author's enemies draw their topics of abuse, 
and as they have hitherto been unfairly quoted,* I subjoin a faithful copy of the criticisms from 
the old folio. What relates to our author's personal history has been already given. 

" HEADS OP A CONVEUSATION, &C. 

" Ben Johnson used to say, that many epigrams were ill, because they expressed in the ena 
what should have been understood by what was said before, as that of Sir John Davies. That 
he had a pastoral intitled the May Lord; his own name is Alkin, Ethra, the Countess oi 
Bedford, Mogbel Overbury, the old Countess of Suffolk, an enchantress; other names are 
given to Somerset, his lady, Pembroke, the Countess of Rutland, Lady Wroth. In his first 
scene Alkin comes in mending his broken pipe. [He bringeth in, says our author, (Drummond,) 
clotDtis making mirth and foolish sports, contrary to all other pastoralsJ\ He had also a design to 



were social; and while liealtli and fortune smiled upon him, he was no niggard eitlier of his time or his talents to thoctT 
who needed them. Tliere is something striking in Taylor's concluduig sentence, when the result of the visit to Drum- 
mond is considered : but there is one evil that walks, which keener eyes than John's have often failed to discover. 

Taylor's " Penniless Pilgrimage " to Scotland gave rise to some ridiculous reports, and it is curious to see with what a 
serious air he sets about refuting them. " JIany shallow-brained critics (lie says) do lay an aspersion on me — that I was 
set on by others, or did undergo tliis project, eitlier in malice or mockage of Master Benjamin Jonson. I vow, by the 
faith of a Christian, that tlieir imaginations are all wide ; for he is a gentleman to whom I am so much obliged for many 
undeserved courtesies tliat I have received from him, and from others hy his favor, that I durst never be so impudent ot 
ingratoful as to suffer any man's persuasions or mine own instigation to incite me to make so bad a requital for so m'lcli 
goodness." 

I have only to add, in justice to this honest man, that his gratitude outlived the subject of it. He paid the tribute of a 
vtrse to his benefactor's memory. The verse, indeed, was mean ; but poor Taylor had nothing better to give. 

[1 No acquaintance seems to have existed between Jonson and Drummond till some months after the former had 
reached Edinburgh. The precise time of Jojison's visit to Ilawtliornden is uncertain, but it was undoubtedly previous to 
'Jie Yttk of January, 1G19. See Blr. D. Laing's Preface to JVotcs of .S. Jonson^s Conversations, &,c. 

After tlie remarks wliich have been drawn fortli, in various quarters, by Gifford's furious attack on the poet of Haw 
tliornden, no reader perhaps may now require to bo informed that it is altogether unjust ; but w lioevcr wishes to see a 
complete and circumstantial vindication of Drummond's motives and cliaracter, will find it in the Preface above men- 
tioned. — A. Dyce.j 

« They have, witliout any exception, been taken from Gibber's Lives of tlie Poets. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 4i 

write a Fisher or Pastoral (Piscatory ?) play, and make the stage of it in the Lomond Lake ,' 

and al?o to write his foot pilgrimage hither, and to call it a Discovery. In a poem, he called 

Edinburgh 

' Tlie Heart of Scotland, Britain's otiier Eye.' 

That he had an intention to have made a play like Plautus's Amphytruo, but left it off, for 
that he could never find two so like one to the other, that he could persuade the spectator that 
they were one. 

•• That he had a design to write an epic poem, and was to call it Chorologia, of the Worthies 
of his country, raised by Fame, and was to dedicate it to his country. It is all in couplets, for 
he detested all other rhymes. He said, he had written a Discourse of Poetry, both against 
Campion and Daniel, especially the last, where he proves couplets to. be the best sort of verses, 
especially when they are broke like hexameters, and that cross rhj'mes and stanzas, because the 
purpose would lead beyond eight lines, were all forced. 

" His censiire (judgment) of the English poets was this : that Sidney did not keep a dccoruin 
in making every one speak as well as himself. Spenser's stanza pleased him not, nor his 
matter. The meaning of the Allegory of his Fairy Queen he had delivered in writing to Sir 
Walter Raleigh, which was, that by the bleating (blatant) beast, he understood the Puritans, 
and by the false Duessa, the Queen of Scots. He told, that Spenser's goods were robbed bj 
the Irish, and his house and a little child burnt, he and his wife escaped, and after died foi 
want of bread in King Street. He refused twenty pieces sent him by my Lord Esses, and said 
he was sure he had no time to spend them. Samuel Daniel was a good, honest man, had nc 
children, and was no poet ; ^ and that he had wrote the Civil Wars, and yet had not one battle 
in all his book. That Michael Drayton's Pohjolbion, if he had performed what he promised, 
to write the deeds of all the Worthies, had been excellent. That he was challenged for 
intituling one book Mortimer iades. That Sir John Davies played on Drayton in an epigram, 
who, in his sonnet, concluded his mistress might have been the ninth Worthy, and said, he 
used a phrase like Dametas in Arcadia, who said his mistress for wit might be a giant. 

" That Silvester's translation of Du Bartas was not well done ; and that he wrote his verses 
before he understood to confer, and these of Fairfax were nut good. That the translations 
of Homer and Virgil in long Alexandrines, were but prose.^ That Sir John Harington's Ariosto, 
under all translations, was the worst ; that when Sir John desired him to tell the truth of 
his Epigrams, he answered him, that he loved not the truth, for they were narrations — not 
epigrams. He said Donne was originally a poet — his grandfather on the mother side was 
Heywood the epigrammatist ; that Donne for want of being understood would perish. He 
esteemed him the first poet in the world for some things. His verses of the lost Orchadine he 
had by heart, and that passage of the Calm, < that dust and feathers did not stir, all was so 
quiet.' He affirmed that Donne wrote all his best pieces before he was twentj'-five years ot 
age. The conceit of Donne's Transformation, or Men^ixjjvxvi'^i?, was that he sought the soul 
of that apple which Eve pulled, and thereafter made it the soul of a bitch, then of a she wolf, 
and so of a woman. His general purpose was to have brought it into all the bodies of the 
heretics from the soul of Cain, and at last left it in the body of Calvin. He only wrote one 
sheet of this, and since he was made a doctor, repented hugely, and resolved to destroy all his 
poems. He told Donne that his Anniversary was profane and full of blasphemies ; that if it had 
been written on the Virgin Mary it had been tolerable ; to which Donne answered, that he 
described the idea of a woman, and not as she was. He said Shakspeai-e wanted art, and 
Bomctimes sense, for, in one of his plays, he brought in a number of men, saying, they had 



1 Jonson explains himself in what he says below of Du Bartas — " lie was no poet, but a verser, because he wrote not 
fiction." The allusion is to Daniel's narrative poem of tlie Civil Wars. lie elsewhere expressly styles Daniel a verser in 
liis sense. 

" So Daniel in his answer to Campion : " I find my Homer-Lucan, as if he gloried to seem to have no bounds, pass 
ing over the rhyme, albeit he were confined within his measure, to be therein, in my conceit, most happy; for so there- 
by, they who care not for verse or rhyme, may pass it over without taking notice thereof, and please themselves witli n 
well-measured pj-osf." This is pretty nearly what Jonson means : and, indeed, had his remarks been given to us ov anv 
fjut an enemy, we should, I am convinced, have found little to qualify or correct in them. 



42 MEMOIRS OF BEN .TOXSON. 

puffered shipwreck in Bohenua, where is no sea near by a hundred miles.* That Sir Waltct 
Raleigh esteemed more fame than conscience. The best wits in England were employed ir. 
making his History. Bon himself had written a piece to him of the Punick War, which ht 
altered and set in his book. 

" He said there was no such ground for an Heroic Poem as King Arthur's, fiction, and that 
Sir P. Sidney had an intention to have transformed all his Arcadia to the stories of King 
Arthur. He said Owen was a poor, pedantic schoolmaster, sweeping his living from the pos- 
teriors of little children, and had nothing good in him, his epigrams being bare narrations. 
Francis Beaumont died before he was thirty years of age, who, he said, was a good poet, as 
were Fletcher and Chapman, w^hom he loved. That Sir William Alexander was not haK kuid 
to him, and neglected him, because a friend to Drayton. That Sir R. Ayrton loved him dearly.^ 
He fouo-ht several times with Marston ; and says, that Marston wrote his father-in-law's 
preachings, and his father-in-law his comedies." ^ 

Such are the remarks of Jonson on his contemporaries : set down in malice, abridged without 
judgment, and published without shame, what is there yet in them to justify the obloquy Avith 
which they are constantly assailed, or to support the malicious conckisions drawn from them by 
Drummond ? Or who that leaned with such confidence on the bosom of a beloved friend, who 
treacherously encouraged the credulous affection, w'ould have passed the ordeal with more 
honor than Jonson ? But to proceed. 

" His judgment of stranger poets was, that he thought not Bartas a poet, but a verser, 
because he wrote not fiction. He cursed Petrarch for redacting verses into sonnets, which he 
said was like that tyrant's bed, where some who were too short, were racked, others too long, 
cut short. That Guarini in his Pastor Fido kept no decorum in making shepherds speak as 
well as himself. That he told Cardinal du Perron (when he was in France, 1613) who showed 
him his translation of Virgil, that it was naught ; that the best pieces of Ronsard w^ere his 
Odes. [But all this was to no purpose, (says pur author,) for he never tmderstood the Frmch or 
Italian languages.*] He said Petronius, Plinius Secundus, and Plautus spoke best Latin ; and 
that Tacitus wrote the secrets of the council and senate, as Suetonius did those of the cabinet 
and court ; that Lucan, taken in parts, was excellent, but altogether, naught ; that Quintilian's 
6, 7, and 8 books were not only to be read, but altogether digested ; that Juvenal, Horace, and 
Martial were to be read for delight, and so was Pindar ; but Hippocrates for health. 

" Of the English nation, he said that Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity was best for church 
matters, and Seidell's Titles of Honor for antiquities. Here our author relates that the censure 

1 This is the tiitest of a!l our author's observations. No one ever read tiio play witliout noticing the " absurdity," as 
Dr. Johnson calls it : yet for tliis simple truism, for this casual remark in the freedom of conversation, Jonson is held up 
to the indignation of the world, as if the blunder was invisible to all but himself, or, as if he had uttered the most delil)- 
erate and spiteful calumny ! 

2 " He was (Aubrey says) according to Mr. J. Drydcn, who had seen his verses in MS., one of the best poets of liis time 
He was acquainted with all the witts (learned men) of his time in England. Mr. Thomas Hobbes of Malmbury told mo 
he made use of him, together with Ben Jonson, for an Aristarchus, when he drew up the Epistle Dedicatory for his trans- 
lation of Thucydides." — Letters, &c., vol. ii. p. 200. 

3 The petty contentions in which Jonson was involved by the captiousness of Marston have been already noticed. 
What follows seems a humorous allusion to the sombre air of Marston's comedies, as contrasted with the cheerful tone 
of his father-in-law's discourses. But wlio was this father-in-law .'' Nay, who was JIarston .' None of his biograpliei> 
knnsv any thing of either; and yet it appears to me that something on tlie subject of both has been, unconsciously, deliv 
ered by Wood. William Wilkes, he tells us, was chaplain to King James, before whom he often preached to his great 
content. This person " died at Barford S. Martin in Wiltshire, of which he was rector, leaving a daughter named Mary, 
who was married to Joint Marston, of the city of Coventry, gentleman. Whidi John dying 2.5 June, 1G34, was buried in 
the church belonging to the Temple in London, near to the body of John Marston his father, sometimes a counsellor of 
the Middle Temple." I flatter myself that I have here recovered botli father and son, since all that is known of the lat 
ter corresponds with these particulars. 

* It is observable that every addition by Drummond is tinctured with spleen. What a tissue of malevolence must the 
original record of these conversations have been ! When Jonson says tliat he wrote his praise of Sylvester before he was 
able to compare the translation with the original, and, fifteen years afterwards, declares tliat he was wrong, I should 
conceive, without more authority, that he Iiad made himself master of Frencli in the interval. There can, indeed, be no 
doubt of it; (Drumniond's assertion goes for nothing;) for he hardly conversed with Cardinal du Perron on the merits of 
Frencli poetry without understanding the language. In fact, so common an acquirement was not a matter of t)oast, es- 
pecially in one so much about the court as Jonson, and in the habit of hearing it spoken by almost every one around him. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 4i 

^judgmcnt) of his vferses was — that they were all good, especially his Epitaph on Prince 
Henry,' save that they smelled too much of the schools, and were not after the fancy of the 
times J for a child, says he, may write after the fashion of the Greek and Latm verse in 
running ; yet that he wished for pleasing the king, that piece of Forth Feasting had been his 
own." 

"As Ben Jonson (say the collectors of Drummond's works) has been very liberal of liis 
censures (opinions) on all his contemporaries, so our author does not spare him." — 

But Jonson's censures are merely critical, or, if the reader pleases, hypercritical ; and with 
t];c exception of Baleigh, who is simply charged with taking credit to himseK for the labors 
of others, he belies no man's reputation — blasts no man's moral character. The apology for 
the slander of his host, therefore, — 

who sliould against his murderer shut the door. 

Nut bear the knife himself, — 
is weaker than water. 

•' — For he says, Ben Johnson was a great lover and praiser of himself, a contemner and 
scorner of others, given rather to lose a friend than a jest, jealous of every word and action of 
those about him, especially after drink, Avhich is one of the elements in which he lived ; a 
dissembler of the parts Avhich reign in him ; a bragger of some good that he wanted ; thinketh 
nothing well done but what either he himself or some of his friends have said or done. He is 
passionately kind and angry, careless either to gain or keep ; vindictive, but if he be well 
answered at liimself; interprets best sayings and deeds often to the worst. He was for any 
religion, as being versed in both ; ^ oppressed with fancy which hath overmastered his reason, 
a general disease in many poets ; his inventions are smooth and easy, but above all he excelleth 
m a translation.^ When the play of the Silent Woman was first acted, there were found verses 
after on the stage against him, concluding that that play was well named the Silent Woman, 
because there was never one man to say Plaudite to it." — Drumt, Works, folio, 1711, pp. 224-6. 

The writers of Jonson's life in the Bio. Brit., after selecting the most envenomed passages 
of the " Conversations," (always, however, with due admiration of the exemplary friendship of 
Drummond,) proceed thus : "In short (adds Drummond, folio, 1711, p. 222,) Jonson was," &c. 
Overcome by the tender enthusiasm of this exquisite burst of friendship, the biographers in- 
dulge in a beatific vision of our author's happiness. "He passed," they say, "some months* 



1 " Tears on the Death of Meliadcs." — Drum., Poems, fulio, p. 15. 

2 To attempt a refutation of the absurd abuse poured on Jonson by this cankered hypocrite would be' useless, a."? the 
Jiistoiy of the poet's whole life is a refutation of it : but it may not be amiss to call tlie attention of the reader to this pas- 
sage, of which the logic is only to be equalled by the candor — " He was well versed in theology, therefore he was with- 
utit religion!" What religion Drummond was " versed " in, I know not — certainly not in tiiat which says, " Thou 
Bhalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." 

3 In this place Shiels interpolated tlie scurrilous passage already given, (p. 18.) I am not sure that Drummond him- 
Bclf is not indebted for some of his popularity to this forged panegyric on Shakspeare at the cost of Jonson, which is quoted 
with such delight by all that poet's biographers. 

It may not be amiss, however, to observe that Drummond appears to have known or thought as little of Shakspaare 
as of any writer of the time. He never mentions him but once. — To afford an opportunity of contrasting the " censures " 
of Ben with those of a master hand, his editors kindly subjoin to the passage quoted above " Air. Drummond's character 
3f several authors." 

" The authors I have seen," saith he, "on the subject of love are, Sidney, Daniel, Drayton, Spenser — the last we 
have are Sir VV. Alexander and Shakspeare, who have lately published their works." — folio, p. 226. Not a word raoru 
of the latter, though he recurs to Alexander, (whom he places next to Petrarch,) to Daniel, Drayton, Donne, Sylvester, 
and others. Such is his " character " of Shakspeare ! In his letters several poets are mentioned, and notices of plays 
occasionally occur ; but of Shakspcarc's not a syllable. I much question wiiether Drummond ever read a play of ouf 
great poet. That he had no esteem for his writings is tolerably clear; as it is that he preferred the dull and lifelesa 
Alexander to him. 

About the year 1627 Drunnnond gave "a noble present of books and manuscripts to the college of Edinburgh." — Si/ 
Bay the editors of his works, (folio, 1711,) or I should have termed it, generally speaking, a collection of rubbish not worth 
the hire of the cart that took it away. Of this rare present a catalogue was puldished, in which the books aro carefully 
arranged under the names of their respective authors. Under that of "William Shakspeare" there appears — vvha. 
does the reader think 1 — Love's Labor Lost. 

* Hipaiscd some months.] This is forever repeated; although the persons who had the care of Drummond's papers, 



41 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

with, this favorite brother poet, this ingenuous friend, to Avhom he opened his heart with a most 
unreserved freedom and confidence, the sioedest gift of friendship ! " It would appear that, in 
the case of Jonson, words and actions lost their usual import, and that the blackest perfidy, 
when directed against him, suddenly changed into kindness and liberality. 

The words put into Drummond's mouth do not, indeed, belong to him. Of this, however, 
the critics, who trusted merely to Shiels, and quote a work which they never saAV, were 
ignorant. No matter ; there is still enough to justify the rhapsody on the " sweets of friend- 
ship " ! It must not be concealed, however, that there have been persons free enough to 
question the purity of Drummond's conduct, and that even the wretched scribbler who inter- 
polated the passage cannot avoid saying, "We have mserted Ben's conversations, though, 
perhaps, it was not altogether fair of ISIr. Drummond to commit to writing things that passed 
over a bottle, and which perhaps were heedlessly advanced. As few people are so wise as no* 
to speak imprudently sometimes, it is not the part of a man who invites- another to his table 
to expose what may drop inadvertently." — Cib., Lives, vol. i. p. 310. This gentle reproof from 
Lauder the second is extremely pleasant ; perhaps it was a connnmclious visiting ! Mr. A. 
Chalmers, too, has an awkward observation. Drummond's return (he says) to the unreserved 
conduct of Jonson " has been thought not very liberal." * Is it possible ! Fie, fie ! " Not very 
liberal! " To do Mr. Chalmers justice, he has no dou.bts of this kind himself; in tenderness, 
however, to those who have, he suggests "that this siis2ncioti of Uliberality is considerably 
lessened, when we reflect that Drummond appears not to have intended to publish his 
remarks," &C.'' Mr. Chalmers never heard, perhaps, of a legacy of half a crown left to a hungry 
Scotsman to fire off a pistol, which the ruffian, who loaded and levelled it, had not the courage 
to discharge. At any rate, he seems to think that there is nothing unusual or improper in 
framing a libellous attack on the character and reputation of a friend, keeping it carcfuUj'- in 
store for thirty years, and finally bequeathing it, fairly engrossed, to the caprice or ciipidity of 
an executor ! 

The parting scene at Ilawthornden was undoubtedly tender ; for Drummond, who had 
hitherto concealed his malice, was too practised an artificer of fraud, to pull off the mask at such 
a moment. Ben, therefore, who saw no more than his enemies were pleased to expose to his 
view, went on his ii-ay with a heart overflowing with respect and gratitude, while his host, 
with a hand yet warm from the pressure of affection, retired to his closet, and having thanked 
God that he was not a " drunkard," a " dissembler," a " braggard," as other men were, or even 
one " that interpreted best deeds and sayings to the worst," like this Jonson, sat complacently 
down to destroy his character (as he fondly hoped) forever. 

Jonson reached London in the beginning of May, and soon after despatched the following 
letter : — 

" To my worthy, honored, and beloved friend, Mr. W. Drummond. 

"Most loving" (poor Jonson !) "and beloved sir, against which titles I should most know- 
ingly offend, if I made you not some account of myself, to come even with your friendship. I 
am arrived safely, with a most Catholic welcome, and my reports not unacceptable to his 
majesty. He professed (thank God) some joy to see me, and is pleased to hear of the purpose 
of my book ; ■'' to which I most earnestly solicit you for your promise of the inscriptions at 
Pinky, some things concerning the Loch of Lomond, touching the government of Edinburgh, 
to urge Mr. James Scot, and what else you can procure for me with all speed. Though these 
requests be full of trouble, I hope they shall neither burden nor*^eary such a friendship, 
whose commands to me I will ever interpret a pleasure. News we have none here, but what is 

and who drew up the account of his life, expressly say that Jonson staid with him about three weeks! He arrived (p. 40) 
at Hawthornden in the beginning of April, 1619, and left it, on his return to London, about the end of the same montli 
[See additional note, p. 40. — A. Dyce.] 

1 Full justice will not be done to the niceness of Mr. Chalmers's feelings, on this point, unless we call to mind that he 
expressly includes tlie ribaldry of Shiels in Drummond's sketch of Jonson's character. 

2 I will help Mr. Chalmers to Chctwood's opinion on the subject: " This false friend (Drummond) durst not have 
declared his vile sentiments had our author been alive to answer him ; I look, therefore, upon all that he has brouglj! 
Hgainst him as the malice and envy of a bad heart." — Life of Jonson, p. 55. 

3 The "Discovery," (p. 35,) which was to contain the Description of Scotland, with the Episode of his "Joumov 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 46 

making against the Queen's funeral,' whereof I have somewhat in hand which shall look npor. 
you with the next. Salute the beloyed Fentons, the Nisbets, the Scots, the Levingstons, and 
ill the honest and honored names with you, especially Mr. James Wroth, his wife, your sister; 
vc. And if you forget yourself, you believe not in 

•' Your most true friend and lover, 

" Ben Jonson. 
•• London, May IQth, 1619." 

The answer to this does not appear ; but a second letter, which Drummond sent in conse- 
quence of another a^Dplication from our author, begins thus : — 

" WoETHY Friend : 

" The uncertainty of j'our abode was the cause of my silence. I have adventured this packet 
upon hopes that a man so famous cannot be in any place either of the city or court, ^ where he 
shaU not be found out. In my last (the missing letter) I sent you a description of Loch 
Lomond, with a map of Inch-merionach, which may, by your book, be made most famous," &c. 

July 1, 1G19. 

We hear nothing further of Drummond till the end of this year, when he addressed another 
tetter^ "to his worthy friend. Master Bon Jonson." 

" Sib, : Here you have that epigram which j'ou desired (p. 692) with another of the like 
argument. If there be any other thing in this country which my power can reach, command 
It ; there is nothing I wish more than to he in the catalogue of them that love you* I have heard 
from court that the late masque * was not so approved of the king, as in former times, and that 
your absence was regretted. Such applause hath true worth even of those who are otherwise not 
for it. Thus, to the next occasion, taking my leave, I remain 

Your loving friend, 

W. D." 

Enough of Drummond, with whose " friendship " for our autlior the common sense of the 
reader will, I trust, be no longer insulted, except from the lips of hopeless idiotism -^ longa 
mananiia labra saliva. 

" Crowned with the favor of his sovereign, Jonson saw (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.^ 
the most distinguished wits of his time crowding his train, and courting his acquaintance ; and 
in this spirit he was invited to Christ Church by Dr. Corbet, then senior student of that 
college." * Here, Wood tells us, he continued some time writing and composing of plays, and 



Ihither," &;c. This passage is worthy of notice, as it incidentally shows the estimation in which Jonson was held by 
James. Those wlio so readily condemn him to poverty and obscurity are little aware, perhaps, that for the space of 
twenty years, he was associated with all that was noble, or great, or virtuous, or wise. The implicit believers in the 
commentators on our groat poet are in too forlorn a state of imbecility to encourage any hopes of returning reason ; but 
there are others who may one day be expected to discover that there are better authorities for a Life of Jonson than Cap- 
tain Tucca, Will. Kenipe, and Shiels, the Scotsman. 

1 Ann died in March. The poem which Jonson wrote on the occasion is lost, 

" Jonson had left London towards the end of May, and was, at this time, residing at Christ Church, Oxford, wiUi hin 
true friend, Corbet (afterwards Bishop of Norwich) and others of that college. 

3 [Gifibrd was not aware that the date of this letter is "January 17, 1619." See Mr. D. Laing's Preface to XcLcj Qf B, 
Jonsoii's Conversations, &c., p. ix. — A. Dtce.] 

* Hypocrite to the last ! What, the "liar,"" the " drunkard," the "atheist"! This is almost too much. A vol un tar? 
plunge in infamy was by no means necessary here: it was not your credulous correspondent (whoever else it might he) 
that " interpreted best sayings and deeds to the worst." 

5 I know not who was called in to supply the place of Jonson during his northern tour. The king was grown some- 
what fastidious perhaps after those exquisite Entertainments, the Vision of Delight, and Pleasure reconciled to Virtue; and 
talents of no ordinary kind might have fallen short of their excellences, without much injury to the possessor's reputa 
tion. 

" Thus, (exclaims Mr. Headley,; Jonson was rescued from the arms of a sister university who had long treated ths 
Muses with indignity. We do not find that Ben expressed any regret at the change- of situation ; companions whoss 
minds and pursuits were similar to his own were not always to be found in the gross atmosphere of the muddy Cam, 
rtiough easily met with on the more genial banks of the Uis." — Beauties of English Poetry, p. xxxviii. Mr. Headley was 



46 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

was created Master of Arts, (July 19,) 1619. The historian is -wrong in the first part of I'-'.a 
assertion. Jonson certainly " composed " no plays at Oxford or elsewhere. This was a labor 
from which he always delighted to escape, and he was now in such a comparative state of 
affluence as to jxistify his indulging in pursuits more congenial to his feelings.' Several of 

un ingenious young man ; but like other ingenious young men, talked sometimes of wliat lie did not understand. He is 
KO ignorant of Jonson's Iilstoiy as to suppose that he was then resident at Cambridge — this, however, may be easily 
overlooked ; but his attempt to implicate the poet in his personal quarrels, in his splenetic and vulgar abuse of Cambridge, 
merits castigation. Jonson neither felt nor expressed any disrespect to Cambridge. In the Dedication of the Fox: to both 
tiniversities, ho calls thera " most noble and most equal sisters ; " and mentions, in terms of respectful gratitude, his ob- 
ligations to their " favor and affection." From this language he never varied ; and, unfortunately for Mr. Headley, Cam- 
bridge, which had also conferred on him a Master of Arts degree, was fondly remembered by him to the last.* 

This critic, as might reasonably be expected, entertains a supremo contempt for Jonson's writings, of which he mani- 
fests a surprising knowledge ! " Wliile Drayton (lie says) was adopting a style that the present age may peruse, &c., Jon- 
Bon" (who is always the victim) " unable to digest the mass of his reading, peopled his pages with the heathen mytholo- 
qy," p. lii. Mr. Headley had evidently heard " of Jonson's learning ; " the rest followed of course. But how stands tho 
fact? That of all the writers for the stage, from old Hey wood to Sir Aston Cockayne inclusive, there is not one whoso 
pages arc so free from fable as Jonson's. I will venture to afTinn that more of the heathen mythology may be found in a 
single scene, nay, in a single speecli, of Shakspeare, Fletcher, Massinger, and Shirley, than in the whole of Jonson's thir- 
teen comedies. Nothing is so remarkable as his rigid exclusion of the deities of Greece and Rome. Neither as embellish- 
ments nor illustrations do they appear in his pages ; yet Mr. Headley (and he is not singular, or I should have left him to 
liis folly) assumes, as the distinguishing characteristic of the author, that they are peopled with them! 

But Mr. Headley's candor is as conspicuous as his knowledge. " A strong and original vein of humor (he says) is 
Ben's peculiar forte ; take away that, and he is undeserving of the fame he has attained " ! — Jbid. It was well obseived 
by the Frcncli tailor, u|ion the magnificent view from Richmond Hill, "All this is veiy fine, to be sure; but tak« 
away the river and the trees, and it will be nothing " ! 

1 " Both inclination and ambition (say the writers of the Bio. Brit.) concurred in prompting Jonson to turn from 
Masques and Entertainments to the graver and weightier works of the drama." This, (which is reechoed by all his 
biographers,) like every tiling else respecting him, is said at random. " Ambition " was on the side of the Masques — 
and with regard to his " inclination for the drama," he expressly declares that he had it not. These gentlemen, how 
ever, are so pleased with their observation, that they repeat it on the production of the JVeio fan ; to tho writing of which 
he was driven by absolute want. So much is said of our author, and so little known ! 

I have, on several occasions, noted the little pleasure which Jonson apparently took in writing for the stage; but I 
hardly expected so decisive a proof of it as has reached me since this note was put to the press. Tho ever active kindness 
of Mr. D'Israeli has just furnished me with the following letter. It was found among the Hatfield state papers by Dr 
Birch, who was preparing a selection of them for the press, when he was interrupted by his last illness. 

The letter is inscribed — " Ben Jonson to the Earl of Salisbury, praying his lordship's protection against some evil re- 
ports." It shows (what indeed every circumstance of his life proves) that he was high spirited, dauntless ; confident in 
his worth, more confident in his innocence; complaining, when wronged, with dignity, and soliciting, when afliicted, 
with decorum. 

The theatrical records of these times are so imperfect, that the circumstance and <ho play to which our author alludes 
are equally obscure. It would seem that not long after his release, (in the beginning of 1605,) he was accused of reflect- 
ing on some one in a play written by Chapman and himself, and again imprisoned with his friend. It would be vain to 
indulge in further conjecture. There are many points of similarity between the letter and tho dedication of the Fox, 
which may be consulted with advantage. The letter itself is truly admirable, and well deserved the success which, we 
know, from collateral circumstances, it instantly found. I rejoice in its preservation, and transcribe it with pleasure. 

" Most truly honorable : 1G05. 

" It hath stiil been tho tyranny of my fortune so to oppress my endeavors that before I can show myself grateful in the 
least for former benefits, I am enforced to provoke your bounties for more. May it not seem grievous to your lordship 
that now my innocence calls upon you (next the Deity) to her defence. God himself is not averted at just men's cries ; 
and you that approach that divine goodness, and supply it here on earth in your places and honors, cannot employ your 
aid more worthily than to the common succor of honesty and virtue, how humbly soever it be placed. 

" I am here, ray most honored lord, unexamined and unheard, committed to a vile prison, and with me a gentleman, 
(whoso name may, perhaps, have come to your lordship,) one Mr. George Chapman, a learned and honest man. The 
cause (would I could name some worthier, though I wish we had known none worthy our imprisonment) is (tho words 
irk me that our fortune hath necessitated us to so despised a course) a play, my lord ; whereof we hope there is no man 



* When Dr. Birch was writing the life of Jonson for the Oen. Diet., folio, 1738, he applied to a member of St. John'a 
College for information respecting the residence of the poet, &c. This person procured several memoranda for his use, 
from the learned T. Baker, one of the fellows. The last of them runs thus : " Mr. Baker adds tliat tliere has always been 
a tradition handed down, that he was of our college. The registrar tells me that there are several books in our librarj' 
with Ben Jonson's name, given by him to the college; particularly an ancient edition of Aristotle's Works." 

It is observable that this life of Jonson is entirely free from the deplorable raving about the poet's envy, Sec, which dis- 
gncos all the subsequent accounts. Birch could not forge, and ho would not calumniate. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. 47 

his most beautiful masqiios were, however, composed about this period, both for the nobility 
and the cout c, as well as some of those pieces which are mentioned in the Execration on Vnlcan, 
and -which were destroyed together with his study. There perished his Commentary on the 
Poetics, his Grammar complete, of which we have now but the fragments, his Journey into 
Scotland, his ]\Iay Lord, and several other dramas. There too were lost the unfinished Life of 
Henry V.,' the Rape of Proserpine, the poem in celebration of the Ladies of Great Britain, to 
which he more than once alludes, and what, perhaps, we ought to regret more than all, a vast 
body of philological collections, with notes from the classics, the fruit of twenty years' la- 
borious study. 

It is probable that Jonson spent much of his time at the country seats of tlie nobility and 
gentry, as he has allusions to several visits of this kind ; and avo know that he attended on 
the court in some of the royal progresses.'^ He was at Burleigh on the IliU, and at Belvoir 
Castle, and at Windsor when his IMasque of the Gipsies Metamorphosed was performed at these 
places, respectively, and introduced several little comx^liments into the piece, as new candidates 
arrived, and claimed admission into the list of the Dramatis Personce. He must also have been 
at Newmarket with the court, where his masques were occasionally represented. 

While he was on these progresses, he obtained from his majesty, who seems to have been 
unusually pleased with the Masque of Gipsies, in which he bore a part, a reversionary grant of 
the ofiice of Master of the Revels. The king, by letters patent, dated Oct. 5, 1621, granted 
him, by the style and addition of " our beloved servant, Benjamin Jonson, gentleman, the said 
office, to be held and enjoyed by him and his assigns, during his life, from and after the death 
of Sir George Buc, and Sir John Astley, or as soon as the office should become vacant by 
resignation, forfeiture, or surrender." ^ In contemplation, perhaps, of his speedy accession to 

can justly complain that hath the virtue to thinli but favoiably of himself, if our judge bring an equal ear; marry, if with 
prejudice we be made guilty afore our time, we must embrace the asinine virtue patience. My noble lord, they deal not 
charitably who are witty in another man's works, and utter sometimes their own malicious meanings under our words. 
I protest to your honor, and call God to testimony, (since my first error,* which, yet, is punished in me more with my 
shame than it was then with my bondage,) I have so attempered my style, that I have given no cause to any good man 
of grief; and if to any ill, by touching at any general vice, it hath always been with a regard and sparing of particulai 
persons. I may be otherwise reported; but if all that be accused should be presently guilty, there are few men wouh' 
Btand in the state of innocence. 

" I beseech your most honorable lordship, suffer not otl)er men's errors or faults past to be made my crimes ; but let mo 
be examined both by all my works past and tliis present ; and not trust to rumor but my books, (for she is an unjust deliv- 
erer both of great and of small actions,) whetlier I have ever (many things I have written private or public) given offenco 
to a nation, to a public order or state, or any person of honor or authority ; but have equally labored to keep their dignity, 
as mine own person, safe. If others have transgressed, let me not be entitled to their follies. But lest, in being too dili 
gent for my excuse, I may incur tlie suspicion of being guilty, I become a most humble suitor to your lordship that with 
the honorable lord chamberlain,! (to whom I have in like manner petitioned,) you will be pleased to be the grateful 
means of our coming to answer ; or if in your wisdoms it shall be thought necessary, tliat your lordsliip will be the most 
honored cause of our liberty, where freeing us from one prison you will remove us to another; which is eternally to bind 
us and our muses to the tliankful honoring of you and yours to posterity, as your own virtues have by many descents of 

ancestors ennobled you to time. 

Vour honor's most devoted in heart as words, 

Ben Jonson. 

" To tlie most nobly virtuous and thrice honored Earl of Salisbury. 1G05." 

1 Henry V.] In this history, Jonson tells us, in one of his most popular poems, he was assisted by Cotton, Carew, and 
Selden : yst Mr. A. Chalmers gives this rare intelligence solely on the authority of Oldys! " See," he says, •' Oldys's 
manuscript notes to Langbaine in Brit. Mils." 

i On one of these occasions he had an opportunity of serving Selden, who liad grievously offended James by the indi 
rcct tendency of his arguments on the divine right of tithes. " The storm was blown over," his biographer says, " b}' 
tlic interest of his friend Ben Jonson with the king." Fresh offence, however, v>-as taken soon afterwards, and Selden 
was summoned to Theobald's, where his majesty then was, on his return from Newmarket. " Not being as yet acquanited 
with the court or with the king, he got Master Ben Jonson, who was then at Theobald's, to introduce \\\m." — Lifc of Sel- 
den. The steadiness of our author's friendship calls for no remark : it was a part of his character ; but it should not be 
omitted that Selden, who is expressly declared, by his biographers, " to be, in 1618, yd unacquainted with the court," is 
paid, by all the writers of Jonson's life, to have procured the poet's release from imprisonment by his interest there, in 
JG05! 

3 Shale, vol. i. p. C2G. Mr. Malono observes that " it would appear from a passage in the Sadromastir, that Ben had 



* In Eastward Hoe! See p. 28. 

t T lomas, Earl of Suffolk. Jonson was not unmindful of his kindness See p. 670. 



IS MEMOIRS OF BEX JOiVSOX. 

this office, James was desirous of conferring iqion him the honor of knighthood. Jonson, fol 
whom wealth and title had no charms, and who was well aware that a distinction of this 
nature would exasperate the envy which pursued hun from his cailicst years, shrunk from the 
meditated kindness of his sovereign, and prevailed on some of his friends about the court to 
dissuade his royal master from his purpose.' 

Jonson received no advantage from the grant specified above, as Sir J. Astley survived him. 
It appears, however, that, finding himself incapable, during his last illness, of performing the 
duties of the office, supposing it to devolve upon him, he had been graciously permitted by 
Charles to transfer the patent to his son, who died in 1635. Why Mr. Malone should supposo 
[Skak. vol. ii. p. 311) that he was not on good terms with his father, I cannot tell. Fuller only 
says that Jonson " was not very happy in his children ; " but an indulgent and tender parent 
like Jonson may be sensibly afflicted by the conduct of a child, without nivich diminution of 
affection, or interruption of kindness. 

From 1G21, when the Gipsies Metamor/ihased was performed at Windsor, Jonson continued, 
apparently, to pass his time greatly to his satisfaction. Every Twelfth-night produced a 
masque ; and visits to his friends, correspondence with the literati of this and other countries, 
and occasional pieces of poetry filled up the rest of his time.^ Mr. Malone, who, from his 
crazy tripod, pronounces that Jonson had " stalked for two centuries on the stilts of artificial 
reputation," was little aware, perhaps, of the extent of his acquaintance with the learned, and 
of the estimation in which they held his talents ; at any rate, the following passage from the 
Geneva edit, of Farnaby's Martial (and I could produce many such) must have escaped his 
knowledge : — 

" Martialem solum a, clariss. vivo Petro Scrivcrio emendatum editumque desiderabam, quern nulla 
mea aut amicorum cura pararc potuit ; cujus tamen vicem non rard sup2:)levit arnica opiera Ben Jon- 
80NII viri {quod quca ille per luduin scripserit, serid legentibus liquido apparebit) in poetis omnibus 
versatissimi, historiarum, inormn, rituum, antiqiiitatum indagatoris exquisilissimi, et {^quod semper «>' 
illo adverti) non contenti brachio levi tesqua et dignos vindice nodos iransmitfere, sed penitissimo» 
usque sensus ratione, lectione, ingenio eruere desudmitis ; digni denique (utcunque a pi'obatis meriio 
probetur suo) meliori theatro quani quo malevolorum invidiam pascat,^ quanquam et hoc regium est 
posse invidium ciim mereri tttm pati. Ille, inquam, niihi emendationes aliquot suppeditavit ex C, V, 
Scriverii Martiale, cujus copia ilU facta Lugduni Bat, a viro non sine doctrines et humanitatis liono- 
rifica prcpfatione nominando Dan Heinsio, SjC." * 



made some attempts to procure tlie reversion of this place before the death of Elizabeth." Mr. Malone is anquestionabI> 
right ; tliough he has failed to draw from it the only proper conclusion — namely, tiiat at this period Jonson was neithei 
60 obscure nor so unfriended as he would have us believe. 

1 " A friend told me this Faire time (Stourbridge) that Ben Jonson was not knighted, but scaped it narifowly, for that 
his majestie would have done it, had tliere not been means made (himself not unwilling) to avoyd it. Sep. 15, 1C21." 
Extracted from a letter of the celebrated Josepli Mead of C. Col. Cambridge to Sir Martin Stuteville. — Baker's MSS., vol. 
xxxii. p. 355. Sir M. Stuteville was a friend and admirer of Jonson. One of his family has some verses on the poet's 
death, preserved among the Ashmole papers. They are Idnd and laudator)', but merit no particular notice. 

2 Ho is said to have assisted Middleton and Fletcher in writing Tlie Widow, which must have appeared about this time 
This comedy was very popular, and not undeservedly, for it has a considerable degree of merit. I cannot, liowever, 
discover many traces of Jonson in it. The authors' names rest, I believe, on the authority of the editor, A. Gough, whc 
sent the play to tlie press in 1652. 

3 lliis learned man, we see, notices the malevolence which incessantly pursued Jonson on the stage. We now heat 
tf nothing but Jonson's envy: those who livea and conversed witli him speak of the envij of others. It was then the 
lowest description of scribblers which persecuted liim ; and I should wrong the modesty of those who abuse him now, if I 
'crmed them the lights of the age. 

* Jonson presented a copy of this edit, to Mr. Briggs, (probably a relation of tlie celebrated matlicmatician,) with tlir. 
ollowing letter written on a blank leaf: — 

" Amico Summo 

D. 

R. Briggxsio. 

EcctxVi, tibi Hbrum, mi Briggesie, qiiem heri, pene cum convilio, a mc cfflagitasti, mitto. Voluit ad te afferri ctiam hodit, 

no diuti\Xs moratus, vie Iwsi officii reum apud te faceret. Est Farnahii mei Martialis. JVim ille Jesuitarum castratus, cvira- 

fiis, et piorsits sine Marliali Martialis. Istc ilium integrum tibi virumquc ■pracbet, nee minus caslum sed magis virilem. Mn- 

notaliones ctiam suas apposuit, tales autcm ut videri possit sine commcntario, commentalor. Tu fac ut iV/am perlegas^ 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 19 

It has not been hitherto observed that Jonson was in possession of a most excellent library, 
which, assisted by a readiness of memory altogether surprising, facilitated the acquirement of 
that information for which he was so frequently solicited by his own countrymen, as well as 
strangers. lie began to collect the best editions of the classics at an early period, and it may 
be doubted whether any private library in the kingdom Avas, at that time, so rich in scarce 
and valuable books as his own. He was ever ready to Communicate them to his friends. Not 
only was his study open to their researches,' but its contents Avere always at their disposal. 
It cannot be too often repeated, that this writer, who has been described as a mere mass of 
spleen and ill nature, was, in fact, the frankest and most liberal of mankind. I am fully 
warranted in saying that more valuable books given to individuals by Jonson are yet to be 
met with, than by any jDcrson of that age. Scores of them have fallen under my own inspec- 
tion, and I have heard of abundance of others.^ The following passage may amuse the 
reader from the exquisite absurdity of its conclusion. " In the Upper Library of Trinity 
College," (it is Warton who speaks,) " is a Vossius's Greek Historians, with a series of MS. 
notes. It appears, by a Latin mem. in Dr. Bathurst's handwriting, that this book originally 
belonged to Ben Joxson, who gave it to Dr. Langbaine. Jonson's name being mentioned, I 
cannot forbear adding," (here I verily expected some compliment to his learning or liberality,) 
'* that in the character of Volpone, Aubrey tells us, Jonson intended Sutton, the founder of 
the Charter House ! " — Life of Batkurst, 8vo. p. 148., It seems as if it were indispensable that 
the name of Jonson must always be follov\-ed by some stupid calumny.^ 

We have long lost sight of Inigo Jones. He now reappears as Jonsou's coadjutor in the 
masque of Time Vindicated, 1623.* As none of those pieces which appear in the folio of 1641 
were given to the press by Jonson, it is not possible to say whether he shared in any produced 
previously to the present one. At all events, no symptoms of ill will are to be found ; and 
there is good reason to suppose that hitherto nothing had occurred to interrupt their friendship. 
In Pan's Anniversary, (1625,) Inigo again assisted Jonson, and his name is duly mentioned in 
the title page, where it takes place of the poet's — a circumstance, as it appears, of some 



prxjicgas, et fiwcas liominl in tanto iale, cpnllsqiie Mart, rux iiisidsonec jejuno . Dignus cnim est, qui Virgillis suis mcreatur, 
utforet 

Toto notus in orbe Martialis, 

quod dc se ingcniosissimus pocla pradicare ausus sit, et veve; suffragantc ctiam 

JONSOMO TUO. 

Qui x'^. Aug. M. Dcxxiii. 

amicitiic et stadii ergo 

hoc levidonse 

D. D." 

1 The learned Selden, in speaking of a book wliich he had occasion to examine, and which was not in his extensive 
collection, says, " I presume that I have sufficiently manifested tiiis out of Euripides his Orestes, wliicli when I was to 
use, not having the scholiast, out of whom I hoped some aid, I went, for this purpose, to see it in the well-furnisht libra- 
rie of my beloved friend, that singular poet, Master Ben Jonson, whose special worth in literature, accurate judgment, 
and performance, known only to tluit few which are truly able to know him, hath had from me, ever since I began to 
learn, an increasing admiration." — Titles of Honor, 1G14. fol. p. 93. 

2 I have great pleasure in copying the following passage from Mr. D'Israeli, because it is the result of conviction acting 
on a liberal mind. "No poet has left behind him, in MS., so many testimonies of personal fondness as Jonson, by inscrip- 
tions and addresses, in the copies of his works, which he presented to his friends. Of tliese I have seen more than one. 
fervent and impressive." — Quar. of Authors, vol. iii. p. 25. 

3 It may be added here, that Warton appears to have known about as much of Jonson and his writings as Mr. Head- 
ley. In his notes on Milton's Arcades, he says (but with no friendly voice) tliat " Echo frequently appears in the masquea 
of Jonson" Frequently! In Paji'i ./9;i?iiBer5ar)/ (as I think) a musical close is directed to be repeated ; — and this is all 
the Eelio. Again : " Jonson was too proud to assist or be assisted " — a sentiment quoted for its justice by Mr. Chalmers. 
Now, Jonson solicited and accepted assistance, or, as he calls it, " succor," from Selden, Cotton, Carew, and many otli 
crs ; and he undoubtedly assisted, or joined with, more writers than any person of the age in which he lived ! 

4 The mention of tliis masque gives me an opportunity of noticing a well-known song by G. Wither, " Shall I, wasting 
in despair," &;c., published in a little vol., 1625, with an " Ansvvere to each verse by Master Johnson." If the reader will 
turn to "Time Vindicated," (vol. viii. p. 3; ed. 1810,) wlicre I have pointed out, for the first time, the object of the poet's 
satire, he will need no further proof that Jonson was little likely to busy himself with parodying the verses of Witiier. 
however popular. He was not prone, at any time, to mix his heels with other meii^s heads; and least of all would he have 
joined in this kind of chase witli a declared enemy. — That the " Song " is printed with his name, signifies nothing, h 
was current with the public ; and he gave himself no concern about the matter. 

4 



50 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



moment. This little piece was the last which. Jonson had the good fortune to write for 
James I., Vv'ho died on the 27th of March in this year, and in whom he lost the most indulgent 
of masters — the most benevolent of sovereigns. Charles, indeed, both knew and valued Jon- 
son ; but he was not so competent a judge of literary talents, nor was he, either by nature or 
habit, so familiar with his servants, or so condescending to their affairs, £3 the easy and good- 
natured James. 

A long series of years had now elapsed since our author turned his thoughts to the theatre. 
From 161G to 1625, he appears to have forgotten that there was such a place ; > he was now, 
however, forcibly reminded of it, and wrote the Staple of News, a comedy of no ordinary meiit. 
Two evils were, at this time, rapidly gaining upon the poet — want and disease. The first he 
certainly might have warded off, at least for some time, had he been gifted with the slightest 
portion of economy ; but he was altogether thoughtless and profuse, and his long sinkness, 
therefore, overtook him totally unprovided. From the accession to the death of James, nothing 
is to be found respecting his necessities — not a complaint, not a murmur ; but other times were 
at hand, and we shall soon hear of petitionary poems, and supplications for relief. 

The disease which attacked him about the end of this year was the palsy. He seems to 
have labored from his youth under a scorbutic affection, (derived, probably, from his parents,) 
and which assailed him with increasing virulence as his constitution gave way ; to this must be 
added a tendency to dropsy — not the least of his evils. 

From the first stroke of the palsy he gradually recovered, so far, at least, as to be able, in 
some measure, to pursue his visual avocations ; and, in 1626, produced the pleasant Antimasque 
of Jophiel, to vary a preceding entertainment. The masques, for the three following years, do 
not appear ; nor is it known that any were written by our author ; indeed, from a hint in 
the epilogue to his next play, it seems as if the court had ceased to call on him for the 
customary contribution. Meanwhile his infirmities rapidly increased, and with them his 
wants. He was no longer able to leave his room, or to move in it without assistance ; and, in 
this condition, he applied again to the theatre, and produced the comedy of the New Inn, 
wHich was brought out Jan. 19, 1629-30. The fate of this drama is well known. It was driven 
from the stage, and pursued with brutal hostility by his ungenerous and unrelenting enemies.* 
The epilogue forms a melancholy contrast to some of his earlier productions, and cannot, indeed, 
be contemplated without a feeling of pity ; — ^ 

" If you expect more than you bad to-niglu ; 
The maker is sick and sad : — 3 

lie sent tilings fit 

In all the numbers both of verse and wit, 
If they have not miscarried ; if tliey have, 
All that his faini and faltering tongue doth nrave, 

1 See p. 37 

a Censure of the J^eio Inn. 

" Thou sayst no palsye doth thy brainc-pan vex, 
I praye the tell me what an apoi)lex 
Thy Pegasus can stirr, yctt thy best care 
Makes him but shuffle like the parson's mare, 
Who from his own side witt sayes thus by niee, 
He hath bequcath'd liis bellye unto thee ; 
To holde that iittlc learning which is fled 
Into thy gutts from out thy emptye head," &.c. 

^.ihmule MSS. 
These are tne softest lines which I could pick out from about fourscore ; and these, with the verses of Gill (vol, vi. p. 123, 
Ed. 1816. ■> :ind Chapman, (p. 32,) furnish a correct sample of the disposition of those who attacked our author in his own 
times. Of all the libels on him which have fallen in my way, I do not recollect one that possessed common humanity 
r>r common sense : they never speak of any injury or provocation received from the poet, but claim to be the mere effu- 
Bions of wanton malice; yet the Walpoles, cf id genus omne, dream of nothing but" the overpowering brutality of Jonson." 
3 It should be recorded to his praise, that nothing could suppress his ardor for improvement. It is in the midst of these 
afflicting circumstances that he writes a poetical epistle to Howell, earnestly soliciting bis aid to procure Davies's Welsli 
Grammar, for which he was unable to seek himself. Jonson's lines are lost : hut Howell has given his reply to them 
Howell notices tie extensive collection of grammars, of which Jonson was already possessed. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON 51 

Is, that you not impute it to his brain ; 
That's yet unhurt, although, set round with pain. 
It cannot long hold out: all strength must yield ; 
Yet judgment would the last be in the field, 
VVitli the true poet." 

.An allusion to the king and queen, -which follows this extract, awoke the slumbering kindness 
of Charles, and he instantly sent him a hundred pounds, (a truly royal present,) for which 
the poet, with an overflowing heart, returned him thanks in three poems, written at short 
intervals, and all laboring for adequate language to express the fulness of gratitude, respect, 
and duty.' 

This timely relief appears to have produced a ftivorable change in the poet's mind, and 
encouraged him to apply to the benevolence of his sovereign for an extension of kindness. 
There is a flow of gayety and good humor in the little poem which he wrote, and called a 
humble Petition to the best of Monarchs, Masters, Men, that contrasts very happily with the 
gloomy and desponding tone of the passage in the preceding page. It is to the honor of 
Charles, that he not only granted the prayer of the petition, (" that He would be pleased to 
make the 100 marks of his father 100 pounds,") but liberally added of himself a tierce of 
canary,^ (Jonson's favorite wine,) which has been continued to his successors, and of which 
the first glass should, in gratitude, be offered by them to the poet's memory. The warrant is 
given below."* 



1 This transaction is thus wilfully perverted by Shiels. " In 1629 Ben fell sick. Charles I. was supplicated in his favor, 
and sent him ten guineas. When the messenger delivered the sum, Ben said, " ilis majesty has sent me ten guineas be- 
cause I am poor, and live in an alley; go and tell him, that his sonl lives in an alley." This impudent falsehood is still re- 
peated, even by those who have the poet's own acknowledgments for a hundred pounds before them ; and Smollett was 
eager to insert it in liis History of England, because it bore hard upon Charles. Tlie writers of the Bio. Brit, have given 
one of Jonson's grateful poems to the king — " not so much," they properly say, " to confute, as to shame the story." - 
But who sliames a slanderer.' 

- Milton has been unjustly charged with reflecting on Charles for his attachment to the drama. But though Milton did 
not urge this as a crime against tlie king, other \yrlters of that disastrous period did. " Had King Charles (says one of 
them) but studied Scripture half so much as Ben Jonson or Shakspeare, lie would have learned tliat wlien Amaziah," 
&c. — dppeal to all Rational Men on King Charles's Trial, by J. Cooke, 1G49. 

3 CHARLES, R. 
Charles, by the grace of God, Kinge of England, Scotland, Fraunce, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &;c. to the Theas- 
urer, ChanccUour, under Theasurer, Chamberlcns, and Barons of the Exchequer of vs, our heirs and successours, now 
beinge, and that hereafter shall be, and to all other tlio officers and ministers of the said court, and of the receipt, there 
now beinge, and that hereafter shall be ; and to all others to whom these presents shall come, or to whom it shall or may 
appertcyn, greeting. Whereas our late most deare father King James of happy memorie, by his letters patients under the 
great seale of England, bearing date at Westminster, the first day of February, in the thirteenth year of liis reign of Eng- 
'land (for the considerations therein expressed) did give and graunt unto our well beloved servaunt, Benjamin Jonson, ono 
annuitie or yearly pension of one hundred marks of lawful money of Englande, during his life, to be paid out of tlie said 
Exchequer, at the feast of the Annunciation of tlie blessed Virgin Mary, the Nativity of St. John Baptist, St. Slichael the 
Archangel, and the birth of our Lord God, quarterly, as by the said letters patents more at large may appear. Which 
annuity or pension, together with the said letters patents, the said Benjamin Jonson hath lately surrendered vnto vs. 
Know yce nowe, that wee, for divers good considerations vs at this present especially movinge, and in consideration of 
the good and acceptable service, done vnto vs and our said father by tlie said Benjamin Johnson, and especially to en- 
courage him to proceede in those services of his witt and penn, which wee have enioined vnto him, and wJiich we expect 
from him, are graciously pleased to augment and encreasc the said annuitie or pension of one hundred marks, vnto an 
annuitie of one hundred pounds of lawful money of England for his life. And for the better effecting thereof of our es- 
pecial grace, certen knowledge and meer motion, we have given and graunted, and by these presents for vs, our heirs 
and successors, upon the surrender aforesaid, do give and graunt unto the said Benjamin Johnson, one annuitie or yearly 
pension of one hundred pounds of England by the year, to have, hold, and yearly to receive the said annuitie or yearly 
pension of one hundred pounds of lawful money of England, by the year, unto the said Benjamin Johnson or his assigncs, 
from the feast of ovr Lord God last past, before the date hereof, for and during the natural life of him tlie said I?feiijamin 
Johnson, at the receipt of the Exchequer of vs, our heirs and successours, out of the treasure of vs, our heirs and succes- 
sours, from time to time there remayning, by the Theasurer and Chamberlens of vs, our heirs, and successours there, fol 
the time beinge, as the foresaid four usual terms of the year (that is to say) at the feast of the Annuntiation of the blessed 
Virgin Maiy, the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, St. Michael the Archangel, and the birth of our Lord God, by even and 
equal portions quarterly to be paid. The first payment thereof to begin at the feast of the Annuntiation of the blessed 
Virgin Mary, next before the date of these presents. Wherefore our will and pleasure is, and we do by these presents 
for vs, our heirs and successors, require, cominand, and authorise the said Theasurer, Cliancellour, under Theasurer, 
Chamberlcns, and Barons, and other officers and ministers of the said Exchequer, nv ,v and for the time being, not onlj 



62 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

From 1627, the date of the Fortunate Isles, no masque appears to have been written by our 
author ; at this period, however, the king, Avhose kindness had levivcd in all its force, com- 
Jnanded him, in conjunction Avith Inigo Jones, to prepare the usual entertainments for the 
festivity of the new year. The first piece was Love's Triumph through CalUpoUs, which seems to 
have been well received ; the second, which was produced about two months after it, was 
ChloricUa, better known by its having given birth to the dispute between these ancient friends, 
than by any merit of its own. 13oth masques were printed before the end of the year, and 
the " Inventors " were said, in the title page, to be Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones ; a fatal 
collocation of names for the declining poet. His complaints, meanwhile, increased ; and, with 
them, his necessities. He rarely went abroad; and, as his helpless state made assistance 
absolutely necessary, he seems, about this time, to have taken into his service a respectable 
woman, who managed his little household, and continued with him till he died. It has been 
already observed, that Jonson was utterly devoid of worldly prudence; what was liberally 
given was lavishly spent, and he was seldom free &om want. He was, indeed, like his mother, 
" no churl ; " his table was ever free to his friends ; and we learn from Howell, that he gave 
repasts, even in those evil days, which an epicure might have shared with delight. "Wine he 
always considered as necessary — and perhaps it was so — to counteract the occasional influence 
of that morbid tendency to melancholy generated by a constitutional affection of the scurvy, 
which also rendered society desirable, and, in some measure, indispensable to him. 

Jonson was not called on for a masque in the following year ; and this source of emolument, 
which he could ill forego, Avas therefore lost to him. Those who have been accustomed to 
liear of nothing but his unprovoked persecution of Inigo Jones wiU be somewhat startled to 
find that this person, forgetful of old attachments, made use of his growing favor at court to 
depress and ruin a bed-ridden a:nd necessitous friend. For the knowledge of his ungenerous 
conduct, in this instance, not a little important in the history of our calumniated poet, I am 
again indebted to the kindness of Mr. D'Isracli. 

" Extract of a Letter from Mr. Pory to Sir Thomas Puckering, Bart. 
" The last Sunday, at night, the king's mask was acted in the banquetting house, the queen 3 



ti5 paie or cause to be paiJe vrito tlie said Benjamin Johnson, or Iiis assignes, the said annuitie or yearly pension of one 
hundred pounds of lawful money of England according to our pleasure before expressed : and also from time to time to 
give full allowance of the same, according to the true meaning of these presents. And these presents, and the enroll- 
ment thereof, shall be unto all men whom it shall concern, sufficient warrant and discharge for the payinge and allow- 
:nge of the same accordingly, without any farther or other warrant to be in that behalf jirocured or obtained. And fur- 
ther know yee, that wee of our more especi.il grace, certain knowledge and meer motion, have given and granted, and 
by these presents for us, our heires and successors, do give and graunt unto the said Benjamin Johnson and his assigns, 
one terse of Canary Spanish wine yearly: to have, hold, perceive, receive, and take the said terse of Canary Spanish 
wine unto the said Benjamin Jonson and his assigns during tlie term of liis natural life out of our store of wines yearly, 
and from time to time remayninge at or in our cellars within or belonging to our palace of Whitehall. And for the better 
effecting of our will and pleasure herein, wo do hereby require and command all and singular officers and ministers 
whom it shall or may concerne, or who shall Jiave the care or charge of our said wines, that they or some one of them 
do deliver or cause to bo delivered the said terse of wine yearly, and once in every year vnto the said Benjamin Johnson 
or his assignes, during the terme of his natural life, at such time and times as he or they shall demand or desire the same 
And these presents or the inrollraent thereof shall be unto all men whom it shall concerne a sufficient warrant and dis- 
cliarge in tliat behalf, although express mention, &c. In witness, &c 

Ex. per Ro. Heath. 
Witness, &c. 

Maie it please your most excellent Majestie, 

This conteyneth your Majestie's graunto unto Benjamin Johnson, your niajestie's servaante, during his life, of a pension 

of lOOZ. per annum, and of a terse of Spanish vs'ine yearly out of your niajestio's store remaining at W^hite-Iiall. 

And is done upon surrender of a former letters patents granted unto him by your late royal fiither, of a pension of 100 
marks per annum. 

Signified to be your Majestie's pleasure by the Lord Thcasurer, 

RO. HEATH 

Endorsed thus March 1C30. 

Kx^il. opiid JVcstni' viceshno sexto die Jllartii anno R Ris CaroU quintc. 

per WINDEBANK. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



being suspended till another time, by reason of a soreness which fell into one of her delicate 
eyes. 

" The inventor or poet of this mask was Mr. Aurelian Townshend, sometime toward (steward) 
lo the lord treasurer Salisbury ; Ben Jonson being, for this time, discarded by reason of the 
predominant poioer of his antagonist Inigo Jones, who, this time twelvemonth, was angry with 
hiva. for putting his own name before his in the title page, which Ben Jonson has made the subject 
of a bitter satire or two against Inigo." 

Jan. 12, 163.i. 

" Whoever was the aggressor," says Walpole, " the turbulence and brutality of Jonson were 
sure to place him most in the wrong." This assertion is not quite clear in the present case, in 
which the magnanimity of Jones is as disputable as his humanity. He seems, indeed, to have 
persecuted Jonson with implacable malice. Not only for this time was the poet laid aside by his 
influence, but for the residue of his melancholy existence. His conduct, for the rest, fully 
justifies the strongest lines in the Expostulation, p. 658 : — 

" O shows, shows, shows ! 
The eloquence of masques ! what need of proso — 
Or versa, or prose to express," &c. 

since it cannot be denied that, whatever ravages disease had made on the faculties of Jonson, 
he was yet many degrees above Master Aurelian Townshend, of whom no one, I believe, ever 
heard before. The truth is, that Jones wanted, as Jonson has it, to be the Domimis Do-all of the 
toork, and to engross all the praise. This avarice of credit is not unpleasantly touched in the 
ridiculous interlude annexed to the Tale of a Tub : — 

" Med. I have a little knowledge in design. 
Which I can vary, sir, to infinito. 

Tab. Jid infinitum, sir, you mean. 

Med. I do ; 
1 stand not on my Latin : I'll invent ; 
But I must be alone then, join'd with no man." 

In fact, Jones had no taste for poetry, and an obscure ballad maker, who could string together 
a few rhymes to explain the scenery, was more acceptable to him than a man of talent, whc- 
might aspire to a share of the praise given to the entertainment. 

The cruelty of Jones in depriving our author of the court patronage had an unfavorable 
effect upon his circumstances in many respects. The citj', from whom he had been accus- 
tomed to receive an annual sum by way of securing his services, when occasion called for 
them, seem to have watched the moment of declining favor, and withdrawn their bounty.' 



1 Of this Jonson complains with great indignation to the Earl of Newcastle, in a petitionary letter, written with somo 
humor as well as spirit. He calls it their chandcrhj pension. It deserved a better name, for it was a hundred nobles per 
ann., a sum which could ill be spared by him at such a time. The Court of aldermen withdrew it Dec. 19, IGSl. It 
appears from this letter that Jonson had somewhat recovered from the first stroke of the palsy; the second, the fatal 
stroke, he places in 1628. 

[Giiibrd was not aware that the " annual sum," which Jonson received from the city, was his salaiy as City Chronolo- 
ger, in which office he succeeded Thomas Middleton the dramatist, — that his salary was for a considerable time with- 
drawn, because he had presented no "fruits of his labors in that his place," — and that it was afterwards restored witli 
arrearages, at the intercession of the king. These facts are ascertained by the following entries in the City Records : — 
" JMartis Secundo die Septembris 1C28 Annoque R Rs Caroli Angliie &.c quarto 
Hamcrsly Mayor. Item: this daie Beniamyn Johnson Gent is by this Court admitted to be the Citties Chronolo- 

Rep. No. 42. f. 271. ger in place of Mr. Thomas Middleton deceased, to have hold exercise and enioye the same place 
and to have and receive for that his service out of the Chamber of London the some of one hun- 
dred Nobles per Annum to contj'nue duringe the pleasure of this Court and the First quarter* 
payment to begin att Michaelmas next." 
" Jovis decimo die Novembris 1C31 Annoque Regni Regis Caroli Anglioe &c septimo. 
Whitmore Mayor. Item : it is ordered by this Court that Jfr. Chamberlen shall forbeare to pay any more fee o. 

Sep. N. 46. f. 8. wages unto Bcniamine Johnson the Citties Clironologer until he shall haue presented unto tliit 

Court some fruits of his labours in that his place." 



54 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



The example was probably followed by many who woultl not have introduced it, and as his 
salary Avas, at all times, irregularly paid, he was once more reduced to extremities, and driven 
to address a pathetic epistle to the lord treasurer Weston for relief.^ In this he says tha 
disease and want, with their associates, had beset him for five years, and that his muse 

" Now lay block'd up and straitened, narrowed in. 
Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win * 

Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been ! " - 

This appears to be his last " mendicant epistle," and it was not written in vain. Assistance 
reached him from various quarters ; and some alleviating circvimstances of another kind con- 
tributed at the same time' to smooth the bed of pain, and heal his wounded spirit. He received 
several copies of complimentary verses from the admirers of his talents ; and his munificent 
patron, the Earl of Newcastle, who had incidentally heard of it, applied to-him for a transcript 
of some of them. Jonson's answer follows : — 

" My noblest Lord, and my patron by excellence, 

" I have here obeyed your commands, and sent you a packet of my own praises, Avhich I 
should not have- done if I had any stock of modesty in store; but 'obedience is better than 
sacrifice,' — and you command it. I am now like an old bankrupt in wit, that am driven to pay 
debts on my friends' credit ; and, for want of satisfying letters to subscribe bills of exchange. 

" Your devoted 

" Ben Jonson. 
" ith Fehruarij, 1632. 
«' To the Right Hon. the Earl of Newcastle." 

This letter enclosed several poems, among which Avcre two by the celebrated Lord Falkland, 
never printed ; a third, printed without a name in 117;; Restored, but here signed Nic. Oldis- 
worth ; and a fourth of considerable length by R. Goodwin,^ of which this is the concluding 

••ouplet : — 

" Other oblivion, Ben, thou ne'er wilt find 
Thau that, whicli, with tlice, puts out all mankind." — 



" Jovis xviijf die Septembris 1C34 Annoque R Rs Caroli Anglis &.c decimo. 
Mowlson Mayor. Item : this day Mr. Recorder and Sir James Hamorsley Knight and Alderman declared unto 

Rep. N. 48, f. 433. this Court his Majesty's pleasure signified unto tliem by the right honble the Earle of Dorsett foi 
and in the bclialfe of Beniaminc Johnson the Cittyes Chronologer, Whereupon it is ordered by 
tliis Court that his yearely pencion of one hundred nobles out of the Chamber of London shalbo 
continued and that Mr. Chamberlen shall satisfio and pay unto him his arrerages thereof." 
Jonson, no doubt, continued to hold this office till his death : he was succeeded in it by Francis Quarles. See my Ac- 
count of Middhton and his Works, pp. xl.-xlii., where the above extracts from the City Records were first printed. — A. 
Dyce.] 

1 The following letter was probably written at this period : — 
My noblest Lord and best Patron, 

I send no borro^ving epistle to provoke your lordship, for I have neitiier fortune to repay, nor security to engage, 
that will be -taken: but I make a most humble petition to your lordship's bounty to succor my present necessities thia 
good time [festival] of Easter, and it shall conclude all begging requests hereafter on the behalf , 

of your truest beadsman and 

most thankful servant, 
To the Earl of JfewcaslU, [no date] B. J. 

[Harl MSS. 4955.] 

a About this time Randolph, whom he had adopted, addressed to liiai, with filial reverence, " a gratulatory poeui " 
in which he thus refers to his disease : — 

" And here, as piety bids me, I intreat 
Phoebus to lend tljce some of his own heat. 
To cure thy palsie, else I will complain 
He has no skill in lierbs, and we in vain 
Style him the god of physic : 'twere his praise 
To make thee as immortal as thy lays," &.c, 
• Of this person I know no more than is found in Aubrey. " He was (lie says) a general scholar and had a delicate 



MEMOIllS OF BEN JONSON 5» 

Lord Falkland, who is insulted by Walpole for the meanness of his poetry, (which yet is 
superior to his own,) speaks of it with a modesty which must take away all inclination to cen- 
sure. I know, he says, 

" That what I lieie have writ 
May praise my friendsliip, but condemn my wit." 

Our author was now employed upon the Magnetic Ladij, which was brought out in the Oc- 
tDber term of this year. " It was generally esteemed," Langbaine tells us, " an excellent play, 
though, in the poet's days, it found some enemies," ' among whom he specifies the younger 
Gill, of whose ribaldry a specimen will be found, vol. vi. p. 122, Ed. 1816. I have, elsewhere, 
noticed the inaccuracy of the dates prefixed to Howell's Letters. He speaks of this di-ama as 
in existence in 1G29 ; but if the licenser's authority were not sufficient (which it is) for assign- 
ing it to the present year, there is an incidental passage in a letter from ^Mr. Pory to Sir Tho. 
Puckering, (Sept. 20, 1632,) which would put it out of dispute. " Ben Jonson, who, I 
thought, had been dead, has written a play against the next term, called the Magnetic Lady." — 
Harl. MSS. vol. 7000. "\Ve may collect from this that Jonson had ceased to appear abroad, and 
was entirely lost to those who looked for him only at Whitehall and the theatres. Indeed, 
his maladies had recently increased, and left him as little leisure as power for literary exertions 
of any kind. Dryden calls his last plays his " dotages." - They want, indeed, much of tho 
freedom and vigor of his early performances ; but they exhibit no signs of mental imbecility, 
and one of them, the Neio Inn, has more than one passage of merit.* There is, however, a 
want of generosity in this triumph OA'er the poet's declining years. His perseverance in writing 
Was, in truth, a misfortune ; but it was forced upon him by the urgent calls of his situation. 
There were, indeed, intervals of ease and comfort, and in these he wrote with his usual hap- 
piness ; but he was unable to wait for them, and his "bed-ridden and afflitted muse" was 
frequently urged to exertions of which she was manifestly incapable. 

A few trifling pieces of poetry close the melancholy account of this year. It is evident, 
however, that we have but a small part of what was written. Something was probably lost in 
the confusion which followed his death, and more in the wreck of his patron's fortunes ; but, 
exclusively of these, it appears that we have not all our author's printed works. The following 
letter, which (though undated) appears to be written about this period, alludes to a work of 
which nothing is now to be found. 

"My Lord: 

" The faith of a fast friend with the duties of an httmblc servant, and the hearty prayers of 
a religious beadsman, all kindled upon this altar to your honor, my honorable lady, jows: hope- 
ful issue, and your right noble brother, be ever my sacrifice ! 

"It is the lewd printer's fault that I can send your lordship no more of my book. I sent yciu 
one piece before the fair by Mr. Witherington, and now I send you this other morsel. The 
fine gentleman that walks the town — tho Fiend ; bxit before he will perfect the rest, I fear, he 
will come himself to be a part under the title of the absolute knave, Avhich he hath played 
with me. 

" My printer and I shall afford subject enough for a tragicomedy ; for with his delays and 

wit ; was a great historian and an excellent poet." — Letters, vol. iii. 3G0. The editors of these letters are at a loss for tho 
moaning of the nest sentence. " The journey into France crept in. Bishop Corbet's poems was made by him." Read it 
thus, and the difnculty will vanish : " The Journey into France, crept into Bishop Corbet's poems, was made by him.'" 
But can this be so? 

1 There is an amiable trait recorded of Inigo Jones. He was present at the first representation of this play, and made 
himself remarkable by his boisterous ridicule of it. " He grew fat," Gill says, " with laughing I " " Wlioever was the 
aggressor, Jonson always took care to be most in the wrong : such was his BKUTALixy," &c. 

2 Meaning, it may be presumed, the JVew Inn, the Magnetic Lady, and the Tale of a Tub. 

3 The good taste of Mr. Lamb has led him to make considerable extracts from this play, which is so unfeeimgly ridi- 
culed by the ccnimen',ators on Shakspeare, who never condescended to open it. He concludes with a remark that doc'i 
oqual credit to his liberality and his judgment. "These, and the preceding extracts, (from the Case is Jlitered and the 
Poetaster,) may serve to shov/ the poetical fancy and elegance of njind of tlie supposed rugged old bard. A thousand 
beautiful passages might be added from those numerous court masques and entertainments, which he was in the daily 
iiabit of producing, to prove the same thing; but they do not fall within my plan." — Specimens of ths E:it'lUK Ik-avciit 
Poets. 



56 MEMOIRS OF EEN JONSON. 

vexation, I am almost become blind ; and if Heaven be so just, in the metainorphosis, to turu 
him into that creature which he most resembles, a dog with a bell to lead mo between White- 
hall and my lodging, I may bid the woild good night. 

And so I do. 

Ben Jox?ox. 
" To the Earl of Newcastle/' 
[Harl. 3IS. 4955.] 

The Tale of a Tub, the last work of Jonson xijat was submitted to the stage, appeared in 
1G33. It makes no great pretensions to notice ; yet it is correctly and even characteristically 
written ; but though there may be something to amuse, there is little to interest ; and it was 
probably not often called for. In the last scene of this comedy, Jonson had iiitroduced a 
ridiculous piece of machinery, at the expense of his powerful enemy, Inigo Jones, who had, 
however, (as may be easily supposed,) sufficient influence with the master of the revels to pre- 
vent its appearance. 

In the spring of this year, Charles visited his native kingdom. He Avas splendidly enter- 
tained on the road by the nobility and gentry ; but by none of them with such lavish mag- 
nificence as by the Earl of Newcastle. Jonson was applied to on the occasion for one of those 
little congratulatory interludes which usually made a part of the royal entertainments ; and the 
folloAving letter from the grateful poet, probably accompanied Love's Welcome at WelbecTc.^ 

" My noble Lord and my best Patron : 

" I have done the business j-our lordship trusted mc with ; and ihe morning after I receivea 
by my beloved friend, Master Payne, j'oxir lordship's timely gratuitj- — I stjde it such, for it fell 
like the dew of heaven on my necessities — I pray to God my work may have deserved it. I 
meant it should in the working it, and I have hope the performance will conclude it. In the 
mean time, I tell your lordship what I seriously think : God sends you these chargeable and 
magnificent honors of making feasts, to mix with your charitable succors dropx^ed upon me your 
servant, who have nothing to claim of merit but a cheerful undertaking whatsoever your lord- 
ship's judgment thinks me able to perform.* I am in the number of your humblest servants, my 
lord, and the most willing ; and do joy in the good friendship and fellowship of my right 
learned friend, Master Payne, than whom your lordship could not have employed a more dil- 
rgent and judicious man, or that hath treated me Avith more humanity; which makes mc cheer- 
fully to insert myself into your lordship's commands, and so sure a clientele. 

" Wholly and only your lordship's, 

"Ben Jonson. 
' To the Earl of Newcastle." 

It would be 3 heart-rending task minutely to trace the progress of our author's decline from 
the period at which we are arrived. He continued, while his faint and faltering tongue could 
articulate, to pay his annual duty to his royal master, and he wrote, at the request of the Earl 
of NcAvcastle, another little interlude to grace the reception of the king and queen at Bolsover, 
called also Love's Welcome ; but this appears to be almost the last of his works, if we except 
the satires on Inigo Jones, Avhich, according to the dates assigned by Howell, were not written 
till 1G35.^ 



1 P. GGO. There was, indeed, another public occasion on wliich our author v.t.s employed to write ; namelj', i:re 
christening of a son of tlio Earl of Newcastle, to whom some of the royal family stood sponsors. Of this little interlude 
(hitherto unpublished) some account will be found in the opening of the last volume. — Ed. 1816. 

2 In this humble and thankful style is conceived all that has reached us of Jonson's coriespondsnce with !iis patrcns 
Gratitude, indeed, was one of the feelings whicli peculiarly marked his character. I know, saya Eliot, (Jonson's persouai 
^nemy,) in an epistle to tlie Earl of Jlontgomery, — 

"I kpow 
Tliat Jonson much of what he has, do»s owe 
To you, and to your family, and is neve: 
Slow to profess it," &c. — Poems, p. 108. 

3 Since 1 have had an opi)ortunity of examining the Museum MSS. I .lave Vss confidence in these dales than befor* 
')]dys is completely justified in his doubts of their accuracy 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 57 

One bright and sunny ray yet broke through the gloom "which hung over his closing hours. 
In this he produced the Sad Shepherd, a pastoral drama of exquisite beauty, -which may not 
only be safely opposed to the most perfect of his early -works, but to any similar perfonnanca 
in any age or country. The better half of this drama -was unfortmiately lost in the confusion 
that folio-wed his death ; for that he had put the last hand to it, I see no reason to doubt.' 
This •\vas apparently the close of his labors. Among his papers -were found the plot and 
opening of a domestic tragedy on the story of Mortime); Earl of March, together -with the 
Discoveries and the Grammar of the English Language, on both of -which he probably continued 
to WTite -while he could hold a pen. The minute accuracy of the Grammar, and the spirit and 
elegance, the judgment and learning, displayed in every part of the Discoveries, are -worthy of 
all praise. It may, indeed, be said, that they are the recollections of better days ; and, in some 
measure, this is undoubtedly the case : but no difference of style or manner is any -where 
apparent, and it is certain, from internal evidence, that a considerable portion of the latter -work 
must have been -written a short time before his dissolution. 

That event was noAV rapidly approaching. He had evidently received a religious education 
from his parents, and his works sufficiently show that he was not without serious impressions 
of his duty towards his ^Maker ; these grew more frequent and strong perhaps in his affliction, 
and it is gratifying to learn from the Bishop of Winchester, who often -visited him during his 
long confinement, that he expressed the deepest sorro.w and contrition for «* profanin" the 
Scripture in his plays." It is proper to observe, however, that the memory of the good Izaac 
Walton (who gives us this part of the bishop's conversation) must have deceived him in this 
place. Jonson has no profanations of Scripture in his plays : He has, indeed, profanations of 
the sacred name, (like all liis contemporaries,) and of these he did well to repent " with horror." 
In this instance, it icas good for him to have been afflicted ; and, as his remorse was poignant, it ia 
a part of Christian charity to hope that it way not in vain. He died on the 6th of August, 1637, 
and Vv'as buried on the 9th in Westminster Abbey, " in the north nisle, in the path of square 
stone opposite to the scutcheon of Robcrtus de Ros." A common pavement stone, Mr. A. 
Chalmers says, was laid over his grave, with the short and irreverent inscription of O rare Ben 
Jonson ! There was nothing irreverent, however, intended by this brief epiphonema. His friends 
designed to raise a noble monument to his memory, by subscription, and till this was ready 
nothing more was required than to cover his ashes decently with the stone which had been 
removed. While this was doing, Aubrey tells us. Sir John Young, of Great IMilton, Oxford- 
shire, whom he familiarly calls Jack Young, chanced to pass through the abbey, and, not 
enduring that the remains of so great a man should lie at all without a memorial, "gave one 
of the workmen eighteen pence to cut the words in question." The subscription was fully 
successful ; but the troubles which were hourly becoming, more serious, and which not long 
after broke out into open rebellion, prevented the execution of the monument, and the money 
was returned to the subscribers. 

Although Jonson had probably experienced some neglect towards the termination of his 
days, yet the respect for his memory was very general, and his death was long lamented as a 
public loss. Many of the elegies written on the occasion were collected by Dr. Duppa, Bishop 
of Winchester, and tutor to the Prince of Wales, and published a few months after the poet's 
death,'' under the title of Jonsonus Viubius. For this act of pious friendship, Duppa received 
the thanlts of his contemporaries ; and, among the rest, of Davenant, who compliments him or 
the occasion in a poem of some merit. As the collection is of rare occurrence, and contains 
several pieces by the most celebrated names of the time, it is reprinted at the end of Jonson's 
Works, together with short notices of the respective authors, furnished by the kindness of my 

1 It is not altogether improbable tliat we owe the loss of this pastoral drama to tlie circumstance of sliutting up tlic 
Jieatres this year (1636.) There is an allusion to this circumstance in Habington's Elegy on our author's death: 

" Heaven, before thy fate, 

Tiiat thou thyself mightst thine own dirges hear, 
Made the sad stage close mourner for a year," &c. 

2 The nnpriraatur to this little volume is dated Jan. 23, ICGJ. Gatalcer told Aubrey that llic title cf Jousonas Virbius 
was given to it by Lord Falkland. 



58 MEMOIllS OF BEN JONSON. 



liberal and ingenious friend, Octavius Gilclirist, at a moment when kindness is doubly felt 
when I was overwhelmed with affliction for an irreparable loss, and incapable of the slightest 
exertion. 

Jonson left no family. His wife appears to have died some time before his journey into 
Scotland, and he never married again. Most of his children died young, and none survived 
him. 

His person was large and corpulent. He had, Aubrey says, been fair and smooth-skinned, 
but a scorbutic humor appears to have fallen, at an early period, into his face, and to have 
scarred it in a very perceptible degree : still, however, he must have been, while young, a 
personable man. Decker, as we have seen, describes him as a mere monster in the Satiro- 
mastix ; but this is a scenical picture, the distorted representation of an exasperated enemy. 
Randolph and others of his friends and admirers, who could only have known him in his 
advanced age, trace a resemblance in him to the head of Menander, as exhibited on ancient 
medals. "We are not left, however, to contending reports, as many portraits of him were 
taken in his own time, several of which are come down to us sufficiently perfect to show that 
his features were neither irregular nor unpleasing. After he had attained the age of forty, 
an unfavorable change took place in his figure, to which we find frequent allusions in his 
WTitings. He speaks of his " mountain belly, and his ungracious gait," and is always foremost 
to jest at \vhat did not, perhaps, escape the pleasantry of his companions. 

Whalley, who sometimes sacrifices his better judgment to the opinions of others, tells us 
that " his disposition was reserved and saturnine." This is contradicted by the whole tenor 
of his life. " He was, moreover, (he adds,) not a little oppressed with the gloom of a splenetic 
imagination, and, as an instance of it, he told Drummond that he had lain a whole night 
fancying he saw the Carthaginians and Romans fighting on his great toe." * Who does not 
see that Jonson was giving, in the fi-icndly flow s>i conversation, an account of some casuiil 
aberration of reason, produced by a passing fever, and Avhicli no one but his perfidious 
entertainer would have treasured up, or sought to pervert to an unworthy purpose ! That he 
had occasional fits of gloom may be readily granted ; and we know whence they sprang : 
apart froiw these, he was frank and unreserved, and it is impossible to read the accounts of 
the meetings at the Mermaid and the Apollo without amazement at the perversity which 
could thus misstate his character. 

Lord Clarendon tells us, that " his conversation was very good, and with men of most note ; " 
and the excellent Lord Falkland (vol. ix. p. 5. Ed. 1816) observes that, upon a near acquaintance 
with him, he was doubtful whether his candor or his talents were the greater. No man, in 
fact, had lived more in the world than Jonson, conversed with a greater variety of characters, 
was quicker to remark, or abler to retain, the peculiarities of each : this, with his habitual 
frankness of communication, rendered his. society as delightful as it was instructive. The 
testimony of Lord Clarendon is of the highest authorit3^ He lived, he says, "many years on 
terms of the most friendly intercourse with our author," and he was, in consequence, no ill 
judge of the society in which he was to be found : it is therefore not without equal surprise 
and sorrow that I find the editor of Drydcn's Works repeatedly accusing him of " delighting 
in loio coinpany " and 2»'ofane conversation." Would the exemplary Earl of Clarendon have 
termed this conversation very good ? or such companj^ men of most note ? Were Camden and 
Sclden, and Hawkins and Martin, and Gary and Morrison, were Corbett, and Hackctt, aiid 
Duppa, and Morloy, and King, (all bishops,) low company ? Were tlie Digbys, the Sjoenscrs, 
the Ogles, the Cecils, the Sidneys, the Sack^dllcs, low company ? Were Coke and Egerton, 
and Pembroke and Portland and Aubigny, low company ? Yet with these Jonson lived from 

1 He tola Drummond no such thing " as an instance," &c. Whalley, like tlie rest, looked only to Shiels, who ha? 
again interpolated his own ribaldry, and joined two passages together, which, in his author, are perfectly distinct, am 
relate to different qualities. But. enough of this despicable scribbler, whom I gladly abandon to the admiration of those 
Who, with Mr. Slalone, think forgery, when employed in the ruin of Jonson's reputation, " an innocent jeu d'esprit." 
— SAafe., vol. i. p. 019. 

2 This contradicts even the reports of the poet's enemies. The charge against him during his life is not that liii 
ilcliglited in low company, but — that he aspired to society far above his rank. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. C9 

youth to age ; and even his sick chamber, and liis death bed, Avere consecrated by the frequent 
I'csort of the %\ise and good — 

" To HIM how daily flocked, what reverence gave 
All that had wit, or would be thought to have ; 
How the wise too did with mere wits agree : 
As Pembroke, Portland, and grave D'Aubigny; 
Nor thought the rigid'st senator a shame. 
To add his praise to so deserved a fame ! " 

Falkland's Eel. 

Such is the language of one who cherished his acquaintance to the last : and yet we are 
required to believe, on the word of a writer of the present day, that Jonson delighted in " gross 
and vulgar society ! "' The charge of "profane conversation" is contradicted by the whole 
tenor of his life. " For my own part," he says, in his manly appeal to the two Universities, " I 

1 With the contempt expressed for the poet's talents I have nothing to do; but I must not suffer his moral character to 
be defamed in silence. The object is to debase Jonson by assimilating him to Shadwell. " Huge corpulence, much 
coarseness of manners, and an ungentlemanly vulgarity of dialect * seem to have distinguished both." Again : " Shad.^ 
well seems to have imitated Ben Jonson in gross and coarse sensual indulgence and profane conversation." — vol. x. 445 
Again: "Shadwell resembled Jonson in the brutal coarseness of his conversation, and his vulgar and intemperate pleas 
ures." Again : " Shadwell followed Jonson as closely as possible ; he Avas brutal in his conversation, and much addicted 
to the use of opium," &.c. This is the wantonness of injustice. If the elevation of Dryden made it necessary to over 
whelm Shadwell with contempt, there seems to be no absolute necessity for dragging Jonson forward at eveiy turn 
Jonson never injured Diyden. If he was praised and loved by Shadwell, it ought not to be attributed to him as a crime 
for he had long been in iiis grave. 

"Jonson istdescribed as wearing a loose coachman's coat, frequenting the Mermaid Tavern, where he drank seas of 
Oj7iary, then reeling home to bed, and after a profuse perspiration, arising to his dramatic studies." — Life of Dryden 
p. 2G5. The passage from which the above is taken stands thus in Wr. Malone : "I have heard (Aubrey says) Mr. Lacy 
the player say that Ben Jonson was wont to wear a coat, like a coachman's coat, with slits under the armpit." Lacy 
has good authority for this circumstance ; but to what period does it refer.' To the last year of Jonson's life; when tho 
poet, with that respect for tho public which he always cherished, sent for him to his sick chamber, to give him a list of 
words in the Vorkshire dialect for the Sad Shepherd, on which he was then employed. Lacy, who did not leave York- 
shire till 1C31 or 1C32, could know little of Jonson but the form of his coat, which truly seems very well adapted to one 
who could barely move from his bed,to his "studying chair, which was of straw, such as old women use, and such aa 
Aulus Gellius is drawn in." But, continues Aubrey, " He would many times exceed in drink, (this is not quite fairly 
translated he drank seas of Canary,) then he would tumble homo to bed, and when he had thoroughly perspired, tlien to 
study." That Jonson was fond, too fond, if the reader pleases, of good wine and good company, we know ; but there ia 
yet a word to be said on this passage. Aubrey leaps at once over forty years of Jonson's life : from 1596 to 1G3G, all that 
he tells us, with the exception of tho passage just quoted, is, that he died in Westminster, and was buried there ! Yet 
this IS the foundation of the endless attacks upon him for brutality and sieinish licentiousness. Aubrey knew nothing of 
our author but what ho gathered from conversation, and Kent himself iiad not a better gift at marring a plain talc in the 
telling. Even in the short report of Lacy, he confounds the Sad Shepherd with the Tale of a Tub, though he had only to 
open it. And what does the reader imagine to be the origin of tliis charge of Jonson's " exceeding in drink, tumbling 
home to study," fee..' Simply, a character of himself put (in sport) into the mouth of Carlo Buffone, wliom he expressly 
warns us against, as " a scurrilous and profane jester, as a violent railer, an immeasurable liar, and one that, swiftel 
than Circe, transformed eveiy person into deformity," &c. This is his speech : Carlo. " When the poet comes abroad, 
(once in a fortnight,) and makes a good meal among players, he has caninum appUitum^ (marry, at home he keeps a good 
philosophical diet, beans and buttermilk,) and will take you off three, four, five of these (draughts of Canary) one after 



* Vulgarity of dialect! If this be meant of Jonson's conversation, it is contradicted by tho testimony of all his ac- 
quaintance ; if of his compositions, it is sufficient to answer, that Jonson was by far the most correct and elegant prose 
writer of his time. The last of his works, the Discoveries, may be produced, not to confute, as the writers of the Bio. Bnt 
say, but to shame, such accusations. One of Decker's earliest charges against our author is, the scrupulous accuracy of 
his language ; and the good Bishop of Chichester (Dr. H. King) says of him, — 

" It is but truth ; thou taught'st the ruder age 
To speak by grammar, and reforra'dst the stage." 

To these may be added the testimony of E. Bolton, (whom Warton calls " that sensible old English critic," and Ritson, 
" that man of learning,") who, after stating his opinion of the most celebrated writers down to his own times, (1600,) 
says, " But if I should declare mine own rudeness rudely, I should then confess that I never tasted English more to my 
liking, nor more smart, and put to the height of use in poetry, than in that vital, judicious, and most practicable language 
of Master Benjamin Jonson." — Hypercritica. It is true that Jonson had not, at this period, written the Silent IVoman, tlw 
Fox, or the Alchemist ; and tlierefore as much of " an ungentlemanly vulgarity of dialect " as tl'e=e pieces afford, must bn 
subtracted from the commendations of Edmund Bolton, 



60 MEMOmS OF BEN JONSON. 

can affirm, and from a most clear conscience, that I have ever trembled to think towards the least 
profaneness ; " and he is borne out by all that remains of his Avorks.' But his enemies rely on 
the authority of the infamous Shiels, who, not content Avith the scurrility which he has put into 
the mouth of Drummond, adds from himself, that "Jonson took every occasion to ridicule 
religion in his plays, and make it his sport in conversation ! " — Cibber's Lives, &c., vol. i. p. 23S. 
His plays have been for two centuries before the public, and may be confidently appealed to on 
the present occasion. There is not a single passage in them which can be construed by the moat 
inveterate of his persecutors into any " ridicule of religion : " but I will not disgrace the poet 
any further by defending him against a convicted liar ; though I must be permitted, for the last 
time, to express my sincere regret that a blind hatred of Jonson should lead so many '« better . 
natures" to build their accusations on such authority. The poet's fortunes, like Marc Antony's, 
have " corrupted honest men." 

I have already expressed my satisfaction at his repentance. — " He had vmdoubtedly," as 
Whalley says, " a deep sense of religion, and was under its influence." His Epigrams, Under- 
woods, and other collections of poetry, bear abundant testimony of his serious disjDOsition : some- 
times his feelings of duty are rational, solemn, and pathetic ; at other times they partake of his 
constitutional infirmity, and become gloomy and terrific. 

" Great and good God ; can I not think of thee, 
But it must straight my melanclioly bo? — 
I know my state, bctli full of shame and scorn, 
Conceived in sin, and unto labor born ; 
Standing with fear, and must with horror fall. 
And destined unto judgment after all," &c. 

p. 086. 

" It may be offered too (Whalley adds) in his favor, that his offences against piety and good 
manners are very few. Were authority or example an excuse for vice, there are more indecencies 
in a single play of the poet's contemporaries than in all the comedies which he ever wrote : and 
even Shakspeare, whose modesty is so remarkable, has his peccant redundancies not less in num- 
ber than those of Jonson." — Life, Sic, p. liv. Where Whalley discovered the " remarkable 
modesty of Shakspeare," ' as he has not told us, it would, perhaps", be useless to inquire. Was 
he aware of the opinion of the poet's contemporaries on this head ? His peccant redundan- 
cies, too, are delicately contrasted with our author's " daring profanation of the Scriptures." The 
fact is, that the crime which is falsely charged on the one falls with dreadful effect upon tho 

another, and look villainously the while, like a one-headed Cerberus, and then when his belly is well balaced, aiid his 
brains rigged a little, he sails away, as if he would work wonders when he came home." — Every Man out of his Humor 
And this scurrility, which is given by Jonson as a striking example of tlic propensity of the speaker to defame " every 
honorable or revered person who came within the reach of Iiis eye, by adulterate similes," (see p. 39,) is taken by Aubrey 
as a genuine delineation of character, and made, by the jjoet's enemies, the distinguishing feature of his whole life ! Au- 
brey's addition to tliis precious story is too ciniuus to be omitted. " Ben Jonson had one eie lower than t'other, like Chin 
the player. Perhaps he bcgott Chin ! " — Letters, fcc, vol. iii. p. 415. Had this passage been quoted with the rest, wo 
should have had incontincncy added to " brutality and impiety." 

1 And, in his Underwoods, after adjuring his friend Colby, in a high strain of moral philosophy, to shun the usual vices 
of the army, he adds, as the most momentous charge of all, — 

" And last, blaspheme not. I did never hear 
Man thought the valianter, for he durst swear," &c. 
It should be observed that Anthony Wood's life of Jonson is incorrect in almost eveiy part. lie formed it on two docu 
ments ; the MSS. of Aubrey, and the letter of Izaac Walton, which contains the passage already quoted, and which Au 
brey also procured for him. Aubrey's authority is seldom to be relied on. A greater blunderer never existed, as Wood 
himself discovered when it was too late — he calls him " a roving, magotty-pated man ; " and such ho truly was. Izaac 
Walton cannot be mentioned without respect : but his letter was written nearly half a century after Jonson's death, 
and when the writer was in his eighty-seventh year. It is made up of the common stories of the time, and a few anec- 
dotes procured, while he was writing, from the Bishop of Winchester, who must himself, at the date of Izaac's letter, have 
been verging on ninety. It is not easy to discover what was the bishop's and what was Walton's ; but on these Wood 
constructed his life of Jonson. He brings little of his own but a few dates. 

- Steevens observes on a note of Warburton, in which he speaks of .Shakspeare's delicacy somewhat in the style ol 
VVlialley, " Dr. Warburton's recollection must have been weak, or his zeal for his author extravagant. Otherwise, ho 
could not have ventured to countenance him on the score of delicacy ; his offensive metaphors and allusions being un 
doii'jtedly more frequent than those of all his dramatic predecessors or contemporaries." — ShaJc, vol vi p 351. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOjN'. ca 

otlier. Sh&kspeare is, in truth, the coryphceus of profanation. Texts of Scripture are adduced 
toy him with the most wanton levity ; and, like his own Hal, ho has led to damnable iteration 
He too, let us hope, regarded his conduct in this respect "with horror," though no record of it 
be found on earth. 

Jonson's guilt was of a different degree : — 

" He turned no scripture phrases to a jest, 
And was inspired with rapture, not possessed ! " — 

it consisted, as is already observed, of an abuse of the sacred name in idle exclamations. Profane 
swearing was, unhappily, the vice of the time ; from the monarch on the throne to the peasant in 
his shed, aU were familiarized to oaths of fearful import. Catholicism had introduced (as it 
every where does) expressions not to be repeated with impunity ; adjurations by limbs, wounds, 
sufferings ; by attributes, mysteries, &c., which, when they lost the reverence once attached to 
them, all, in short, that concealed their inherent turpitude, presented features of peculiar 
deformity. The most offensive of Jonson's dramas, in this respect, are the early 4tos, and of 
these, the first sketch of Every Man in his Humor ; this, however, was not given to the press 
by him : the folio edition, the only one which appears to have experienced his care, is free from 
many of the blemishes which deform the others. His most usual oath, in the latter, was an im- 
meaning exclamation, " by G — d so ! " From this, when his works were reprinted, he withdrew 
the G, and thus rendered the nonsense harmless. I am not afraid to confess that, in a few 
instances, where there Avas reason to suppose that he had overlooked it, I have surreptitiously 
abstracted the same letter. I know the importance of fidelity ; but no considerations on earth 
can tempt me to the -wanton or heedless propagation of impiety. I have always regarded with 
feelings of peculiar horror that foolhardy accuracy which with blind and bold irreverence ferrets 
out every blasphemous word which the author's better feelings had thrown aside, and felicitates 
the reader on the pernicious discovery. More than one editor of our old .poets might be named 
— but ignoti alta jaceant node ! * 

Jonson's love of conviviality has been already noticed.^ His attachment to wine he never 
denied ; indeed, in this case, as in many others, he seems to have pleased himself with exagger- 
ating his foibles, and inlaying into the hands of his enemies. I know not his motives for this 
conduct : pride was, perhaps, at the bottom of it ; and he appears to act as if he would have it 
thought that the accusations of such characters as were banded against him could neither disturb 
nor disgrace him. With all this, however, it is not true, as Drummond says, that " drink was 
one of the elements in which he lived," or, as has been more recently asserted, that he was " an 



1 It may yet be observed that the whole of Jonson's later works (i. e. all the dramatic pieces produced during the last 
twenty-three years of his life) are remarkably free from rash ejaculations. The office book of Sir Henry Herbert, how- 
ever, supplies us with a very curious instance of the danger which he ran, notwithstanding his innocence, of being again 
charged with " blaspliemy." The Magnetic Lady is void of all ofTence : yet for the profane language of this play, the 
author, tlien sick in bed, was questioned by the Master of tlie Revels; and it was not till the performers were confronted 
with him, that tliey confessed tliemselves " to have introduced tiie oaths complained of into their respective parts with- 
out his autliority, or even knowledge."— ^ vol. vi. p. 2. Ed. 1816. 

2 It should be observed, however, that most of what we have on this subject was written after Jonson's death. The 
celebrity of his name made the Apollo famous, and tliose who belonged to the club when he died, or were successively 
admitted into it,* and who looked on themselves as his " sons," seem to have tliought it an act of tilial duty to exagger- 
ate the jovial propensities of their " father." Hence a thousand songs and invocations of tliis kind : — 

" Fetch me Ben Jonson's scull, and fiU't with sack, 
Rich as the wine he drank, when the whole pack 
Of jolly Sisters pledged, and did agree. 
It was no sin to be as gay as he : — 
If there be any weakness in the wine, 
Tliere's virtue in the cup to mak't divine, &c." 

Preparations to Studtj, 1G41. 



• Even this conferred distinction. One of Shadwell's characters in Bury Fair makes it his peculiar boast that " lif 
jvas made Ben Jonson's son in tlie Apollo." It was not suspected in those days that the founder of this convivial soci 
"ly would be regarded hereafter as a " sullen " and " repulsive " misanthrope. 



62 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 



Iiahitiial sot." The imraensLty of his literary acquisitions,' and the number and extent of his 
productions, refute tlie slander, no less than the gravity, dignity, -wisdom, and piety of those -with 
whom he passed his life from manhood to extreme old age. That he was frequently found at the 
Mermaid, in his earlier years, and at his o-svn club (St. Dunstan's) in his declining age, -we know:- 
but so were many of the most -wise and virtuous of his contemporaries. Domestic entertain- 
ments -were, at that time, rare : the accommodations of a private house -were ill calculated for the 
purposes of a social meeting ; and taverns and ordinaries are therefore almost the only places in 
which Avc hear of such assemblies. This, undoubtedly, gives an appearance of licentiousness to 
the age, -ivhich, in strictness, does not belong to it. Long after the period of which we are now 
speaking, we seldom hear of the eminent characters of the day in their domestic circles ; they 
constantly appear at coffee houses, which had usurped the place of ordinaries ; and it was not till 
the accession of the present royal family, which brought with it the stability of internal peace, 
that the mansions of the middle class received those advantages which made home the centre of 
social as well as of individual happiness and comfort. 

"Jonson hath been often represented as of an envious, arrogant, overbearing temper, and 
insolent and haughty in his converse ; but these ungracious drawings were the performance of 
his enemies ; who certainly were not solicitous to give a flattering likeness of the original. But 
considering the provocations he received, with the mean and contemptible talents of those 
who opposed him, what -we condemn as vanity or conceit might be only the exertions of con- 
Bcious and insulted merit." * It may be so ; but instead of endeavoring to account for the 
origin of some of those ill qualities, or to apologize for them, it would have been more judicious 
to deny the existence of them altogether. It is not true that Jonson was envious of his con- 
temporaries : •'' he was liberal of commendation ; and more than enough remains to prove that 
he rejoiced in their merits, and forwarded their success ; he assisted Selden, and Hacket, and 
Raleigh, and Hobbes, and many others ; in a word, his advice, his skill, his pen were always at 
the command of his friends, and they were not sparingly employed by them. Neither is it 
true that he was " insolent and haughty in his converse." His conversation (Lord Clarendon 
says) was very good ; and it must, in fact, have been so, since he had the faculty of endearing 
himself to all who approached him. To say nothing of the distinguished characters of both 
sexes with whom he had grown old in a constant intercourse of friendship and familiarity, the 
men of genius and talents -\^'ho succeeded them, the hope and pride of the coming age,^ all 
flocked to Jonson, all aspired to become his " sons," all looked up to him for encouragement 
and advice, and all boasted of the pleasure and advantage derived from his society. Innu- 



1 Wliile Jonson puts a ridiculous account of liimsolf into the mouth of an " immeasurable liar," for the purpose ol 
••amatic satire, he thus describes, in his own person, the real nature of his employment: — 

" I that spend half my nights, and all my days. 
Here in a cell, to get a dark pale face. 
To come forth worth the ivy and the bays ; 
And, in this age, can hope no other grace," — 
yet his enemies persist in taking his character from Carlo Buffone ! 

2 Whalley, L\fc of Jonson, p. Iv. 

3 Every act of Jonson 's life is perverted. He told Drummond that ho could have wished tlic Feasting of the Forth had 
been his own. This was evidently meant to convey the most cordial approbation ; yet Lord Woodhouselee cannot rovert 
to the words without attempting to give them a malicious turn. The poem was so beautiful, it seems, that it " attracteil 
She awy of Ben Jonson." Beautiful, indeed, it is': but if Jonson envied Drummond, so he did " liis beloved" Beau 
iiont — 

" What fate is mine, that when thou praisest me 
For writing better, I must envy thee ! " 
60 he did Fletcher — 

" Most knowing Jonson, proud to call him son, 
In friendly envy swore he had outdone 
His very self," &c. 

TO he ilid Cartwright and many others — and it is for this peculiar strain of generous applause, that he is taxed with 
hatred of all merit! 

* The Duke of Buckingham (Sheffield) used to talk with great satisfaction of his being taken to see Jonson, thpn in 
nis Jecline, when he was a boy. He always retained a veneration for the aged poet, which probsS'v did hira no ser^'ic". 
with Dryden. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 63 

merable proofs of this might be accumulated Avithout difficulty, for such was the rank o*^ 
Jo'nson, such the space which ho occupied in the literary sphere, that his name is found in con- 
tact with almost every eminent character of the day. 

That he had a lofty opinion of himself may be allowed ; indeed, ho never affected to conceal 
it. But this did not lead to any undue contempt of others, as may be seen by what he says 
of Camden, Selden, and an infinite number besides, whose names occur in his Underwoods, 
Epigrams, and smaller pieces. In truth, this self-complacency frequently attends great learn- 
ing ; and our author's learning was of gigantic bulk. The degree of genius and fancy which a 
man possesses he can scarcely be said to ascertain by comparison. He may, indeed, overrate it ; 
but he may also set it too low, and there are instances in which these qualities have been 
unconsciously possessed. But no man can be profoundly learned without knowing it. Ho 
cannot conceal from himself that the acquisition has been made with infinite labor ; and he can 
form no very inadequate judgment of its degree, compared with that of others. This will 
account, in some measure, for that overweening pride in which many of the most celebrated 
literary characters have indulged, and which, when unsupported by taste and judgment, and 
the better qualities of the mind, is, in truth, sufficiently offensive. 

" In his studies, Jonson was laborious and indefatigable. His reading Avas copious and 
extensive ; his memory so tenacious and strong, that, when turned of forty, he could have 
repeated all that he ever wrote. His judgment was accurate and solid, and often consulted by 
those who knew him well, in branches of very curious learning, and far remote from the 
flowery paths loved and frequented by the muses." ' But, however widely diverged his occa- 
Bional excursions might be, ho always returned, with renovated ardor, to the companions of 
his j^outh, the classics of Greece and Rome, with Avhom his acquaintance was most familiar. 
" When I was in Oxon (Aubrey says) Bishop Skinner, who lay at our college, (Trinity,) was 
wont to say that Ben Jonson understood an author as well as any man in England." Of 
this there is no doubt ; and it may be fairly questioned whether " England " ever possessed a 
better scholar than this extraordinary man, whose name is become a by-Avord, in our time, for 
" dulness," and whose character is thought to be of no further importance than as it serves to 
form a parallel with the " brutality," " sottishness," and " impiety " of ShadAvell ! 

" In his friendships he was cautious and sincere, yet accused of levity and ingratitude to his 
friends ; but his accusers Avere the criminals, insensible of the charms, and strangers to the 
privileges of friendship ; for the poAvers of friendship, not the least of A'irtues, can only be 
experienced by the virtuous and the good." This is not one of my predecessor's happiest 
passages ; but it contains some truths among a foAv errors. Caiciion and Jonson should never 
be coupled together. The quality, Avhatever be its value, Avas, unfortunately, imknoAvn to 
him. His Avhole history proves that he Avas open and unsuspecting ; eager to trust, and con- 
fident no less of the sincerity than of the afi"ection of his associates. Whalley adds, that " Jon- 
son Avas sparing in his commendations of the Avorks of others ; but that Avhen he commends, 
he commends with Avarmth and sincerity, and that a man of sense is cautious of giving char- 
acters," &c. But here again, he should have ascertained the existence of the fact, before he 
proceeded to account for it. It is by no means " true," as he expresses it, that Jonson Avas 
sparing of his commendations : ^ on the contrary, as has been more than once observed, he was 
laAish of them ; and there are far more laudatory poems by him than by any writer of the age. 
Sufficient proofs of this Avill be found in the succeeding A'olumes, and Whalley must have 
studied his author Avith little attention not to discover that too great a prompt;:*., ie to praise 
was one of his besetting faults. 

"This sparingness (continues the biographer) probably gave occasion to accuse him of enA'y." 
The sparingness, as we have just seen, exists only in the imagination of the critics ; but 

1 Whal. Life, &c. p. Iv. 

2 Whalley found this in Langbaine ; but when the facts are at hand, it is worse than folly to copy the mistakes o! 
former writers. Langbaine has, unfortunately, too many of these blunders. He observes, for instance, from Marston's 
publisher, that this poet "is free from all ribaldiy, obscenity," &c., and he is followed by the editors of the Bio. Dram., 
the Theatrum Poetarum, the Om. Diet., &c. ; whereas we have but to open his works to be convinced that Marston was 
the most scuiiilous, filthy, and obscene writer of his time. Such is the negligence or ignorance of those who undertake 
to treat of our dramatic history ! 



64 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

(suppose it to bo real) -why should a canon of this nature be enforced against Jonson, -which 
was never applied to any other person ? If silence be a proof of envy, what becomes of 
Shalcspcaic ! "With a single exception,' I cannot discover that he ever mentioned one of his 
contemporaries with commendation, or bestowed a line of praise on any publication of his 
time. Yet he is spoken of (and no doubt justly) as the soul of liberality ; Avhile our author, 
who found something to approve in every work that appeared, and praised almost every writer 
by name, is constantly described as envious of all around him, and sedulously engaged in de- 
crying their merits. 

«' In conclusion," says Whallcy, " he is accused of jealousy and ill nature." It is well that 
we are arrived at tlie last of his bad qualities ; but, in sober truth, they seem to be charged on 
him with as little justice as the rest. Of what, or of whom, could he be "jealous"? From 
the accession to tlie death of James, which comprehends almost the whole period of his active 
life, he was, as has already appeared, the " beloved servant " of his prince", the companion and 
friend of the nobility and gentry, and the acknowledged head of the learned part of society. 
None but those Avho have looked into the literary memoirs of his age, published as well as 
unpublished, can form a correct idea of the frequency with which he is named, and the inti- 
macy of his connection with the most esteemed writers of the time. Of " ill nature " he does 
not appear to have had a spark in him. A constitiitional warmth of temper, and great quick- 
ness of feeling, gave, indeed, a tone of bluntness to his language, but it went no farther ; and 
while many proofs of the fervor of his friendship may be cited, his whole life does not furnish 
an instance of one unkind act.- He adopted a proud and overbearing tone when speaking of 
his enemies ; but has it ever been inquired who these enemies were ? As far as we are 
enabled to judge, they consisted principally of obscure actors and Avriters who attacked him 
at his entrance into public life with a degree of wanton hostility which his subsequent success 
imbittered and envenomed ; add to tliis, that they arc spoken of in the mass, and can seldom 
be recognized but when, in their impatience of truth, they stai-t forward, individually, and 
claim the resemblance. Opposed to these, he was not likely to be nice in his selection oi 
terms ; and a more temperate and modest person than our author might have felt a little 
spleen at being called from the studies which he loved, to defend himself against such antag- 
onists ; but his general deportment Avas open ; his fits of anger, if violent, were momentary, 
and his disjiosition placable and kind. 

Ago and infirmity had little effect upon the general bent of his temper. Though his pre- 
vailing complaint, which was of a paralytic natiu'e, must have occasionally aftccted his mind 
and debilitated his understanding, yet he contimied frank and sociable to the end. The last 
circumstance recorded of liim is to be found in a letter of Howell to Sir Tho. Hawkins,^ from 
which it appears, that at a " solemn supper given by the poet, when good company, excellent 
cheer, choice wine, and jovial ■welcome, had opened his heart and loosened his tongue, he 
began to raise himself at the expense of others." This incidental trait, in the closing scene of 
his life, is, with the usual candor of his biographers, eagerly seized upon as '« the leading 
feature of his character." It was not thus, however, that Howell thought, and acted. " For 
my part," he says, " I am content to dispense with this Roman infirmity of Ben, now time hath 
snowed upon his pericranium." He nowhere hints that this was the ordinary conduct of 
Jonson ; much less that it had been the practice of his better days. And if, (as Mr. Gilchrist 
justly observes,) " when he was old and bedridden, and his former vigor fled, he dwelt with 
some degree of fondness on his early eftbrts, — if he experienced some fears, lest 

' fickle fame 
SliouKl twine round sonic new minion's lieail 
The fading wreath for wliidi lie bled,' — 

1 Hd joined with Jonson in some comniendatoiy verses printed at the end of a little volume of poetry by Roberi 
Chester. 

a After what has been said of his " ill nature," it will scarcely be believed that, in all his writings, while hundred'- 
of contemporary names are introduced with praise, there are not half a dozen to be found accompanied by any mark o! 
reprobation j indeed, I recollect no person of any note, but Inigo Jones, whom lie has satirized by name. 

s The date is April, lG3(i ; but it should probably bo corrected, as should the ne.\t letter respecting Jonson, also dutivJ 
Wt' to lesr, for it focaks of his de.i'Ii- 



I 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JOXSOX. G5 

It "will not 'be necessary to have attained his eminence to admit, that these Avere apprehen- 
sions -which might be entertained by liim without any violent impeachment of his moral 
character." 

From a retrospect .">£ what has been said, an opinion may be formed of the frailties and 
defects, as well as of the excc^.lences of this eminent man, without much hazard rf error : 
and I rnust have made a bad estimate of the human powers, as well as of the human heart, if 
the latter be noi found to preponderate ; and if some degree of regret be not expressed by 
many of thoSe whom the ignorance or malice of his enemies has hitherto encouraged to 
calumniate his name. 

It yet remains to suy a few words on his poetical character ; which maj', perhaps, be more cor- 
rectly appreciated if we take a cursory view of the state of dramatic literature at the period of 
his first appearance as a ■\^Titer. 

The long reign of Elizabeth, though sufficiently agitated to keep the mind alert, was yet a 
season of comparative stability and peace. The nobilitj', who had been nursed in domestic 
turbulence, for Avhich there was now no place, and the more active spirits among the gentry, 
for whom entertainment could no longer be found in feudal grandeur and hospitality, took 
advantage of the diversity of employment happily opened, and spread themselves in every 
dii-cction. They put forth, iji the language of Shakspeare, — 

' Some to the \vsr£,.to try their fortunes tlicre ; 
Some to discover iaiands far away : 
Some to the stiidiouj universities ; " — 

and the effect of these various pursuits was speedily discernible. The feelings, narrowed and 
Imbittered in household feuds, expanded and purified themselves in distant warfare, and a 
liigh sense of honor and generosity, and chivalrous valor, ran with electric speed from 
bosom to bosom, on the return of the first adventurers in the Flemish campaigns ; while the 
wonderful reports of discoveries, by the intrepid mariners who opened the route since so 
successfully pursued, faithfully committed to writing, and acting at once upon the cupidity 
and curiosity of the times, produced an inconceivable effect in diffusing a thirst for novelties 
among a people, who, no longer driven in hostile array to destroy one another, and combat for 
interests in which they took little concern, had leisure for looking around them, and consulting 
their own amusement. 

The fluctuating state of religion, from the incoherent Reformation of Henry YIII. to the 
Protestantism of Edward, the relapse into Popery under Mary, and the return to a purer faith 
Mith Elizabeth, interested the hopes and fears of the nation in an extraordinary degree, and 
while it invigorated the fancy, improved the understanding, by making a certain portion of 
literature necessary to those who contended on either side of this important question. About 
the middle of Elizabeth's reign, the ardor of theological controversy appears to have suffered 
a considerable abatement, in consequence, perhaps, of the marked preponderancy of the Prot- 
estant cause : the impulse which had been communicated, however, continued to act upon the 
public mind, and a craving for mental enjojTnent was very widely diffused. The Mysteries, 
which were indissolubly connected with the old superstitions, and even the Moralities, (many 
'ii which were not without merit,) Avere yet of too rude a nature, in the present improved state 
of information, to afford much rational delight. But this "craving" was most sensibly felt 
in the metropoUs, which began about this time to increase rajoidly in population and interest. 
England, in fact, had been improving from the time of Henry VII. ; the middle class of 
society had, in almost every county, acquu-ed wealth by trade and commerce, and with it that 
propensity to dissipation and amusement, and that love of litigation, which always attend the 
first steps to consequence among a rising people. This brought numbers to the capital at 
particular seasons of the year, for whom it was desirable to provide entertainment ; and 
happily caterers of every description were at hand. Many of those who had jjrobably entered 
on a learned education, with a view of being received into the munificent establishments of 
Ine old religion, were, by the destruction of monasteries, &c., abandoned to their fortunes, and 
compelled to seek other modes of subsistence. The taste for reading was sufficiently general 
10 warrant a reliance, in some degree, on the profits of the press ; and London possessed 
5 



6C MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

allurements of a powerful nature for the literary adventurer. Many young men -of abilities; 
therefore, deserted the colleges, and flocked to the metropolis, to procure the means of enjoy- 
ing its advantages by their talents, now first become a source of regular profit. Translation 
was the great resource, and Spain and Italy supplied the principal part of the materials. The 
romances, novels, and poems of both countries, more especially those of the latter, at first 
done into English, and, when practice had given somewhat of hardihood, imitated and varied in 
every possible form, were poured forth with a rapidity which it would be difficult to describe 
or credit. Meanwliile, a humbler class of writers, or rather of performers, (for it is more than 
probable that both professions were united in the same person,) were insensibly gaming upon the 
public attention by rude attempts at the drama, v>'hicli they exhibited to admiring crowds in the 
galleries of inn-yards, halls, and such vacant rooms as they could most readily procure. 

The popularity of these entertainments quickly attracted the notice of those who were 
already in some degree of credit with the town for their writings, and opened to view a source 
of emolument superior to that of their present occupation : they turned their thoughts 
therefore to the stage, and though their plays w6re yet unformed and rude, they boasted an 
evident superiority over those of their immediate predecessors. Small theatres now rose in 
various parts of the city. Green, Nash, Lily, Peele, Marlow, Kyd, Lodge, and others, all 
wrote for them, and irritated and gratified the public curiosity by an endless succession of 
pieces, of which few, perhaps, were wholly destitute of merit. Compared with the unlettered 
and ignorant race which they supplanted, these men must have appeared to their contempo- 
raries as very extraordmary writers ; and hence we may account for the lavish praise which 
they received in their own times, and which, with respect to some of them, was more fairly 
obtained than we now seem inclined to allow. Be they what they may, however, they left in 
the tiring rooms of the several theatres a countless number of dramas Avhich those who came 
immediately after them, Munday, Chettle, Hathaway, &c., who, with more knowledge of the 
stage, fell beneath them in genius and learning, found sufficient encouragement in adapting t5 
the improved state of the times. 

It was soon after this period that Shakspeare reached London ; and his first employ, likf 
that of most of the poets his contemporaries, was the amending of the productions of others 
Jonson followed at no long interval of tim.e, and had recourse to the same means of procuring 
a subsistence. Shakspeare happily formed a permanent connection Avith one company, for 
whom he wrote and acted ; while Jonson was compelled to carry his talents from theatre to 
theatre, as they were required, and had perhaps as seldom the choice as the conduct of Ms 
subject. 

" From whatever cause it may have arisen, (!Mr. Malonc says,) dramatic poetrj', a little before 
Shakspeare appeared, certainly assumed a better, though still an exceptionable form." The 
cause is sufficiently apparent in the education which Peele, Marlow, and others whom he 
names, had received at the two Universities, and in the acknoSvledged genius which they 
possessed. Peele and Marlow had exquisite feelings for poetry ; both excelled in description, 
to which the former lent beauty, and the latter sublimity, though they occasionally fell into 
meanness or bombast. Green abounded in narrative. Lodge had humor, and Nash an inex- 
haustible vein of caustic raillery, never yet surpassed. Even the quaint pedantry of Lily was 
not without merit, and we are indebted to it for many of the pleasantcst parodies of Shak- 
speare. It was impossible that such men should write in vain, or that those who had witnessed 
the effect of their productions should return to the former puerilities. The form of their 
dramas, as Mr. Malone says, was "exceptionable;" but much was done, and master spirits 
Avere now at hand to set the seal of perfection to Avhat had been so auspiciously begun. The 
wonderful powers of Shakespeare, though then but carelessly displayed, must have attracted 
notice, and prompted the rival theatres to exertions of the most strenuous kind. The 
demand for novelty was incessant, and the race of dramatic writers was thus multiplied 
beyond credibility. 

It is not easy to ascertain with any precision how long Shakspeare had been in possession 
of the stage when Jonson commenced his dramatic career. Mr. Malone and Mr. G. Chalmers 
diff'er as to the period of his first essay, which is i^laced by the former in 1589, and by the 
latter two years later The matter is of no great moment, for the production of siich a drama 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONS ON. 07 

BS the First Part of Henry VI. (which is the point in dispute) can confer no distinction on any 
abiUties ■whatever ; but in 15^3, when Jonson, then in his nineteenth yeav, had begun to write 
for the theatres, he was rapia.y advancing to preeminence. 

It is somewhat singular that the literary characters who immediately preceded Jonson 
should have made no improvement in the construction of their fables ; bxit the plot of 
Tamburlaiiie is not a whit more regular, or skilful, than that of Gorboduc or Locrine. 
Beyond Seneca, these writers seldom appear to have looked ; and from him they drew httle 
but the tamencss of his dialogue, and the inflation of his sentiments : their serious scenes 
were still histories, and sometimes lives ; and their comic ones, though replete with grotesque 
humor, were without dependence, object, or end. To reform this seemed worthy of Jonson, 
and to this his earliest as well as his latest efforts were directed. However great might be 
the talents and genius now employed on the stage, he could not but see that an opening was 
still left for the introduction of a more regular di-ama than had hitherto appeared. The 
superiority of the ancients in this respect was forcibly impressed on his young and ardent 
mind ; and though his admiration of their productions might be occasionally carried too far. 
It led to beneficial results. "The poets, (Whalley says,) when Jonson first appeared, gen- 
erally drew their plots from some romance, or novel," (or from the rude annals of domestic -war- 
fare,) " and from thence also they derived the different incidents of the various scenes, and 
the resemblance between the copy and the original was every way exact. The same wildness 
and extravagance of fable prevailed in both, all the absurdities of the story being faithfully 
transcribed into the play." • Anomalies like these, our author, to whom the truth and simplicity 
of the ancient stage were already familiar, must have regarded with no very favorable eye ; 
and he had no sooner acquired a little credit Avith the managers, than he resolved to embody 
liis own conceptions, and model his future pieces upon the plan of his classic masters. For 
this purpose, it was necessary that he should invent his own plots. We are not acquainted 
with his earliest essays ; but the piece which stands at the head of his printed works exhibited 
no unfavorable specimen of his judgment, taste, and learning ; and was, in fact, the first regular 
comedy in the English language. 

So much has been incidcntallj'' said of our author's dramatic powers, in various parte 
of these volumes, that a very cursory notice of them is required here ; little more, in 
fact, appears necessary, than a brief mention of those qualities by which he was chiefly 
distinguished. 

To do Jonson full justice, Ave must regard him in the light in which he evidently viewed 
himself — that of a moral satirist. If the comedies of the contemporaries of his early days 
effected any beneficial purpose, — if they led to the exposure and detestation of any evil 
quality, or the correction of any prevalent folly, — it was by accident, not design ; but with 
Jonson this Avas the primary object. We see it in the first play which he is knoAATi to have 
AATitten j and he has himself called our attention to the same cu'cumstance in that which he 
produced at " the close and shutting up of his circle." 

With this aim in vicAV, Jonson came to the theatre possessed of many advantages. We may 
collect from The Case is Altered, and Eoery Man in his Humor, that he AA^as recent from the study 
of Plautus and Terence : but this Avas little ; all the stores of ancient literature were open to 
him, and he Avas familiar not only with the perfect productions of the Greek dramatists, but 
with the fragments Avhich lie scattered among the works of the sophists and grammarians, and 
which, in his days, Avere not to be found Avithout much cost and labor. Nor Avas he merely 
learned ; for he appears to have entered Avith the same ardor into the productions of his own 
times, and to have acquired a very considerable degree of information on every topic connected 
Avith the arts then knoAvn and cultivated. Nature had besides given liim a quick and almos<: 
intuitive faculty of discerning the ridiculous, a powerful and original vein of humor, and a 
genius, if not sublime, yet occasionally so raised by intense contemplation of the sublimest 
models, as to bear no very distant resemblance of it. 

It has beeii the practice of the poet's biographers to institute a comparison betAveen hira 
and Shakspeare. These parallels have not been always " after the manner of Plutarch ; " but, 

1 Life of Jonson, p. vii. 



68 MEMOIRS OF BEX JONSON. 



indeed, their utility in any case will not be very apparent ; unless it should be admitted that 
Shakspeare is best set off by throwing every object brought near him into shade. Shakspcare 
wants no light but his own. As he never has been equalled, and in all human probability 
never will be equalled, it seems an invidious employ, at best, to speculate minutely on the 
precise degree in which others fell short of him. Let him with his own Julius Caesar bestride 
the nan-oio loorld like a colossus ; that is his due ; but let not the rest be compelled to loalk under 
his huge logs, and peep about to find themselves dishonorable graves. ''Putting aside, therefore, (as 
Cumberland says,) any further mention of Shakspeare, who was a poet out of all rule, and 
beyond all compass of criticism, one whose excellences are above comparison, and whose errors 
beyond number," ' I return to our author. 

The judgment of Jonson was correct and severe, and his knowledge of human nature 
extensive and profound. He was familiar -ynth the various combinations of the humors and 
affections, and with the nice and evanescent tints by which the extremes of opposing qualities 
melt into one another, and are lost to the vulgar eye : but the art which he possessed in perfec- 
tion was that of marking, in the happiest manner, the different shades of the same quahty in 
different minds, so as to discriminate the voluptuous from the voluptuous, the covetous from 
the covetous, &c. 

In Avhat Hurd calls "picturing," he was excellent- His characters are delineated with 
a breadth and vigor as well as truth that display a master hand ; his figures stand prom- 
inent on the canvas, bold and muscular, though not elegant ; his attitudes, though some- 
times ungraceful, are always just, whUe his strict observation of proportion (in which he was 
eminently skilled) occasionally mellowed the hard and rigid tone of his coloring, and by 
the mere force of symmetry gave a warmth to the whole, as pleasing as it was unexpected. 
Such, in a word, was his success, that it may be doubted whether he has been surpassed or 
even equalled by any of those who have attempted to tread in his steps. The striking 
failure of Decker in Captain Tucca has been already noticed ; that of Congrave in Noll Bluff is 
Btill more marked. Congreve designed it, AVhallcy says, for an imitation of Bobadil : but Noll 
is a beaten idiot, a character too contemptible for farce, and fit only to amuse the rabbi* round 
the stage of a mountebank. Even Ford, if we can suppose for a moment that Shakspeare had 
Kitely in view, will scarcelj'' be allowed to be either so just, so natural, or so respectable a 
character as his prototype. 

In the plots of his comedies, which were constructed from his own materials, he is deserving 
of undisputed praise. \Vithout violence, without, in(?ecd, any visible effort, the various events 
of the story are so linked together, that they have the appearance of accidental introduction ; 
yet they all contribute to the main design, and su'jport that just harmony which alone con- 
Btitutes a perfect fable. Such, in fact, is the ri'^id accuracy of his plans, that it requires 
a constant and almost painful attention to trace cut their varioiis bearings and dependences. 
Nothing is left to chance. Before he sat down to write, he had evidently arranged every cir- 
cumstance in his mind. Preparations are made for incidents which do not immediately occur, 
and hints are dropped which can only be comjirehended at the unravelling of the piece. The 
play docs not end with Jonson, because the fifth act is come to a conclusion ; nor are the 
most imjiortant events precipitated, and the most violent revolutions of character suddenly 
effected, because the progress of the story has involved the poet in difficulties from which he 
cannot otherwise extricate himself. This praise, whatever be its worth, is enhanced by the 
rigid attention paid to the unities : to say nothing of those of place and character, that of time 
is so well observed in most of his comedies, that the representation occupies scarcely an hour 
more on the stage than the action would require in real life. 

With such extraordinary requisites for the stage, joined to a strain of poetry always manly, 
frequently lofty, and sometimes almost sublime, it may, at first, appear strange that his dramas 
fvre not more in vogue ; but a httle attention to his peculiar modes and habits of tliinking will, 
[lerhaps, enable us in some measure to accoiint for it. The grace and urbanity which mark 
his lighter pieces he laid aside whenever he approached the stage, and put on the censor with 
(he sock. This system (Avhether wise or unwise) naturally led to circumstances which affect 

1 Obscrv. No. Ixxv. 



MEMOIRS OF BEX JON SON. 69 

liis popularity as a -writer. He was obliged, as one of his critics justly observes, •' to huul 
down his own characters," and, to continue the metaphor, he Avas frequently carried too far in 
the chase. 

But there are other causes which render his comedies less amusing than the masterly skill 
employed upon them would seem to warrant our expecting. Jonson was the painter of 
humors, not of passions. It was not his object (supposing it to have been in his power) to 
assume a leading passion, and so mix and qualify it with others incidental to our common 
nature, as to produce a being instantly recognized as one of our kind. Generally speaking, 
his characters have but one predominating quality. His merit (whatever it be) consists in the 
felicity with which he combines a certain number of such personages, distinct from one another, 
into a well-ordered and regular plot, dexterously preserving the unities of time and place, and 
exhibiting all the probabilities which the most rigid admirer of the ancient models could pos- 
sibly demand. Passions, indeed, like humors, may be unamiable ; but they can scarcely be 
uninteresting. There is a natural loftiness and swelling in ambition, love, hatred, &c., which 
fills the mind, and, when tempered with the gentler feelings, interests whUe it agitates. 
Humors are far less tractable. 1£ they fortunately happen to contain in themselves the seeds 
of ridicule, then, indeed, like the solemn vanity of Bobadil and the fantastic, gravity of Pun- 
tarvolo, they become the source of infinite amusement ; but this must not always be looked for ; 
nor should Ave degrade Jonson by considering him in the light of a dramatic writer, bound, like 
the miserable hirelings of the modern stage, to produce a certain quantum of laughter. Many 
humors and modes of common life are neither amusing in themselves, nor capable of being 
made so by any extraneous ingenuity Avhatever. The vaporers in BartJiolomejo Fair, and the 
jeerers in the Staple of News, are instances in point. But further : Jonson would have defeated 
Lis own purpose, if he had attempted to elicit entertainment from them. He wished to exhibi' 
them in an odious and disgusting light, and thus to extirpate what he considered as pests from 
the commerce of real life. It was in the character of the poet to bring forward such nuisances 
as interrupted the peace or disturbed the happiness of private society ; and he is, therefore, 
careful to warn the audience, in his occasional addresses, that it is less his aim to make their 
■cheeks red with laughter than to feast their understanding, and minister to their rational im- 
provement. "At all the theatres," says Mr. Malone, {Shak., vol. ii. p. 177,) "it appears that 
noise and show were what chiefly attracted an audience." Of these, Jonson had little. In- 
deed, he always speaks of them with dislike ; and he was so sensible, that he must be heard 
•with attention to effect that profit which he professed to mingle Avith delight, that his prologues 
are invariably directed to this end. 

There is yet another obstacle to the poet's popularity, besides the unamiable and uninterest- 
^ing nature of some of his characters; namely, a Avant of just discrimination. He seems to 
have been deficient in that true tact or feeling of propriety AA'hich Shakspeare possessed in full 
excellence. He appears to have had an equal value for all his characters, and he labors upon 
the most unimportant, and even disagreeable of them, with the same fond and paternal assi- 
duity which accompanies his happiest efforts. He seldom appears to think that he has said 
enough ; he does not perceive that he has Avearicd his audience, and that all attention is Avith- 
draAvn from his exertions ; and he continues, lUce the unfortunate lutanist of Dryden, to finger 
his instrument long after it has ceased to make music to any ear but his own. 

What has been said applies chiefly to his comedies. His tragedies, of which tAvo only are 
come down to us, do not call for much additional remark. Both are taken from the Roman 
story, and he has apparently succeeded in his principal object, Avhich AA'as to exhibit the char- 
acters of the drama to the spectators of his days precisely as they appeared to those of their 
own. The plan was scholastic, but it Avas not judicious. The difference betAveen the dramatis 
personoe and the spectators Avas too Avide ; and the very accuracy to Avhich he aspired Avould 
seem to take away much of the poAver of pleasing. Had he draAvn men instead of Romans, 
his success might haA'e been more assured ; but the ideas, the language, the allusions could 
only be readily caught by the contemporaries of Augustus and Tiberius ; and it redounds not a 
little to the author's praise, that he has familiarized us, in some measure, to the living features 
of an age so distant from our own. 

Hurd, Avho is seldom just to our author, has entered into an elaborate examination of hi£ 



re MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

Catiline sxii. Sejanus ; both of which he condemns. It would be tedious to repeat his obser- 
vations ; but the object of them is to show that, as the laws of the drama confine the 'poet to a 
particular action, it is wrong to dw'ell on its concomitant circumstances. The critic has totally 
mistaken the nature of these pieces. He appears to be thinking of the Athenian instead of the 
English stage. Jonson's tragedies are not confined to one great event ; they are, in fact, like 
those of Shakspeare, whom he probably had iu view, histories, embracing an indefinite period 
of time, and shifting, with the action, from place to place. AVhy, with his profound knowledge 
of the ancient models, and with that respect for them which, on other occasions, he appears so 
forward to enforce, he deviated from them so widely in these instances, it is, perhaps, vain to 
inquire. He had adverted to this, and, probably, accounted for it, in his " Observations on the 
Art of Poetry ; " ' but these are unfortunately lost ; and we can only discover that the motives 
which influenced him in the conduct of his earliest tragedies remained in force when, at the 
close of life, he drew out the plot of his Mortimer, which has all the irregularity of Catiline 
and Sejanus. 

Hurd has justly objected to the protracted conclusion of Sejanus. Undoubtedly the curtain 
should have dropped before the entrance of Terentius. Jonson was so sensible of his error in 
this respect, that he never lingered over the catastrophe of any of his subsequent pieces. In 
his censure of the chorus, the critic is not so correct. Jonson expressly disclaims all intention 
of imitating the chorus of the ancient tragedy, for which, as he says, the English stage covild 
neither afford " state nor splendor." The remarks, therefore, do not apply. The chorus of 
Catiline (for Sejanus has none) was never sung, nor intended to be sung, on the stage ; it is, in 
fact, a simple string of moral reflections arising from the subject, as contemplated in the closet 
— approi)riated to no cliaracter, but appended to the play, in mere conformity with the jprac- 
tice of his times. 

The masques and entertainments of Jonson must not be overlooked. In the composition of 
these he greatly delighted, and was, as he justly says of himself, an artificer. With him they 
began, and Avith him they may be said to have ended ; for I recollect but few, after his time, 
entitled to any particular degree of praise, with the exception of Comus, of whose poetical 
excellence (for as a masque it is defective) it is scarcely possible to speak too highly. 

Pageants and masqiierades had long been sufhcicntly familiar to the people of this country. 
The latter were somewliat more grotesque, perhaps, than those of the present day ; but they 
aad no distinguishing feature, and existed in much the same form here as in every other part 
of Catholic Europe ; having in fact one common Origin, that of the Processions, which, though 
seriously and even piously set on foot, Avere too commonly tumultuous, farcical, and profane. 
Pageants (I do not speak of those proud displays of pasteboard giants and monsters which 
amazed the good citizens on holidays) were the relics of knight errantry. The shows were 
costly and magnificent, but tasteless and laborious, consisting principally of a triumph, i. e., a 
grand entry of knights decorated with all the pomp of those gaiidy daj-s ; broken by an inter- 
lude taken from some tender adventure of Ai-thur and his knights, or some pedantic allegory 
in that storehouse of grave absurdity, the Homance of the Rose, in which the pains and 
pleasures of a lovesuit were personified, and Hope and Fear, and Jealousy and Joy, fiercely 
assailed in castles and towers with fantastic names. In these boisterous amusements the ladies 
oore no great part, though they were sometimes called upon to advance " in measure" to the 
Btorm of some refractory Passion or Affection. 

"Wharton says that these shows, which he improperly terms masques, attained their greatest 
height under Henry VIII. Certain it is that, during the earlier years of this licentious 
tyrant, the court exhibited an unusual degree of splendor ; but neither then, nor during the 
life of Ehzabeth, did the masque acquire that unity of design, that exclusive character, which 
it assumed on the accession of James. With the diffusion of knoAvledge and taste came the 
desire of something more worthy the name of coi\rtly entertainment than the dull and unnatural 
■illegories of the metaphysical romance, or the simple introduction of an interlude of •' baboons 
ind satyrs." 

James had more literature than taste or elegance ; but he was frank and sociable;, and 

1 See i>. 236. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSOX. 71 



inclined to expensive shows. What he wanted, however, his queen possessed in full excellence. 
She was, Sully says, «• a bold and enterprising woman ; " she loved pomp, and understood it, 
and, above all, she was fond of masques and revels. She aspired to convert "Whitehall, 
which had lately been another cave of Trophonius, into a temple of delight : for this purpose, 
she called around her the most accomplished of the nobility, and associated them with her in 
those splendid amusements which she proposed to create, and which alone she could fuUy 
enjoy, as she never was familiar with the language. The poetical powers of our author were 
not unknown to her, for she had witnessed them at Althorpe and elsewhere, and she seems to 
have engaged him to embody her conceptions, shortly after she arrived at Whitehall. 

The masque, as it attained its highest degree of excellence in the hands of Jonson, admitted 
of dialogue, singing, and dancing : these were not independent of one another, as in the 
entertainments of the old court, but combined, by the introduction of some ingenious fable, 
into an harmonious whole. The groundwork was assumed at will ; but our author, to whom 
the whole mythology of Greece and Home lay open, generally drew his personages from that 
inexhaustible treasury of elegance and beauty : having formed the plan, he called in the aid 
of the sister arts ; for the essence of the masque was pomp and glory, and it could only breathe 
in the atmosphere of a court. Thus, while the stage was in a state of absolute nudity, movable 
scenery of the most costly and splendid kind was lavished on the masque, the most celebrated 
masters were employed on the songs and dances, and all that the kingdom afforded of vocal and 
instrumental excellence was employed to embellish the exhibition. 

Thus magnificently constructed, the masque was not committed to ordinary performers. It 
was composed, as Lord Bacon says, for princes, and by princes it was played. The prime 
nobility of both sexes, led on by James and his queen, took upon themselves the respective 
characters ; and it may be justly questioned whether a nobler display of grace, and elegance, 
and beauty was ever beheld than appeared in the masques of Jonson. The songs in these en- 
tertainments were probably intrusted to professional men ; but the dialogue, and above all, the 
dances, which were adapted to the fable, and not acquired without much study and practice, were 
executed by the court themselves. The skill with which these ornaments Avere designed, and 
the inexpressible grace with which they were executed, appear to have left a vivid impression 
on the poet's mind ; and there is, accordingly, no part of his description in which he seems to 
labcr so much for adequate language to mark his admiration as that of the dances. 

" In curious knots and mazes so, 
The Spring, at first, was tauglit to go; 
And Zepliyr, wlicn he came to woo 
His Flora, had their motions too: 
And thus did Venus learn to lead 
The Idalian hrawls, and so to tread, 
As if the wind, not she, did walk, 
Nor pressed a flower, nor bowed a stalk." 

It is after witnessing the " measures " here so beautifully delineated that Aurora thus iutcr- 
rjipts the performers : — 

" I was not wearier where I lay, 
Ey frozen Tithon's side, to-night, 
Than I am willing now to stay. 
And be a part of your delight : 
But I am urged by the Day, 
Against my will, to bid you come away." 1 

While Jonson thus labored to perfect the more elegant parts of these gay fancies, he did 
i20t forget to provide amusements of another kind, which he called Antimasques, (parodies, or 
opposites of the main masque,) borrowed, it would seem, from the old masquerade, and already 
familiar to the people. These were calculated to diversify the entertainment, and to afford a 
breathing time to the principal performers. The poet was hero tied to no rules ; he might be 
IS wild and extravagant as he pleased ; the whole world of fancy was before him •, " Satyres, 

1 P. COu. 



72 MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

Fooles, Wildemen, Antiques, Ethiopes, Pigmies, and Beastes," as Lord Bacon has it, (mth an 
eye perhaps to our author,) came trooping at his call. These were probably played by the 
menials of the palace, assisted by actors from the regular theatres. In this part of the plot 
Jonson stands almost alone : his antimasqucs arc not, like those of his contemporaries, mere 
extravagances, independent of the main story ; generally speaking, they serve to promote or 
illustrate it, however fantastic they appear, and are not unfrequently the vehicle of useful 
satire, conveyed with equal freedom and humor. Whatever they were, however, they were 
the occasion of much mirth : they were eagerly "hearkened after," as the cook says in Neptune's 
Triumph, and always received with pleasure. 

In these devices, as has been already observed, our author took great delight, and during tho 
life of his royal patron, never failed to exert his best faculties on the composition of them. 
" Had nature (says Cumberland) been as liberal in her gifts to Jonson as learning was in open- 
ing her stores to his acquirements, the world might have seen a poet to whom there had been 
nothing since the days of Ilomcr, aut simile aut secundum." ' But nature had been no step- 
mother to Jonson ; and when the critic adds, that tho poet " stocked his mind with such a mass 
of other men's thoughts that his imagination had not power to struggle through the crowd," he 
does not perceive that he has taken up a different question, and proved no part of what ho 
supposed himself to have decided. But, omitting the consideration of this, whatever may be 
the case of the poet in his severer studies, in his masques his imagmation is neither oppresseij 
nor obscured. In these, he makes his appearance like his own Delight, " accompanied with 
Grace, Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, and Laughter." ^ If, as the critic will have it, he was & 
" literary behemoth," it must be granted that here, at least, he torithed his lithe proboscis with 
playfulness and ease. His unbounded learning is merely an adjunct to his fancy. Hi.H 
mythological jjcrsonages, amid the most scrupulous preservation of their respective attributes, 
move with elasticity and vigor ; and while the dialogue is distinguished by a masculint 
strength and freedom, the lyrical part of these gay pastimes is clothed \^ith all the richness and 
luxuriance of poetry. Araspes, the friend and confidant of Cyrus, could only account for his 
perfidy to the man whom he loved and revered', by supposing that he had two souls, one 
prompting him to evil, the other to good. A notion of a similar kind will sometimes suggest 
itself to the reader of Jonson. In his tragedies he was cautious and strict, tremblingly apx^re- 
hcnsive of starting from the bounds of regularity, and constantly rejecting every idea which 
was not supplied by the authorities before him ; in some of his comedies too, and in several of 
his longer poems, the same hardness and severity are displayed ; he perseveres in the ungrate- 
ful task of compression till the finer parts of his machinery arc deprived of play, and the whole 
stiffened, cramped, and impaired : but no sooner has he taken down his lyre, no sooner touched 
on his lighter pieces, than aU is changed as if by magic, and he seems a new person. His 
genius awakes at once, his imagination becomes fertile, ardent, versatile, and excursive ; hia 
taste pure and elegant ; and all his faculties attuned to sprightlincss and pleasure. 

Such were the masques of Jonson, in Avhich, as Mr. Malone says, " the wretched taste of 
those times found amusement." That James and his court delighted in them cannot be 
doubted, and we have only to open the Memoirs of Winwood and others to discover witii 
what interest they were foUoAved by tlie nobility of both sexes. Can we wonder at this ; 
There were few entertainments of a public kind at which they could appear, and none in 
which they could participate. Here all was worthy of their hours of relaxation.^ Mytho- 
logiics of classic purity, in which, as Ilurd observes, the soundest moral lessons came recom- 
mended by the charm of numbers, were set forth with all the splendor of royalty, while Jones 
and Lanier, and Lawes and Fcrrabosco, lavished all the grace and elegance of their respective 
arts on the embellishment of the entertainment. 

But in what was " the taste of the times wretched" ? In poetry, painting, architcctiire, they 

1 Critique on Every Man in his Humor, p. Hi. 

■i P. 605. 

3 "Masques, (says one of tho complctest gentlemen of that age.) the cuiiitiy recreations of gallant gentlemen and 
(allies of honor striving to exceed one the other in their measures anj changes, and in thoir repasts of wit. have lir.pn 
leyon.l the power of envy to disgrace." — Iligford's Institution of a Ocntleman. 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 78 

have not since been equalled ; in theology, moral philosophy, they are not even now surpassed ; 
and it ill becomes us, who live in an age which can scarcely produce a Bartholomew Fail 
farce, to arraign the taste of a period which possessed a cluster of writers of whom the meanest 
would now be esteemed a prodigy. And why is it assumed that the followers of the court 
of James were deficient in what Mr. Malone is pleased to call taste ? To say nothing of the 
men, (who were trained to a high sense of decorum and intellectual discernment under 
Elizabeth,) the Veres, the Wroths, the Derbys, the Bcdfords, the Eutlands, the Cliffords, and 
the Arundels, who danced in the fairy rings, in the gay and gallant circles of these enchanting 
devices, of which our most splendid shows are, at best, but beggarly parodies, were fully as 
accomplished in every internal and external grace as those who, in our days, have succeeded 
to their names and honors. 

Mr. Malone sets down the masques of James (probably because they were Avrittcn by 
Jonson) as "bimgling shows;" when he has to speak of one produced by Heywood in 1636, 
he is then disposed to admit that the <' art of scenery" was somewhat improved! This is 
merely absurd. The art had attained its utmost degree of excellence at the death of this 
monarch ; it declined under his successor ; and, notwithstanding all the efforts of Inigo Jones, 
and his poet, master Aurelian Townshcnd, it gradually lost its distinguishing characteristics, 
and fell back into the pageant and masquerade from which the genius and learning of our 
author had so happily reclaimed it. 

A few years after the Restoration, an attempt was made by Charles II. to revive this 
species of entertainment. The daughter of James II., (then Duke of York,) and many of the 
young nobility of both sexes, apjpeared in a masque written by Crowne, called Calisto : but the 
passion did not spread ; nor was it possible that it should. Crowne, though not altogcthet 
illiterate, was devoid of fancy, and the court itself was too frivolous, too ignorant, and too 
licentious for the enjoyment of elegant and rational pleasures. We hear of the masque 
no more. 

Some time elapsed, after the death of our author, before any of his later productions 
appeared : two small editions of his minor pieces were at length sent to the press in 1G40, and 
in the subsequent year a wretched reprint of the first folio, and a second volume of the same 
eize, containing his dramatic pieces from 1612, several masques, and all that could be found of 
his occasional poetry, were published together. Several of the comedies -appear to have been 
taken from the prompter's book, and sui-reptitiously printed (but not published) during the 
author's life ; how the rest were procured I know not. 

Such of his dramas as were revived at the Restoration were printed separately ; and iu 
1692 the whole of his writings were again collected, and published in one huge folio volume. 
The demand for his works must have been considerable for those days, since in 1715 the 
booksellers were encouraged to prepare another edition, Avhich they gave the world in six 
volumes 8vo. This publication was merely a reprint of the old copy, and with this, defective as 
it was, the town was content till the year 1756, Avhen a more complete edition, in seven volumes, 
8vo, Avas published by the Rev. Peter Whalley, LL. B. 

Mr. Whalley had received an academical education, and he was competent, in some 
measure, to the undertaking. He did little, however, for the poet ; the form of the old 
editions was rigidly observed, and though a few notes were subjoined, they Avere seldom of 
material import, and never explanatory of the author's general vicAvs, though they occasionally 
touched on his language. It is not a little remarkable that this gentleman, Avho Avas master 
of the Grammar School of Christ's Hospital, and must naturally have been somcAvhat con- 
versant Avith the ancient Avriters, should not have ventured on one remark of a literary nature, 
every thing of this kind, AA'hich occurs in his edition, being, as I discovered Avith some surprise, 
taken from Upton and others. 

Whether AVhalley Avas diffident of himself, or the gentlemen volunteered their assistance, 
I have no means of knoAving ; but he availed himself occasionally of the aid of Sympson and 
ScAvard, (the editors of Beaumont and Fletcher,) Avho led him astray, and AA'here he Avould 
have been simply wrong, if left to himself, rendered him absurd. In one pleasant Avay of 
making notes, and swelling the bulk of the book, they all agreed. None of them printed 



74 MEMOIRS OF BEN JON SON. 

from the earliest editions ; * they took up the latest -which they could find, and wer.t smoothly 
on till they M-ere stopped by some palpable error of the press. This, as the clown says, was meal 
and drink to them ; they immediately set themselves to conjecture what the word should be, and 
after a little burst of vanity, at Avhich it is impossible to forbear a smile, they turned, for the first 
time, to the old copy, and invited the public to witness their sagacity, and partake in their tri- 
umph. An example or two taken at random from Whalley will make this clear. 

" Long may he round about him see 
His roses and his lilies bloom ! 
Long may his only love and ho 
Joy in ideas of their own ! " 

" I have no objection to bloo7n, but only as it does not rhyme very exactly with oion ; I conjec- 
tured therefore that it should be bloion ; and found my conjecture authorized by the old folio." 

— vol. vii. p. 16. 

" Valor wins applause, 

That dares but to mention the weaker cause." 

" No great applause of valor can be due to any one merely for mentioning the weaker side. This 
led me to conjecture that maintain was the word designed by the poet, and upon consulting the 
first folio, I found it so to be ! " — vol. v. 297. 

" Your fortress who, hath bred you to this hour. 

Fortress is an error. Mr. Sympson likewise saw the mistake, and ingeniously sent mc 
fautress, which I should have made use of, had not the old folio prevented me, and read 
f OS tress ! " 

Whalley prefixed to his edition a Life of the author, not injudicious in the main, but com- 
posed in a style so uncouth and antiquated, that I could not prevail on myself to reprint it,, 
though I have thought it my duty to make a few extracts from it, chiefly, however, for the 
purpose of correcting the mistakes into which the writer had been led by too implicit a reli- 
ance on his authorities. 

The reception of this work was sufficiently favorable to encourage the author to undertake a 
revision of it preparatory to a second edition. I cannot discover, however, that any substantial 
improvement was meditated ; none at least was introduced, and the text remained, in every 
instance, as it stood before. The bulk of the work, "indeed, was materially increased by the 
admission of an immense farrago of parallel passages, taken, for the most part, from the 
numerous republications of Shakspeare, to which the last century had given birth. He did 
not proceed with this revision much beyond the comedies. Circumstances with which I am 
but imperfectly acquainted interrupted his literary pursuits, and this among the rest. It is 
said that the extravagance of a young wife involved him in pecuniary difficulties of a serious 
kind, and obliged him to leave his home. In this distress he was received into the house of 
Mr. Waldron, where he lay concealed for some time. When the place of his retreat was at 
length discovered, he took refuge in Flanders, where he died after a few months' residence, in 
the summer of 1791. 

Under the hospitable roof of this worthy and amiable man, Whalley resumed the care of 
Jonson ; but want of books, and, perhaps, of sufficient composure of mind, rendered his 
attempts ineffectual, and the manuscript was finally abandoned to his friend, who, in the year 
1792, commenced the publication of it in numbers. The success apparently fell short of the 
Expectations of the editor, as the work was not continued beyond the second number. 

Mr. Waldron neither possessed, nor pretended to be possessed of, scholastic learning ; but 
he was laborious, accurate, conversant with the stage, and imbued with a rational love of the 
ancient drama, which he had studied with success. He appears to have collated Whalley's 
copy with the early editions ; and, on attentively retracing his steps, previously to the arrange- 
ment of the text for the present publication, I found much to approve in the caution and 



1 Whalley's text was that of the booksellers' edition, in 8vo. This had been in Theobald's hands, and an inci(ental 
temarK by him, of no moment whatcvsi, here and there appeared in the margin. 



4 
I 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 75 

judgaient with which he had uniformly proceeded. His friendship for Whalley, however, hae 
led him to form far too high an estimate of that gentleman's qualifications ; and beyond the re- 
vision which I have just mentioned, he seems to have contemplated no alteration of the papers 
left in his hands. 

Many years had elapsed since the failure, last mentioned, when the repiiblication of Jonson 
was proposed to me by Mr. George Nicol, to whom Whalley's corrected copy had been con- 
signed by Mr. AValdron. I was well aware of the labor and difficulty of the task ; but mv 
objections Avere overcome by the encouragement of my friend, and I undertook the edition, 
confident that I was not about to encumber the public with a superfluous work, for Jonson had 
now been long out of the bookseller's hands. One motive there yet was, which had some in- 
fluence on my determination — a desire, though late, to render justice to the moral character of 
the author, and rescue him from the calumnies of his inveterate persecutors. My mind had 
been prejudiced at an early period by the commentators on our old dramas, and I verily be- 
lieved, as they repeatedly assured me, that "the great object of Jonson's life was the perse- 
cution of Shakspeare ; " nor was it until I became acquainted with the dates of his respective 
performances that I ventured to question the accuracy of the critics, or to entertain a suspicion 
that they were actuated by unworthy motives, and could only be relieved from the charge of 
wanton malevolence by the plea of incorrigible folly. 

Previously to the arrangement of the text, it became necessary io collate the old editions. 
In the execution of this part of the work, the mode adopted in the revision of Massinger was 
carefully followed. If the approbation of the public may be trusted, no change was required. 

Had any standard of orthoepy obtained among our old writers, it might not be improper to 
preserve it ; but to cojoy the vagaries of a careless press would be an aff"ectation of accuracy at 
once impertinent and unprofitable. Our author appears, indeed, to afl"ect a derivative mode of 
Biiclling ; but his attention frequently relaxes, and the variations of his text are considerable. 
The first folio differs from the quarto, and the second folio from both. In general, writers 
trusted entirely to the printers, who, on their parts, piqued themselves but little on justifying 
this confidence. " I never (says the author of Father Hubbard's Tales) wished m5-self a better 
fortune than to fall into the hands of a true-sjjelling printer," — and he was not so lucky. 
There seems no plausible reason for continuing to present Jonson alone to the public in the 
uncouth and antiquated garb of his age. The barbarous contractions, therefore, the syncopes 
and apocopes, which deformed the old folios, (for the quartos are remarkably free from them,) 
have been regulated, and in some cases removed, and the appearance of the poet's page assim- 
ilated, in a great degree, to that of his contemporaries, who spoke and wrote the same language 
as himself. 'Whalley, as has been just observed, though the modernized impressions of Shak- 
speare and others were before him, contented himself with simply reprinting the former text, 
with all its archaisms and anomalies ; the same word was differently spelt in the same page, and 
sometimes in the same line ; the pointing was seldom disturbed, the scenes were divided as the 
old books divided them, and not an exit or entrance was superadded ; yet it could not have 
escaped him that no part of this arrangement made the slightest claim to uniformity, or even 
truth. In fact, the object of the old division would almost appear to be that of throwing every 
obstacle in the way of the reader, and making that which could in no case be easy, a mattei 
of extreme difficulty. A certain number of the dramatis personce are set down at long intervals ; " 
but no hint is given when they appear or disappear, individually, and much time has been 
expended in the obscure and humble labor of inserting a name which, after all, may not be 
found correctly placed. Jonson, probably, adopted this costive mode from the ancient drama ; 
but it seems to have escaped him that the Greek and Roman stage seldom permitted more than 
four characters to be present at the same time ; whereas he has frequently introduced (espe- 
cially in his Catiline and Sejanus) double, and sometimes treble that number. The scenery, too, 
(by which nothing more is intended than the supposed place of action,) was every where ob- 
scure, and in the tragedies perplexed and involved above measure. Our author, like his con- 
temporaries, seems, in these, to have taken advantage of the poverty of the stage, and the easy 
faith of the audience, to represent events in the same spot, which must, in fact, have occurred 
in different places. Be this as it may, an attempt has been madeto siiecify the scene in every 
nction ; and it is necessary to entreat the indulgence of the public towards this first effort to 



7e MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 

give a local habitation and a name to what before had neither. In this, I have consulted the ease 
of the reader, ^\'ho could scarcely be expected to turn the page forward and backward to ascer- 
tain the site of every event, especially as the difficulty occurs, for the most part, in those pieces 
which possess the fewest charms of sentiment, action, or language, to lure him on through 
doubt and obscurity to the point of elucidation. That the poet will be more read on this 
account, I dare not flatter myself; but I venture to hope that he will be comprehended with 
more facility ; and, in this, I have already found my reward. Slight, hoAvever, as the effect 
may appear, it has not been produced without some pains ; nor should I have been able to 
complete it entirely to my own satisfaction, or greatly to the advantage of the reader, had I not 
fortunately found in Mr. Thomas Turner (of Mr. Bulmer's office) a friend whose readiness to 
oblige was only equalled by his professional skill, and whose acquaintance with various parts of 
literature, far removed from the common track of reading, has been beneficially exerted through 
the course of this undertaking. 

It appears from Mr. WhaUey's correspondence, that his enlarged copy had been in the 
hands of Steevens, Reed, and Malone. "What they took, or what they gave, I am unable to 
say ; but my first care was to throw it all aside : my objection to an idle accumulation of 
examples upon every trite or indecorous expression is by no means w'eakened since the 
pubHcation of Massinger, though I have been openly reproved for the nakedness of my pages, 
and the obstinate refusal to illustrate " after the manner of ]\Ir. CoUms," the admired collo- 
quies of Hircius and Spungius ! ^ What I could find of utiUty in my predecessor's observa- 
tions is retained, though with occasional variations of his language : my ovm. notes have run 
to a greater length than was originally intended ; but the ground was, in a manner, unbeaten. 
They are chiefly illustrative of obsolete phrases and customs, of personal and historical notices 
connected with the subject, together with such incidental touches on the character and con- 
duct of the respective pieces as the occasion seemed to demand. There will also be found 
some explanatory remarks on the language of Shakspeare, a part of the work Avhich should 
have been extended, (as there is nothing which I so much desire as to see him relieved from 
the ponderous ignorance of his commentators,) had I not once flattered myself that an oppor- 
t-unity might hereafter occur of serving him more effectually : that daydream is passed 5 and 
I am left to regret that I was so chary of my observations. 

There is httle to add. Assuredly, I anticipated more gratification from the termination of 
this undertaking than I seem to experience. I cannot give pleasure where I once hoped to 
give it ; and fame, or, if it must be so, vanity, appears, I know not how, in colors of less 
seductive brightness : the fairy vision has receded as I advanced ; and the toilsome way ib 
terminated amidst prospects of no cheering kind : I cannot conceal from myself how little 
has been done for an author of such exalted claims ; nor how greatly I have fallen short of the 
justice which I once hoped to render to him. The work is now before the pubUc. It is not 
exempt from errors, as will easily be discovered; and the origin of some of them may be 
found in the lights (all favorable to the poet) which have broken in upon me since its com- 
mencement ; such as it is, however, it is given with a free and independent spirit. No diffi- 
culty has been evaded, no labor shunned : neither hopes nor fears of a personal nature have 
had the slightest influence upon the conduct of the undertaking ; Avhat has been strongly felt 
has been strongly expressed ; and if, before the occasional warmth of my language be chal- 
leno-ed, the violence and injustice which I have had to repel be examined, I shall not, in this 
instance at least, be alarmed at the result. 

What remains is pleasure. The generosity by which I was enabled to furnish so correct a 
text of Massinger has accompanied me with a double portion of frankness on the present 
occasion. Every early edition of these dramas, and almost every copy, has been tendered to 
my use. Mr. Kemble, whose kindness is x^erpetual, opened his vast collection to me with 

1 After explaining myself so fully, as I thought, on this subject, it is with pain that I find myself compelled to return 
to it. I should think no sacrifice on my part too great, if I could but convince the grovelling editors of our old dram- 
atists that the filth and obscenity which they so sedulously toil to explain is better understood by ninety-nine out of 
svcry hundred readers than by themselves, and that the turpitude of corrupting the remaining one is a crime for which 
their igni.nincc oflcrs no adequate excuse. A plodding, cold-blooded Aretine is despicable ; a sprightly one is detest 
P-ble ; and both are among the worst pests of society. 



\ 



MEMOIRS OF BEN JONSON. 77 

anboundecl liberality. Mr. Waldron, who has taken the warmest interest in my success, not 
only supplied me -with much valuable matter, collected from various sources during the long 
period that his attention was fixed on our author, but procured, from Mr. Parke and other 
gentlemen, notices of scattered poems, plays, &c., which have been used with advantage. Of 
my friend Octavius Gilchrist no particular mention is required here ; his name will be found 
in various parts of these volumes, in connection with information that will alwa^'s be received 
with satisfaction. The Rev. Mr. Bandinell has been abeady noticed 5 and I have now to add 
the name of Mr. Philip Bliss, who forwarded my researches at the Bodleian with all the 
alacrity of friendship ; nor must I forget ^Ir. Pctrie, to whose kindness I have been singularly 
obliged, and to whom I am indebted for the knowledge of many useful MSS. in our p\iblic 
repositories. I forbear to mention more — but I should do violence to my own feelings, in 
closing this part of the work without adding that, if the reader has derived cither amusement 
or information from the explanatory notes diffused over these volumes, it is to the unprece- 
dented kindness of Richard Hebcr, Esq. that he is mainly indebted. The liberality with which 
tliis gentleman communicates the literary treasures of his extensive collection is too well 
known to be particularly insisted on here ; but he has claims to my thankfulness which must 
not be passed in silence. To open his library to all my requests was not sufficient in his eyes ; 
he therefore spontaneously furnished me with a number of rare and valuable pieces material 
to my success, and with several of which I was not acquainted even by name. In diligently 
availing myself of these aids, I have constantly borne in mind that I was making the retm-n 
most pleasing to my generous friend, though scarcely full enough to satisfy myself. 

I have yet to mention the very Reverend the Dean of Westminster. Avocations of a nature 
far removed from studies of this kind engross his leisure ; yet no one acquainted with any 
publication of mine can require to be told that no part of the present work has passed the 
press without his anxious revision. But with what feelings do I trace the words — the Dean of 
Westminster ! Five and forty si:)rings have now passed over my head since I first found Dr. 
Ireland, some years my junior, in our little school, at his spelling book. During this long 
period, our friendship has been without a cloud — my delight in youth, my pride and consola- 
tion in age. I have followed, with an interest that few can feel and none can know, the prog- 
ress of my friend from the humble state of a curate to the elevated situation which he has 
now reached, and in every successive change have seen, with inexpressible delight, his reputa- 
tion and the wishes of the public precede his advancement. His piety, his learning, his con- 
scientious discharge of his sacred duties, his unwearied zeal to promote the interests of all 
around him, will be the theme of other times and other pens : it is sufficient for my happiness 
to have witnessed, at the close of a career prolonged by Infinite Goodness far beyond my 
expectations, the friend and companion of my heart in that dignified place, which, while it 
renders his talents and his virtues more conspioiious, derives every advantage from their wider 
influence and exertion 



ANCIENT COMMENDATORY VERSES 



J O N S N 



ON SEJAJJUS. 

So brings the wealth-contracting jeweller 

Pearls and dear stones from richest stores and streanic, 
As thy accomplished travail doth confer 

From skill enriched souls their wealthier gems ; 
So doth his hand enchase in ammeled gold, 

Cut, and adorned beyond their native merits, 
His solid flames, as thine hath here inrolled 

In more than golden verse, those bettered spirits 5 
So he entreasures princes' cabinets, 

As thy wealth will their wished libraries ; 
So, on the throat of the rude sea, he sets 

His vent'rous foot, for his illustrious prize ; 
And through wild desarts, armed with Avilder beasts ; 

As thou adA'entur'st on the multitude, 
Upon the boggy, and engulfed breasts 

Of hirelings, sworn to find most right, most rude : 
And he, in storms at sea, doth not endure. 

Nor in vast deserts amongst wolves, more danger ; 
Than we, that would with virtue live secure, 

Sustain for her in every vice's anger. 
Nor is this Allegory unjustly rackt 

To this strange length : only, that jewels are, 
In estimation merely, so exact : 

And thy work, in itself, is dear and rare ; 
"Wherein Minerva had been vanquished. 

Had she, by it, her sacred looms advanced, 
And through thy subject Avoven her graphic thread, 

Contending therein, to be more entranced ; 
For, though thy hand was scarce addrest to draw 

The semicircle of Sejanus' life. 
Thy muse yet makes it the whole sphere, and law 

To all state-lives ; and bounds ambition's strife, 
And as a little brook creeps from his spring. 

With shallow tremblings, through the lowest vales, 
As if he feared his stream abroad to bring, 

Lest prophane feet should wi'ong it, and rude gales f 
But finding happy channels, and supplies 

Of other fords mixt with his modest course. 
He grows a goodly river, and descries 

The strength that manned him, since he left his source ; 
Then takes he in delightsome meads and groves, 

And. with his two-edged waters, flourishes 

:7S-) 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. Y9 

Before great palaces, and all men's loves 

Build by his shores, to greet his passages : 
So thy chaste muse, by virtuous self-mistrust, 

Which is a true mark of the truest merit ; 
In virgin fear of men's illiterate lust, 

Shut her soft Avings, and durst not shew her spirit ; 
Till, nobly cherisht, now thou let'st her fly, 

Singing the sable Orgies of the Muses, 
And in the highest pitch of Tragedy, 
' Mak'st her command, all things thy ground produocs. 
Besides, thy poem hath this due respect, 

That it lets nothing pass, without observing 
Worthy instruction ; or that might correct 

Rude manners, and renown the well deserving : 
Performing such a lively evidence 

In thy narrations, that thy hearers still 
Thou turn'st to thy spectators ; and the sense 

That thy spectators have of good or ill. 
Thou injcct'st jointly to thy readers' souls. 

So deal- is held, so deckt thy numerous task, 
As thou putt'st handles to the Thespian bowls. 

Or stuck' st rich plumes in the PaUadian cask. 
All thy worth, yet, thyself must patronize, 

By quaffing more of the Castahan head ; 
In expiscation of whose mysteries. 

Our nets must still be clogged Avith heavy lead, 
To make them sink, and catch : for cheerful gold 

Was never found in the Pierian streams. 
But wants, and scorns, and shames for silver sold. 

What, what shall we elect in these extremes ? 
Now by the shafts of the great Cyrrhan poet, 

That bear all light, that is, about the world ; 
I would have all dull poet-haters know it, 

They shall be soul-bound, and in darkness hurled, 
A thousand years (as Satan was, their sire) 

Ere any, Avorthy the poetic name, 
(Might I, that Avarm but at the Muses' fire. 

Presume to guard it) should let deathless Fame 
Light half a beam of all her hundred eyes, 

At his dim taper, in their memories. 
Fly, fly, you are too near ; so, odorous floAvers 

Being held too near the sensor of our sense, 
Render not jjure, nor so sincere their powers. 

As being held a little distance thence. 
O could the A\'orld but feel how sweet a touch 

The knoAvledge hath, Avhich is in Ioa'C Avith goodness, 
(If Poesy Avere not ravished so much. 

And her compos'd rage, held the simplest AA'OodncpJ', 
Though of all heats, that temper human brains, 

Hers ever Avas most subtle, high and holy. 
First binding saA'ago lives in civil chains. 

Solely religious, and adored solely :) 
If men felt this, they Avould not think a love, 

That gives itself, in her, did A^anities give ; 
Who is (in earth, though Ioav) in worth above. 

Most able t' honor life, though least to live. 

And so, good friend, safe passage to thy freight, 

To thee a long peace, through a virtuous strife, 
In which let 's both contend to A'irtue's height, 
Not making fame our object, but good life. 

GEORGB CEAPMAK, 



80 COMMENDATORY VERSES. 



ro UIS WOKTHY FRIEND, BEN JONSON, UPON HIS SEJANUS. 

In that this book doth deign Sejanus name, 
Him unto more than Cesar's love it I rings : 
For where he could not -with ambition's Aving^^ 
One quill doth heave him to the height of fame, 

Ye great ones though (whose ends may be the stmaii) 
Know, that, however we do flatter kings, 
Their favors (like themselves) are fading things. 
With no less envy had, than lost with shame. 

Nor make yourselves less honest than you are. 
To make our author wiser than he is : 
Ne of such crimes accuse him, which I dare 

By aU his muses swear be none of his. 

The men are not, some faults may be these times : 
He acts those men, and they did act these crimes. 

HUGH nOLLAAP. 



ON SEJANUS. 

When I respect thy argument, I see 

An image of those times : but when I view 

The wit, the workmanship, so rich, so true, 

The times themselves do seem retrieved to me. 

And as Sejanus, in thy tragedy, 

Falleth from Cajsar's grace ; even so the crew 

Of common play-wrights, -N^hom opinion blew 

Big with false greatness, are disgraced by thee 

Thus, in one tragedy, thou makest twain : 

And, since fair works of justice flt the part 

Of tragic Avriters, Muses do ordain 

That all tragedians, ministers of their art. 

Who shall hereafter follow on this tract, 

In Avriting well, thy Tragedy shall act. 

cvaiiua. 



ON SEJANUS. 

Sejanus, great, and eminent in Rome, 
Raised above all the senate, both in grace 
Of princes favor, authority, and place, 
And popular depcndance ; yet, how soon, 
Even Avith the instant of his overthrow, 
Is all this pride and greatness now forgot. 
By them which did his state not treason luiov," I 
His very flatterers, that did adorn 
Their necks with his rich medals, now in flame 
Consume them, and Avould lose even liis name, 
Or else recite it with reproach, or scorn ! 
This Avas his Roman fate. But noAV thy Muse 
To us that neither knew his height, nor fall, 
Hath raised him up Avitb such memorial, 
All future states and timer his name shall use. 
What, not his good, nor ill could once extend 
To the next age, thy verse, industrious, 
And learned friend, hath made illustrious 
To this. Nor shall his, or thy fame have end. 

TH. B.. 



COMMENDATOHY VERSES. gj 



AMICIS, AMICI NOSTEI DIGNISSIMI, B. J. DIGNISSIMIS, EriGKAMMA. D 
JOHANKKS MARSTO^^US. 

Ye ready friends, spare your unneedful bays, 

This Avork despairful envy must even praise : 

Phoebus hath voiced it loud through echoing skies, 

Sejanus' fall shall force thy merit rise ; 

For never English shall, or hath before 

Spoke fuller graced. He could say much, not more. 



ON SEJANUS. 

HoAv high a poor man shoAvs in low estate 

Whose base is firm, and whole frame competent, 

That sees this cedar, made the shrub of fate, 

Th' one's little, lasting ; th' others confluence spent. 

And as the lightning comes behind the thunder 

From the torn cloud, yet first invades our sense : 

So every violent fortune, that to wonder 

Hoists men aloft, is a clear evidence 

Of a vaunt-courring blow the fates have given 

To his forced state : swift lightning blinds his eyes, 

While thunder, from comparison-hating heaven, 

Dischargcth on his height, and there it lies ! 

If men will shun swoln fortune's ruinous blasts. 

Let them use temperance : nothing violent lasts. 

WILLIAM STKACnm. 



ON SEJANUS. 

Thy poem (pardon me) is mere deceit, 
Yet such deceit, as thou that dost beguile. 
Art juster far than they who use no wile ; 
And they who are deceived by this feat, 
More wise, than such who can eschew thy cheat : 
For thou hast given each part so just a style. 
That men suppose the action now on file ; 
(And men suppose, who are of best conceit.) 
Yet some there be, that are not moved hereby, 
And others are so quick, that they will spy 
Where later times are in some speech unweaved, 
Those, wary simples ; and these, simple elves ; 
They are so dull, they cannot be deceived, 
These so unjust, they will deceive themselves. 

■MAGS. 



ON SEJANUS. 

When in the Globe's fair ring, our world's best Btagc, 
1 saw Sejanus set with that rich foil, 
I looked the author should have born the spoil 
Of conquest, from the writers of the age : 
But when I viewed the people's beastly rage, 
Bent to confound thy grave, and learned toil. 
That cost thee so much sweat, and so much oil, 
My mdignation I could hardlv assuage. 
6 



S2 COMMENDATORY \^RSES. 



And many there (in passion) scarce could tell 
Whether thy fault, or theirs deserved most blamo ; 
Thine, for so shewing, theirs, to wrong the same : 
But both they left within that doubtful hell, 
From whence, this publication sets thee free : 
They, for their ignorance, still damned be. 

EV B. 



AMICISSIMO, ET MERITISSIMO BEN. JONSON, IN VOLPONEM 

Quod arte aitsus es hie tuA, Poeta, 
Si auderent Jiominum deique juris 
Consulti, veteres sequi ccmulariirque, 
O omnes saperemus ad salutem. 
His sed sunt veteres araneosi ; 
Tarn nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu 
Illos qudd sequeris novator audis. 
Fac tamen quod agis ; tuique primd 
Libri canitie induantur hord : 
Nam chartis piieritia est neganda, 
Naseimtiirque sencs, oportet, illi 
Libri, queis dare vis pierennitatem. 
Priscis, ingenium faeit, lobdrque 
Te parent; has siqieres, ut etfuturos. 
Ex nostrd vitiositate sumas, 
Qud priscos sicperamus, et futuros. 

3. DONNE. 



AD UTRAMQUE ACADEMIAM, DE BENJAMIN JONSONIO, IN VOLPONEM. 

Hic ille est pirimxis, qui doctum drama Britannis, 
Graiorum antiqua, et Latii monimenta thcatri, 
Tanquam exjilorator versans, fcclicibus ausis 
Prcebebit : rnagnis coc2}tis, gemina asfra, favete. 
Alterutrd veteres contenti laude : Cothurnum hic, 
Afque pari soccum traetat Sol scenicus arte ; 
Das Volpone joeos, fletus Sejane dedisti. 
At si Jonsonias mulctatas Umite musas 
Angusto plangent quiqua7)i : Vos, dicite, contra, 
O nimikm miseros quibus Anglls Anglica lingua, 
Aut non sat nota est ; aut queis (seu trans mare natis) 
Haud nota omnino ! Vegetet cum tempore vates, 
Mutabit patriam, fictqtie ipse Anglus Apollo. 

E. BOLTON. 



TO MY DEAR FREND MASTER BEN. JON SON, UPON HIS FOX. 

If it might stand with justice, to allow 

The swift conversion of all follies ; now, 

Such is my mercy, that I could admit 

All sorts should equally approve the wit 

Of this thy even work : whose growing fame 

Shall raise thee high, and thou it, with thy name. 

And did not manners, and my love command 

Me to forbear to make those understand. 

Whom thou, perhaps, hast in thy M'iser doom 

Long since, firmly resolved, shall never come 

To know more than they do ; I M-ould have shewn 

To all the world, the art, which thou alone 

Hast taught our tongue, the rules of time, of place.. 

And other rites, delivered with the grace 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. ' feg 



Of comic style, -which only, is far more 

Than any English stage hath known before. 

But since our subtle gallants think it good 

To like of nought that may be understood, 

Lest they should be disproved ; or have, at best, 

Stomachs so raw, that nothing can digest 

But what's obscene, or barks : let us desire 

They may continue, simply, to admire 

Fine cloaths, and strange words ; and may live, in age, 

To see themselves ill brought upon the stage. 

And like it. Whilst thy bold and knowing muse 

Contemns all praise, but such as thou wouldst choose. 

FRANCIS BEAUMONT. 



ON VOLPOKE. 

If thou dar'st bite this Fox, then read my rhymes < 
Thou guilty art of some of these foul crimes : 
Which else, are neither his nor thine, but Time's. 

If thou dost like it, well ; it vnU. imply 
Thou lik'st with judgment, or best company ; 
And he, that doth not so, doth yet envy 

The ancient forms reduced, as in this age 

The vices are ; and barefaced on the stage : 

So boys were taught to abhor seen drunkards rage. 

T. B 



TO MY GOOD FJRIEND MASTER JONSON. 

The strange new follies of this idle age. 
In strange new forms, presented on the stage : 
By thy quick muse, so pleased judicious eyes, 
That the once admired ancient comedies' 
Fashions, like clothes grown out of fashion, lay 
Locked up from use, until thy Fox' birth day, 
In an old garb, shewed so much art and wit, 
As they the laurel gave to thee and it. 

D. D. 



ON VOLPONE. 

The Fox, that eased thee of thy modest fears. 
And earthed himself, alive, into our ears. 
Will so, in death, commend his worth, and theo 
As neither can, by praises, mended be : 
Tis friendly folly, thou may'st thank, and blame, 
To praise a book whose forehead bears thy name. 
Then Jonson, only this (among the rest,) 
I, ever, have observed, thy last work's best : 
Pace gently on ; thy worth yet higher raise, • 
Till thou Avrite best, as well as the best plays. 

J. o. 



ON VOLPONE. 



Come, yet, more forth, Volpone, and thy chase 
Perform to all length, for thy breath will serve thee ; 



84 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 



The usurer shall never -wear thy case : 

Men do not hunt to kill, but to preserve thcc. 

Before the best hounds thou dost still but play ; 

And for our whelps, alas, they yelp in vain: 

Thou hast no earth ; thou hunt'st the milk-white way; 

And through th' Elysian fields dost make thy train. 

And as the sjonbol of life's guard, the hare, 

Tliat, sleeping, wakes, and, for her fear was saft, 

So thou shalt be advanced, and made a star, 

Pole to all wits, believed in, for thy craft. 

In which the scenes both mark, and mystery 

Is hit, and sounded, to please best, and worst : 

To aU which, ^since thou mak'st so sweet a cry, 

Take all thy best fare, and be nothing curst. 

6. C 



ON VOLPONE. 

VoLPOXE now is dead indeed, and lies 

Exposed to the censure of all eyes 

And mouths ; now he hath run his train, and shewn 

His subtle body, where he best was known ; 

In both Minerva's cities : he doth yield. 

His well-formed limbs upon this open field. 

Who, if they now appear so fair in sight, 

How did they, when they were endowed with sprighl 

Of action ? In thy praise let this be read, 

The Fox, will live when all his hounds be dead. 

B. S. 



I 



TO BEN JONSON, ON VOLPONE. 

FoRan'E thy friends ; they would, but cannot praise 
Enough the wit, art, language of thy plays. 
Forgive thy foes ; they will not praise thee. Why ? 
Thy fate hath thought it best they should env}'. 
Faith, for thy Fox's sake, forgive then those 
Who are nor worthy to be friends nor foes. 
Or, for their own brave sake, let them be still 
Fools at thy mercy, and like what they wiU. 



ON THE SILENT WOMAN 

Hear, you bad writers, and though you not see, 
I wiU inform you where you happy be : 
Provide the most malicious thoughts you can, 
And bend them all against some private man, 
To bring him, not his vices, on the stage ; 
Your envy shall be clad in some poor rage, 
And your expressing of him shall be such, 
That he himself shall think he hath no touch. 
Where he that strongly writes, although he mean 
To scourge but vices in a labored scene, 
Y'et private faults shall be so well exprest. 
As men do act 'em, that each private breast, 
That finds these errors in itself, shall say, 
He meant me, not my vices, in the play. 

FrwVNCIS BEAUMOJfS 



COMMENDATOHY VERSES. 



ro MY FKIEND BEK JONSON, UrON HIS ALCHEMIST. 

A MASTER, read in flattery's great skill, 

Could not pass truth, though he would force his -ivill, 

By praismg this too much, to get more praise 

In his art, than you out of yours do raise. 

Nor can full truth be uttered of your worth, 

Ilnloss you your own praises do set forth : 

None else can Avrite so skilfully, to shew 

lour praise : Ages shaU pay, yet still must owe. 

All 1 dare say, is, you have written well ; 

In what exceeding height, I dare not tell. 

GEORGE LUCY. 



0:S THE ALCHEMIST. 

The Alchemist, a play for strength of wit, 

And true art, made to shame what hath been writ 

in former ages ; I except no worth 

Of what or Greeks or Latins have brought forth • 

Is now to be presented to your ear, 

For which I Avish each man were a Muse here 

I o know, and in his soul be fit to be 

Judge of this master-piece of comedy; 

rhat when we hear but once of Jo.vsox's name, 

Whose mention shall make proud the breath of fame. 

We may agree, and crowns of laurel bring 

A justice unto him the poet's king. 

^"t ^^ is dead : Time, envious of°that bliss 

Which we possest in that great brain of his. 

By putting out this light, hath darkened all 

The sphere of Poesy, and we let fall 

At best unworthy elegies on his hearse, 

A tribute that we owe his living verse ; 

Which, though some men that never reached him mav 

Decry, that love all folly in a plajr. 

The wiser few shall this distixction have, 

iO KNEEL, NOT TREAD, UPON HIS HONORED GRAVE. 

JAMES SHIRLET. 



JoNsoN, t' whose name wise art did bow, and wit 

Is only justified by honoring it : 

To hear whoso touch, how would the learned quire 

With silence stoop ? and when he took his lyre, 

Apollo stopt his lute, ashamed to see 

A rival to the god of harmony, &c. 

Shirley's Poems, p. 159. 



ro MT FKIEI^D BEN JONSON, UPON HIS CATILINE 

If thou had'st itched after the wild applause 
Of common people, and hadst made thy laws 
In writing, such, as catched at present voice, 
I should commend the thing, but not thy choice. 
But tnou hast squared thy rules by what is good. 
And art three ages, yet, from understood ; 
And (I dare say) in it there lies much wit 
wu*' ^^^^ ^^^^ readers can grow up to it. 
VV hich they can ne'er outgrow, to find it ill. 
But must fall back again, or like it still. 

rUAXCIS BEAUMONT. 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 



TO MY WOKTHY FEIEND BEN JONSON, OIS HIS CATILINE, 

He, that does wrong this play, it should appear 

Dares utter more than other men dare hear, 

That have their Avits about them ; yet such men, 

Dear friend, must see your book, and read ; and then 

Out of theu" learned ignorance, cry ill, 

And lay you by, calling for mad Pasquil, 

Or Green's dear Groatsworth, or Tom Coryate, 

Or the new Lexicon, with the errant pate : 

And pick away, from all these several ends. 

And dirty ones, to make their as-wise friends 

Believe they are translators. Of this, pity ! 

There is a great plague hanging o'er the city ; 

Unless she purge her judgment presently. 

But, O thou happy man, that must not die, 

As these things shall ; leaving no more behind 

But a thin memory, like a f)assing wind 

That blows, and is forgotten, ere they are cold. 

Thy labors shall outlive thee ; and, like gold 

Stampt for continuance, shall be current, where 

There is a sun, a people, or a year. 

JOHX FLETClIEll. 



10 lliS WORTHY AND BELOVED FKIEND MASTER BEN JONSON ON HIS CATILINE. 

Had the great thoughts of Catiline been good, 
The.mcmory of his name, stream of his blood. 
His plots passed into acts, (which would have turned 
His infamy to fame, tliough Rome had burned,) 
. Had not begot lum equal grace with men. 
As this, that he is writ by such a pen : 
Whose inspirations, if great Rome had had. 
Her good things had been bettered, and her bad 
Undone ; the first for joy, the last for fear, 
That such a Muse should spread them, to our ear. 
But woe to us then ! for thy laureat brow 
If Rome enjoyed had, we had wanted now. 
But, in this age, where jigs and dances move. 
How few there are, that this pure work approve. 
Yet, better than I rail at, thou canst scorn 
Censures that die, ere they be thoroughly born. 
Each subject, thou, still thee each subject raises, 
And whosoe'er thy book, himself dispraises. 

NAT. FIELD. 



AD V Cl. ben. JONSONIUM, CARMEN PROTREPTICON 

Raptam Threicii lyram NeantJms 
' Pulset ; carmina circuUs Palcsmon 
Scribat ; qui manibus facit deahus 
Illotis, metuat Probum. Placere 
Te doctisjuvat auribus, placere 
Te rarisjuvat auribus, Camcenas 
Cum totus legerem tuas (^Camatice 
Nam Mum rogitant tucc, nee tdlam 
Qui pigrd trahat oscitationem, 
Lectorem) et numeros, acumen, ariein, 
Miruin judicium, quod ipse censor ^ 
Jonsoni, nimium licet maligmis. 



I 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 87 



Si doctus simiil, exigat, viderem, 
Sermonem et nitidum, facetidsque 
Dignas Mercurio, novdsque gnomas 
Morum sed veterum, tuique juris 
Quicquid dramalicum tui legebam, 
Tarn semper fore, tdnique te loquufunif 
Ut nee Lemnia notior sigillo 
Tellus, nee maculA sacrandus Apis, 
Non cesto Venus, aiU comis Apollo, 
Quam inusA fueris scieiite notus, 
Quam musA fueris tud notatus, 
Illd, qucB unica, sidus tit refulgens, 
Stricturas, superat comis, minonwt : 
In mentem subiit Stolonis illud. 
Lingua Pieridas fuisse Plauti 
Usuras, Ciceronis atque dictum, 
Saturno genitum phrasi Plautonis, 
Musce si Latio, Jovisque Athetiis 
Dixissent. Forejatn sed hunc et illas 
lonsoni numeros puto loquutos, 
Anglis si fuerint xitrique fati. 
Tarn, mi, tu sojj/iiam doces amacnt 
Sparsim tamque sojj/tos amasna sternis ! 
Sed, tot delicias, minus placebat, 
Sparsis distrahcrent tot in libellis 
Cerdoi caculce. Volumen unum, 
Quod seri Britonum terant nepotes, 
Optabai7i, et t/njasus chorusque amantum 
Musas hoc cupiunt, tui laborum 
Et quicquid reliquum est, adhuc iuisqtie 
Servatum pluteis. Tibi at videmur 
Non thm quxrere quum parare nobis 
Laudem, dum volumus paldni mereniis 
Tot laurus cupidi reposta scrip)fci ; 
Dum seccrnere to tuasque musas 
Audemus numero xingulce liquorem 
Gustante, et veteres novetn sorores 
Et Sirenibus et solent cicadis : 
Dum et secernere piosse te videmur, 
Efflictim 2}etimus novumque librum, 
Qui nulla sacer haut petatur eevo, 
Qui nullo sacer exolescat cbvo. 
Qui curis niieat tuis secundis ; 
Ut nos scire aliquid simul putetur. 
Atqui hoc made sies, velutque calpar. 
Quod diis inferium, tibi sacremus, 
Ut nobis benh sit ; tudmque frontem 
Perfundunt edcrca recentiores 
Et splendor novus. Invident coronam 
Hanc tantam patricB tibique (quantd 
Sternum a merito tuo superbum 
Anglorum genus esse possit olini) 
Tantum qui pienitus volant amcenas 
Sublatas liter as, timintve lucem 
lonsoni 7umiam tenebrio7ies, 

J. SEiOixirj 



88 COMMENDATORY VERSES. 



TO BEX JONSON, ON HIS WORKS. 

May I subscribe a name ? dares my bold quill 

Write that or good or ill, 
Whose frame is of that height, that, to mine eye. 

Its head is in the sky ? 
Yes. Since the most censures, believes, and saith 

By an implicit faitli : 
Lest their misfortune make them chance amiss, 

I'll waft them right by this. 
Of all I knoAV thou only art the man 

That dares but what he can : 
Yet by performance shows he can do more 

Than hath been done before. 
Or will be after ; (such assurance gives 

Perfection where it lives.) 
Words speak thy matter ; matter fills thy words 

And choice that grace affords. 
That both are best : and both most fitly placed, 

Are with new Venus graced 
From artful method. AH in this pomt meet. 

With good to mingle sweet. 
These are thy lower parts. What stands above 

Who sees not yet must love. 
When on the base he reads Ben Jonson's name, 

And hears the rest from fame. 
This from my love of truth : which pays this due 

To your just worth, not you. 

ED. HEYWARD. 



ON TUB AUTHOK OF THIS VOLUME, THE TOET LAUEEAT, BEN JONSOw 

Here is a poet ! whose unmuddled strains 

Shew that he held all Helicon in 's brains. 

What here is writ, is sterling ; every line 

Was well allowed of by the Muses nine. 

When for the stage a drama he did lay. 

Tragic or comic, he still bore aAvay 

The sock and buskin ; clearer notes than his 

No swan e'er sung upon our Thamesis ; 

For Ij'ric sweetness in an ode, or sonnet. 

To Ben the best of wits might vail their bonnet. 

His genius justly, in an entheat rage. 

Oft lashed the dull-sworn factors for the stage : 

For Alchymy, though 't make a glorious gloss, 

Compared with Gold is bullion and base dross. 

WILL. HODGSON 



ON HIS ELABORATED TLAYS.- EriGEAiL 

Eacu like an Indian ship or hull ajjpears, 
That took a voyage for some certain years, 
To plough the sea, and furrow up the main, 
A,nd brought rich ingots from his loaden brain. 
His art the sun ; his labors were the lines ; 
His solid stuff the treasure of his mines. 

WILL. HODGSOJf. 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 89 



IN BENJAMINUM JONSOJJUIT, FOETAM LAUEEATUM, ET DRAMATICOEUM SUF SECULI 

FACILE PKINCirEJI. 

Jonsone, Angltacce decus immortale Camxncc, 

Ilagne pater vatum, Aoni(e Corijphae catervcB, 

Benjamine, {tibi nee vanum nominis omen,'] 

Cui tarn clextera Pallas adest, tarn dexter Apollo ; 

Laurigeros egit quoties tua Musa triu?nphos ! 

Laudlbus en quantis, quanta evehit Anglia plausu 

Jonsonicm, loleni moderantem frcena theatri ! 

Per te scena loqui didieit : tibi Candida vena, 

Etjocus innocuus ; nee quern tuafabula mordet 

Dente Thconino, sed p)rams aspera tantiun 

Moribus, insatiuni midto sale defricat mvum, ^ 

Nee fescennino ludlt tua carmine Musa ; 

Nee pietulans aures amai incestare theatri, 

Aut fcedare oeulos obscainis improba nugis : 

Sunt tibi tarn castce veneres, plenaque 2ncdoris. 

Scenam nulla tuam perfrictd, fronte puella 

Intrat, nee quenquam tenerce capit illiee voeis. 

Nee speetaioron patranti frangit ocello, 

Dramate tu 7'ecto, tu Ungues idiomate jniro, 

Exornas soeedsque loves, grand6s(/ue cothurnos. 

Si Lyrieus, tujam Flaeeus ; si comicus, alter 

Plautus es ingenio, tersivd Terentius oris 

Anglicus, aut, Gracos si forte imitere, Menander, 

Cujus versu usus, ceic sacro emblcmate, Paulus : 

Sin Tragicus, magni jam prceceptore Neronis 

Altius eloqueris, Seneed et prcedivite major, 

(Ingenii at tantiun dives tu divite vend,) . 

Grandius ore tonas, verboruni et fulmina vibras. 

Tu cap)tatores, locuj)leti Jiamata, senique, 

Munera miitentes, Vulpino decipis astu 

Callidus ineautos, et fraudem fraude retcxis : 

Atque hceredipeias corvos deludis Mantis, 

Vand spe laetans, cera nee seribis in ima. 

Per to nee leno aut meretrix impzmt 2')er urbem 

Grassatur, stolidce et tendit sua retia inibi. 

Nee mccchus, nee fur, ineastigafus oberraf, 

Illeesusve, tuce prudenti verbere scence. 

Sic vitium omne vafer tuus ipse ut Horatlus olim^ 

Taiigis, et admissus circum praecordia ludis. 

Per te axidax Catilina, nefas horrendus Alastor 

Dmn struit infandum, emlisque et funera passi;r> 

Molitur Roma, faeundi consulis ore 

Ingenidque perit ; patriae ct dum peifdus enses 

IntentatjugidOffrangunturcolla Cethegi ; >■ 

Quicq%iid Sglla minax, ijjsis dfaucibus Orei, 

Et fortunati demurmuret umbra tgranni : 

Nempe faces flammdsque extinguit flumine lactis 

Tullius, Angliaeo melius sie ore lociitus. 

Culmine tu rapiens magnum devolvis ab alto 

Sejanum ; ille pioteiis populum, piavidumque senatuin 

Rexerat imperio nuper, dum solus habenas 

Tractaret Roma, nutu et tremefecerat orbem, ' 

Casare confsus ; nunc verso cardine rerum 

Mole sud miser ipse cadens, et 2^ondere presszis, 

Concutit attonitum lapsu graviore theatrum. 

Ingentimque trahit turbd plaiidente ruinam. 

Sic nullum exemplo crimen tu linquis inuUum, 

Sive et avarities, ct amor vesanus habcndi, 

Siva sit ambiiio, et doininandi ececa libido. . 

Crimina sic hominum versu tortore fagellas, 

Et vitia cxponis toti ludibria 2}lebi ; 

Protimts ilia tuo sordcnt cxplosa theairo, 

Dramdtque virtutis seJwlaJit, p)r(electio scena, 



90 COMMENDATORY VERSES. 

Ilistrio philosophus, morum vel denique censor, 
Et ludi, Jonsone, tui sic seria ducunt. 
Ergo tua effigies, nostris spectanda plateis, 
i^Quarn melius toti ostendit tua Pagiiia mundo) 
No7i hominis, sed viva Foesios extat imago ; 
Benjamini icon, capitisque insig^ie 2>oet(B ; 
Nomeii et ingenii, Jonsoni nomen habetur.^ 



SIK EDWARD HERBERT, UPON HIS FRIEND MR. BEN JONSON, AND 
HIS TRANSLATION. 

'TwAS not enough, Ben Jonson, to be thought 
Of English poets best, but to have brought 

In greater state, to their acquaintance, one 
Made equal to himself and thee ; that none 

Might be thy second ; while thy glory is 
To be the Horace of our times, and his. 



TO BEN JONSON. 

•• 'Tis dangerous to praise ; besides the task 

Which to do 't well, will ask 
An age of time and judgment ; who can then 

Be praised, and by what pen ? 
Yet, I know both, whilst thee I safely chuse 

My subject, and my Muse. 
For sure, henceforth our poets shall implcre 

Thy aid, which lends them more, 
Than can their tired Apollo, or the Nine 

She wits, or mighty wine. 
The deities are bankrupts, and must be 

Glad to beg art of thee. 
Some they might once perchance on thee bestow : 

But, now, to thee they owe : 
Who dost in daily bounty more wit spend, 

Than they could ever lend. 
Thus thou didst build the Globe, which, but for thee, 

Should want its axle-tree ; 
And, like a careful founder, thou dost now 

Leave rules forever, how 
To keep 't in reparations, which will do 

More good, than to build two. 
It was an able stock, thou gav'st before ; 

Yet, lo, a richer store ! 
Which doth, by a prevention, make us quit 

With a dear year of wit : 
€ome-wh3n it will, by this thy name shall last 

Until Fame's utmost blast," &c. 

BARTON HOLYDAr. 
1 Muss SubscciocB J. Duporti, CantabriguB, 8vo. 1676, p. 8 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 91 



TO MASTER JOJfSON. 

Ben, 

The world is much in debt, and though it may- 
Some petty reck'nings to small poets pay : 
Pardon if at thy glorious sum they stick, 
Being too large for their arithmetic. 
If they could prize the genius of a scene, 
The learned sweat that makes a language clean, 
Or understand the faith of ancient skill, 
Dra-^ai from the tragic, comic, lyric quUl ; 
The Greek and Roman denizened by thee. 
And both made richer in thy poetry ; 
This they may know, and knowing this stiLL grudge. 
That yet they are not fit of thee to judge. 
I prophesy more strength to after time, 
"Whose joy shall call this isle the poets' clime, 
Because 'twas thine, and unto thee return. 
The borrowed flames, with which thy Muse shall buTn 
Then •when the stock of others fame is spent. 
Thy iioetry shall keep its own old rent. 

ZOUCH TOWNLET. 



AD BEXJAMIXUM JOXSO>'UM 

III jus te voco, Jonsoni venito : 
Achum, qui -placjii et mala rapinm 
Te ad Phccbi 2^eragam reum tribunal, 
Assidente choro novem dearum. 
Quadam dramata scilicet diserta, 
l^uper qua Eli/sii roseti in mnbrd, 
Fastivissimus omnium poeta, 
Plautus co7)iposuit, diisque tandem 
Siellato exhibuit 2ioli in theatro, 
Movendo superis leves cachinnos, 
Et risos tetrico Jovi ciendo. 
Axe 2^lausibus intonante xitroque ; 
Hac til dramata scilicet diserta, 
Clepaisti suioeris 7iegotiosis, 
Qua tu nunc tua venditare pergis : 

In jus te voco, Jonsoni venito. 

En 2)ro te pater i2}se, Rexque Phaelicf 
Assiirgit modo, Jonsoni, palamque 
Testatur, tua serio fuisse 
Ilia dramata, teque condidisse 
Sese non modo co7iscio, atjiivante : 
Unde ergd sibi Plautus ilia tandem 
Nactiis exhibuit, Jovi Deisque ? 
Maia Filius, et Nepos Atlantis, 
Pe7inatus celeres pedes, at ungues 
Viscatus, volucer puer, vaferque, 
Furto condere quidlibet jocoso, 
Ut quondain facibus suis Amorem 
Per ludos viduavit, et 2^Jiaretrd, 
Sic niqjcr {siquidem solet frequenter 
Tecum ludere, plaudere, etjocari) 
Neglectas tibi cle2}sit has paptjrus 
iSecumque ad siqieros abire jiissit : 

Jam vicius taceo 2'>udore, vincis 

Phccbo Judice, Jonsoni, et Patrono} 

1 Caroll Fitigeofrldi Affan. OzonM, 1601. 



ft3 COMMEXDATOIIY VERSES. 



ON HEX JOXSON. 

MiuKou of poets, mirror of our ngc ! 

Which her Avholc iacc beholding on thy stage, 

Pleased and displeased with her own taults, cndureB 

A remedy like those whom musii.' cures. 

Thou hast alone those various inclinations!, 

AVhich Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations. 

So traced with thy all-rcscmbling pen, 

That whatc'cr cus'tom has imposed on men, 

Or ill-got habit, which deforms them so, 

That scarce a brother can his brother know. 

Is represented to the wond"ring eyes 

Of all that see or read thy comedies ; 

"Whoever in those glasses looks, may find 

The spots returned, or graces of his mind ; 

And by the help of so divmo an art, 

At- leisure A-ie\v, and dress his nobler part. 

Narcissus cozened by that Hatt'ring well, 

"Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, 

Had here, iliscovering the deformed estate 

Of his fond mind, preserved liimself with hate ; 

But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad 

In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had 

Beheld what his high fancy once embraced ; 

Virtue with colors, speech, and motion graced 

The s\mdry postures of thy copious Muse, 

Who would express a thousand tongues must use : 

Whoso fate's no less peculiar than thy ait, 

For as thou couldst all cliiu-acters impart : 

So none could render thine, who still escapes 

Like Proteus in variety of shapes ; 

"Who was, nor tliis, nor that, but all wo find. 

And all we can imaguie in niiuikind. 

E." WAIXElij 



OX MASTER BEXJAMIX JOXSOX. 

Aftek the rare arch-poet Joxsox died. 

The sock grew loathsome, tmtl the buskin's pride, 

Together with the stage's glory, stood 

Each liJce a poor and pitied widowhood. 

The cirque prophancd was ; and all postures rackt : 

For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act. 

Then temper flew from words ; aii.d men did squeak. 

Look red, and blow, and bluster, but not speak : 

No holy rage, or frantic fires did stir, 

Or flasli about the spacious theatre. 

No clap of hands, or shout, or praises-proof 

Did crack the playhouse sides, or cleave her roof. 

Artless the scene was ; and that monstrous sin 

Of deep and arrant ignorance came in ; 

Such ignorance as theirs was, who once liist 

At thy unequalled play, the .Uchemist : 

O fie upon 'em ! Lastly too, all wit 

In utter darkness did, and still will sit ; 

Sleeping the luckless age out, till that she 

Her resurrection b.as again with thee. 

IIeiuhcs.'s Hcsperides, 1648. 



COiBIEZOATOriY VEPvSES- 



OX BEX JOXaOX. 

Heke lies Joxsos witli tte rest 

Of tbe poets ; but the best. 

Header, -would'st thou more hare kaoTm r 

A at hi3 storv, not this stone ; 

That -win speak what this can't tell. 

Of his ghny. So farewell I 

i3uf. p. 342. 



AX ODE xOK BEX JOXSOX. 

Ah Eex : 
Say how, or wheii 
Shall we thy gaests 
Meet at those lyric feasts, 

Made at the Sub, 
The Dog, the Triple Tun • 
"Where we such dusters had. 
As made us nobly wild, not mad ; 
AtiH yet each Terse of tiiine 
Outdid the meat, outdid the feolie wiiie. 

MyBzx 
Or come agea ; 
Or send to us 
Thy wits great OTcrplos : 

But teach us yet 
Wisely to husband it ; 
Lest we that talent spend : 
And baring once brought to an end 
That precious stock ; the store 
Of ptch a wit : the worid should hare no more. 

Rtd. p. ^:-£ 



WORKS OF BEN JONSON. 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 

iO THE MOST LEARNED, AND MY HONORED FRIEND 

MASTER CAMDEN, 

CLARENCIEUX. 

Sir, — There are, no doubt, a supercilious race in tlie world, who will esteem all office, done you in thia kmd, an 
Injury ; so solemn a vice it is with them to use the authority of their ignorance, to the crying down of Poetrv, or the 
professors : but my jiratltude must not leave to correct their error; since I am none of those that can sutTer the benefita 
conferred upon my youth to perish with my age. It is a frail memory that remembers but present things: and, had the 
favor of the times so conspired with my disposition, as it could have brought forth other, or bet-ter, you had had tlis 
same proportion, and number of the fruits, the first. Now I pray you to accept this; such wherein neither the con- 
fession of my manners shall make you blush ; nor of my studies, repent you to have been the instructor : and for the 
profession of my thankfulness, I am sure it will, with good men, find either praise or excuse. Your true lover, 

Bek Jonson 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



KnOWELL, an old Gentleman. 
Edward Knowell, his Son. 
BraINWORM, the Father^s Man, 
George Downright, a plain Squire 
WeLLBRED, his Half-Brother. 
KiTELY, a Merchant, 
Captain Bobadill, a PauVs Man. 
Master Stephen, a Country OuU, 
Master Mathew, a Town Gull. 
Thomas Cash, Kitely^s Cashier. 



Oliver Cob, a Water-bearer, 

Justice Clement, an old merry Magistrate. 

Roger Formal, his Clerk, 

TVellbred^s Servant, 

Dame Kitely, Kitelfs mfe. 
Mistress Bredget, his Sister, 
Tib, Cob's Wife. 



Servants, 4'c. 



SCENE, — London. 



PROLOGUE. 



Though need make many poets, and some such 
As art and nature have not bettered much ; 
Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage, 
As he dare serve the ill customs of the age, 
Or purchase your delight at such a rate, 
As, for it, he himself must justly hate : 
To make a chUd now swaddled, to proceed 
Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed, 
Past threescore years ; or, ^^ith three rusty 

swords, 
And help of some few foot and haK-foot words, 
Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars, 
And in the tyring-house bring wounds to 

scars. 
He rather prays you will be pleased to see 
One such to-day, as other plays should be; 
Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas, 



Nor creaking throne comes do'wn the boys to 

please : 
Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard 
The gentlewoman ; nor rolled bullet heard 
To say, it thunders ; nor tempestuous drum 
Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come ; 
But deeds, and language, such as men do use. 
And persons, such as comedy would choose, 
When she would shew an image of the times. 
And sport with human folUes, not with crimes 
Except we make them such, by loving still 
Our popTilar errors, when we know they're ill. 
I mean such errors as you'll all confess, 
By laughing at them, they deserve no less : 
Which when you heartily do, there's hope left 

then, [men. 

You, that have so graced monsters, may like 

95 



96 



EVERY Mx\.N IN HIS HUilOE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I.—ASlrect. 

Enter Knowell, at the door of his house. 

Knoto. A goodly day toward, and a fresh morn- 
ing. — Braiiiworm ! 

Enter B rainworm. 

Call up your young master : bid him rise, sir. 
Tell him, I have some business to employ him. 

Bred. I Avill, sir, jDrcsently. 

Know. But hear you, sirrah, 
If he be at his book, disturb him not. 

13)-ai. Very good, sir. [Exit. 

Knoio. How hajipy yet should I esteem myself, 
Could I, by any practice, wean the boy. 
From one vain course of study he affects. 
He is a scholar, if a man may trust 
The liberal voice of fame in her report. 
Of good account in both ovir Universities, 
Either of which hath favored him with graces : 
But their indulgence must not spring in me 
A fond opinion that he cannot err. 
Myself was once a student, and indeed, 
Eed with the self-same humor he is now, 
Dreaming on nought but idle poetry, 
That fruitless and unprofitable art. 
Good unto none, but least to the professors ; 
Which then I thought the mistress of all knowl- 
edge : ' [judgment, 
But since, time and the truth have waked my 
And reason taught me better to distinguish 
The vain from the useful learnings. 

Enter Master Stephex. 

Cousin Stephen, 
What news with j-ou, that you are here so early ? 

Step, Nothing, but e'en come to see how you 
do, tmcle. 

Knoio. That's kindly done ; you are Avclcomc, 
coz. 

Step. Aj, I know that, sir ; I would not have 
come else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle ? 

Knoio. O, well, coz ; go in and see ; I doubt 
he be scarce stirring yet. 

Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an 
he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking 
and hunting ; I would fain borrow it. 

Know. Why, I hope you will not a hawking 
now, will you ? 

Step. No, wusse ; but I'll practise against next 
year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a 
hood, and bells, and all ; I lack nothing but a 
book to keep it by. 

Knoio. 0, most ridiculous ! 

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, un- 
cle : — Why, you know an a man have not skill 
in the hawking and hunting languages now-a- 
days, I'll not give a rush for him : they are more 
studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for 
no gallants company without them ; and by gad- 
slid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for 
every humdrum : hang them, scroyles ! there's 
nothing in them i' the world. What do you 
talk on it ? Because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall 
kee^i company with none but the archers of 



Finsbury, or the citizens that come a ducking to 
Islington ponds ! A fine jest, i' faith ! 'Slid, a 
gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman. 
Uncle, I pray you be not angry ; I know what I 
have to do, I trow, I am no novice. 

Knoio. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb 
go to ! 
Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak ; 
Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. 
Have you not yet found means enow to waste 
That which your friends have left you, but you 

must 
Go cast away your money on a buzzard, 
And know not how to keep it, Avhen you have 
done ? [man ! 

O, it is comely ! this will make you a gentle- 
Well, cousin, well, I see you are e'en past hojoe 
Of all reclaim : — ay, so ; now you are told on't. 
You look another way. 

Step. What would you ha' me do ? 

Knoio. What would I have you do ' I'll tell 
5^ou, kinsman; 
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive ; 
That would I have you do : and not to spend 
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, 
Or every foolish brain that humors you. 
I would not have you to invade each place, 
Nor thrust yourself on all societies. 
Till men's affections, or your own desert, 
Should worthily invite you to your rank. 
He that is so respectless in his courses, 
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. 
Nor would I, you should melt away yourself 
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect 
To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 
A little puff of scorn extmguish it ; 
And you be left like an unsavory snuff, 
Whose property is only to offend. 
I'd have you sober, and contain yourself. 
Not that your sail be bigger than joxlv boat ; 
But moderate your expenses now, at first, 
As you may keep the same proportion still ; 
Nor stand so much on your gentiiity. 
Which is an airy and mere borrowed thing. 
From dead men's dust and bones ; and none ot 
Except you make, or hold it. [yours, 

Enter a Servant. 

Who comes hero ? 

Serv. Save you, gentlemen ! 

Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gen- 
tility, friend ; yet you are welcome : and I assure 
you mine uncle here is a man of a thoiisand a 
year, Middlesex land. He has but one son in 
all the world, I am his next heir, at the com- 
mon laAV, master Stephen, as simple as I stand 
here, if my cousin die, as there's hope he will : 
I have a pretty living o' mine own too, beside, 
hard by here. 

Serv. In good time, sir. 

Step. In good time, sir ! why, and in very good 
time, sir ! You do not flout, friend, do you ? 

Serv. Not I, sir. 

Step. Not you, sir ! you were best not, sir ; an 
you should, here be them can perceive it, and 
that quickly too ; go to : and they can give it 
again soundly too, an need be. 

Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you ; good faith, 
I had no such intent. 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



Step. Sir, ail I tliouglit you liad, I would talk 
with you, and that presently. 

Sere. Good master Stephen, so you maj', sir, 
at your pleasure. 

S(ep. And so I would, sir, good my saucy 
companion ! an you were out o' mine uncle's 
ground, I can tell you ; though I do not stand 
upon my gentility neither, in't. 

Know. Cousin, cousin, will this ne'er be left ? 

S/ep. AVlioreson, base fellow ! a mechanical 
serving-man ! By this cudgel, an 'twere not for 
shame, I Avovild 

Know. What would you do, you peremptorj' 
If you cannot be quiet, get you hence. [gull ? 
You see the honest man demeans himself 
Modestly towards you, giving no reply 
To your unseasoned, quarrelling', rude fashion; 
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage 
As void of wit, as of humanity. 
Go, get you in; 'fore heaven, I am ashamed 
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me. 

[Exit Master Stepuex. 

Serv. 1 pray, sir, is this master KnowcU's 
house ? 

Know. Yes, marry is it, sir. 

Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, 
jne master Edward Knowcll ; do you know any 
such, sir, I pray you ? 

Knotv. I should forget myself else, sir. 

Scrv. Arc you the gentleman ? cry you mercy, 
sir : I was required bj' a gentleman in the city, 
as I rode out at this end o' the town, to deliver 
you this letter, sir. 

Know. To me, sir ! AVhat do you mean r pray 
you remember your court'sy. [Reads.] To his 
most selected friend, master Edward Knowell. 
What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that 
sent it ? Naj', pray you be covered. 

Serv. One master Wellbrcd, sir. 

Knoto. Master Wellbred ! a young gentleman, 
is he not ? 

Serv. The same, isir ; master Kitcly married 
his sister ; the rich merchant in the Old Jewry. 

Know. You say very true. — Brainworm ! 

Enter Brainworm. 
Brai. Sir, 

Know. ISIake this honest friend drink here : 
pray you, go in. 

[Exeunt BiiAixwoRM and Servant. 
This letter is directed to my son ; 
Yet I am Edward Knowell too, and niay. 
With the safe conscience of good manners, use 
The fellow's error to my satisfaction. 
Well, I will break it ope, (old men arc curious,) 
Be it but for the style's sake and the jArase ; 
To see if both do answer my son's praises, 
Who is almost grown the idolater 
Of this young AVcllbred. What have we here ? 
Whafs this ? 

[Reada.] Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast tliou forsworn 
all tliy friends in the Old Jewry ? or dost thou think us 
all Jews that inhabit there .' yet, if thou dost, come over, 
and but see our frippery ; change an old shirt for a whole 
Bniock witli us : do not conceive that antipathy between 
us and Hogsden, as was betv een Jews and hogs-flesh. 
Leave thy vigilant f.ither alone, to number over his green 
apricots, evening and morning, on the north-west w-all: an 
I had been liis son, I had saved hiin tlie labor long since, 
if taking in all the young wenches that pass Ijy at tlie 
back-door, and cudling every kernel of the fruit for them. 



would have served. But, pr'ythee, come over to me 
quickly, this morning; I liave such a present for tliee ; — 
our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand 
Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, of your own bucli, your 
own leaven ; but doth tliink liiin himself poet-m:ijor of 
tlie town, willing to be shown, and worthy to bo seen. The 
other — I will not venture his description with you, till you 
come, because I would have you make hither wifli an appe- 
tite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw 
your liill of charges, as unconscionable as any (Juildhall 
verdict "'ill give it you, and you shall be allowed you! 
viaticum. 

Fronn ti.e Windmill. 

From the Bordello it might come as w.ell, 
The Spittle, or Pict-hatch. Is this the man 
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, 
The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth ! 
I know not what he may be in the arts, [ners. 
Nor what in schools ; but, surely, for his man- 
I j udge him a profane and dissol ute wretch ; 
Worse by possession of such great good gifts. 
Being the master of so loose a spirit. 
Why, what unhallowed ruffian would liave writ 
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend ! 
Why should he think to tell my apricots. 
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit, 
To watch it ? Well, my son, I had thought you 
Had had more judgment to have made election 
Of your companions, than t' have ta'en on trust 
Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare 
No argument or subject from their jest. 
But I perceive affection makes a fool 
Of any man too much the father. — Brainworm ! 

E}itcr Brainavorm. 

Brai. Sir. 

Knoio. Is the fellow gone that brought this 
letter ? 

Brai. Yes, sir, a pretty Avliile since. 

Know. And where is your young master ' 

Brai. In his chamber, sir. 

Know. He spake not with the fellow, did he ? 

Brai. No, sir, he saw him not. 

Knoiv. Take you this letter, and deliver it my 
son ; but with no notice that I have opened it, 
on your life. 

Brai. O Lord, sir ! that were a jest indeed. 

[Exit. 

Knoto. I am resolved I will not stop his jour- 
Nor practise any violent means to stay [ney, 
The unbridled course of youth in him ; for that 
Restrained, grows more impatient ; and in kind 
Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound, 
Who ne'er so little from his game withheld, 
Turns head, and leaps \\\) at his holder's tliroat. 
There is a way of winning more by love, 
And urging of the modesty, than fear : 
Force works on servile natures, not the free. 
He that's compelled to goodness, may be good, 
But 'tis but for that fit ; where others, drawn 
By softness and example, get a habit. [same 
Then, if thej' stray, but warn them, and the 
They should for virtue have done, they'll do for 
shame. [Exit. 

SCENE II. -7-^ Room in Kxowell's House. 

Enter E. Kxowell, with a letter in his hand, fol- 
lowed by Brainworm. 

E. Know, Did he open it, say'st thou ? 



98 



EVERY JIAN IN HIS HUJtlOR. 



Brai. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the con- 
tents. 

E. Know. That scarce contents mo. What 
countenance, prithee, made he in the reading 
of it ? was he angry, or pleased ? 

Brai. iN^ay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open 
it, I assure your worship. 

E. Kiioto. No ! how know'st thou then that he 
did either ? 

Br:ii. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on 
my life, to tell nobcdy that he opened it ; which, 
unless he h^d done, he would never fear to have 
it reyealcd. 

E. Know. That's true: well, I thank thee, 
Brainworra. 

Enter Stephen. 

Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fel- 
low here in what-sha-call-him doublet ? he 
brought mine uncle a letter e'en now. . 

Brai. Yes, master Stephen ; what of him ? 

Step. O, I have such a mind to beat him 

where is he, canst thou tell ? 

Brai. Faith, he is not of that mind : he is 
gone, master Stephen. 

Step. Gone ! which way ? when went he ? 
how long since ? 

Brai, He is rid hence ; he took horse at the 
street-door. 

Step. And I staid in the fields ! Whoreson 
licanderbag rogue ! O that I had but a horse to 
fetch him back again ! 

Brai. Wh}^ you may have my master's geld- 
ing, to save yovir longing, sir. 

Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite on't. 

Brai. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, 
master Stephen. 

Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him 
now : let him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help 
to truss me a httle : he does so vex me 

Brai. Y'ou'U be worse vexed when you are 
trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, 
and walk yourself till you be cold ; your choler 
may founder you else. 

Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou 
tfc'U'st me on't : how dost thou like my log, 
Brainworm ? 

Brai. A very good leg, master Stephen; but 
the woollen stocking does not commend it so 
well. 

Step. Foh ! the stockings be good enough, 
)\ow summer is coming on, for the dust : I'll 
have a pair of silk against winter, that I go to 
dwell in the town. I think my leg would shew 
in a silk hose 

Brai. Believe me, master Stephen, rarely 
well. 

Step. In sadness, I think it would : I have a 
reasonable good leg. 

Brai. You have an excellent good leg, master 
Stephen ; but I cannot stay to praise it longer 
now, and I am very sorry for it. [Exit. 

Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. 
Gramercy for this. 

E. Know. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Step. 'Slid, I hope he laughs not at me ; an he 
do 

E. Know. Here was a letter indeed, to be in- 
tercepted by a man's father, and do him good 



M'ith him ! He cannot but think most virtuous- 
ly, both of me, and the sender, sure, that make 
the careful costermonger of him in our familiar 
epistles. Well, if he read this with patience Til 
be gelt, and troll ballads for Master John Trun- 
dle yonder, the rest of my mortality. It is true, 
and likely, my father may have as much patience 
as another man, for he takes much physic ; and 
oft taking physic makes a man very patient. 
But would your packet. Master Wellbred, had 
arrived at him in such a minute of his pa- 
tience ! then we had known the end of it, 

which now is doubtful, and threatens [sees 

Master Stephen.] What, my wise cousin ! 
nay, then I'll furnish our feast Avith one gull 
more towards the mess. He writes to me of a 
brace, and here's one, that's three : oh, for a 
fourth, Fortune, if ever thou'lt use thine eyes, 

I entreat thee 

Step. Oh, now I see who he laughed at : he 
laughed at somebody in that letter. By this 

good light, an he had laughed at me 

E. Know. How now, cousin Stephen, melan- 
choly ? 

Step. Yes, a little : I thought you had laughed 
at me, cousin. 

E. Know. Why, wdiat an I had, coz ? what 
would you have done ? 

Step. By this light, I Avould have told mine 
uncle. 

E. Know. Nay, if j'ou would have told youi 
uncle, I did laizgh at you, coz. 
Step. Did you, indeed ? 
E. Know. Yes, indeed. 

Step, Why then 

E, Know. "What then ? 
Step. I am satisfied ; it is sufficient. 
E. Knoio. Why, be so, gentle coz : and, I pray 
you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am 
sent for this morning by a friend in the Old 
Jewry, to come to him ; it is but crossing over 
the fields to Moorgate : Will you bear me com- 
pany ? I protest it is not to draw you into bond, 
or any plot against the state, coz. 

Step. Sir, that's all one an it were ; you shall 
command me twice so far as Moorgate, to do you 
good in such a miatter. Do you think I would 

leave you ? I protest 

E. Know. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. 
Step. By my fackings, but I will, by your 
leave : — I'll protest more to my friend, than I'll 
speak of at this time. 

E. Know. You speak very well, coz. 
Step. Nay, not so neither, you shall pardon 
me : but I speak to serve my turn. 

E. Know. Your turn, coz ! do you know what 
you say ? A gentleman of your sort, parts, car- 
riage, and estimation, to talk of your turn in this 
company, and to me alone, like a tankard-bearer 
at a conduit ! fie ! A wight that, hitherto, his 
every step hath left the stamp of a great foot bo- 
hind him, as every word the savor of a strong 
spirit, and he ! this man ! so graced, gilded, or, 
to use a more fit metaphor, so tin-foiled by na- 
ture, as not ten housewives' pewter, again a good 
time, shows more bright to the world than he ! 
and he ! (as I said last, so I say again, and stil' 
shall say it) this man ! to conceal such real orna 
ments as these, and sliFidow their glory* as a mil- 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



O'J 



liner's •wife does her v,-rought stomacher, with 
a smoaky lawn, or a black Cyprus ! O, coz ! it 
cannot be ansAverccl ; go not about it : Drake's 
old ship at Deptford may sooner circle the world 
again. Come, wrong not the quality of your 
desert, with looking downward, coz ; but hold 
up your head, so : and let the idea of what you 
are be portrayed in your face, that men may 
read in your physnomy, here icithin this place is 
to be seen the true, rare, and accomplished monster, 
or miracle of nature, which is all one. What 
think you of this, coz ? 

Step. Why, I do think of it : and I Avill be 
more proud, and melancholj-, and gentlemanlike, 
than I have been, I'll insure you. 

E. Know. Why, that's resolute, master Ste- 
phen ! — Now, if I can but hold him up to his 
height, as it is happily begun, it Avill do Avell for 
a suburb humor : we may hap have a match 
with the city, and play him for forty pound. — 
Come, coz. 

Step. I'll follow you. 

E. Know. Follow me ! you must go before. 

Step. Nay, an I must, I will. Pray you shew 
me, good cousin. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The Lane before Cob's House. 

Enter Master Mathew. 

Mat. I think this be the house : what, ho ! 

Enter Cob. 

Cob. Wh(i's there ? O, master SlatheV ! give 
your worship good morrow. 

Mat. What, Cob ! how dost thou, good Cob ? 
dost thou inhabit here. Cob ? 

Cob. Ay, sir, I and my lineage have kept a 
poor house here, in our days. 

Mat. Thy lineage, monsieur Cob ! what line- 
age, what lineage ? 

Cob. Why, sir, an ancient lineage, and a 
princely. Mine ance'try came from a king's 
belly, no wor?e man ; and yet no man neither, 
by your worship's leave, I did lie in that, but 
herring, the king of fish, (from his belly I pro- 
ccc'd,) one of the monarchs of the world, I assure 
you. The first red herring that was broiled in 
Adam and Eve's kitchen, do I fetch my pedi- 
gree from, by the harrot's book. His cob was 
my great, great, mighty great grandfather. 

Mat. Why mighty, why mighty, I pray thee ? 

Cob. O, it was a mighty while ago, sir, and a 
mighty great cob. 

Mat. How know'st thou that ? 

Cob. How know I ! why, I smell his ghost ever 
and anon. 

Mat. Smell a ghost ! O unsavory jest ! and 
the ghost of a herring cob ? 

Cob. Ay, sir: With favor of your worship's 
nose, master ^Mathew, why not the ghost of a 
Iierrbig cob, as well as the ghost of Rasher 
Bacon ? 

Mat. Roger Bacon, thou wouldst saj'. * 

Cob. I say Rasher Bacon. Thej' were both 
Droiled on the coals ; and a man may smell 
Droiled meat, I hope ! you are a scholar, upsolve 
He that noAV. 

Mat. O raw ig.iorance ! — Cob, canst thou 



show me of a gentleman, one captain Bobadill, 
where his lodging is ? 

Cob. 0, my guest, sir, you mean. 

Mat. Thy guest ! alas, ha, ha, ha ! 

Cob. Why do you laugh, sir ? do you nr t 
mean captain Bobadill ? 

Mat. Cob, pray thee advise thyself Avell : do 
not wrong the gentleman, and thyself too. I 
dare be SAVorn, he scorns thy house ; lie ! he 
lodge in such a base obscure jolace as thy house ! 
Tut, I knoAV his disposition so Avell, lie Avould 
not lie in thy bed if thou'dst give it him. 

Cob. I Avill not give it him though, sir. Mass, 
I thought somcAvhat Avas in it, Ave could not get 
him to bed all night : AVell, sir ; though he lie 
not on my bed, he lies on my bench : an't please 
you to go up, sir, you shall find him Avith tAVC 
cusliions under his head, and his cloak Avrapt 
about him, as though he had neither Avon Jior 
lost, and yet, I Avarrant, he ne'er cast better in 
his life, than he has done to-night. 

Mat. Why, Avas he drunk ? 

Cub. Drunk, sir ! you hear not me say so : per- 
haps he sAvalloAved a tavern- token, or some such 
deA'ice, sir, I have nothing to do Avithal. I deal 
Avith Avater and not Avith Avine — Give me my 
tankard there, ho ! — God be Avi' you, sir. It's 
six o'clock : I should haA'e carried tAvo turns by 
this. What ho ! my stopple ; come. 

Enter Tib with a watcr-tankard. 

Mat. Lie in a Avater-bearers house ! a gentle- 
man of his havings ! Well, I'll tell him my mind 

Cob. What, Tib ; shcAV this gentleman up to 
the captain. [Exit Tib icith Master Matuew.J 
Oh, an my house Avere the Brazen-head noAV ! 
faith it Avould e'en speak Moe fools yet. You 
sliould haA^e some noAV Avould take this Master 
]MatheAV to be a gentleman, at the least. His 
father's an honest man, a Avorshipful fishmonger, 
and so forth ; and noAV does he creej) and wrig- 
glc into acquaintance Avith all the brave gallants 
about the tOAvn, such as my guest is, (O, my 
guest is a fine man !) and they flout him invin- 
cibly. He nseth every day to a merchant's 
house Avhere I serve Avater, one master Ivitely's, 
in the Old JcAvry ; and here's the jest, he is in 
love Avith my master's sister, Mrs. Bridget, and 
calls her mistress ; and there he Avill sit you a 
Avhole afternoon sometimes, reading of these 
same abominable, vile (a pox on 'em ! I cannot 
abide them,) rascally verses, poetrie, poetrie, and 
speaking of interludes ; 'tAvill make a man burst 
to hear him. And the Avenches, they do so jeer 
and ti-he at him — WeU, should they "do so 
much to me, I'd forswear them all, by the foot 
of Pharaoh ! There's an oath ! Hoav many 
Avator-bearers shall you hear SAvear such an 
oath ? O, I liaA'e a guest — he teaches me — he 
does SAvear the legiblest of any man christened " 
By St. George! the foot of Pharaoh! the body of 
me ! as I am a gentleman and a soldier ! such 
dainty oaths ! and Avithal he does take this samo 
filthy roguish tobacco, the finest and cleanliest ! 
it Avould do a man good to see the fume come 
forth at's tonnels. — Well, he owes me forty 
shillings, my Avife lent him out of her purse, by 
sixpence at a time, besides his lodging : I would 
I had it ! I shall have it, he says, the next 



100 



EVERY MA^^ IX HIS liUMOH. 



action. Holter skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kL. 
it cat, xip-tails all, and a louse for tlie hangman ! 

[Exit. 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Cob's House. 
BoEADiLL discovered lying on a bench. 
Boh. Hostess, hostess ! 

Enter Tib. 

Tib. What say you, sh- ? 

Bob. A cup of thy small beer, sweet hostess. 

Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would 
speak Avith you. 

Bob. A gentleman ! 'odso, I am not within. 

Tib. My husband told him you were, sir. 

Bob. What a plague — what meant he ? 

Mat. (beloiD.) Captain Bobadill ! 

Boh. Who's there? — Take away the basin, 
good hostess ; — Come up, sir. 

Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. 
You come into a cleanly house, here ! 

Enter Mathew. 

Mat. Save you, sir ; save you, captain ! 

Bob. Gentle master Mathew ! Is it you, sir ? 
please you to sit down. 

Mat. Thank you, good captain; you may see 
I am somewhat audacious. 

Boh. Not so, sir. I was reqiiested to supper 
last night by a sort of gallants, where you were 
wished for, and drunk to, I assure you. 

Mat. Vouchsafe mc, by Avhom, good captain : 

Boh. Marry, by young Wellbred, and others. 

Why, hostess, a stool here for this gentleman. 

Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well. 

Boh. Body o' me ! it was so late ere Ave part- 
ed last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet ; I 
Avas but ncAv risen, as you came : hoAv passes 
che day abroad, sir ? yo^x can tell. 

Mat. Faith, some half hour to scA^en : Noav, 
trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging 
here, A'cry neat and private. 

Bob, Ay, sir : sit down, I pray you. ]\Iaster 
Mathew, in any case possess no gentleman of 
our acquaintance Avith notice of my lodging. 

Mat. Who, I, sir ? no. 

Boh. Not tliat I need to care Avho know it, for 
the cabin is convenient ; but in rcgaixl I Avould 
not be too popular, and generally visited, as 
some are. 

Mat. True, captain, I conceive you. 

Boh. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of val- 
or in me, except it be to some peculiar and 
choice spirits, to Avhom I am extraordinarily en- 
gaged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend 
thus far. 

Mat. O Lord, sir ! I resolve so. 

Boh. I confess I love a cleanly and quiet 
privacy, above all the tumult and roar of for- 
tune. What ncAV book have you there ? What ! 
Go by, Ilieronymo ? 

Mat. Ay : did you ever see it acted ? Is't not 
Avell penned ? 

Boh. Well penned ! I Avould fain see all the 
poets of these times pen such another play as 
that Avas : they'll prate and swagger, and keep a 
6tir of art and devices, Avhcn, as I am a gentle- 
man, read 'em, they are the most shallow, piti- 



ful, barren felloAvs that live upon tlie face of the 
earth again. 

[While Master Matheav reads, Bouadih 
makes himself ready.] 

Mat. Indeed here are a number of fine speeches 
in this book. O eyes, no eyes, but fountains 
fraught toith tears ! there's a conceit ! fountains 
fraught loith tears ! O life, no life, but lively form 
of death ! another. O world, no loorld, but mass 
of public torongs ! a third. Confused and filled 
with murder and misdeeds! a fourth. O, the 
muses ! Is't not excellent ? Is't not simply the 
best that ever you heard, captain r Ha ! hoAV do 
you like it ? 

Bob. 'Tis good. 
Mat. To thee, the purest object to my sense, 

The most refined essence heaven covers. 
Send I these lines, wherein I do commence 

The happy state of turtle-billing lovers. 
If they prove rough, unpolished, harsh, and rude. 
Haste tnade the ivaste : thus mildly I conclude. 

Bob. Nay, proceed, proceed. Where's this ? 

Mai. This, sir ! a toy of mine OAvn, in my non- 
age ; the infancy of my muses. But Avhen Avill 
you come and see my study ? good faith, I can 
sheAV you some very good things I have done oi 
late — That boot becomes your leg passing Avell, 
cajitain, methinks. 

Bob. So, so ; it's the fashion gentlemen noAV 
use. 

Mat. Troth, captain, and noAv you speak of 
the fashion, master Wellbred's elder brother and 
I are fallen out exceedingly : This other day, I 
happened to enter into some discourse- of a 
hanger, Avhich, I assure you, both for fashion and 
Avorkmanship, Avas most peremptory beaxitiful 
and gentlemanlike : yet he condemned, and cried 
it down for the most pied and ridiculous that 
ever he saw. 

Bob. Squire Downright, the half brother, 
Avas't not ? 

Mat. Ay, sir, he. 

Boh. Hang him, rook ! he ! Avhy he has no 
more judgment than a malt-horse : By St. 
George, I Avondcr you'd lose a thought upon 
such an animal ; the most peremptory absurd 
cloAvn of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I 
protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a sol- 
dier, I ne'er changed Avords Avith his like. By 
his discourse, he should eat nothing but hay ; he 
Avas born for the manger, pannier, or pack-sad- 
dle. He has aiot so much as a good phrase in 
his belly, but all old iron, and rusty proverbs : 
a good commodity for some smith to make hob- 
nails of. 

Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it aAvay Avith 
his manhood still, Avhere he comes : he brags he 
will give me the bastinado, as I hear. 

Bob. HoAV ! he the bastinado ! hoAV came ho 
by that Avord, troAV ? 

Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel mo : I 
termed it so, for my more grace. 

Bob. That may be ; for I Avas sure it Avas none 
of hisAvord : but Avhen, Avhen said he so ? 

Mat. Faith, yestcrdajs they say ; a young gal ■ 
lant, a friend of mine, told me so. 

Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an 'twere my 
case now, I should send him a chartel presently 
The ba.stinado I a most proper and sufficient 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



101 



Jcpendenre, -warranted bj-- tlio great Caranza. 
Come hither, you shall chartel him ; I'll show 
you a trick or tvfo you shall kill him -with at 
oloasure ; the first stoccata, if you Avill, by this 
air. 

Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in 
the mystery, I have heard, sir. 

Bob- Of whom, of whom, have you heard it, 
I beseech you ? 

Hat. Troth, I have heard it spokcii of divers, 
that you have very rare, and un-iu-one-breatli- 
utterable skill, sir. 

Bob. Bjr heaven, no, not I ; no skill in the 
earth ; some small rudiments in the science, as 
to know my time, distance, or so. I have pro- 
fessed it more for noblemen and gentlemen's 
use, than mine own x^rfictice, I assure you. — 
Hostess, accommodate us Avith another bed-staff 
here quickly. Lend us another bed-staff — the 
woman does not understand the words of action. 
— Look you, sir : exalt not your point above 
this state, at any hand, and let your poniard 
maintain your defence, thus : — give it the gen- 
tleman, and leave us. [Exit Tib.] So, sir. 
Come on : O, twine your body more about, that 
you may fall to a more sweet, comely, gentle- 
man-like guard ; so ! indifferent : hollow your 
bodj' more, sir, thus : now, stand fast o' your 
left leg, note your distance, keej) your due pro- 
portion of time — oh, you disorder your point 
most irregularly. 

Mat. How is the bearing of it now, sir ? 

Bob. O, out of measure ill : a wcll-exiicrienecd 
hand would pass upon you at pleasure. 

Mat. Ho-w mean you, sir, pass \ipon me ? 

Bob. Why, thus, sir, — make a thrust at mo — 
[Masteu Matiiew jmshcs at Bobadill,] come in 
upon the answer, control your point, and make 
a full career at the bodj^ : The best-practised 
gallants of the time name it the passado ; a most 
desperate thrust, believe it. 

Mat. AVell, come, sir. 

Bob. Whj', you do not manage your weapon 
with any facility or grace to invito me. I have 
no spirit to play with you ; your dearth of judg- 
ment renders you tedious. 

Mat. But one venue, sir. 

Bob. Ycnue ! fie ; most gross denomination as 
ever I heard : O, the stoccata, while you live, 
sir ; note that. — Come, put on your cloke, and 
we'll go to some private place v.'here you are 
acquainted ; some tavern, or so — and have a 
bit. I'll send for one of these fencers, and he 
shall breathe you, by my direction ; and then I 
will teach you your trick : you shall kill him 
with it at the first, if you please. Why, I will 
learn you, by the true judgment of the eye, 
hand, and foot, to control any enemy's point in 
the world. Should your adversary confront yo\i 
with a pistol, 'twere nothing, by this hand ! you 
should, by t'he same rule, control his bullet, in a 
line, except it were hail-shot, and spread. What 
money have you about you, master Mathew ? 

Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shilling 
Dr so. 

Bob. 'Tis somc-^'hat with the least ; but come ; 
R-8 will have a bunch of radish and salt to taste 
Dur Avine, and a pipe of tobacco to close the ori- 
fice of the stoir'\ch : and then we'll call ujion 



young Wellbred : perhaps we shall meet the 
Corydon his brother there, and put him to the 
question. 



SCENE I. 



ACT II. 

- The Old Jewry. A Hall in 
KiTELi-'s House. 



Eater Kitely, Cash, and Downright. 

Kit. Thomas, come hither. 
There lies a note within upon my desk ; 
Here take my key : it is no matter neither. — 
Where is the boy ? 

Cash. Within, sir, in the -warehouse. [gold, 

Kit. Let him tell over straight that Spanish 
And weigh it, with the pieces of eight. Do you 
See the delivery of those silver stuffs 
To ^Master Lucar : tell him, if he will. [him. 
He shall have the grograns, at the rate I told 
And I will meet him on the Exchange anon. 

Cash. Good, sir. [Exit. 

Kit. Do you see that fellow, brother Do\vn- 

Dow. Ay, what of him? [right? 

Kit. He is a jewel, brother. 
I took him of a child up at my door, 
And christened him, gave h\\n mine own name, 

Thomas ; 
Since bred him at the Hospital ; Avhere proving 
A toward imp, I called him home, and taught 

him 
So much, as I have made him my cashier, 
And given him, who had none, a surname. Cash ; 
And find him in his place so full of faith. 
That I durst trust my life into his hands. 

Dow. So would not I in any bastard's, brother. 
As it is like he is, although I knew [what 

^Mj'self his father. But j'ou said you had some- 
To tell me, gentle brother ; what is't, what is't ? 

Kit. Faith, I am very loath to utter it, 
As fearing it may hurt your patience : 
But that I know your judgment is of strength. 
Against the nearness of affection 

Doiv. What need this circumstance ? pray you, 
be direct. 

Kit. I will not say how much I do ascribo 
Unto your friendship, nor in what regard 
I hold your love ; but let my past behavior 
And usage of your sister, [both] confirm 
How Avcll I have been affected to your 

Dow. You are too tedious ; come to the mat- 
ter, the matter. 

A7/. Then, -\\ithout further ceremony, thus. 
;My brother Wellbred, sir, I know not how, 
Of late is much declined in what he was, 
And greatly altered in his disposition. 
When he came first to lodge here in my house, 
Ne'er trust me if I wore not proud of him : 
Methought he bare himself in such a fashion. 
So full of man, and sweetness in his carriage. 
And what was chief, it showed not borrowed in 
But all he did became him as his own, [him. 
And seemed as perfect, proper, and possest. 
As breath with life, or color with the blood 
But now, his course is so irregular. 
So loose, affected, and deprived of gracCj 
And he himself withal so far fallen off 
From that first place, as scarce nj note reinairtt^ 



102 



EYERl MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



To tell men's judgments where lie lately stood. 

He's grown a stranger to all due resiject, 

Forgetful of his friends ; and not content 

To stale himself in all societies, 

He makes my house here common as a mart, 

A theatre, a public receptacle 

For giddy humor, and diseased riot ; 

And here, as in a tavern or a stews, 

He and his wild associates spend their hours, 

In repetition of lascivious jests, [night. 

Swear, leap, drink, dance, and revel night by 

Control my servants ; and, indeed, what not ? 

Doto. 'Sdeins, I know not what I should say 
to him, in the whole world ! He values me at a 
cracked three-farthings, for aught I see. It will 
never out of the flesh that's bred in the bone. 
I have told him enough, one would think, if 
that Avould serve ; but counsel to him is as good 
as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. AVcU ! 
he knows what to trust to, for George : let him 
spend, and spend, and domineer, till his heart 
ake ; and he think to be relieved by me, Avhen 
he is got into one o' your city pounds, the count- 
ers, he lias the wrong sow by the ear, i' faith ; 
and claps his dish at the Avrong man's door : I'll 
laj^ my hand on my halfpenny, ere I part with 
Lt to fetch him out, I'll assure him. 

Kit. Nay, good brother, let it not trouble you 
thus. 

Doio. 'Sdeath ! he mads me ; I could eat my 
very spur-leathers for anger ! But, why arc you 
so tame ? v>'hy do not you speak to him, and toll 
him how he disquiets your house ? 

Kit. 0, there are divers reasons to dissuade me. 
'But, would yourself vouchsafe to travail in it, 
(TJiough but with plain and easy circumstance,) 
It would both come much better to his sense, 
And savor less of stomach, or of passion. 
You are his elder brother, and that title 
Both gives and warrants your authority. 
Which, by your presence seconded, must breed 
A kind of duty in him, and regard : 
"Whereas, if I should intimate the least, 
It would but add contempt to his neglect. 
Heap worse on ill, make up a pile of hatred, 
That in the rearing would come tottering down, 
And in the ruin bury all our love. 
Nay, more than this, brother ; if I should speak, 
lie Avould be ready, from his heat of humor, 
And overflowing of the vapor in him, 
To blow the ears of his familiars. 
With the false breath of tcUing Avhat disgraces. 
And low disparagements, I had put upon hira. 
Yv''hilst they, sir, to reUeve him in the fable, 
ilake their loose comments upon every word. 
Gesture, or look, I use ; mock me all over. 
From my flat cap unto my shining shoes ; 
And, out of their impetuous rioting phant'sies. 
Beget some slander that shall dwell with me. 
And wlifxt would that be, think you ? marry,this : 
They would give out, because my wife is fair, 
Myself but lately married, and my sister 
Here sojourning a virgin in my house, 
That I wore jealous ! — nay, as sure as death, 
That they would say : and, how that I had quar- 
My brother purposely, thereby to find [relied 
An apt pretext to banish them my house. 

Dow. Mass, perhaps so ; they're like enough 
to do it. 



Kit. Brother, they would, oelieve it : so should 
Like one oi these penurious quack-salvers, [i, 
But set the bills up to mine own disgrace, 
And try experiments upon myself; 
Lend scorn and envy opportunity 
To stab my reputation and good name 

Enter Master Mathew struggling with Bobadill 

Mat. I will speak to him. 

Bob. Si^eak to him ! away ! By the foot of 
Pharaoh, you shall not ! you sliall not do him 
that grace. — The time of day to you, gentleman 
o' the house. Is master Wellbrcd stirring ? 

Dow. How then ? what should he do ? 

Bob, Gentleman of the house, it is to you : is 
he within, sir ? 

Kit. He came not to his lodging to-night, sir, 
I assure you. 

Dow. Why, do you hear ? you ! 

Bob. The gentleman citizen hath satisfied me ; 
I'll talk to no scavenger. \Exeunt Bob and LIat. 

Dow. How ! scavenger ! stay, sir, stay ! 

Kit. Nay, brother Downright. 

Dow. 'Heart ! stand you away, an you love m^e. 

Kit. You shall not follow him now, I in'ay 
you, brother, good faith you shall not ; I will 
overrule you. 

Doio. Ha ! scavenger ! well, go to, I say little : 
but, by this good day, (God forgive me I should 
SAvear), if I put it up so, say I am the ranliest 
cow that ever pist. 'Sdeins, an I swallow this, 
I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet- 
street again Avhile I live ; I'll sit in a barn with 
madge-howlet, and catch mice first. Scaven- 
ger ! heart ! — and I'll go near to fill that huge 
tumbrel-slop of yours with somewhat, an I have 
good luck : your Garagantua breech cannot 
carry it away so. 

Kit. Oh, do not fret yourself thus ; never 
think on't. 

Dow. These are mj' brother's consorts, these ! 
these are his camerades, his walking mates! 
he's a gallant, a cavaliero too, right hangman 
cut ! Let men ot live, an I could not find in 
my heart to swinge the whole gang of 'cm, one 
after another, and begin with him first. I am 
grieved it should be said he is my brother, and 
take these courses : Well, as he brews, so shall 
he drink, for George, again. Yet he shall hear 
on't, and that tightly too, and I live, I' faith. 

Kit. But, brother, let your reprehension, then, 
Run in an easy current, not o'er high 
Carried with rashness, or devouring choler ; 
But rather use the soft persuading way, [pose 
Whose poAvers Avill Avork more gently, and com- 
The imperfect thoughts you labor to reclaim ; 
More winning, than enforcing the consen- 

Dow. Ay, ay, let me alone for that, I Avarraut 
you. 

Kit. How noAV ! {Bell rings.] Oh, the bell 
rings to breakfast. Brother, I pray you go in, 
and bear my Avife company till I come ; I'll but 
give order for some despatch of business to my 
servants. \_Exit Doavnright 

Enter- Cob, loith his tanhard. 
Kit. What, Cob ! our maids Avill have you by 
the back, i' faith, for coming so late this morning 
Cob. Perhaps so, sir ; take heed somebody 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



lOS 



have not thorn by the belly, for walking so late 
in the evening. [Exit, 

Kit. Well ; yet my troubled spirit's somewhat 
Though not reposed in that security [eased, 

As I could wish : but I must be content, 
Howc'er I set a face on't to the world. 
Would I had lost this linger at a venture, 
So Wellbred had ne'er lodged within my house. 
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort 
Of wanton gallants, and youiig revellers. 
That any woman should be honest long. 
Is't like, that factiovrs beauty will preserve 
The ]>ublic weal of chastity unshaken, [head 
When such strong motives muster, and make 
Against her single j^eace ? No, no : beware. 
When mutual appetite doth meet to treat. 
And spirits of one kind and quality 
Come once to parley in the pride of blood, 
It is no slow conspiracy that follows. 
Well, to be plain, if I but thought the time 
Had answered their affections, all the world 
Should not persuade me but I Avcrc a cuckold. 
Marry, I hope they have not got that start ; 
For opportunity hath balked them yet, 
And shall do still, while I have eyes and cars 
To attend the imijositions of my heart. 
My presence shall be as an iron bar, 
'Twixt the consphing motions of desire : 
Yea, every look or glance mine eye ejects. 
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave, 
When he forgets the limits of prescription. 

Enter Dajie Kitely and BraDGEx. 

Dame K. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down 
u\e rose-water above in the closet. [Exit Buid- 
OET.] — Sweet-heart, will you come in to break- 
'ftst ? 

Kit. An she have overheard me now ! — 

Dame K. I pray thee, good muss, we stay for 
you. 

Kit. By heaven, I M^ould not for a thousand 
angels. 

Dame K. What ail you, sweet-heart ? are you 
not well? speak, good muss. 

A'tY.Troth my head akes extremely on a sudden. 

Dame K. [putting her hand to his forehead.] O, 
the Lord ! 

Kit. How now ! What ? 

Dame K. Alas, how it burns ! ]\Iuss, keep you 
warm ; good truth it is this new disease, there's 
a number are troubled withal. For love's sake, 
Bweet-heart, come in, out of the air. [swers ! 

Kit- How simple, and how subtle are her an- 
A new disease, and many troubled with it r 
Why true ; she heard me, all the world to noth- 
ing- 

Danie K. 1 pray thee, good sweet-heart, come 
in ; the air will do you harm, in troth. 

Kit. The air ! she has me in the wind. — 
Sweet-heart, I'll come to you presently; 'twill 
away, I hope. 

Dame K. Pray Heaven it do. [Exit. 

Kit. A new disease ! I know not, new or old. 
But it may well be called poor mortal's plague ; 
For, Kke a pestilence, it doth infect 
The houses of the brain. First it begins 
Solely to work upon the x^hantasy. 
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air. 
As soon corrupts the judgment ; and from thence, 



Sends like contagion to the memory : 
Still each to other giving the infection. 
Which as a subtle vapor spreads itself 
Confusedly through every sensive part, 
Till not a thought or motion in the nrind 
Be free from the black poison of suspect. 
Ah ! but what misery is it to know this ? 
Or, knowhig it, to want the mind's erection 
In such extremes ? Well, I will once more strive 
In spite of this black cloud, myself to be. 
And shake the fever off that thus shakes me. 

[Exit 

SCENE II. — MOOKFIELDS. 

Enter Braixworm disguised like a maimed soldier 
Brai. 'Slid, I cannot choose but \mxg\i to sec 
myself translated thus, from a poor creature to s 
creator ; for now must I create an intolerable sort 
of lies, or my present profession loses the grace , 
and yet the lie, to a man of my coat, is as ominous 
a fruit as the fico. O, sir, it holds for good polity 
ever, to have that outwardly in vQest estimation, 
that inwardly is most dear to us : so much for 
my borrowed shape. Well, the troth is, my old 
master intends to follow mj' young master, dry- 
foot, over Moorfields to London, this morning ; 
now, I knowing of this hunting-match, or rather 
conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young mas- 
ter (for so must we that are blue waiters, and 
men of hope and service do, or perhaps we may 
wear motley at the year's end, and who wears 
motley, you know), have got me afore. in this 
disguise, determining here to lie in ambuscado, 
and intercept him in the mid- way. If I can but 
get his cloke, his purse, liis hat, nay, any thing 
to cut him off, that is, to stay his journey, Veni, 
vidi, vici, I may say with captain Cicsar, I am 
made for ever, i' faith. Well, now must I prac- 
tise to get the true garb of one of these lance- 
knights, my arm here, and my Odso ! my 

young master, and his cousin, master Stephen, as 
I am true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier ! 

Enter E. Knowell and Sxephex. 

E. Know. So, sir ! and how then coz ? 

Step. 'Sioot ! I have lost my purse, I think. 

E. Know. How! lost yova- purse? where? 
when had you it ? 

Step. I cannot tell; stay. 

Brai. 'Shd, I am afeard they will know mc : 
would I could get by them ! 

E. Know. What, have you it ? 

Step. No ; I think I was bewitched, I 

[Cries, 

E. Know. Nay, do not weep the loss; hang it, 
let it go. 

Step. Oh, it's here : No_, an it had been lost, I 
had not cared, but for a jet ring mistress Mary 
sent me. 

E. KnoiD. A jet ring ! O the poesie, the poesie : 

Step. Fine, i' faith. — 

Though Fancy sleep, 
My love is deep 

Meaning, that though I did not funcy her, ye* 
she loved me dearly. 

E. Know. Most excellent ! 

Step. And then I sent her another, and ray 
poesie was. 



104 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



The deeper the sweeter, 
I'll be judg'tl by St. Peter. 

E. Know. How, by St. Peter ? I do not con- 
3eive that. 

Step, ilarry, St. Peter, to make tip tlie metre. 

E. Know. Well, there the samt was yoxir good 
patron, he helped you at your need ; thank him, 
thank him. 

Brai. I cannot take leave on 'em so ; I will 
venture, come what will. [Comes foi-tcard.] Gen- 
tlemen, please you change a few crowns for a 
very excellent good blade here ? I am a poor 
gentleman, a soldier ; one that, in the. better state 
of my fortunes, scorned so mean a refuge ; but 
now it is the humor of necessity to have it so. You 
seem to be gentlemen well affected to martial 
men, else I should rather die with silence, than 
live with shame: however, vouchsafe to remem- 
ber it is my want speaks, not myself ; this con- 
dition agrees not with my spirit 

E. Knoie. Where hast thou served ? 

Brai. May it please you, sir, in all the late 
wars of Bohemia, Hungary, Dalmatia, Poland, 
where not, sir ? I have been a poor servitor by 
sea and land any time this fourteen years, and 
followed the fortunes of the best commanders in 
Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of 
Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna ; I have 
been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulf, 
a gentleman-slave in the gallies, thrice ; where 
I was most dangerously shot in the head, through 
both the thighs ; and yet, being thus maimed, I 
am void of maintenance, nothing left me but 
my scars, the noted marks of va.j resolution. 

Step. How will you sell this rapier, friend ? 

Brai. Generous sir, I refer it to your OAvn 
udgment ; you are a gentleman, give me what 
you please. 

Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, 
friend ; but what though ! I pray you say, what 
would you ask .'' 

Brai. I assure you, the blade may become the 
side or thigh of the best prince in Europe. 

E. Know. Ay, with a velvet scabbard, I think. 

Step. Nay, an't be mine, it shall have a velvet 
scabbard, coz, that's flat; I'd not wear it as it is, 
an you would give me an angel. 

Brai. At your Avorship's pleasure, sir : nay, 
'tis a most pure Toledo. 

Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard. But 
tell me, what shall I give you for it ? An it had 
a silver hilt — 

E. Know. Come, come, you shall not buy 
it ; hold, there's a shilling, fellow ; take thy 
rapier. 

Step. Whj', but I will buy it noAV, because 
you say so ; and there's another shilling, fellow ; 
I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I walk 
with a cudgel, like Higgiubottom, and may have 
ii rapier for money ! 

E. Knoio. You may buy one in the city. 

Ste}). Tut ! I'll buy this i' the field, so I will ; 
I have a mind to't, because 'tis a held rapier. 
Tell me your loAvest j^rice. 

E. Know. Y^ou shall not buy it, I say. 

Step. By this money, but I will, though I give 
more than 'tis worth. 

E. Know. Come away, you are a fool. 

Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted ; but 



I'll have it, for that word's sake. PoUow me foi 
your money. 

Brai. At your service, sir. [Exeiait 

SCENE III. — .-l^o^Ae;- Part of Moorfields. 
Enter Knowell. 

Knou: I cannot lose the thought yet of this 

letter. 
Sent to my son ; nor leave t' admire the change 
Of manners, and the breeding of our youth 
Within the kingdom, since myseK Avas one. — 
When I Avas young, he lived not in the stCAVs 
Durst have conceived a scorn, and utter'd it, 
On a gray head ; age was authority 
Against a biiffoon, and a nnan had then 
A certain reverence paid unto his years, 
That had none due unto his life : so much 
The sanctity of some prevailed for others. 
But noAV Avc all are fallen ; youth, from their fear. 
And age, from that Avhich bred it, good example 
Nay, Avould ourselves Avere not the first, even 

parents, 
That did destroj'- the hopes in our oaa^i children ; 
Or they not learned our vices in their cradles, 
And sucked in our ill ciistoms A\-ith their milk 
Ere all their teeth be born, or they can speak. 
We make their palates cunning ; the first AA'ojds 
We form tlieir tongues Avith, are licentious jests : 
Can it call Avhore ? cry bastard ? O, then, kiss it 
A Avitty child !. can't swear ? the father's darling ! 
Give it tAvo plums. Nay, rather than't shall learn 
No bawdy song, the mother herself Aviil teach 

it! — 
But this is in the infancy, the days 
Of the long coat ; Avhen it puts on the breeches. 
It Avill put off all this : Ay, it is like, 
When it is gone into the bone already ! 
No, no ; this dye goes deeper than the coat. 
Or shirt, or skin ; it stains into the liver, [not. 
And heart, in some : and, rather than it should 
Note Avhat wa fathers do ! look hoAv Ave live ! 
What mistresses Ave keep ! at Avhat expense. 
In our sons' eves ! Avhere they may handle oui 

gifts. 
Hear our lascivious courtships, see our dalliance, 
Taste of the same provoking meats Avith us, 
To ruin of our states ! Nay, Avhen our own 
Portion is fled, to prey on their remainder, 
We call them into felloAvship of vice ; 
Bait 'em Avith the young chamber-maid, to seal, 
And teach 'em all bad Avays to buy afiiiction. 
This is one path : but there are millions more. 
In Avhich Ave spoil our own, Avith leading them. 
Well, I thank heaven, I ncA'er yet Avas ho 
That travelled Avith my son, before sixteen. 
To shOAV him the Venetian courtezans ; 
Nor read the grammar of cheating I had made, 
To my sharp boy, at tAveh^e ; repeating still 
The rule. Get monen ; still, (jet monoj, botj ; 
No matter by what means ; money loiil do 
More, boy, than my lord^s letter. Neither haA'e I 
Brest snails or mushrooms curioush' before him, 
Perfumed my sauces, and taught him to make 
Preceding still, Avith niA^ gi'fiy gluttony, [them ; 
At all the ord'naries, and only feared 
His palate sliould degenerate, not his manners. 
These are the trade of fathers noAV ; hoAveA'er, 
Jily son, I hope, hath met Avithin my thresliold 



bOKNE III. 



EVERY MAN IX HIS HUMOR. 



105 



None of these hoiiseliold precedents, -which are 

strong, 
And swift, to rape youth to their precipice. 
But let the house at home be ne'er so clean 
Swept, or kept sweet from filth, nay, dust and 

cobwebs, 
[f he Avill live abroad with his companions. 
In dung and lej'stals, it is worth a fear ; 
Nor is the danger of conversing less 
Than all that I have mentioned of example. 

Enter Brainworm, disguised as before. 

Brai. My master ! nay, faith, have at you ; I 
ira fleshed now, I have sped so well, [aside.'] 
Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the estate 
of a poor soldier; I am ashamed of this base 
Bourse of life, — God's my comfort — but ex- 
tremity provokes me to't : what remedy ? 

Know. I have not for you, now. 

Brai. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentle- 
man, it is no ordinary custonr in me, but only to 
preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have 
Seen ; a man I may be, by your SAveet bounty. 

Knoiv. Pray thee, good friend, be satisfied. 

Brai. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the 
part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor sol- 
dier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of 
^mall value ; the king of heaven shall pay you, 
,iiid I shall rest thankful : Sweet v\'or3hip. 

Knmo. Nay, an you be so importunate 

Brai. O, tender sir ! need Avill have its course ; 
\ was not made to this vile use. Well, the edge 
of the enemy could not have abated mc so much : 
It's hard when a man hath served in his i^rince's 
cause, and be t\\ViS.[icec2}s']. Honorable worshii:*, 
l<,'t me derive a small piece of silver from you, it 
bhall not be given in the course of time. Bj"- 
this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier 
last night for a poor supper ; I had sucked the 
hilts long before, I am a pagan else : Sweet 
honor [wonder, 

Knoto. Believe me, I am taken with some 
To think a fellow of thy outward presence, 
Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind, 
Be so degenerate, and sordid-base. 
Art thou a man ? and sham'st thou not to beg, 
To practise such a servile kind of life ? 
Why, Avere thy education ne'er so mean, 
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses 
Offer themselves to thy election. 
Either the wars might still supply thy wants. 
Or service of some virtuous gentleman, 
Or honest labor ; nay, Avhat can I name, • 
But would become thee better than to beg : 
But men of thy condition feed on sloth. 
As doth the beetle on the dung she breeds in ; 
Not caring how the metal of your minds 
Is eaten with the rust of idleness. 
Now, afore me, whate'er he be, that should 
Relieve a person of thy quality, [course. 

While thou insist'st in this loose desperate 
I would esteem the sin not thine, but his. 

Brai. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some 
athcr course, if so 

Knoto. Ay, 
You'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it. 

Brai. Alas, sir, where should a man seek .' in 
the wars, there's no ascent by desert in these 

l.-iys ; tut and for service, would it were 

14 



as soon purchased, as Avished for ! the air's my 
comfort. — [Siffhs.] — IknoAV Avhat I Avould sa-y 

Know. What's thy name ? 

Brai. Please you, Fitz-Sword, sir. 

Knoio. Fitz-SAA-ord ! 
Say that a man snould entertain thee noAV, 
Wouldstthou be honest, humble, just, and true •' 

Brai. Sir, by the place and honor of a sol- 
dier 

Know. Nay, nay, I like not these affected oaths ; 
Speak plainly, man, Avhat think'st thou of my 
Avords ? 

Brai. Nothing, sir, but Avish m\ fortunes were 
as happy as my service should be honest. 

Know. Well, follow me ; I'll prove thee, if thy 
deeds 
Will carry a proportion to thy Avords. [Exit. 

Brai. Yes, sir, straight; I'll but garter my 
hose. O that my belly Avere hooped noAV, for I 
am ready to burst Avith laughing ! never was 
bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, Avas there ever 
seen a fox in years to betray himself thus ! noAV 
shall I be jjosscst of all his counsels ; and, by 
that conduit, my j'oung master. Well, he is 
resoh'ed to proA'e my honesty ; faith, and I'm 
resolved to prove his patience : O, I shall abuse 
him intolerably. This small piece of service 
Avill bring him clean out of love Avith the soldiei 
for CA'er. He Avill neA'er come Avithin the sign 
of it, the sight of a cassock, or a musket-res!; 
again. He Avill hate the musters at Mile-end 
for it, to his dying day. It's no matter, let the 
Avorld think me a bad counterfeit, if I cannot 
give him the slip at an instant : Avhy, this is bet- 
ter than to have staid his journey : Avell, I'll fol- 
io av him. 0, hoAV I long to be employed ! ^Exi:. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Old Jeavuy. A Room in th: 
Windmill Tavern. 

Enter Master MATHEA\',WELLBRED,a««BoBADiLi.. 

Mat. Yes, faith, sir, Ave Avere at your lodging 
to seek you too, 

Wei. O, I came not there to-night. 

Bob. Your brother delivered us as much. 

Wei. Who, my brother DoAvnright ? 

Bob. He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what 
kind you hold me ; but let me say to you this : 
as sure as honor, I esteem it so much out of the 
sunshine of reputation, to throAV the least beam 
of regard upon such a 

Wcl. Sir, I must hear no ill Avords of my 
brother. 

Bob. I protest to you, as I liaA'e a thing to be 
saved about me, I never saw any gentleman-like 
part 

Wei. Good captain, faces about to some other 
discourse. 

Bob. With your leave, sir, an there Avere no 
more men living upon the face of the earth, I 
should not fancy him, by St. George ! 

3Iat. Troth, nor I ; he is of a rustical cut, I 
knoAv not liOAV : he cloth not carry himself like 
a gentleman of fashion. 

]]\'l. O, master MathcAV, that's a grace pecu 
liar but to a fcAV, qiios cequus amavit Jupiter. 



i06 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HU^IOR. 



Mat. I understand yon, sir. 

Wei. No qiiestion, you do, — or you do not, sir. 

Enter E. Knowell and Mastek Stephen. 
Ned KnoAvell ! by my soul, welcome : how dost 
thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid, I shall 
love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the bet- 
i,er, while I live, for' this, my dear Fury ; now, I 
see there's some love in thee. Sirrah, these be 
the tv.'o I writ to thee of : nay, what a drowsy 
humor is this now ! why dost thou not speak ? 

E. Knou\ O, you arc a fine gallant ; you sent 
me a rare letter. 

Wei Whv, was't net rare ? 
E. Know. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was ne'er guilty 
of reading the like ; match it in all Pliny, or 
Symmachus's epistles, and I'll have my judg- 
ment burned in the ear for a rogue : make much 
of thy vein, for it is inimitable. But I marie 
what camel it was, that had the carriage of it ; 
for, doubtless, he was no ordinary beast that 
brought it. 
Wcl. Why? 

E. Knoio. Why, say'st thou ! why, dost thou 
think that any reasonable creature, especially in 
the morning, the sober time of the day too, 
could have mistaken my father for me ? 
Wei. 'Slid, j-ou jest, I hope. 
E. Know. Indeed, the best use we can turn it 
to, is to make a jest on't, now : but I'll assure 
you, my father had the full view of your flour- 
ishing style some hour before I saY\- it. 

Wd. What a dull slave was this ! but, sirrah, 
what said he to it, i' faith ? 

E. Know. Nay, I know not what he said ; but 
I have a shrewd guess what he thought. 
Wei. What, what ? 

E. Know. ISIarry, that thou art some strange, 
dissolute young fellow, and I — a grain or two 
better, for keeping thee company. 

Wei. Tut ! that thought is like the moon in 
her last quarter, 'twill change shortly : but, sir- 
rah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two 
hang-by's here ; thou wilt take exceeding pleas- 
ure in them, if thou hcar'st 'evfi once go ; my 

wind-instruments ; I'll wind them up - 

Eut what strange piece of silence is this, the 
sign of the Dumb Man ? 

E. Knoio. O, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that 
may make your music the fuller, an he please ; 
he has his humor, sir. 

Wei. O, what is't, what is't ? 
E. Know. Nay, I'll neither do your judgment 
nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your ap- 
prehension : I'll leave him to the mercy of your 
eearch, if you can take him, so ! 

Wei. Well, captain Bobadill, master Mathew, 
pray you know this gentleman here; he is a 
friend of mine, and one that will deserve your 
affection. I kno^y not your name, sir, [to 
Stephex,] but I shall bo glad of any occasion to 
render me more familiar to you. 

Stej:). My name is master Stephen, sir ; I am 
this gentleman's OAvn cousin, sir ; his father is 
mine uncle, sir : I am somewhat melancholy, 
but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is 
Licident to a gentleman. 

Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general 
caan ; but for master "WcUbred's sake, (you may 



embrace it at what height of favor you please,) 
I do communicate with you, and conceive you tc 
be a gentleman of some parts ; I love few Avords ■. 
E. Know. And I fewer, sir ; I have scarce 
enough to thank you. 

Mat. But are you, indeed, sir, so given to it .' 
Stej}. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given tc 
melancholy. 

3Iat. O, it's j'our only fine humor, sir ; youl 
true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, 
sir. I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir, 
and then do I no more but take pen and paper, 
presently, and overflow you half a score, or a 
dozen of sonnets at a sitting. 

E. Knoiv. Sure he utters them then by tht 
gross. \_Aside, 

Stej). Truly, sir, and I love such things ot\t of 
measure. 

E. Know. I'faith, better than in measure, I'll 
undertake. 

Mat. Why, I pray you, sk, make use of my 
study, it's at your service. 

Stc2). I thank you, sir, I shall be bold I war- 
rant you ; have you a stool there to be melan- 
choly vipon ? 

Mat. That I have, su-, and some papers thera | 
of mine own doing, at idle hours, that you'll 1 
saj- there's some sparks of Avit in 'em, when you 
sec them. 

Wei. Would the sparks would kindle once, 

and become a fire amongst them ! I might sea 

self-love burnt for her heresy. [Aside. 

Step. Cousin, is it well.? am I melancholy 

enough ? 

E. Knoiu. O ay, excellent. 
Wei. Captain Bobadill, why muse you so? 
E. Know. He is melancholy too. 
Bub. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most hon- 
orable piece of service, was performed to-mor- 
row, being St. Mark's day, shall be some ten 
years now. 

E. Know. In what place, captain ? 
Bob. "Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium, 
where, in less than two hours, seven hundred 
resolute gentlemen, as any Avere in Europe, lost 
their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gen- 
tlemen, it was the first, but the best leaguer that 
ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking 
in of — Avhat do you call it? last year, by the 
Genoways ; but that, of all other, Avas the most 
fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I Avas 
ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face 
of the enemy, as I am a gentleman a-nd a soldier ! 
Ste^}. So ! I had as lief /as an angel I could 
SAvear as well as that gentleman. 

E. Know. Then, you Avere a servitor at Doth, 
it seems ; at Strigonium, and Avhat do you call't? 
Bob. O lord, sir ! By St. George, I Avas the 
first man that entered the breach ; and had 1 
not effected it AA'ith resolution, I had been slaiu 
if I had had a million of lives. 

E. Know. 'TAvas pity you had not ten ; a cat' 
and your own, i'faith. But, Avas it possible ? 
Mat. Pray you mark this discourse, sir. 
Step. So I do. 

Bob. I assure you, upon my reputation, 'tii 
true, and yourself shall confess. 

E. Know. You must bring me to the rack, 
first. [Aside, 



EVERY MAN IX HIS HUMOK. 



101 



Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet sir ; they 
had planted me three demi-culverins just in the 
mouth of the breach ; now, sir, as we were to 
give on, their master-gunner (a man of no mean 
skill and mark, you must think), confronts me 
with his linstock, ready to give fire ; I, spying 
his intendment, discharged my pctronel in his 
bosom, and ^vith these single arms, my poor ra- 
pier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded 
the ordnance, and put 'cm pell-mell to the 
sword. 

D'el. To the sword ! • To the rapier, captain. 

E. Know. O, it was a good figure observed, 
sir : but did you all this, captain, without hurt- 
ing your blade ? 

Boh. Without any impeach o' the earth : j'ou 
shall perceive, sir. [Shews his rapier.] It is the 
most fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor 
gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir ? You 
talk of !Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so ; 
tut ! I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em : I 
know the virtue of mine o^^^l, and therefore I 
dare the boldlier maintain it. 

Sfep. I marie whether it be a Toledo or no. 

Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir. 

Step. 1 have a countryman of liis here. 

Mat. Pray you, let's see, sir ; yes, faith, it is. 

Bob. This a Toledo ! Pish ! 

Step. AVhy do you pish, captain ? 

Bob. A Fleming, by heaven ! I'll buy them 
for a guilder a-picce, an I would have a thou- 
sand of them. 

E. Know. How say you, cousin ? I told you 
thus much. 

Wcl. Where bought you it, master Stephen ? 

Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier : a hundred of 
lice go with him ! He swore it was a Toledo. 

Bob. A poor provant rapier, no better. 

Mat. Mass, I think it be indeed, now I look 
on't better. 

E. Know. Nay, the longer you look on't, the 
worse. Put it up, put it up. 

Step. AVell, I will put it up ; but by — I have 
forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have 
sworn by it — an e'er I meet him 

IVel. O, it is past hel^j now, sir ; you must 
have patience. 

Step. Whoreson, coney-catching rascal ! I 
could eat the very hilts for anger. 

E. Know. A sign of good digestion ; you have 
air ostrich stomach, cousin. 

Step. A stomach ! "would I had him here, you 
should see an I had a stomach. 

Wei, It's better as it is. — Come, gentlemen, 
shall we go ? 

Enter Beaixwohm, disguised as before, 

E. Know. A miracle, cousin ; look here, look 
here ! 

Stc2}. Oh — od's lid ! By your leave, do you 
know me, sir? 

Brai. Ay, sir, I know you by sight. 

Step. You sold me a rapier, did you not ? 

Brai. Yes, marry did I, sir. 

Step. You said it was a Toledo, ha ? 

Brai. True, I did so. 

Step. But it is none. 

Brai. No, sir, I confess it ; it is none. 

Step. Do you confess it r Gentlemen, bear 



witness, he has confest it : — Od's will, an yor 
had not confest it 

E. Know. Oh, cousin, forbe£.r, forbear ! 

Step. Nay, I have done, cousin. 

Wei. Why, you have done like a gentleman ; 
he has confest it, what woiild you more ? 

Step. Yet* by his leave, he is a rascal, undej 
his favor, do yo.u see. 

E. Knoio. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under 
favor : a pretty piece of civility ! Sirrah, how 
dost thou like him ? 

Wei. Oh it's a most j^recious fool, make much 
on him : I can compare him to nothmg more 
happily than a drum ; for every one may j)lay 
ujion him. 

E. Knoio. No, no, a child's whistle were far 
the fitter. 

Brai. Sir, shall I introat a word with you ? 

E. Know. With me, sir ? you have not anoth- 
er Toledo to sell, have you ? 

Brai. You are conceited, sir : Your name is 
Master Ivnowell, as I take it ? 

E. Know. You are in the right ; you mean 
not to proceed in the catechism, do you j 

Brai. No, sir ; I am none of that coat. 

E. Know, Of as bare a coat, though : well, 
say sir. 

Brai. \taking E. Know, aside.] Faith, sir, I 
am but servant to the drum extraordinary, and 
indeed, this smoky varnish being washed off, 
and three or four patches removed, I appear 
j'our Avorship's in reversion, after the decease of 
your good father, Brainv.'orm. 

E. Know, Brainworm ! 'Slight, what breath of 
a conjurer hath blown thee hither in this shape 3 

Brai. The breath of your letter, su-, this 
morning ; the same that blew you to the V^'^ind- 
mill, and your father after you. 

E. Knoto. My father ! 

Brai. Nay, never start, 'tis true ; he has fol- 
lowed you over the fields by the foot, as you 
would do a hare in the snow. 

E. Know. Sirrah AVellbred, what shall v.-e do, 
sirrah ? my father is come over after me. 

Wei. Thy father ! Where is he ? 

Brai. At justice Clement's house, in Coleman- 
street, where he but stays my return ; and 
then 

Wei. AVho's this ? Brainworm ! 

Brai. The same, sir. 

Wei. Why how, in the name of wit, corn's! 
thou transmuted thus ? 

Brai, Faith, a device, a device ; nay, for the 
love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding the 
danger, stand not here ; withdraw, and I'll tell 
you all, 

Wcl. But art thou sure he will stay thy re- 
turn r 

Brai. Do I live, sir ? what a question is that ! 

Wei. We'll prorogue his expectation, then, a 
little : Brainworm, thou shalt go Avith us. — 
Come on, gentlemen. — Nay, I pray thee, sweet 
Ned, droop not; 'heart, anour witsbeso wretcli- 
edly dull, that one old plodding brain can out- 
strip us all, would we Avere e'en prest to make 
porters of, and serve out the remnant of oui 
days in Thames-street, or at Custom-house key, 
in a civil war against the carmen I 

Brai. Amen, amen, amen, say I, l^Exeunt. 



103 



EVERY IMAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



SCEXE II. — The Old Jewiiy. Kitely's 
Warehouse. 

Enter Kitely and Cash. 

Kit. What says he, Thomas ? did you speak 
with liim ? 

Cash. He will expect you, sir, Avithin this half 
hour. 

Kit. Has he the money ready, can you tell ? 

Cash. Yes, sir, the money was brought in last 
night. 

Kit. 0, that is well ; fetch me my cloak, my 
cloak! — [Exit CA.?,n. 

Stay, let me see, an hour to go and come ; 
Ay, that will be the least ; and then 'twill be 
An hour before I can dispatch with him, 
Or very near; well, I Avill say two hours. 
Two hours ! ha ! things -never dreamt of yet. 
May be contrived, ay, and effected too. 
In two hours' absence ; well, I will not go. 
Two hours ! No, fleering Opportunity, 
I will not give your subtilty that scope. 
'Wlio will not judge him Avorthy to be robbed. 
That sets his doors wide open to a thief. 
And shews the felon where his treasure lies ? 
Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt 
To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree, 
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes ? 
I will not go. Business, go hy for once. 
No, beauty, no ; you are of too good caract, 
To be left so, without a guard, or open. ' 
Your lustre, too, '11 inflame at any distance, 
Draw courtship to you, as a jet doth straws ; 
Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice. 
Nay, make a porter leap you with his burden. 
You must be then kept up, close, and well 

watched, 
For, give you opportunity^ no quick -sand 
Devovirs or swallows swifter ! He that lends 
His wife, if she be fair, or time or place. 
Compels her to be false. I will not go ! 
The dangers are too many : — and then the 

dressing 
Is a most main attractive ! Our great heads, 
Yvlthin this city, never were in safety. 
Since our wives wore these little caps : I'll 
change 'em ; [more 

I'll change 'cm straight in mine ; mine shall no 
Wear three-piled acorns, to make my horns ake. 
Nor Avill I go ; I am resolved for that. 

He-enter Cash xcith a doali. 
Carry in my cloak again. Yet stay. Yet do, too : 
I will defer going, on all occasions. 

Cash.. Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be there 
with the bonds. 

Kit. That's true : fool on me ! I had clean 
forgot it ; I must go. What's a clock ? 

Cash. Exchange-time, sir. [here too. 

Kit. 'Heart, then will WeUbred presently be 
With one or other of his loose consorts. 
I am a knave, if I know what to say. 
What course to take, or which Avay to resolve. 
My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass, 
Wherehi my imaginations run like sands. 
Filling up time ; but then are turned and turned : 
Bo that I know not what to stay upon. 
And less, to put in act. — It shall be so. 



Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy. 

He knows not to deceive me. — Thomas ! 

Cash. Sir. 

Kit. Yet now I have bethought me tco, I 
Avill not. — Thomas, is Cob within ? 

Cash. I think he be, sir. [him, 

Kit. But he'll prate too, there is no speech of 
No, there were no man on the earth to Thomas, 
If I durst trust him ; there is all the doubt. 
But should he have a chink in him, I were gone. 
Lost in my fame for ever, talk for th' Exchange ! 
The manner he hath stoo'd with, till this present, 
Doth promise no such change ; what should I 
fear then ? [once. 

Well, come what Avill, I'll tempt my fortune 
Thomas — you may deceive me, but, I hope — 
Your love to me is more 

Cash. Sir, if a servant's 
Duty, with faith, may be called love, you are 
More than in hope, you are possess'd of it. 

Kit. I thank you heartily, Thomas : give me 
your hand : [Thomas. 

W^ith all my heart, good Thomas. I have, 
A secret to impart unto you — but, [up ; 

When once you have it, I must seal your lipa 
So far I tell you, Thomas. 

Cash. Sir, for that 

Kit. Nay, hear mc out. Think I esteem you, 
Thomas, 
When I will let you in thus to my private. 
It is a thing sits nearer to mj'- crest. 
Than thou art 'ware of, Thomas ; if thou should'st 
Reveal it, but 

Cash. How, I reveal it ? 

Kit. Nay, 
I do not think thou would'st ; but if thou 

should'st, 
'Twere a great weakness. 

Cash. A great treachery : 
Give it no other name. 

Kit. Thou wilt not do't, then ? 

Cash. Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me ever ! 

Kit. He will not swear, he has some reser- 
vation, [sure; 
Some concealed purpose, and close meaning- 
Else, being urged so much, how should he 

choose 
But lend an oath to all this protestation? 
He's no precisian, that I'm certain of, 
Nor rigid Roman Catholic : he'll play 
At fayles, and tick-tack; I have "heard him 

swear. 
What should I think of it ? urge him again. 
And by some other way ! I will do so. 
Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to dis- 
Yes, you did swear ? [close : — 

Cash. Not yet, sir, but I will. 
Please you 

Kit. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word, 
But, if thou wilt swear, do as thou think'st 

good ; 
I am resolved without it ; at thy pleasure. 

Cash. By my sovil's safety then, sir, I protest, 
My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of o 
Delivered me in nature of your trust. [word 

Kit. It is to& much; these ceremonies need 
I know thy f;iith to be as lirm as rock. [not ; 
Thomas, come hither, near ; we cannot be 
Too i^rivate in this business. So it-is. 



EVERY MAN IN IIIS HUMOR. 



109 



— Now he lias sworn, I dare the safelicr ven- 
ture. [Aside. 

1 have of late, by divers observations 

I3ut whether his oath can bind him, yea, or no, 

Bcini^ not taken lawfully ? ha ! say you ? 

I Avill ask council ere I do proceed : — \_Aside. 

Thomas, it v.'ill bo now too long to stay, 

I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow. 

Cash. Sir, at your pleasure. 

Ki(. I will think : — and, Thomas, 
I pray you search the books 'gainst my return, 
For the receipts 'twixt me and Traps. 

Cash. I will, sir. 

Kit. And hear you, if your mistress's brother, 
Wcllbred, 
Chance to bring hither any gentleman, 
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word. 
• Cask. Very well, sir. 

Kit. To the Exchange, do you hear ? 
Or here in Coleman-street, to justice Clement's. 
Forget it not, nor be not out of the way. 

Cash. I will not, sir. 

Kit. I pray you have a care on't. 
Or, whether he come or no, if any other. 
Stranger, or else ; fail not to send me word. 

Cash. I shall not, sir. 

Kit. Be it your special business 
Now to remember it. 

Cash. Sir, I warrant you. [Thomas, 

Kit. But, Thomas, this is not the secret, 
I told you of. 

Cash. No, sir ; I do suppose it. 

Kit. Believe me, it is not. 

Cay//.. Sir. I do believe you. [Thomas, 

Kit. By heaven it is not, that's enough : but, 
I would not you should utter it, do you see. 
To any creature living ; yet I care not. 
Well, 1 must hence. Thomas, conceive thus 
It was a trial of you, when I meant [much ; 
So deep a secret to you, I moan not this, 
But that I have toicllyou ; this is nothing, this. 
But, Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge 

you, 
Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here. — 
No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [Exit. 

Cash. Lochedup in silence, midnight, buried here'. 
Whence should this flood of passion, trow, take 

head ? ha ! 
Best dreanr no longer of this running humor, 
For fear I sink ; the violence of the stream 
Already hath transported me so far. 
That I can feel no ground at all : but soft — 
0, 'tis our water-bearer : somewhat has crost 
him now. 

Enter Cob, hastily. 

Cob. Fasting-days ! what tell you me of fast- 
ing-days ? 'Slid, would they were all on a light 
fire for me ! they say the whole world shall be 
consumed with fire one day, but would I had 
these Ember weeks and villanous Fridays burnt 
in the mean time, and then 

Cash. Why, how now. Cob ? what moves thee 
to this choler, ha ? 

Cob. Collar, master Thomas ! I scorn your 
collar, I, sir ; I am none o' your cart-horse, 
though I carry and draw water. An you offer 
to ride me with your collar or halter either, I 
may hap shew you a jade's trick, sir. 



Cash. O, you'll slip your head out of the col- 
lar ? why, goodman Cob, you mistake me. 

Cob. Nay, I have my rheum, and I can be an- 
gry as well as another, sir. 

Cash. Thy rheum. Cob ! thy humor, thy hu- 
mor — thou mistak'st. 

Cob. Humor ! mack, I think.it be so indeed ; 
what is that humor ? some rare thing, I wax- 
rant. 

Cash. Marry I'll tell thee, Cob : it is a gentle- 
man-like monster, bred in the special gallantry 
of our time, by affectation ; and fed by folly. 

Cob. How ! must it be fed ? 

Cash. Oh ay, humor is nothing if it be not 
fed : didst thou never hear that ? it's a common 
phrase, _/eef? my humor. 

Cob. I'll none on it : humor, avaunt ! I know 
you not, be gone ! let who will make hungry 
meals for your monstership, it shall not be I. 
Feed you, quoth he ! 'slid, I have much ado to 
feed inj-self ; especially on these lean rascally 
days too ; an't had been any other day but a 
fasting-day — a plague on them all for me ! By 
this light, one might have done the common- 
Avealth good service, and have drowned them 
all in the flood, two or three hundred thousand 
years ago. G, I do stomach them hugely. I 
have a maw now, an 'twere for sir BoA-is his 
horse, against them. 

Cash. I pray thee, good Cob, what makes 
thee so out of love with fasting- days ? 

Cob. Marry, that which will jnake any man 
out of love with 'em, I think ; their bad con- 
ditions, an you will needs know. Fii"st, they 
are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for they 
raven up more butter than all the days of the 
week beside ; next, they stink of fish and leek- 
porridge miserably ; thirdly, they'll keejo a man 
devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him 
supperless to bed. 

Cash. Indeed, these are faults. Cob. 

Cob. Nay, an this were all, 'twere something ; 
but they are the only known enemies to my 
generation. A fasting-day no sooner comes, 
but my lineage goes to wrack ; poor cobs ! they 
smoak for it, they are made martyrs o' the grid- 
iron, they melt in passion : and your maids too 
know tliis, and yet would have me turn Han- 
nibal, and eat my own flesh and blood. INIy 
princely coz, [pulls out a red herrinrj] fear noth- 
ing ; I have not the heart to devour you, an I 
might be made as rich as king Cophetua. O 
that I had room for my tears, I could weep 
salt-w'ater enough now to preserve the lives of 
ten thousand thousand of my kin ! But I may 
cirrse none but these filthy almanacks ; for an't 
were not for them, these days of persecution 
would never be known. I'll be hanged an some 
fishmonger's son do not make of 'em, and puts 
in more fasting-days than he should do, because 
he would utter his father's dried stock-fish and 
stinking conger. 

Casli. 'Slight peace ! thou'lt be boatcn like n 
stock-fish else : Here's Master Mathcw. 

Enter Wellbked, E. Knowell, Bkaixavoum, 

Mathew, Bobadill, and Stephen. 
Now must I look out for a messenger to m\ 
master. [^E,^it with Con 



110 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



Wei. Beshrcw mc, but it was an absolute 
good jest, and exceedingly well carried ! 

E. Know. Ay, and our ignorance maintained 
it as well, did it not ? 

Wei. Yes, faith ; but "s^as it possible tliou 
shouldst not know him ? I forgive master Ste- 
phen, for he is stupiditj' itself. 

E. Know. 'Fore God, not I, an I might have 
been joined patten with one of the seven wise 
masters for knowing him. He had so writhen 
himself into the habit of one of your poor in- 
fttntry, 3-our decayed, ruinous, worm-eaten gen- 
tlemen of the round ; such as have vowed to sit 
on the skirts of the city, let your provost and 
his half-dozen of halberdiers do what they can ; 
and have translated begging out of the old 
hackney-pace to a fine easj' amble, and made it 
run as smooth off the tongue as a shove-groat 
shilling. Into the likeness of one of these 
reformados had he moulded himself so per- 
fectly, observing every trick of their action, as, 
varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, 
indeed, all with so special and exquisite a grace, 
that, hadst thou seen him, thou wouldst have 
sworn ho might have been scrjeant-major, if 
not licutenant-coronel to the regiment. 

Wcl. Why, Brainworm, Avho would have 
tho-aght thou hadst been such an artificer ? 

E. Know. An artificer ! an architect. Ex- 
cept a man had studied begging all his life 
time, and been a weaver of language from his 
infancy for the cloathing of it, I never saw his 
rival. 

Wcl. Where got'st thou this coat, I marlc ? 

Brai. Of a Hounsditch man, sir, one of the 
devil's near kinsmen, a broker. 

Wei. That cannot be, if the proverb hold ; 
for A crafty knave needs no broker. 

Brai. True, sir ; but I did need a broker, errjo — 

Wd. Well put off : no crafty knave, you'll say. 

E. Know. Tut, he has more of these shifts. 

Brai. And yet, where I have one, the broker 
has ten, sir. 

Re-enter Cash. 

Cash. Francis ! Martin ! ne'er a one to be 
found now ? What a spite's this ! 

Wei. How now, Thomas ? Is my brother 
Kitely within ? 

Cash. No, sir, my master Avcnt forth e'en 
now ; but master Downright is within. — Cob ! 
What, Cob ! Is he gone too ? 

Wei. AVhithcr Avent your master, Thomas, 
canst thou tell? 

Cash. I know not : to justice Clement's, I 
think, sir — Cob ! [Exit. 

E. Knoio. Justice Clement ! What's he ? 

Wei. Why, dost thou not know him ? He is 
u city-magistrate, a justice here, an excellent 
good lawyer, and a great scholar ; but the only 
mad, merry old fellow in Europe. I shewed 
Jiim you the other day. 

E. Know. O, is that he ? I remember him 
now. Good faith, and he is a very strange 
presence, methinks ; it shews as if he stood 
out of the rank from other men : I have heard 
many of his jests in the University. They say 
he will commit a man for taking the wall of his 
lorse. 



Wei. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoul- 
der, or serving of God ; any thing, indeed, if it, 
come in the way of his hiimor. 

Re-enter Cash. 

Cash. Gasper ! Martin ! Cob ! 'Heart, where 
should they be, trow ? 

Bob. Master Kitely's man, pray thee vouch- 
safe lis the lighting of this match. 

Cash. Fire on your match ! no time but now 
to vouchsafe ? — Francis ! Cob ! [Exit. 

Bob. Body o' me ! here's the remainder of 
seven pound since yesterday v/as seven-night. 
'Tis your right Trinidado : did you never take 
any, master Stephen ? 

StejJ- No, truly, sir ; but I'll learn to take it 
now, since you commend it so. 

Bob. Sir, believe me, upon my relation for 
what I tell you, the world shall not reprove. I 
have been in the Indies, where this herb grows, 
where neither myself, nor a dozen gentlemen 
more of my knowledge, have received the taste 
of any other nutriment in the world, for the 
space of one-and-twenty weeks, but the fume 
of this simple only : therefore, it cannot be, 
but 'tis most divine. Further, take it in the 
nature, h\ the true kind ; so, it makes an anti- 
dote, that, had you taken the most deadly poi- 
sonous plant in all Italy, it should expel it, and 
clarify you, with as much ease as I speak. And 
for your green wound, — your Balsamura and 
your St. John's wort, are all mere gullcries and 
trash to it, especially your Trinidado : your 
Nicotian is good too. I could say what I know 
of the virtue of it, for the expulsion of rheums, 
raw humors, crudities, obstructions, with a 
thousand of this kind ; but I profess myself 
no quacksalver. Only thus much ; by Her- 
cules, I do hold it, and Avill aflirni it before any 
prince in Eurojoe, to be the most sovereign and 
precious weed that ever the earth tendered to 
the use of man. 

E. Know. This speech would have done de- 
cently in a tobacco-trader's mouth. 

Re-enter Cash with Cob. 

Cash. At justice Clement's he is, in the mid- 
dle of Coleman- street. 

Cob. Oh, Oh ! 

Bob. Where's the match I gave thee, master 
Kitely's man ? 

Cash. Would his match and he, and pipe and 
all, Avcre at Sancto Domingo ! I had forgot it. 

[Exit, 

Cob. Ods me, I marie what pleasure or feli- 
city they have in taking this roguish tobacco. 
It's good for nothing but to choke a man, and 
fill him full of smoke and embers : there wei-e 
four died out of one house last week vi'ith 
taliing of it, and two more the bell went for 
yesternight ; one of them, they say, will never 
scape it : he voided a bushel of soot yester- 
day, ujjward and downward. By the stocks, 
an there were no wiser men than I, I'd have it 
in-esent whipping, man or woman, that should 
but deal with a tobacco-pipe : why, it will 
stifle them all in the end, as many as use it ; 
it's little better than ratsbane or rosaker. 

[BoBADiLL beats him 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



Ill 



All. Oh, good captain, hold, hold ! 
Buh. You basfl cullion, you ! 

JRo-enter Cash. 
Cash. Sir, hero's your match. — Come, thou 
must ncL'ds be talking too ; thou'rt well enough 
served. 

Cob. Nay, he Avill not meddle -with his match, 
I warrant you : well, it shall be a dear beat- 
ing, an I live. 

Bob. Do you prate, do you murmur ? 

E. Knoio. Nay, good captain, will you regard 
the humor of a fool ? Away, knave. 
Wei. Thomas, get him away. 

[Exit Cash with Cob. 

Bob. A whoreson filthy slave, a dung-worm, 
an excrement ! Body o' Ctesar, but that I 
Bcorn to let forth so mean a spirit, I'd have 
stabbed him to the earth. 

Wei. Marry, the law forbid, sir ! 

Bob, By Pharaoh's foot, I would have done 
it. 

Step. Oh, he swears most admirably ! By Pha- 
raoh's foot ! Bodj'' o' Ccesar ! — I shall never do 
it, sure. Upon mine honor, and by St. George ! 
No, I have not the right grace. 

Mat. INIaster Stephen, A^-ill you any ? By this 
air, the most divine tobacco that ever I drunk. 

Step. None, I thank you, sir. O, this gentle- 
man does, it rarely too, but nothing like the 
otlier. By this air ! [practises at the post.'\ As 

I am a gentleman ! By [Exeunt Bob and 

Mat. 

Brai. [pointing to Masteu Stephen.] Master, 
glance, glance ! Master Wellbred ! 

Step. As I have somewhat to be saved, I pro- 
test — 

Wei. You are a fool ; it needs no affidavit. 

E. Know. Cousin, will you any tobacco ? 

Step. I, sir ! Upon my reputation 

E. Knoio. How now, cousin ! 

Step. I protest, as I am a gentleman, but no 
boldier, indeed — — 

Wei. No, master Stephen ! As I remember, 
your name is entered in the artillery-garden. 

Step. AA't sir, that's true. Cousin, may I 
swear, as I am a soldier, by that ? 

E. Know. O yes, that you may ; it is all you 
have for your money. 

Step. Then, as I am a gentleman, and a sol- 
dier, it is " divine tobacco ! " 

Wei. But soft, Where's master Mathow ? 
Gone ? 

Brai. No, sir ; they Avent in here. 

Wei. O, lot's follow them : master Matliew 
is gone to salute his mistress in verse ; we 
shall have the happiness to hear some of his 
poetry now ; he never comes unfurnislicd. — 
Brainworm ! 

Step. Brainworm ! Where ? Is this Brain- 
. worm ? 

E. Know. Ay, cousin ; no words of it, upon 
your gentility. 

Step. Not "I, body of me ! By this air ! St. 
•jeorge ! and the foot of Pharaoh ! 

Wei. Rare ! Your cousin's discourse is sim- 
ply drawn out Avith oaths. 

E. Know. 'Tis larded with them ; a kind of 
french dressing, if yovi love it. [Exeicnf. 



SCENE III. — CoLEMAx-STREET. A Room in 
Justice Clement's House. 

Enter Kitely and Cob. 

Kit. Ha ! how many are there, say'st thou f 

Cob. Marry, sir, your brother. Master Well- 
bred — 

Kit. Tut, beside him : what strangers are 
there, man ? 

Cob. Strangers ? Let me see, one, two ; 
mass, I knoAV not Avell, there are so many. 

Kit. How ! so many ? 

Cob. Ay, there's some five or six of them at 
the most. 

Kit. A swarm, a swarm ! 
Spite of the devil, how they sting my head 
'With forked stings, thus wide and large ! But, 

Cob, 
How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob ;' 

Cob. A little Avhile, sir. 

Kit. Didst thou come running ? 

Cob. No, sir. 

Kit. Nay, then I am familiar Avith thy haste. 
Bane to my fortunes ! What meant I to marry ? 
I, that before Avas ranked in such content. 
My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace. 
Being free master of mine OAvn free thoughts. 
And noAv become a slave ? What ! never sigh ; 
Be of good cheer, man ; for thou art a cuckold : 
'Tis done, 'tis done ! Nay, Avhen such flowing 

store. 
Plenty itself, falls into my wife's lap. 
The cornucopia Avill be mine, I knoAV. — 
But, Cob, 

What entertainment Taad they ? I am sure 
^ly sister and my Avife Avould bid them Avel- 
come : ha r 

Cob. Like enough, sir ; yet I heard not a 
Avord of it. 

Kit. No ; 
Their lips Avere sealed Avith kisses, and the A'oico, 
DroAvned in a flood of joy at their arrival, 
Had lost her motion, state and faculty. — 
Cob, 

Which of them Avas it that first kiss'd my Avife, 
ily sister, I should say ? — My Avife, alas ! 
I fear not her : ha ! Avho Avas it say'st thou ? 

Cob. By my troth, sir, Avill you liaA'c the truth 

of "it? 
Kit. Oh, ay, good Cob, I pray thee heartily. 

Cob. Then I am a vagabond, and fitter for 
BridcAvcll than your Avorship's companj', if I 
saAV any body to bo kiss'd, unless they Avould 
have kiss'd the post in tlie middle of the Avarc- 
house ; for there I left them all at their tobacco, 
Avith a pox ! 

Kit. IIoAV ! Avere they not gone in then 'ere 
thou cam'st ? 

Cob. O no, sir. 

Kit. Spite of the devil ! Avhat do I stay here 
then? Cob, follow me. . [Exit. 

Cob. Nay, soft and fair ; I have eggs on the 
spit ; I cannot go yet, sir. Noav am I, for some 
five and fifty reasons, hammering, hammering 
revenge : oh for three or four gallons of vinegar, 
to sharpen my Avits ! Revenge, vinegar revenge, 
A'inegar and mustard revenge ! Nay, an he had 
not lien in my house, 'twould neA'er have 



112 



F,VER\- MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



grieved me; but being my guest, one that, I'll 
be sworn, ray wife has lent him her smock off 
her back, while his own shirt has been at wash- 
ing ; pawned her neck-kerchcrs for clean bands 
for him ; sold almost all my i:)latters, to buy him 
tobacco ; and he to turn monster of ingratitude, 
and strike his lawful host ! Well, I hope to 
raise up an host of fury for't : here comes jus- 
tice Clement. 

^Eitter Justice Clement, Knowell, and Foumal. 

Clem. What's master Kitely gone, Roger ? 

Form. Ay, sir. 

Clem. 'Heart o' me ! what made him leave us 
&0 abruptly ? — How now, sirrah ! Avhat make 
j'ou here ? what would you have, ha ? 

Cob. An't please your worship, I am a poor 
neighbor of your worship's 

Clem. A poor neighbor of mine ! Y\"hy, speak, 
poor neighbor. 

Cob. I dwell, sir, at the sign of the Watcr- 
tankard, hard by the Green Lattice : I have 
paid scot and lot there any time this eighteen 
years. 

Clem. To the Green Lattice ? 

Cob. No, sir, to the parish : Marry, I have sel- 
dom 'scaped scot-free at the Lattice. 

Clem. O, well ; what business has my poor 
neighbor with me ? 

Cob. An't like your worship, I am come to 
crave the peace of your worship. 

Clem. Of me, knave ! Peace of me, knave ! 
Did I ever hurt thee, or threaten thee, or wrong 
thee, ha ? 

Cob. No, sir ; but your worship's warrant for 
one that has wrong'd mo, sir : his arms are at 
too much liberty, I would fain have them bound 
to a treaty of peace, an my credit could compass 
it with your worship. 

Clem! Thou goest far enough about for't, I am 
sure. 

Know, Why, dost thou go in danger of thy 
life for him, friend ? 

Cob. No, sir; but I go in danger of my death 
every hour, by his means ; an I die Avithin a 
twelvemonth and a day, I may swear by the 
law of the land that he killed me. 

Clem. How, how, knave, swear he killed thee, 
and by the law ? What pretence, what color 
hast thou for that ? 

Cob. IMarry, an't please your worship, both 
black and blue ; color enough, I warrant you. 
I have it here to shew your worship. 

Clem. What is he that gave you this, sirrah r 

Cob. A gentleman and a soldier, he says, he is, 
of the city here. 

Clem. A soldier of the city ! What call you 
'iim" 

Cob. Captain Bobadill. 

Clem. Bobadill! and. why did he bob and 
beat you, sirrah ? How began the quarrel be- 
twixt you, ha ? speak truly, knave, I advise you. 

Cob. Marry, indeed, an't please your worship, 
only because I spake against their vagrant to- 
bacco, as I came by them when they were tak- 
ing on't ; for nothing else. 

Clem. Ha ! you speak against tobacco ? For- 
mal, his name. 

Form. What's yoiir name, sirrah ? 



Cob. Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob', sir. 

Ckm. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail. 
Formal. 

Form. Oliver Cob, my master, justice Clement, 
says you shall go to the jail. 

Cob. O, I beseech your worship, foi God's 
sake, dear master justice ! 

Clem. 'Sprecious ! an such drunkards and 
tankards as you are, come to dispute of tobacco 
once, I have done : Away with him ! 
, Cob. O, good master justice ! SAveet old gen- 
tleman ! [To Knoavell. 

Knoio. " Sweet Oliver," Avould I could do 
thee any good ! — justice Clement, let me intreat 
you, sir. 

Clem. What ! a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, 
a slave that never drvmk out of better than piss- 
pot metal in his life ! and he to deprave and 
abuse the A-irtue of an herb so generally received 
in the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, 
the boAvcrs of SAveet ladies, the cabins of sol- 
diers ! — Roger, aAA'ay A\ith him ! Od's precious 
1 say, go to. 

Cob. Dear master justice, let me be beaten 
again, I haA'c deserved it ; but not the prison, I 
beseech you. 

Kiio2v. Alas, poor Oliver ! 

Clem. Roger, make him aAvarrant : — he shall 
not go, I but fear the knave. 

Form. Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall 
not go ; my m'aster will give you a Avarrant. 

Cob. O, the lord maintain his worship, his 
worthy Avorship ! 

Clem. AAvay, dispatch him. [Exeiint Form. 
and Cob.] How uoav, master KnoAvell, in dumps, 
in dumps ! Come, this becomes not. 

Know. Sir, Avould I could not feel my cares. 

Cletn. Your cares are nothing : they arc like 
my cap, soon piit on, and as soon put ofi". What ! 
your son is old enough to govern himself; let 
him run his course, it's the only Avay to make 
him a staid man. If he Avere an unthrift, a 
rufhan, a drunkard, or a licentious liver, then 
you had reason ; you had reason to take care 
ijut, being none of these, mirth's my Avitnesij 
an I had twice so many cares as yoi» have, I'^. 
droAvn them all in a cup of sack. Come, come, 
let's try it : I muse your parcel of a soldier re- 
turns not all this Avhile. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room 171 Ji.r!"EL,Y's House. 

Enter DoAVNiUGHT and Dame Kitely. 

Down. Well, sister, I tell you true ; and you'll 
find it so in the end. 

Dame K. Alas, brother, Avhat Avould you have 
me to do ? I cannot help it ; you see my broth- 
er brings them in here ; they are his friends. 

Down. His friends ! his fiends. 'Slud ! they 
do nothing but haunt him up and doAvn like a 
sort of unlucky s^jirits, and tempt him to all 
manner of villainy that can be thought of. Well, 
by this light, a little thing Avould make me play 
the devil Avith sonae of them: an 'tAvere not 
more for your husband's sake than any thing 
else, I'd make the house too hot for the best on 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



113 



em ; they should say, and swear, hell were 
broken loose, ere they went hence. But, by 
God's will, 'tis nobody's fault but yours ; for an 
you had done as you might have done, they 
should have been parboiled, and baked too, ev- 
ery mother's son, ere they should have come in, 
e'er a one of them. 

Dame K. God's my life ! did you ever hear 
the Uke ? what a strange man is this ! Could I 
keep out all them, think you ? I should put 
myself against half a dozen men, should I ? 
Good faith, you'd mad the patient'st body in 
the world, to hear you talk so, without any sense 
or reason. 

Enter Mistress Bridget, Master Mathew, and 

BoBADiLL ; foUoioed, at a distance, by Well- 
bred, E. Knowell, Stephen, and Brainworm. 

Brid. Servant, in troth you are too prodigal 
Of your wit's treasure, thus to pour it forth 
Upon so mean a subject as my worth. 

Mat. You say well, mistress, and I mean as 
well. 

Down. Hoy-day, here is stuff ! 

Well. O, now stand close ; pray Heaven, she 
can get him to read ! he should do it of his own 
natural impudency. 

Brid. Servant, what is this same, I pray 
you ? 

3Iat. Marry, an elegy, an elegy, an odd toy — 

Down. To mock an ape withal ! 0, I could 
sew up his mouth, now. 

Dame K. Sister, I pray you let's hear it. 

Down. Are you rhime-given too ? 

3laf. Mistress, I'll read it if you please. 

Brid. Pray you do, servant. 

Doicn, O, here's no foppery ! Death ! I can 
endure the stocks better. [Exit. 

E. Know. What ails thy brother ? can he not 
hold his water at reading of a ballad ? 

Wei. O, no ; a rhyme to him is worse than 
cheese, or a bag-pipe ; but mark ; you lose the 
^protestation. 

Mat. Faith, I did it in a humor ; I know not 
how it is ; but please you come near, sir. This 
gentleman has judgment, he knows how to cen- 
sure of a -pray you, sir, you can judge. 

Step. Not I, sir ; upon my reputation, and by 
the foot of Pharaoh ! 

Wei. O, chide your cousin for swearing. 

E. Know. Not I, so long as he does not for- 
swear himself. 

Bob. Master Mathew, you abuse the expecta- 
tion of your dear mistress, and her fair sister : 
fie ! Avhile you live avoid this ijrolixity. 

Mat. I shall, sir ; well, incipere dulse. 

E. Knoio. How ! insipero dulce ! a sweet thing 
to be a fool, indeed. 

Wei. What, do you take incipere in that sense ? 

E. Know. You do not, you ! This was your 
villainy, to gull him with a motte. 

Wei. O, the benchers' phrase : 2^ci^i'Ca verba, 
pauca verba ! 

Mat. Rare creature, let me speak loithout offence, 
Would God my rude words had the influence 
To rule thy thouyhts, as thy fair looks do mine. 
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner^ who is thine. 

E. Know. This is in Hero and Leander. 

Wei. O, ay : peace, we shall have more of this. 



Mat. Be not unkind and fair : misshapen stuff 
Is of behavior boisterous and rough. 

Wei. How like you that, sir ? 

[Master Stephen shakes his head. 

E. Kioto. 'Slight, he shakes his head like a 
bottle, to feel an there be any brain in it. 

Mat. But observe the catastrophe, now : 
And I in duty will exceed all other, 
As you in beauty do excel Love's mother. 

E. Know. Well, I'll have him free of the Avit- 
brokers, for he vittcrs nothing but stolen rem- 
nants. 

Wei. O, forgive it him. 

E. Knoio. A filching rogue, hang him ! — and 
from the dead ! it's worse than sacrilege. 

Wellbred, E. Knowell, and Master Stephen, 
come forward, 

Wcl. Sister, what have you here, verses ? pray 
you let's see : who made these verses ? they are 
excellent good. 

Mat. O, Master Wellbred, 'tis your disposition 
to say so, sir. They were good in the morning ; 
I made them ex tempore this morning. 

Wei. How ! ex tempore ? 

Mat. Ay, would I might be hanged else ; ask 
Captain Bobadill : he saw me write them, at 
the pox on it ! — the Star, yonder. 

Brai. Can he find in his heart to curse the 
stars so ? 

E. Knoio. Faith, his are even with him ; they 
have curst him enough aheady. 

Step. Cousin, how do you like this gentle- 
man's verses ? 

E. Knoio. O, admirable ! the best that ever I 
heard, coz. 

Step. Body o' Caesar' they are admirable ! the 
best that I ever heard, as I am a soldier ! 

Re-enter Downright. 

Down. I am vcxt, I can hold ne'er a bone of 
me still : Heart, I thijik they mean to build and 
breed here. 

Wei. Sister, you have a simple servant here, 
that crowns your beautj' with such encomiums 
and devices ; you may see what it is to be the 
mistress of a wit, that can make your perfections 
so transparent, that every blear eye may look 
through them, and see him drowned over head 
and ears in the deep Avell of desire : Sister 
Kitelj', I marvel you get you not a servant that 
can rhyme, and do tricks too. 

Doicn. O, monster ! impxidence itself ! tricks ! 

Dame K. Tricks, brother ! what tricks ! 

Brid. Nay, speak, I pray you, what tricks ? 

Dame K. Ay, never spare any body here ; but 
say, what tricks. 

Brid. Passion of n-i.y heart, do tricks ! 

Wei. 'Slight, here's a trick vied and revicd ! 
Why, 3'ou monkeys, you, what a cater-wauling 
do you keej) ! has he not given j^ou rhimes and 
verses and tricks ? 

Down. O, the fiend ! 

Wei. Nay, you lamp of virginitj'', that take it in 
snuff so, come, and cherish this tame poetical fury 
in your servant ; you'll be begged else shortly 
for a concealment : go to, reward his muse. You 
cannot give him less than a shilling in conscience, 
for the book he had it out of cost him a testnn at 



114 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



least. How now, gallants ! Master Matliew ! 
Cai:)tain ! what, all sons of silence, no spirit ? 

Down. Come, you might practise your ruffian 
tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wuss ; 
this is no tavern nor drinking-school, to vent 
your exploits in. * 

Wei- How now ; whose cow has calved ? 

Doion. Marry, that has mine, sir. Nay, boy, 
never look askance at me for the matter ; I'll 
tell you of it, I, sir ; you and your companions 
mend yourselves when I have done. 

Wei. My companions ! 

Doion. Yes, sir, your companions, so I say ; I 
am not afraid of you, nor them neither ; your 
hang-byes here. Y'ou must have your poets and 
your pollings, your soldados and foolados to fol- 
low you up and down the citj' ; and here they 
must come to domineer and swagger. Sirrah, 
you ballad-singer, and slops your fellow there, 
get you out, get you homo ; or by this steel, I'll 
cut off your ears, and that presently. 

Wd. 'Slight, stay, let's see what he dare do ; 
cut off his ears ! cut a whetstone. You are an 
ass, do you see ; touch any man here, and by this 
hand I'll run my rapier to the hilts in you. 

Down. Yea, that would I fain see, boy. 

[They all draw. 

Datne K. O Jesu ! murder ! Thomas ! Gasper ! 

Brid. Help, help ! Thomas ! 

Enter Cash and some of the Jiouse to part them. 

E. Know. Gentlemen, forbear, I pray you. 

Bob. Well, sirrah, you Holofcrnes ; by my 
hand, I will pink your flesh full of holes with my 
rapier for this ; I will, by this good heaven ! nay, 
let him come, let hina come, gentlemen ; by the 
body of St. George, I'll not kill him. 

[Offer to fight again, and are parted. 

Cash. Hold, hold, good gentlemen. 

Doicn. You whoreson, bragging coystril ! 

Enter Kitely. 

Kit. Whj', how now ! Avhat's the matter, 
what's the stir here ? [is he ? 

Whence springs the quarrel ? Thomas ! where 
Put up your weapons, and put off this rage : 
My wife and sister, they are cause of this. 
What, Thomas ! where is this knave ? 

Cash. Here, sir. 

Wei. Come, let's go : this is one of my broth- 
er's ancient humors, this. 

Step. I am glad nobody was hurt by his an- 
cient humor. 

[ExeuntVf-E'h; Step., E. Kno., Bob, and Brai. 

Kit. Why, how now, brother, who enforced 
this brawl ? 

Down. A sort of lewd rake-hells, that care 
neither for God nor the devil. And they must 
come here to read ballads, and roguery, and trash ! 
I'll mar the knot of 'cm ere I sleej), perhaps ; 
especially Bob there, he that's all manner of 
Bhapes ; and songs and sonnets, his fellow. 

Brid. Brother, indeed you are too violent, 
Too sudden in your humor : and you knoAV 
My brother WeUbred's temper will not bear 
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence, 
Where every slight disgrace he should receive 
Might Avound him in opinion and respect. 

Down. Respect! what talk you of respect 



among such, as have no spark of manhood, noi" 
good manners ? 'Sdeins, I am ashamed to hciii 
you ! respect ! [ExiC. 

Brid. Yes, there Avas one a civil gentleman, 
And very worthily demeaned himself. 

Kit. O, that was some love of ^'ours, sister. 

Brid A love of mine ! I Avould it were no 
worse, brother ; 
You'd pay my portion sooner than you think for 

Dame K. Indeed he seemed to be a gentlemai. 
of an exceeding fair disposition, and of very ex - 
cellent good parts. 

[Exeunt Dame Kitely and Bkidget. 

Kit. Her love, by heaven ! my wife's minion 
Fair disposition ! excellent good parts ! 
Death ! these phrases are intolerable. 
Good parts ! how should she know his parts .' 
His parts ! Well, well, well, well, well, well ; 
It is too plain, too clear : Thomas, come hither 
What, are they gone ? 

Cash. Ay, sir, they went in. 
My mistress, and your sister 

Kit. Are any of the gallants within ? 

Cash. No, sir, they are all gone. 

Kit. Art thou sure of it ? 

Cash. I can assure you, sir. 

Kit. AVhat gentleman was that they praised 
so, Thomas ? 

Cash. One, they call him Master Knowell, a 
handsome young gentleman, sir. 

Kit. Ay, I thought so ; my mind gave me as 
much : 
I'll die, but they have hid hira in the house, 
Somewhere ; I'll go and search ; go with me, 

Thomas : 
Be true to me, and thou shalt find me a master. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Lane before Con's Hoxisc. 

Enter Con. 

Cob. [knocks at the door.] What, Tib ! Tib, I 
say ! 

Tib. [within.] IIoAV now, what cuckold is that 
knocks so hard ? 

Enter Tib. 
O, husband ! is it you ? What's the news ? 

Cob. Nay, you have stunn'd me, i'faith ; you 
have given me a knock o' the forehead will stick 
by me. Cuckold ! 'Slid, circkold ! . 

Tib. Away, you fool ! did I know it was }-ou 
that knocked ? Come, come, you may call me 
as bad when you list. 

Cob. May I ? Tib, you are a whore. 

Tib. You lie in yovir throat, husband. 

Cob. How, the lie ! and in my throat too ! do 
you long to be stabbed, ha ? 

Tib. Why, you are no soldier, 1 hope. 

Cob. O, must you be stabbed by a soldier? 
Mass, that's true ! when was Bobadillhere, your 
captain ? that rogue, that foist, that fencing 
BurguUion ? I'll tickle him, i'faith. 

Tib. Why, what's the matter, trow ? 

Cob. O, he has basted me rarely, sumptuously ! 
but I have it here in black and white, [pulls out 
the tcarranf,] for his black and blue, shall pay hi;n. 
O, the justice, the honestest old bra\ie 'rrojan in 
London ; I do honor the very flea of his dog. A 



EVERY MAjST in HIS HUMOR. 



115 



plague on him, though, he put me once in a vil- 
lanous filthy fear ; marry, it vanished away like 
the smoke of tobacco ; but I was smoked soundly 
first. I thank the devil, and his good angel, my 
guest. Well, wife, or Tib, which j'ou will, get 
yovi in, and lock the door ; I charge you let no- 
body in to you, wife ; nobody in to you ; those 
are my words : not Captain Bob himself, nor the 
ilend in his likeness. You are a woman, you 
have flesh and blood enough in you to be tempt- 
ed ; therefore keep the door shut upon all comers. 

Tib. I warrant you, there shall nobody enter 
here Avithout my consent. 

Cob. Nor with j'our consent, sweet Tib ; and 
so I leave you. 

Tib. It's more than you know, whether you 
If ave me so. 

Cob. How ? 

Tib. Why, siceet. 

Cob. Tut, sweet or sour, thou art a flower. 
Keep close thy door, I ask no more. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in the Windmill Tavern. 

Enter E. Knowell, Wellbred, Stephen, ajid 
Brainwor5I, disguised as before. 

E. Knoio. Well, Brain-\\-orm, perform this 
business happily, and thou makest a purchase 
of my love forever. 

Wei. I'faith, now let thy spirits use their best 
faculties : but, at anj^ hand, remember the mes- 
sage to my brother ; for there's no other means 
to start him. 

Brai. I warrant you, sir ; fear nothing ; I have 
a nimble soul has waked all forces of ray phant'sie 
b}' this time, and put them in true motion. What 
you have posscst me withal, I'll discharge it 
amply, sir ; make it no question. [Exit. 

Wei. Forth, and prosper, Brainworm. Faith, 
Ned, how dost thou approve of my abilities in 
this device ? 

E. Know. Troth, well, howsoever ; but it will 
come excellent if it take. 

Wei. Take, man ! why it cannot choose but 
take, if the circumstances miscarr}' not : but, 
tell me ingenuously, dost tkou afl"ect my sister 
Bridget as thou pretcnd'st ? 

E. Knou\ Friend, am I worth belief ? 

Wcl. Come, do not protest. In faith, she is a 
maid of good ornament, and much modesty ; and, 
except I conceived very worthily of her, thou 
should' st not have her. 

E. Knoio. Nay, that I am afraid Avill be a 
question yet, whether I shall have her, or no. 

M'el. 'Slid, thou shalt have her ; by this light 
thou shalt. 

E. Know. Nay, do not swear. 

Wei. Bjr this hand thou shalt have her ; I'll 
go fetch her presently. 'Point but where to 
meet, and as I am an honest man I'll bring her. 

E. Know. Hold, hold, be temperate. 

Wei. Why, by what shall I swear by .' 

fchou shalt have her, as I am 

E. Know. Praythee, be at peace, I am satisfied ; 
end do believe thou wilt omit no ofl"ered occa- 
"lon to make my desires complete. 

Wei. Ihou shalt see, and know, I will not. 

[Exeurd. 



SCENE IV. — The Old Jewri". 

Enter Formal and Knowell. 

Form. AVas your man a soldier, sir ? 

Know. A}', a knave, 
I took him "begging o' the -vvay, this morning, 
As I came over Moorfields. 

Enter BRAiNWOR^t, disguised as before. 
O, here he is ! — you've made fair speed, believe 

me ! 
Where, in the name of sloth, could you be 
thus ? 

Brai. Marry, peace be my comfort, where I 
thought I should have had little comfort of your 
worship's service. 

Knoic. How so ? 

Brai. O, sir, your coining to the city, your 
entertainment of me, and your sending me to 

watch indeed all the circumstances either of 

your charge, or my employment, are as open to 
your son, as to yourself. 

Know. How should that be, unless that villain, 
Brainworm, 
Have told him of the letter, and discovered 
All that I strictly charged him to conceal ? 
'Tis so. 

Brai. I am partly o' the faith 'tis so, indeed. 

Know. But, how should ho know thee to be 
my man ? 

Brai. Nay, sir, I cannot tell ; unless it be by 
the black art. Is not your son a scholar 
sir ? 

Knoio. Y'es, but I hope his soul is not allied 
Unto such hellish practice : if it Avere, 
I had just cause to weep my part in him, 
And curse the time of his creation. 
But, where didst thou find them, Fitz- Sword ? 

Brai. You should rather ask where they found 
me, sir ; for I'll be sworn, I Avas going along in the 
street, thinking nothing, Avhen, of a sudden, a 
A'oice calls, ilf/-. Knowell' s man ! another cries. 
Soldier ! and thus half a dozen of them, till they 
had called me Avithin a house, Avhere I no sooner 
came, but they seemed men, and out flew all their 
rapiers at my bosom, Avith some three or four 
score oaths to accompany them ; and all to tell 
me, I Avas but a dead man, if I did not confess 
Avhere you Avere, and hoAV I Avas employed, and 
about Avhat ; Avhich Avhen they could not get out 
of me, (as, I protest, they must have dissected, 
and made an anatomy of me first, and so I told 
them,) they locked me up into a room in the top 
of a high house, AA-hence by great miracle (hav- 
ing a light heart) I slid doAvn by a bottom of 
packthread into the street, and so 'scaped. But, 
sir, thus much I can assure you, for I heard it 
Avhile I Avas locked up, there Avere a great many 
rich merchants and brave citizens' Avives Avith 
them at a feast ; and your son, master Edward, 
AvithdreAV Avith one of them, and has 'pointed to 
meet her anon at one Cob's house, a water-bearer, 
that dwells by the Wall. Noav, t here your Avor- 
ship shall be sure to take him, for there he preys 
and fail he Avill not. 

Know. Nor AviU I fail to break Ms match, 
doubt not. 
Go thou along AA'ith justice Clement"? man. 



116 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



And stay there for me. At one Cob's house, 
say'st thou ? 

Brai. Ay, sir, there you shall have hhn. [Exit 
Know.] Yes — invisible ! Much wench, or much 
son! 'Slight, Avhen he has staid there three or four 
nours, travailling with the expectation of won- 
ders, and at length be delivered of air ! O the 
sport that I should then take to look on him, if 
I durst ! But noAV I mean to aj^pear no more 
afore him in this shape : I have another triclc. to 
act yet. O that I M'erc so happy as to light on 
a nupson now of this justice's novice ! — Sir, I 
make you stay somewhat long. 

Form. Not a whit, sir. Pray you what do 
you mean, sir ? 

Brai. I was putting up some papers. 

Form. You have been lately in the wars, sir, 
it seems. 

Brai. Marry have I, sir, to my loss, and ex- 
pense of all, almost. 

Form. Troth, sir, I would be glad to bestow a 
pottle of wine on you, if it please you to ac- 
cejot it — 

Brai. O, sir 

Form. But to hear the manner of your services, 
and your devices in the wars ; they say they be 
very strange, and not like those a man reads in 
the Roman histories, or sees at Mile-end. 

Brai. No, I assure you, sir ; why at any time 
when it please you, I shall be ready to discourse 
to you all I know ; — and more too some-\\-hat. 

[Aside. 

Form. No better time than now, sir 5 we'll go 
to the Windmill : there we shall have a cup of 
neat grist, we call it. I j^ray you, sir, let me re- 
quest you to the Windmill. 

Brai. I'll follow you, sir ; — and make grist of 
you, if I have good luck. [^s«Vfe.] [E.veitnt. 

SCENE V. — MOOEFIELDS. 

Enter Mathew, E. Knowell, Bobadill, and 
Stephex. 

Mat. Sir, did your eyes ever taste the like 
clown of him where we were to-day, !Mr. Well- 
bred' s half brother ? I think the Avhole earth 
cannot shew liis parallel, by this daylight. 

E. Know. We were now speaking of him : cap- 
tain Bobadill tells me he is fallen foul of you too. 

Mat. O, ay, sir, he threatened me Avith the 
bastinado. 

Bob. Ay, but I think, I taught you prevention 
this morning, for that : You shall kill him beyond 
f]^i\estion ; if you be so generously minded. 

Mat. Indeed, it is a most excellent trick. 

[Fences. 

Boh. 0, you do not give spirit enough to your 
motion, you are too tardy, too heavy ! O, it must 
be done like lightning, hay ! 

[Practises at a 2'>osi with Ids cudgel- 
Mat, Rare, captain ! 

Boh. Tut ! 'tis nothing, an't be not done in a 
• punto. 

E. Know. Captain, did you ever prove your- 
«elf upon any of our masters of defence here ? 

Mat. O good sir ! yes, I hojio he has. 

Boh. I will tell you, sir. Upon my first coming 
to the city, after my long truvcl for knowledge. 



in that mystery only, there came three or four cf 
them to me, at a gentleman's house, where it waf 
my chance to be resident at that time, to intreat 
my presence at their schools : and Avithal so much 
importuned me, that I protest to you, as I am a 
gentleman, I Avas ashamed of their rude demean- 
or out of all measure : Well, I told them that to 
come to a public school, they should pardon me, 
it Avas opposite, in diameter, to my humor ; but, 
if so be they Avould give their attendance at my 
lodging, I protested to do them Avhat right or 
favor I could, as I Avas a gentleman, and so forth. 

E. Knoio. So, sir ! then you tried their skill ? 

Boh. Alas, soon tried : you shall hear, sir. 
Within two or three days after, they came ; and, 
by honest}', fair sir, believe me, I graced them 
exceedingly, shewed them some two or three 
tricks of prevention haA'e purchased them since 
a credit to admiration : they cannot deny this ; 
and yet noAv they hate me, and Avhy ? because I 
am excellent ; and for no other vile reason on 
the earth. 

E. Know. This is strange and barbarous, as 
ever I heard. 

Boh. Nay, for a more instance of their prepos- 
terous natures ; but note, sir. They have as- 
saulted me some three, four, five, six of them 
together, as I havcAvalked alone in diA^ers skirts 
i' the town, as TurnbuU, AVhitechapel, Shore- 
ditch, Avhich Avere then my quarters ; and since, 
upon the Exchange, at my lodging, and at my 
ordinary : Avhcre I have driven them afore mc 
the Avhole lengtli of a street, in the open vioAV 
of all our gallants, pitying to hurt them, believe 
me. Y''et all this lenity Avill not overcome their 
spleen ; they Avill be doing Avith the pismire, 
raising a hill a man may spurn abroad Avith hia 
foot at pleasure. By myself, I could have slair 
them all, but I delight not in mixrder. I am loth 
to bear any other than this bastinado for them : 
yet I hold it good polity not to go disarmed, for 
though I be skilful, I may be oppressed Avith 
multitudes. 

E. Knoio. Ay, believe mc, may you, sir: and 
in my conceit, our Avhole nation should sustain 
the loss by it, if it Avere so. 

Boh. Alas, no ! AA'hat's a peculiar man to a na- 
tion ? not seen. 

E. Knoio. O, but j-our skill, sir. 

Boh. Indeed, that might be some loss ; but Avho 
respects it ? I Avill tell you, sir, by the Avay of 
private, and under seal ; I am a gentleman, and 
live here obscure, and to myself; but Avere I 
knoAvn to her majesty and the lords, — observe 
me, — I Avould undertake, upon this poor head 
and life, for the public benefit of the state, not 
only to spare the entire lives of her subjects in 
general ; but to saA^e the one half, nay, three 
parts of her yearly charge in holding Avar, and 
against Avhat enemy soever. And hoAV Avould I 
do it, think you ? 

E. Know. Nay, I knoAV not, nor can I conceiA'e. 

Bob. Why thus, sir. I Avould select nineteen 
more, to myself, throughout the land ; gentlemen 
they should be of good spirit,- strong and able 
constitution ; I Avould choose them by an in- 
stinct, a character that I have : and I Avould 
teach these nineteen the special rules, as yo'.ii 
punto, your reverse, your stoccata, your imbroo- 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



It? 



cato, your passada, your montanto ; till they 
r-ould all play very near, or altogether as -well as 
myself. This done, say the enemy Tvere forty 
thousand strong, we twenty would come into the 
field the tenth of IMarch, or thereabouts ; and we 
Avould challenge twenty of the enemy ; they 
could not in their honor refuse us : Well, we 
would kill them ; challenge twenty more, kill 
them ; t■\^•cnty more, kill them ; twenty more, 
kill them too ; and thus would we kill every man 
his twenty a day, that's twenty score ; twenty 
score, that's two hundred ; two hundred a day, 
five days a thousand ; forty thousand ; forty 
times five, five times forty, two hundred days 
kills them all up by computation. And this will 
I venture my poor gentleman-lilve carcase to per- 
form, provided there be no treason practised 
upon us, by fair and discreet manhood ; that is, 
civilly by the sword. 

E. Know. Why, are you so sure of your hand, 
captain, at all times ? 

Bob. Tut ! never miss thrust, upon my repu- 
tation with j'ou. 

E. Know. I would not stand in Downright's 
state then, an you meet him, for the wealth of 
any one street in London. 

Bob. AVhy, sir, you mistake me : if he were 
here now, by this welkin, I would not draw my 
weapon on him. Let this gentleman do his 
mind : but I will bastinado him, by the bright 
sun, wherever I meet him. 

Mat. Faith, and I'll have a fling at him, at my 
distance. 

E. Know. Ods so, look where he is ! yonder 
he goes. [DowNraoHT crosses the stage. 

Doxon. What peevish luck have I, I cannot 
meet with these bragging rascals ? 

Bob. It is not he, is it ■' 

E. Know. Yes faith, it is ho. 

Mat. I'll be hanged then if that were he. 

E. Know. Sir, kee^j your hanging good for 
some greater matter, for I assure you that 
were he. 

Rtc]). Upon my reputation, it was he. 

Bob. Had I thought it had been he, he must 
not have gone so : but I can hardly be induced 
to believe it was he yet. 

E. Knoiv. That I think, sir. 

Re-enter Downright. 
But see, he is come again. 

Down. O, Pharaoh's foot, have I found you? 
Come, draw to your tools ; draw, gipsy, or I'll 
thrash you. 

Bob. Gentleman of valor, I do believe in thee ; 
hear me 

Down. Draw your weapon then. 

Bob. Tail man, I never thought on it till now 

. Body of me, I had a warrant of the peace 

terved on me, even now as I came along, by a 
<\-ater-bearer ; this gentleman saw it, Master 
Mathew. 

Down. 'Sdeath ! you wiU not draw then ? 

[Disarms and beats him. Mathew runs aicay. 

Bob. Hold, hold ! under thy favor forbear ! 

Down. Prate again, as you like this, you 
n-horeson foist you ! You'll control the point, 
you ! Y''our consort is gone ; had he staid he 
bad shared with you, sir. [Exit. 



Bob. Well, gentlemen, bear witness, I wa:5 
bound to the peace, by this good day. 

E. Knoic. No, faith, it's an ill day, captain. 
never reckon it other : but, say you wei'e bound 
to the peace, the lav/ allows you to defend your- 
self : that will prove but a poor excuse. 

Bob. I cannot tell, sir ; I desire good construc- 
tion in fair sort, I never sustained the like dis-. 
grace, by heaven ! sure I was struck with a planet 
thence, for I had no power to touch my weapon. 

E. Knoio. Ay, like enough ; I have heard of 
many that have been beaten under a planet : go, 
get you to a surgeon. 'Slid ! an these be your 
tricks, your passadoes, and your moiitantos, I'll 
none of them. [Exit Bobadill.] O, manners ! 
that this age should bring forth such creatures ! 
that nature should be at leisure to make them I 
Come, coz. 

Ste2}. Mass, I'll have this cloak. 

E. Know. 'Ods will, 'tis Downright's. 

Stej}. Nay, its mine now, another might have 
ta'en it up as well as I : I'll wear it, so I will. 

E. Know. IIoAV an he see it ? he'll challenge 
it, assure yourself. 

Step. Ay, but he shall not have it : I'll say I 
bought it. 

E. Know. Take heed you buy it not too dear, 
coz. [Exeunt 

SCENE VI. — A Room in Kitely' s /fo«se. 

Enter Kitely, Wellbred, Dame Kitely, ani 
Bridget. 

Kit. Now, trust me, brother, you were much 
to blame, 
T' incense his anger, and disturb the peace 
Of my poor house, where there are sentinels, 
That every minirte watch to give alarms 
Of civil war, without adjection 
Of your assistance or occasion. 

Wei. No harm done, brother, I warrant you : 
since there is no harm done, anger costs a man 
nothing ; and a tall man is never his own man 
till he be angry. To keep his valor in obscurity, 
is to keep himself as it were in a cloak-bag. 
What's a musician, unless he play ? What's a 
tall man, unless he fight ? For, indeed, all this 
my wise brother stands upon absolutely ; and 
that made me fall in with him so resolutely. 

Dame K. Ay, but what harm might have come 
of it, brother ? 

Well. Might, sister .'' so might the good wann 
clothes your husband wears be poisoned, for any 
thing he knows : or the wholesome wine ha 
drank, even now at the table. [bet 

Kit. Now, God forbid ! me ! now I rcmem- 
Jly wife drank to me last, and changed the cup, 
And bade me wea^- this cursed suit to-day. 
See, if Heaven suffer murder undiscovered ! 
I feel me ill ; give me some mithridate. 
Some mithridate and oil, good sister, fetch me ; 
O, I am sick at heart ! I burn, I burn. 
If you M-iU save my life, go fetch it me. 

iVd. O strange humor ! my very breath has 
poisoned him. 

Brill. Good brother, be content, what do you 

mean '; [jou 

The strength of .hese e.xtreme conceits will kill 



118 



EVERY MAX IN HIS HUMOR. 



Dame K. Deslircw your heart-blood, brother 
Wellbred, noAV, 
For putting such a toy into his head ! 

Wei. Is a fit simile a toy ? will he be poisoned 
with a simile ? Brother Kitcly, what a strange 
and idle imagination is this ! For shame, be 
■wiser. O' my soul there's no snch matter. 

Kit. Am I not sick ? how am I then not poi- 
soned ? 
Am I not poisoned .' how am I then so sick ? 

Dame K. If you be sick, your o-wni thouglits 
make you sick. 

Wcl. His jealousy is the poison he has taken. 

Enter Brainworm, disguised in Foemal's clothes. 

Brai. Master Kitely, my master, justice Clem- 
ent, salutes you ; and clesires to speak with 
you with all possible speed. 

Kit. No time but now, Avhen I think I am 
sick, very sick ! well, I will wait upon his wor- 
ship. Thomas ! Cob ! I must seek them out, 
and set them sentinels till I return. Thomas ! 
Cob ! Thomas ! [Exit. 

Wei. This is perfectly rare, Brainworm ; [jtakes 
him aside.] but how got'st thou this apparel of 
the justice's man ? 

Brai. Marry, sir, my proper fine penman 
M'ould needs bestow the grist on me, at the 
Windmill, to hear some martial discourse ; 
where I so marshalled him, that I made him 
drunk with admiration : and, because too much 
heat was the cause of his distemper, I stript 
him stark naked as he lay along asleep, and bor- 
rowed his suit to deliver this counterfeit mes- 
Bagc in, leaving a rusty armor, and an old brown 
bill to watch him till my return ; which shall be, 
when I have pawned his apparel, and spent the 
better part o' the money, perhaps. 

Wei. Well, thou art a sviccessful merry knave, 
Brainworm : his absence will be a good subject 
for more mirth. I pray thee return to thy young 
master, and will him to meet me and my sister 
Bridget at the Tower instantly ; for, here, tell 
him the house is so stored with jealousy, there 
is no room for love to stand upright in. We 
must get our fortimcs committed to some larger 
prison, say ; and than the Tower, I knov/ no 
better air, nor where the liberty of the house 
may do us more present service. Away. 

[Exit Bkai. 

Re-enter Kitely, talking aside to Cash. 
Kit. Come hither, Thomas. Now mj* secret's 

ripe, 
And thou shalt have it : lay to both thine ears. 
Hark what I say to thee. I must go forth, 

Thomas ; 
Be careful of thy promise, keep good watch. 
Note every gallant, and obscrvp him well, 
That enters in my absence to thy mistress : 
If she wo\ild shew him rooms, the jest is stale, 
Follow them, Thomas, or else hang on him, 
And let him not go after ; mark their looks ; 
Note if she offer but to see his band. 
Or any other amorous toy about him ; 
But praise his leg, or foot ; or if she say 
The day is hot, and bid him feel her hand, 
HoAV hot it is ; O, that's a monstrous thing ! 
Note me all this, good Thomas, mark their sighs, 



And if they do but Avhispor, break 'em off : 
I'll bear thee out in it. Wilt thou do this ? 
Wilt thou be true, my Thomas ? 

Cash. As truth's self, sir. 

Kit. Why, I believe thee : Where is Cob, 
now? Cob! [Exit. 

Dame K. He's ever calling for Cob : I wondef 
how he employs Cob so. 

Wei. Indeed, sister, to ask how he employs 
Cob, is a necessary question for you that are his 
wife, and a thing not very easy for you to be 
satisfied in ; but this I'll assure you, Cob's wife 
is an excellent bawd, sister, and oftentimes your 
husband haunts her house ; marry, to what end ■ 
I cannot altogether' accxxse him ; imagine yon 
Avhat yoii think convenient : but I have known 
fair hides have foul hearts ere now, sister. 

Dame K. Never said you truer than that, 
brother, so much I can tell you for your learn- 
ing. Thomas, fetch your cloak, and go with 
me. [Exit Cash.] I'll after him presently : 
I. would to fortune I could take him there, 
i'faith, I'd return him his O'vav, I warrant him ! 

[Exit. 

Wei. So, let 'em go ; this may make sport 
anon. Now, my fair sister-in-law, that you 
knew but how happy a thing it were to be fair 
and beautiful. 

Brid. That touches not me, brother. 

Wei. That's true ; that's even the faiilt of it ; 
for indeed, beauty stands a woman in no stead, 
unless it procure her touching. — But, sister, 
whether it touch you or no, it touches yoi^r 
beauties ; and I am sure they will abide the 
touch ; an they do not, a plague of all ceruse, 
say I ! and it touches me too in part, though not 

in the Well, there's a dear and respected 

friend of mine, sister, stands vcrj' strongly and 
Avorthily affected toward you, and hath vowed 
to inflame whole bonfires of zeal at his heart, 
in honor of your 'perfections. I have already 
engaged my promise to bring you where you 
shall hear him confirm much more. Ned 
Knowell is the man, sister : there's no excep- 
tion against the party. You are ripe for a hus- 
band ; and a minute's loss to such an occasion, 
is a great trespass in a wise beauty. What say 
you, sister ? On my soul he loves you ; will 
yoir gfve him the meeting .' 

Brid. Faith I had very little confidence in 
mine own constancy, brother, if I durst not 
meet a man : but this motion of yours savoi-s 
of an old knight adventurer's servant a littlo 
too much, methinks. 

Wei. What's that, sister ? 

Brid. !Marry, of the squire. 

Wei. No matter if it did, I would be such 
an one for my friend. But see, who is returned 
to hinder us ! 

Re-enter Kitely. 

Kit. AVhat villany is this ? called out on a 
false message ! 
This was some plot ; I was not sent for. — Bridget, 
Where is yotir sister ? 

Brid. I think she be gone forth, sir. 

Kit. How ! is my Avife gone forth ? wliither 

for God's sake ? 
Brid. She's gone abroad with Thomas. 



SCENE VIII. 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



lis 



Kit. Abroad -with Thomas ! oh, that villain 
He hath discovered all unto my wife, [dors me : 
Beast that I was, to trust him ! wliither, I pray 
Went she ? [you> 

Bricl. I know not, sir. 

Wei. I'll tell you, brother. 
Whither I suspect she's gone. 

Kit. "Whither, good brother ? [counsel. 

Wei. To Cob's house, I believe : but, keep ray 

Kit. I Avill, I will : to Cob's house ! doth she 
haunt Cob's ? 
She's gone a purpose now to cuckold me, . 
With that lewd rascal, who, to win her favor, 
Hath told her all. [Exit. 

Wei- Come," he is once more gone, 
Sister, let's lose no time ; the affair is worth it. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VII.— ^ Street. 

Enter Matheav and Bobadill. 

3tat. I wonder, captain, what they Avill say 
of my going away, ha ? 

Bob. Why, what should they say, but as of a 
discreet gentleman ; quick, wary, respectful of 
nature's fair lineaments ? and that's all. 

Mat. Why so ! but what can they say of your 
beating ? 

Bob. A rude part, a touch with soft wood, a 
kind of gross battery used, laid on strongly, 
borne most patiently ; and that's all. 

3Iat. Ay, but would any man have offered it 
in Venice, as you say ? 

Bob. Tut ! I assure j'ou, no : you shall have 
there your nobilis, your gcntilezza, come in 
bravely upon your reverse, stand you close, stand 
you firm, stand you fair, save your rctricato with 
his left leg, come to the assalto with the right, 
thrust with brave steei, defy your base wood ! 
But wherefore do I awake this remembrance ? 
I was fascinated, by Jupiter ; fascinated ; but I 
will be unwitchcd, and revenged by law. 

JMat. Do you hear ? is it not best to get a 
warrant, and have him arrested and brought 
before justice Clement ? 

Bob. It were not amiss ; Avould we had it ! 

Enter Brainwohm disguised as Formal. 

Mat. Why, here comes his man ; let's speak 
to him. 

Bob. Agreed, do you speak. 

Mat. Save you, sir ! 

Brai. W^ith all my heart, sir. 

Mat. Sir, there is one Downright hath abused 
this gentleman and myself, and ^^■e determine to 
make our amends by law : now, if you would do 
us the favor to procure a warrant, to bring him 
afore your master, you shall be w'cU considered, 
I assure you, sir. 

Brai. Sir, you know my service is my living ; 
such, favors as these gotten of my master is his 
only preferment, and therefore you must con- 
•lider me as I may make benefit of my place. 

3Iat- How is that, sir ? 

Brai. Eaith, sir, the thing is extraordlnarj-, 
and the gentleman may be of great account; 
yet, be he what he will, if you will lay me 
down a brace of angels in my hand you shall 
have it, otherwise not. 



Mat. How shall we do, captain ? he asks a 
brace of angels, you have no money ? 

Bob. Not a cross, by fortune. 

Mat. Nor I, as I am a gentleman, but two- 
pence left of my two shillings in the morning 
for Avine and radish : let's find him some pawn. 

Bob. Pawn ! we have none to the value of 
his demand. 

Mat. O, yes ; I'll pawn this jewel in my ear, 
and you may pawn your silk-stockings, and puU 
up your -boots, they will ne'er be mist : it must 
be done now. 

Bob. Well, an there be no remedy, I'll step 
aside and pull them off. ' [ Withdraics. 

Mat. Do you hear, sir? we have no store of 
money at this time, but you shall have good 
pawns ; look you, sir, this jewel, and that gen- 
tleman's silk-stockings ; because we would have 
it dispatched ere wc went to our chambers. 

Brai. I am content, sir ; I will get you the 
warrant presently. What's his name, say you ? 
Downright ? 

Mat. Ay, ay, George Downright. 

Brai. What manner of man is he ? 

Mat, A tall big mam, sir ; he goes in a cloak 
most commonly of silk-russet, laid about with 
russet lace. 

Brai. 'Tis very good, sir. 

Mat. Here, sir, here's my jewel. 

Bob. [returning.^ And here are my stockings. 

Brai. Well, gentlemen, I'll procure you thia 
warrant ijresently ; but who will you have ta 
serve it ? 

Mat. That's true, captain ; that must be con- 
sidered. 

Bob. Body o'mc, I know not ; 'tis service of 
danger. 

Brai. Wliy, you were best get one o'the var- 
lets of the city, a serjeant : I'll appoint you one, 
if you please. 

Mat. Will you, sir ? Avhy, we can wif..li no 
better. 

Bob. We'll leave it to you, sir. 

[Exeunt Bon and Mat. 

Brai. This is rare ! Now will I go pawn this 
cloak of the justice's man's at the broker's, for a 
varlet's siiit, and be the varlet myself; and get 
cither more pawns, or more money of Down- 
right, for the arrest. [Exit. 



SCENE VIII. — The Lane before Cob's House. 

.Enter Knowell. 

Know. Oh, here it is ; I am glad I have found 
Ho ! who is within here ? [it now . 

Tib. [within.] I am within, sir : what's your 
pleasure ? 

Know. To know who is within beside yours2lf. 

Tib. "WTiy, sir, you are no constable, I hope ! 

Knoio. O, fear you the constable ? then 1 
doubt not, 
You have some guests within deserve thu,t fear ; 
I'll fetch him straight. 

Enter TiB. 
Tib. O" God's name, sir ! 
Know. Go to: Come, teH me,, is not young 
Knowell here : 



120 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



Tib. Young KnowcU ! I know none such, sir, 
D'raine honesty. 
Knote. Your honesty, dame ! it flies too 
lightly from you. 
There is no way but fetch the constable. 

Tib. The constable ! the man is mad, I think. 
[Exit, and claps to the door. 

Enter Dame Kitely and Cash. 
Cash. Ho ! Avho keeps house here ? [son : 

Knoio. O, this is the female copesmatc of my 
Now shall I meet him straight. 
Datne K. Knock, Thomas, hard. 
Cash. Ho, goodwife ! 

Re-enter Tib. 

Tib. Why, what's the matter with you ? 

Dame K. Why, woman, grieves it you to ope 
your door ? 
Belike you get something to keep it shut. 

Tib. What mean those questions, pray ye ? 

Dame K. So strange you make it ! is not my 
husband here ? 

Knoio. Her husband ! 

Dame K. My tried husband, master Kitely ? 

Tib. I hope he needs not to be tried here. 

Dame K. No, dame, he does it not for need, 
but pleasure. 

Tib. Neither for need nor pleasure is he here. 

Knoio. This is but a device to baulk me withal: 

Enter Kitely, muffled in his cloak. 
Soft, who is this ? 'tis not my son disguised ? 

Dame K. [s^nes her husband, and runs to him,] 
0, sir, have I forestall'd your honest market, 
Foxind your close walki; r You stand amazed 

now, do you ? 
I'faith, I am glad I have smok'd you yet at last. 
What is your jewel, trow ? In, come, let's see 
her ; [fairer. 

Fetch forth your housewise, dame ; if she be 
In any honest judgment, than myself, 
I'll be content with it : but she is change. 
She feeds you fat, she soothes your appetite. 
And you are well ! Your wife, an honest woman, 
Is meat twice sod to you, sir ! O, you treachour ! 

Knoto. She cannot counterfeit thus palpably. 

Kit. Out on thy more than strumpet impu- 
dence ! [talven. 
Steal'st thou thus to thy haunts ? and have I 
Thy bawd and thee, and thy companion, 
This hoary-headed letcher, this old goat, 
Olose at your villany, and would' st thou 'scuse it 
With this stale harlot's jest, accusing me ? 
O, old incontinent, \to Knowell,] dost thou not 

shame. 
When all thy powers in chastity are spent. 
To have a mind so hot ? and to entice, 
.And feed the enticements of a lustful woman ? 

Dame K. Out, I defy thee, I, dissembling 
wretch ! [here. 

Kit. Defy me, strumpet ! Ask thy pander 
Can he deny it ; or that wicked elder ? 

Knoio. Why, hear you, sir. 

Kit. Tut, tut, tut ; never speak : 
Thy guilty conscience will discover thee, [man ? 

Know. What lunacy is this, that haunts this 

Kit. Well, good wife bawd. Cob's wife, and 

you. 



That make your husband such a hoddy-doddy j 
And j'ou, young apple-squire, and old cuckold- 

maker ; 
I'll have you every one before a justice : 
Nay, you shall answer it, I charge you go. 

Know. INIarr}'-, with all my heart, sir, 1 gc 
willingly ; 
Though I do taste this as a trick put on me. 
To punish my impertinent search, and justly, 
And half forgive my son for the devrce. 

Kit. Come, will you go ? 

Dame K. Go ! to thy shame believe it. 

Enter Cob. 

Cob. ^Miy, what's' the matter here, what's 
here to do ? [abused. 

Kit. O, Cob, art thou come ? I have been 
Aiid in thy house ; was never man so Avrong'd ! 

Cob. 'Slid, in my house, my master Kitely ! 
who wrongs you in my house ? [young here : 

Kit. Marry, young lust in old, and old in 
T\\y wife's their bawd, here have I taken them. 

Cob. How, bawd ! is my house come to that J 
Am I preferr'd thither ? Did I not charge you 
to keep your doors shut, Isbel ? and — you let 
them lie oi>en for all comers ! [Beats his wife. 

Know. Friend, know some cause, before thou 
beat'st thy wife. 
This is madness in thee. 

Cob. Why, is there no cause ? [Cob : 

Kit. Y'es, I'll shew cause before the justice; 
Come, let her go with me. 

Cob. Nay, she shall go. 

Tib. Nay, I Avill go. I'll see an you may bo 
allowed to make a l:)undle of hemp of yoiur right 
and lawful wife thus, at every cuckoldy knave's 
pleasirre. Why do you not go ? 

Kit. A bitter quean ! Come, we will have 
you tamed. [^Exetmt. 

SCENE IX. — A Street. 
Enter Brainwoem, disguised as a City Serjeant. 

Brai. Well, of all m)' disguises yet, now am 
I most Idee mj'self, being in this Serjeant's gown. 
A man of my present profession never coarxter- 
fcits, till he lays hold upon a debtor, and says, 
he rests him ; for then he brings him to all maii- 
ner of unrest. A kind of little kings we are» 
bearing the diminutive of a mace, made like a 
young artichoke, that always carries pepper and 
salt in itself Well, I know not what danger I 
undergo by this exploit ; pray Heaven I come 
well off ! 

Enter Matheav and Bobadill. 

Mat. See, I think, yonder is the varlet, by his 
gown. 

Bob. Let's go in quest of him. 

Mat. 'Save you, friend ! are not you here by 
appointment of justice Clement's man ? 

Brai. Yes, an't please you, sir ; he tjld me, 
two gentlemen had will'd him to procure a war- 
rant from his master, which I have about me, tc 
be served on one Downright. 

Mat. It is honestly done of you both ; and 
see where the party comes you must arrest; 
serve it upon him quickly, afore he be aware. 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



121 



Bob. Bear back, master Mathew. 

Enter Stepiiex m Downright's cloak. 

Bmi. Master Downright, I arrest you in the 
queen's name, and must carry you afore a jus- 
tice by virtue of this warrant. 

Ste2}. ^le, friend ! I am no Downright, I ; I 
am master Stephen : You do not well to arrest 
me, I tell you truly ; I am in nobody's bonds 
nor books, I would you should know it. A 
plague on you heartily, for making me thus 
afraid afore my time ! 

Brai. Why, now you are deceived, gentlemen. 

Bob. He wears such a cloak, and that deceived 
us : but see, here a'comes indeed ; this is he, 
officer. 

Enter Downkight. 

Doio. Why how now, signior gull ! are you 
turn'd filchcr of late ? Come, deliver my cloak. 

Step. Y''our cloak, sir ! I bought it even now, 
in open market. 

Brai. Master Downright, I have a wan-ant I 
must serve upon you, procured by these two 
gentlemen. 

Dow. These gentlemen ? these rascals ! 

[Offers to beat them. 

Brai. Keep the peace, I charge you in her 
majesty's name. 

Doio. I obey thee. What must I do, officer ? 

Brai. Go before master justice Clement, to 
answer that they can object against you, sir: I 
will u.ie you kindly, sir. 

Mai, Come, let's before, and make the justice, 
captai \. 

Bol. The varlet's a tall man, afore heaven ! 

[Exeunt Bois. and Mat. 

Dew. Gull, you'll give me my cloak. 

Step. Sir, I bought it, and I'll keep it. 

Ikao. Y''ou will ? 

S:ep. Ay, that I will. 

Doru. Officer, there's thy fee, arrest him. 

Brai. IMaster Stephen, I must arrest you. 

Step. Arrest me ! I- scorn it. There, take 
your cloak, I'll none on't. 

Dow. Nay, that shall not serve your turn now, 
■^ir. Officer, I'll go with thee to the justice's ; 
oring him along. 

Step. Why, is not here your cloak ? what 
would you have ? 

Doio, I'll have you answer it, sir. 

Brai. Sir, I'll take yoiu- word, and this gen- 
tleman's too, for his aiDpearance. 

Doio. I'll have no words taken : bring him 
along. 

Brai. Sir, I may choose to do that, I may take 
bail. 

Dow. 'Tis true, you may take bail, and choose 
at another time ; but you shall not now, varlet : 
bring him along, or I'll swinge you. 

Brai. Sir, I pity the gentleman's case : here's 
your money again. 

Dow. 'Sdeins, tell not me of my money ; 
bring him away, I say. 

Brai. I warrant you he will go with you of 
himself, sir. 

Dow. Yet more ado ? 

Brai. I have made a fair mash on't. [Aside. 

Step. Must I go ? 



Brai. I know no remedy, master Stephen. 

Doto. Come along afore me here ; I do no 
love your hanging look behind. 

Step. Why, sir, I hope you cannot hang me 
for it : can he, fellow ? 

Brai. I think not, sir ; it is but a whipping 
matter, sure. , 

Step. Why then let him do his worst, I am 
resolute. [Exeimt. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — CoLEMAN-STREET. A IlaU in 
Justice Clement's House. 

Enter Clement, Knowell, Kitelt, Dame 
KiTELY, Tib, Cash, Cob, atid Servants. 

Clem. Nay, but stay, stay, give me leave : my 
chair, sirrah. You, master Knowell, say you 
went thither to meet your son r 

Know. Ay, sir. 

Clem. But who directed you thither ? 

Know. That did mine own man, sir. 

Clem. Where is he ? 

Knoio. Nay, I know not now ; I left him with' 
your clerk, and appointed him to stay here for 
me. 

Clem. My clerk ! about what time was this ? 

Know. Marry, between one and two, as I 
take it. 

Clem. And what time came mj^ man with the 
false message to you, master Kitely ? 

Kit. After two, sir. 

Clem. Very good : but, mistress Kitely, how 
chance that you were at Cob's, ha ? 

Dame K. An't please you, sir, I'll tell you : 
my brother Wellbred told me, that Cob's house 
was a suspected place 

Clem. So it appears, methmks ; but on. 

Dame K. And that my husband used thither 
daily. 

Clem. No matter, so he used himself well, 
mistress. 

Dame K. True, sir : but you know what 
grows by such haunts oftentimes. 

Clem. I see rank fruits of a jealous brain, 
mistress Kitely : but did you find your husband 
there, in that case as you suspected ? 

Kit. I found her there, sir. 

Clem. Did you so ! that alters the case. Who 
gave you knowledge of your wife's being there ? 

Kit. Marry, that did my brother Wellbred. 

Clem. How, Wellbred first tell her ; then tell 
you after ! Where is Wellbred ? 

Kit. Gone with my sister, sir, I know not 
whither. 

Clem. Why, this is a mere trick, a device j 
you are gull'd in this most grossly all. Alas, 
poor wench ! wert thou beaten for this ? 

Tib. Yes, most pitifully, an't please you. 

Cob. And Avorthily, I hope, if it shall prove so, 

Clem. Ay, that's like, and a piece of a sen- 
tence. — 

Enter a Servant. 

How now, sir ! what's the matter ? 

Serv. Sir, there's a gentleman in the cour 
without, desires to speak with your worship. 

Clem. A gentleman ! what is he ? 



122 



EVEKY MAN IN HIS HLiMOR. 



Sei-v. A soldier, sir, lie says. 

(/lem. A soldier ! take down my armor, my 
Bword quickly. A soldier speak -with me ! Why, 
■\vlicn, knaves ? Come on, come on ; [Arms 
himself.] hold my cap there, so ; give me my 
gorget, mj' sword : stand by, I will end your 

matters anon. Let the soldier enter. 

[Exit Servant. 

Enter 'Boba.di'll, folbioed hj Matuew. 
Now, sir, what have you to say to me ? 

Boh. By your worship's favor 

Clem. Nay, keep out, sir ; I know not your 
pretence. You send me word, sir, j'ou are a 
soldier : why, sir, you shall be answer'd here : 
here be them have been amongst soldiers. Sir, 
your pleasure. 

Bob. Faith, sir, so it is, this gentleman and 
myself have been most uncivilly wrong'd and 
beaten by one Downright, a coarse fellow, about 
the town here ; and for mine own part, I pro- 
test, being a man in no sort given to this filthy 
humor of quarrelHng, he hath assaulted me in 
the way of my i^eace, despoiled me of mine 
honor, disarmed me of my weapons, and rudely 
laid me along in the open streets, when I not so 
much as once offered to resist him. 

Clem. O, God's precious ! is this the soldier ? 
Here, take my armor off quickly, 'twill make 
him swoon, I fear ; he is not fit to look on't, that 
■m]\ put up a blow. 

Mat. An't please your worship, he -vvas bound 
to the peace. 

Clem. Why, an he were, his hands were not 
oound, were they ? 

Re-enter Servant. 

Serv, There's one of the varlets of the city, sir, 
nas brought two gentlemen here ; one, upon your 
worship's warrant. 

Clem. My warrant ! 

Serv. Yes, su- 5 the officer saj's, procured by 
these two. 

Clem. Bid him come in. [Exit Servant.] Set 
by this i^icture. 

Enter Downright, Stephen, and Braixwokm, 

disguised as before. 
"Wliat, Master Downright ! are you broxight at 
?ilaster Freshwater's suit here ? 

Doio. I' faith, sir : and here's another brought 
at my suit. 

Clem. What are you, sir ? 

Step, A gentleman, su*. O, uncle ! 

Clem. Uncle ! Avho, Master Knowell ? 

KnoiD. Ay, sir ; this is a wise kinsman of mine. 

Step. God's my witness, uncle, I am wronged 
here monstrously ; he charges me with stealing 
of his cloak, and would I might never stir, if I 
did not find it in the street by chance. 

Dow. O, did you find it now ? Y'ou said you 
bought it ere-while. 

■ Step. And you said, I stole it : naj', now my 
uncle is here, I'll do well enough with you. 

Clem. Well, let this breathe awhile. You that 
have cause to complain tl?.crc, stand forth : Had 
you my warrant for this gc-atleman's apprehen- 
don ? 

Bob. Ay, an't please your worship. 



Clem. Nay, do not s]3eak in passion so : where 
had you it ? 

Bob. Of your clerk, sir. 

Clem. That's well ! an my clerk can make war- 
rants, and my hand not at them ! Where is the 
warrant — ofiicer, have you it ? 

Bred. No, sir ; your worship's man. Master 
Formal, bid me do it for these gentlemen, and 
he would be my discharge. 

Clem. Why, Master Downright, are you such 
a novice, to be served and never see "the W2ii- 
rant? 

DoiD. Sir, he did not serve it on me. 

Clem. No ! how then ? 

DoiD. Marrj-, sir, he came to me, and said he 
must serve it, and he would use me kindly, and 
so 

Clem. O, God's pity, was it so, sir ? He must 
serve it ! G ive me my long sword there, and help 
me off. So, come on, sir varlet, I must cut off 
your legs, sirrah ; [Beainworm kneels.'] nay, stand 
up, I'll use you kindly ; I must cut off your legs, 
I say. [Flourishes over Imn with his long sword. 

Bral. O, good sir, I beseech you ; nay, good 
master justice ! 

Clem. I must do it, there is no remedy ; 1 7nust 
cut off your legs, sirrah, I must cut off your ears, 
you rascal, I must do it ; I must cut off youi 
nose, I must cut off j'our head. 

Brai. O, good your worship ! 

Clem. Well, rise ; how dost thou do now ? dost 
thou feel thyself w^ell ? hast thou no harm ? 

Brai. No, I thank your good worship, sir. 

Clem. Why so ! I said I must cut off thy legs, 
and I must cut off thy arms, and I must cut off 
thy head ; but I did not do it : so you said you 
must serve this gentleman with my warrant, but 
you did not serve him. You knave, you slave, 
you rogue, do yoii say you must, sirrah ! away 
with hun to the jail ; I'll teach you a trick for 
your must, sir. 

Brai. Good sir, I beseech you, be good to mo 

Clem. Tell him he shall_to the jail; av/ay with 
him, I say. 

Brai, Nay, sir, if you will commit me, it shall 

be for committing more than this : I will not 

lose by my travail any grain of my fame, certain. 

[ Throics off his Serjeant's 0own. 

Clem. How. is this ? 

Know. My man Brainworm ! 

Stej). 0, yes, uncle ; Brainworm has been with 
my cousin Edward and I all this day. 

Clem. I told you all there was some device. 

B>-ai. Nay, excellent justice, since I have laid 
myself thus open to you, now stand strong for 
me ; both with your sword and your balance. 

Clem. Body 0' me, a merry knave ! give mo a 
bowl of sack : if he belong to you, Master 
Knowell, I bespeak your patience. 

Brai. That is it I have most need of; sir, il 
you'll 25ardon me only, I'll glory in all the rest 
of my exploits. 

Knoic. Sir, you know I love not to have my 
favors come hard from me. You have your par- 
don, though I suspect you shrewdly for being 
of counsel Avith my son against mo. 

Brai. Y'cs, faith, I have, sir, though you re 
tained me doubly this morning for yourself: first 
as Brainworm ; after, as Fitz-Sword. I was ycii: 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOE. 



123 



reformed soldiei, sii-. 'Twas I sent you to Cob's 
upon the orrancf, without end. 

Know. Is it possible ? or that thou shouldst dis- 
guise thy language so as I should not know thee ? 

Brai. O, sir, this has been the day of my meta- 
morphosis. It is not that shape alone that I have 
fun through to-day. I brought this gentleman, 
master Kitely, a message too, in the form of mas- 
ter Justice's man here, to draw him out o' the 
way, as well as your -s^-orship, while master 
Wellbred might make a conveyance of mistress 
Bridget to my young master. 

Kit. How ! my sister stolen away ? 

Know. My son is not married, I hope, 

Brai. Faith, sir, they are both as sure as love, 
a priest, and three thousand pound, which is her 
portion, can make them ; and by this time are 
ready to bespeak their wedding-supper at the 
Windmill, except some friend here prevent them, 
and invite them home. 

Clem. Marry, that will I ; I thank thee for put- 
ting me in mind on't. Sirrah, go you and fetch 
them hither upon my v/arrant. [Exit Servant.] 
Neither's friends have cause to be sorry, if I 
knoAv the young couple aright. Here, I drink 
to thee for thy good news. But I pray thee, 
what hast thou done with my man, Formal ? 

Bi-ai, Faith, sir, after some ceremony past, as 
making him drunk, first Avith story, and then 
with Vvine, (but all in kindness,) and stripping 
him to his shrit, I left him in that cool vein ; 
departed, sold your worship's warrant to these 
two, pawned his livery for that varlet's gown, 
to serve it in ; and thus have brought myself by 
my activity to your worship's consideration. 

Clem. And I will consider thee in another cup 
of sack. Hero's to thee, which having drunk off, 
this is my sentence : Pledge me. Thou hast done, 
or assisted to nothing, in my judgment, but de- 
Bcrves to be pardoned for the wit of the offence. 
If thy master, or any man here, be angry with 
thee, I shall suspect his ingine, while I know 
him, for't. How now, what noise is that ? 

Enter Servant. 
Serv. Sir, it is Roger is come home. 
Clem. Bring him in, bring him in. 

Enter Foiimal in a suit of armor. 
What ! drunk .' in arms against me ? j'our reason, 
your reason for this .' 

Foi'm. I bes.cech your v.'orship to pardon me ; 
I happened into ill company by chance, that cast 
'.ne into a sleep, and stript me of all my clothes. 

Clem. Well, tell him I am Justice Clement, 
and do pardon him : but what is this to your 
iii-mor ■* what may that signify ? 

Form, An't please you, sir, it hung iip in the 
room where I Avas strij^t ; and I borrow'd it of 
j.'io of the drawers to come home in, because I 
w uS loth to do penance through the street in my 
Eliirt. 

Clem. Well, stand by a while. 

Enter E. Knowell, Wellbued, and Bridget. 
Who be these ? 0, the young company ; Avel- 
come, v.'clcome ! Give you joy. Nay, Mistress 
Bridget, blush not ; you are not so fresh a bride, 
but the news of it is come hither afore you. 



Master bridegroozn, I have made your peace 
give me your hand : so will I for all the rest er« 
7'ou forsake my roof. 

E. Know. We are the more bound to your hu- 
manity, sir. 

Clem. Only these two have so little of man ii' 
them, they are no part of my care. 

Wei. Yes, sir, let me pray you for this gentle- 
man, he belongs to my sister the bride. 

Clem. In what place, sir ? 
. Wei. Of her delight, sir, below the stairs, and 
in public ; her jjoet, sir. 

Clem. A poet ! I will challenge him myself 
presently at extempore. 

Mount up th'j Fhlegon, Muse, and testify, 
How Saturn, sitting in an ebon cloud. 

Disrobed his x>odex, white as ivory, 

And through the loelkin thunder d all aloud. 

Wei. He is not for extempore, sir : he is all 
for the pocket muse ; please j'ou command a 
sight of it. 

Clem. Yes, yes, search him for a taste of his 
vein. [They search Mathew's poc/irfs. 

Wei. You must not deny the queen's justice, 
sir, under a writ of rebellion. 

Clem. What ! all this verse ? body o' me, he 
carries a whole realm, a commonwealth of paper 
in his hose : let us see some of his subjects. 

[Reads 
Unto the boundless ocean of thy face, 
Runs this poor river, charged with streams of eyes- 

How ! this is stolen. 

E. Know. A parody ! a parody ! with a kind of 
miraculous gift, to make it absurdcr than it was. 

Clem. Is all the rest of this batch ? bring me 
a torch ; lay it together, and give fire. Cleanse 
the air. [Sets the papers on jire.'\ Here was 
enough to have infected the whole city, if it had 
not been taken in time. See, see, how our poet's 
glory shines ! brighter and brighter ! still it in- 
creases ! O, now it is at the liighest ; and now it 
declines as fast. Y'^ou may see, sic transit gloria 
mundi ! 

Knoio. There's an emblem for you, son, and 
your studies. 

Clem. Nay, no speech or act of mine be drawn 
against such as profess it worthily. They are 
not born every year, as an alderman. There goes 
more to the making of a good poet, than a sheriff. 
^Master Kitely, you look upon me ! — though I 
live in the city here, amongst yovi, I will do more 
reverence to him, when I meet him, than I will 
to the mayor out of his year. But these paper- 
pedlars ! these ink-dabblers ! they cannot expect 
reprehension or reproach ; they have it with the 
fact. 

E. Kioic. Sir, you have saved me the labor of 
a defence. 

Clem. It shall be discourse for supper between 
your father and me, if he dare undertake me. 
IBut to dispatch away these, you sign o' the sol- 
dier, and picture of the poet, (but both so false, 
I will not have you hanged out at my door till 
midnight,) Avhile Ave are at supper, you tAvo shall 
penitently fast it out in my court without ; and, 
if you Avill, you may pray there that Ave may be 
so merry Avithin as to forgive or forget you Avhen 
Ave come out. Here's a third, because Ave tendei 



124 



EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR. 



j'our safety, shall Avatcli you, he is provided for 
the purpose. Look to your charge, sir. 

Step. And what shall I do ? 

Clem. ! I had lost a sheep an he had not 
bleated : why, sir, \o\x shall give master Down- 
right his cloak ; and I will entreat him to take 
it. A trencher and a napkin j'ou shall have in 
the buttery, and keep Cob and hisAvife company 
here ; whom I will intreat first to be reconciled ; 
and you to endeavor with your wit to keep 
them so. 

Step. I'll do my best. 

Cob. Why, now I sec thou art honest, Tib, I 
receive thee as my dear and mortal wife again. 

Tib. And I you, as my loving and obedient 
husband. 

Clem. Good compliment ! It will be their bridal 
night too. They are married anew. Come, I con- 
jure the rest to put off all discontent. You, 
master Downright, your anger ; you, master 
Knowell, your cares ; master Kitely and his 
■wife, their jealougy. 



For, I must tell you both, while that is fed. 
Horns in the mind are worse than on the head. 

Kit. Sir, thus they go from me ; kiss me, 
sweetheart. 

See ichat a drove of horns fly in the air, 
Winr/'d toith mrj cleansed and my credulous breath! 
Watch 'em suspicious eyes, loalch tohere they fall. 
See, see! 07i heads that think they have none at all ! 
O, what a iilenteous loorld of this loill come ! 
When air rains horns, all may be sure of some. 
I have learned so much verse out of a jealous 
man's part in a play. 

Clem. 'Tis well, 'tis well ! This night we'll 
dedicate to friendship, love, and laughter. Mas- 
ter bridegroom, take your bride and lead ; every 
one a fellow. Here is my mistress, Brainworm ! 
to whom all my addresses of courtship shall have 
their reference : whose adventures this day, 
when our grandchildren shall hear to be made a 
fable, I doubt not but it shall find both epccta- 
tors and applaiise. ''JZxbxmU 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 

TO TUE NOBLEST NURSERIES OF HUMANITY AND LIBERTY IN THE KINGDOM, 

THE INNS OF COURT. 

] UNDERSTAND you, GentleiTien, not your houses : and a worthy succession of you, to all time, as being born ths 
udges of these studies. When I wrote this poem, I had friendship with divers in your societies ; who, as they were 
gieat names in learning, so tliey were no less examples of living. Of them, and then, that I say no more, it was not de- 
Bpisod. Now that tlie printer, by a doubled cliarge, thinks it wortliy a longer life than commonly the air of such tilings 
doth promise, I am careful to put it a servant to their pleasures, who are the inheritors of the first favor born it. Yet, I 
command it lie not in the way of your more noble and useful studies to the public : for so I shall sulfer for it. But when 
the gown and cap is otf, and the lord of liberty reigns, then, to take it in your hands, perhaps may make some bencher, 
tincted with humanity, read and not repent liim. By your true honorer, Ben Jonson. 

DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



/ISPER, the Presenter. 

Macilente. 

PUNTARVOLO, — his Lady. — Waiting Oent. — Huntsma 

— Scrvingmen. — Dog and Cat. 
Carlo Buffone. 

Fastidious Brisk, — Cinedo, his Page. 
Deliro, FaLLACE, — Fido, their Servant. — Musicians. 
Savioli?(a. 



SORDIDO. — His Hind. 

FUNGOSO. — Tailor, Haberdasher, Shoemaker 

SOGLIARDO. 

Shift. — Rustics. 

Notary. 

CLOVE, Orange. — j1 Groom. — Drawers 

and Officers. 
Grex. — Cordatus. — Mitia. 



CunslahlCt 



THE CHARACTER OF THE PERSONS. 



.■\SPER, lie is of an ingenious and free spirit, eager and 
constant in reproof, without fear controlling the world's 
abuses. One whom no servile hope of gain, or frosty ap- 
prehension of danger, can make to be a parasite, either to 
time, place, or opinion. 

hiACiLENTE, A man well parted, a sufficient scholar, and 
travelled ; who, wanting that place in the world's account 
which he thinks his merit capable of, falls into such an 
envious apoplexy, with which his judgment is so dazzled 
and distasted, that he grows violently impatient of any 
opposite happiness in another. 

PuNTARVOLO, A vain-glorious knight, over-cnglishing 
his travels, and wholly consecrated to singularity ; tlie 
very Jacob's staff of compliment; a sir that liath lived to 
see the revolution of time in most of his apparel. Of pres- 
ence good enough, but so palpably affected to his own 
praise, that for want of flatterers he commends himself, 
to the floutage of his own family. He deals upon returns, 
and strange performances, resolving, in despite of pulilic 
derision, to stick to his own particular fashion, phrase, 
and gesture. 

Carlo Buffone, A public, scurrilous, and profane jester, 
tliat more swift than Circe, with absurd similes, will 
transform any person into deformity. A good feast-hound 
or banquet-beagle, that will scent you out a supper some 
three miles off, and swear to his patrons, damn him ! he 
came in oars, when he was but wafted over in a sculler. 
A slave that hath an extraordinary gift in pleasing his 
palate, and will swill up more sack at a sitting than 
would make all the guard a posset. His religion is rail- 
ing, and his discourse ribaldry. They stand highest in 
his respect, whom he studies most to reproach. 

Fastidious Brisk, A neat, spruce, afiecting courtier, one 
that wears clothes well, and in fashion; practiseth by his 
glass how to salute ; speaks good remnants, notwithstand- 
ing the base viol and tobacco ; swears tersely, and with 
variety ; cares not what lady's favor he belies, or great 
man's familiarity : a good property to perfume the boot of 
a coach. He will borrow another man's horse to praise, 
and backs him as his own. Or, fur a need, on foot can 
post himself into credit with his merchant, only with the 
gingle of his spur, tind the jerk of his wand. 

Deliro, a good doting citizen, who, it is thought, might 
be of the common council for his wealth ; a fellow sin- 
cerely besotted on his own wife, and so wrapt with a con- 
ceit of her perfections, that he simply holds himself un- 
worthy of her. And, in that hood-vvink'd humor, lives 
more like a suitor than a husband ; standing in as true 
dread of her displeasure, as when ho first made love to 



her. Ho doth sacrifice two-pence in juniper to her every 
morning before she rises, and wakes her with villanous- 
oul-of-tune music, which she out of her contempt (though 
not out of her judgment) is sure to dislike. 

Fallace, Deliro's wife, and idol ; a proud mincing peat, 
and as perverse as he is officious. She dotes as perfectly 
u|)on the courtier, as her husband doth on her, and only 
wants the face to be dishonest. 

SaviolIiVA, a court lady, whose weightiest praise is a 
light wit, admired by herself, and one more, her servant 
Brisk. 

SORDIDO, A wretched hob-nailed chuff, whose recreation 
is reading of almanacks ; and felicity, foul weather. One 
that never pray'd but for a lean dearth, and ever wept in 
a fat harvest. 

Fungoso, The son of Sordido, and a student; one that has 
revelled in his time, and follows the fashion afar off, like 
a spy. He makes it the whole bent of his endeavors to 
wring sufficient means from his wretched father, to put 
him in the courtiers' cut ; at which he earnestly aims, but 
so unluckily, that he still lights short a suit. 

SOGLIARDO, An essential clown, brother to Sordido, yet 
so enamoured of the name of a gentleman, that he will 
iiavo it, though he buys it. He comes up every term to 
learn to take tobacco, and see new motions. He is in his 
kingdom v/hen he can get himself into company where ho 
may be well laughed at. 

Shift, A thread-bare shark ; one that never was a soldier, 
yet lives upon lendings. His profession is skeldring and 
odling, his bank Paul's, and his warehouse Picthatch. 
Takes up single testons upon oaths, till doomsday. Falls 
under executions of three shillings, and enters into five- 
groat bonds. He waylays the reports of services, and 
cons them without book, damning himself lie came new 
from them, when all the while ho was taking the diet in 
the bawdy-house, or lay pawned in liis chamber for rent 
and victuals. He is of that admirable and happy memo- 
ry, that he will salute one for an old acquaintance ttiat he 
never saw in his life before. Ho usurps upon cheats, 
quarrels, and robberies, which he never did, only to get 
him a name. His chief exercises are, taking the whiff, 
squiring a cockatrice, and making privy searches for im- 
part ers. 

Clove and Orange, An inseparable case of coxcombs, 
city born ; the Gemini, or twins of foppery; that like a 
pair of wooden foils, are fit for nothing but to be practised 
upon. Being well flattered they'll lend money, and re ' 
pent when they have done. Their glory is to invite play- 
ers, and make suppers. And in company of better ranJ", 

125 



126 



EVERY JIAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



to avoid tlie suspect of insufficiency, will inforce' their ig- 
norance most desperately, to set upon the uuderstandin;; 
of any thing. Orange is the most humorous of the two, 
(whose small portion of juice being squeezed out,) Clove 
serves to stick him with commendations. 



CORDATUS, Tlie author's friend ; a man inly acquainted 
with tiio scope and drift of his plot ; of a discreet and un 
derstanding judgment; and has the place of a moderator 

MiTis, Is a person of no action, and therefore we have lea 
son to afford him no character. 



THE STAGE. 



After the second sounding. 
Enter Cordatus, Asper, and Mixis. 

Cor. Naij, my dear Asper. 

Mit. Stay your mind. 

Asp. Atcay! 
Who is so patient of this impious world, 
That Jie can check his spirit, or reign his tongue ? 
Or who has such a dead imfeeling sense, 
That heaven's horrid thunders camiot loake f 
To see the earth crack'd loith tlie loeight of sin. 
Hell gaping under us, and o'er our heads 
Black, ravenous ruin, loith her sail-stretch' cl icings. 
Ready to sink tts down, and cover vs. 
Who can behold such prodigies as these. 
And have his lips seal'd up ? Not I ; my soul 
Was never ground into such oily colors. 
To fatter vice, and daub iniqtdty : 
Bat, icith an armed and resolved hand, 
ril strip the ragged follies of the time 
Naked as at their birth — 

Cor. Be not too bold. 

Asp. You trouble me — and with a whip of steel, 
Print wounding lashes in their iro?i ribs. 
I fear no mood siamp'd in a p)rivato brow. 
When I am pleased t' unmask a public vice. 
I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab, 
Should I detect their hateful luxuries : 
No broker's, usxirer's, or laivyer's gripie, 
Were I disposed to say, they are all corrupt. 
■I fear no courtier's froivn, should I a2:iplaud 
The easy flexure of his supple hams. 
Tut, these are so innate and 2}opular, 
That drunken custom would not shatne to laugh, 
j.ti scorn, at him, that should but dare to tax 'cm : 
And yet, not one of these, but knows his works. 
Knows lohai damnation is, the devil, and hell ; 
Yet hourly they piei'sist, grow rank in sin. 
Puffing their souls aicay i}i ^jerjurous air. 
To cherish their extortion, jiricle, or lusts. 

Mit. Forbear, good Asper ; be not like your name. 

Asp. O, but to such whose faces are all zeal, 
And, with the words of Hercules, invade 
Such crimes as these ! that will not smell of sin. 
Bid seem as they loere made of sanctity ! 
Religion in their garments, and their hair 
Cut shorter than their eye-broics ! lohen the conscieiice 
Is vaster than the ocean, and devours 
More loretches than tlie counters. 

Mit. Gentle Asper, 
Contain your spirits in more stricter bounda, 
And be not thus transported with the violence 
Of your strong thoughts. 

Cor. Unless your breath had power 
To melt the world, and mould if neio again. 
It is in vain to spend if in these moods. 

Asp. [tiu-uing to the stage.] I not observed this 
thronged rou7id till now ! 
Gracious and kind siiectators, you are welcome; 
Apollo and the Muses feast your eyes 
With graceful objects, and may our Minerva 



Answer your holies, unto their largest strain 

Yet here mistake me not, judicious friends ; 

I do not this, to beg your piatience, 

Or servilely to fawn on your a2}2}lause. 

Like some dry brain, despairing in his merit. 

Let me be censured by the ausferest brow, 

IVIiere I icant art or judgment, tax me freely. 

Let envious censors, loifh their broadest eyes, 

Look through and through me, 1 2nirsue no favor , 

Only vouchsafe me your attentions. 

And I will give you music tvorth your ears, 

O, how I hate the monstrousness of time, 

MTiere every servile imitating spirit. 

Plagued loith an itching lc2')rosy of wit, 

hi a mere halting fury, strives to fling 

His tilcerous body in the Thespian S2)ring, 

And straight Icapis forth a 2ioef! but as lame 

As Vulcan, or the founder of Cri2)plegate. 

Mit. In faith this humor will come ill to some. 
You will be thought to be too 2^eremptoi-y. [Mifis 

Asp. This humor? good! and why this humor, 
Nay, do not turn, but answer. 

!Mit. Answer, what ? 

Asp. I will not stir your patience, pardon me, 
I urged it for some reasons, and the rather 
To give these ignorant well-sjmken days 
Some taste of their abuse of this icord humor. 

Cor. O, do not let your 2iurpose fall, good Asper; 
It cannot but arrive most acce2}fable, 
Chiefly to such as have the happiness 
Daily to sec how the 2'>oor innocent icord 
Is rack'd and tortur'd. 

Mit. Ay, 1 2yray you pirocced. 

Asx). Ha, what? what is' t? 

Cor. For the abuse of humor. 

Asp. O, I crave pardon, I had lost my thoughts. 
Why, humor, as 'tis eus, ice thus define it. 
To be a quality of air, or water. 
And in itself holds these two pro2Krties, 
Moisture and fluxurp : as, for demonstration. 
Pour icater on this floor, 'twill wet and run: 
Likcicise the air, forced through a horn or trumpetf 
Flows instantly away, and leaves behind 
A kind of dew ; and hence we do conclude. 
That lohatsoe'er hath fluxure and humidity. 
As xvanting power to contain itself. 
Is humor. So in every human body. 
The choler, melancholy, 2Mcgm, arA blood. 
By reason that they flow continually 
In some one 2Mrt, and are not continent, 
Receive the name of humors. Noio thus far 
It may, by metaphor, a2}ply itself 
Unto the general disposition : 
As ioJien some one pecidiar qualify 
Doth so 2}ossess a man, that if doth draxo 
All his affects, his spirits, and his 2}owers, 
In their confluctions, all to run one way, 
This may be truly said to be a hmnor. 
But that a rook, by wearing a pijed feather. 
The cable hat-band, or the three-piled ruff, 
4 yard of shoe-tye, or the Sicitzer's knot 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



127 



On his French garths, s/iould affect' a humor ! 
O, it is more than most ridiculous. 

Cor. He speaks pure truth ; noiv if aii idiot 
Have hut an apish or fantastic strain, 
It is his humor. 

Asp. Well, I loill scourge those a^xs, 
And to these courteous eyes opjjose a mirror, 
As large as is the stage whereon we act ; 
Wliere they shall see the time's deformity 
Anatomized in every nerve, and sineio, 
' With constant courage, and contempt of fear. 

]\Iit. Asper, (I urge it as yotir friend,) take lieed, 
The days are dangerous, full of exception. 
And men are groion impatient of reproof. 

Asp. Ua, ha! 
You might as tcell have told me, yond' is heaven. 
This earth, these men, and all had moved alike. — 
Do not I knoio the time's cotidition ? 
Yes, Mitis, and their soid-s ; and who they he 
That cither will or can except against me. 
None hut a sort of fools, so sic7c in taste. 
That they contemn all physic of the mind, 
And, like gall'd camels, kick at every touch. 
Good men, and virtuous spirits, that loath their vices, 
Will cherish my free labors, love my lines. 
And with the fervor of their shining grace 
Make my hrain fruitful, to bring forth more objects, 
Worthy their serious and inteniivo eyes. 
But why enforce I this ? as fainting? no. 
If any here chance to behold himself, 
Let him not dare to challenge me of wrong ; 
For, if he shame to have his follies known. 
First he should shatne to act 'em : my strict hand 
Was made to seize on vice, and icifh a gripe 
Squeeze out the humor of such spongy souls, 
As lick up every idle vanity. 

Cor. Why, this is right furor 2)oeticus ! 
Kind gentUmen, toe hope your i^atiencs 
Will yet conceive the best, or entertain 
This siqyposition, that a madman speaks. 

Asp. What, are you ready there f Mitis, sit down, 
And my Cordatus. Sound ho ! and begin. 
I leave you two, as censors, to sit here : 
Observe what I present, and liberally 
Spiealc your opinions upon every scene. 
As it shall 2)ass the vieio of these sp)cctators. 
Nay, now y'are tedious, sirs ; for shame begin. 
And, Mitis, note me ; if in all this front 
You can espy a gallant of this mark, 
WJio, to be thought one of the judicious. 
Sits with his arms thus tvreath'd, his hat ptuU'd here, 
Cries meio, and nods, then shakes his empty head. 
Will shew more several motions in his face 
Than the neiv London, Rome, or Niniveh, 
And, now and then, breaks a dry biscuit jest, 
WJiich, that it may more easily be chew'd. 
He steeps in his own laughter. 

Cor. Why, icill that 
Make it be sooner swallow' d^ 

Asp. O, assure you. 
Or if it did not, yet, as Horace sings. 
Mean cates are icelcome still to hungry guests. 
Cor. 'Tis true ; but zchy should we observe them, 
Asper ? [blies 

Asp. O, I icould kmio 'em ; for in such assem- 
Tliey are more infectious than the pestilence : 
And therefore I looidd give them pills to purge. 
And make them fit for fair societies. 
How yiwnstrous and detested is't to see 



Afelkno, that has neither art nor brain, 

Sit like an Aristarchus, or stark ass. 

Taking men's lines icith a tobacco face. 

In snuff, still spitting, using his tcry'd looks, 

In nature of a vice, to wrest and turn 

The good aspect of those that shall sit near Mm,-, 

From what they do behold ! O, 'tis most vile. 

Mit. Nay, Asjxr. 

Asp. Peace, Mitis, I do knoio your thought ; 
You'll say, your guests here will except at this : 
Pish ! you are too timorous, and full of doubt. 
Then he, a ^Mticnt, shall reject all physic, 
' Cause the physician tells him, you are sic\ , 
Or, if I say, that he is vicious, 
You zoill not hear of virtue. Come, you are fond. 
Shall I be so extravagant, to think, 
Th^t happii judgments, and composed spirits. 
Will challenge me for taxing such as tJiese? 
I am ashamed. 

Cor. Nay, but good, pardon us ; 
We must not bear this peremptory sail. 
But ttse our best endeavors how to please, {thoughts. 

Asp. TT7i!/, therein I commend your careful 
And I xoill mix with you in industry 
To pdease : but whom ? attentive auditors, 
Such as willjoi/i their profit with their plea^ure^ 
And come to feud their understanding parts 
For these Til prodigally spend myself, 
A)id S2xak away my spirit into air ; 
For these. Til melt my brain into invention, 
Coin neio conceits, and Jiang my richest zoords 
As 2}olish' d jewels in their bounteous ears? 
But stay, I lose myself, and wrong their 2}atience ; 
//' I dwell here, they'll not begin, I see. 
Friends, sit you still, and entertain this troop 
With some familiar and by-conference, 
I'll haste them sound. Ncic, gentlemen, I go 
To turn an actor, and a humorist, 
^Mierc, ere I do resume my 2^rcsent person, ' 

We ho2)e to make the circles of your eyes 
Flow xcith distilled laughter : if tee fail. 
We must inqnde it to this only chance. 
Ah hath an enemy call'd ignorance. [Exit. 

Cor. Hoxo do you like his^sjnrit, Mitis? 

Mit. / should like it much better, if he tcere leas 
confident. 

Cor. TI7i.y, do you stiS2Kct his merit ? 

!Mit. No ; but I fear this will pirocure him much 
envy. 

Cor. O, that sets the stronger seal on his desert . 
if he had no enemies, I shoidd esteem his forttmes 
tnost tbretched at this instant. 

Mit. You have seen his 2^^('l/> Cordatus : pray 
you, how is it ? 

Cor. Faith, sir, I must refrain to judge ; otily 
this I can say of it, 'tis strange, and of a particidar 
kind by itself, sotncwhat like Vetus Comojclia ; a 
toork that hath bounteously 2)leased me ; how it tcili 
answer the general ex2Kctation, I knoio tiot. 

Mit. Does he observe all the laws of comedy in it ? 

Cor. mat laws mean you ? 

ISIit. Why, the equal division of it into acts and 
scenes, according to the Tcrentian manner ; his true 
number of actors ; the furnishing of the scene with 
Grex or Chorus, and that the tolioh argument fall 
toithin com2Kiss of a day's business. 

Cor. O no, these are too nice observation's. 

Mit. T/iey are such as must he received, by t,vj? 
favor, or it cannot be authentic. 



128 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Cor. Troth, I can discern tio such necessity. 

Hit. No! 

Cor. Xo, I assure you, signior. If those laios 
you speak of had been delivered us ab initio, and in 
their 2^1'esent virtue and iwrfection, there had been 
some reason of obeying their xioioers ; but 'tis extant, 
that that lohich ice call Comcedia, was at first noth- 
ing but a simple and continued song, sung by one 
only p>orson, till Susario invented a second ; after 
him, Epicharmus a third ; Flwrmus and Chionides 
devised to have four actors, with a 2»'ologue and 
ckortis ; to which Cratinus, long after, added a fifth 
znd sixth : Eupolis, 7nore ; Aristophanes, more than 
'.hey ; every man in the dignity of his spirit and 
judgment supplied something. And, though that in 
him this kind of poem appeared absolute, and fully 
perfected, yet hoio is the face of it changed since, in 
Menander, Philemon, Cecilius, Plmitus, and the 
rest ! who have iitterly excluded the chorus, altered 
the iJroperty of the persons, their names, and na- 
tures, and augmented it lolth all liberty, according 
to the elegancy and dispiosition of those ti?nes where- 
in they wrote. I see iiot then, but we should enjoy 
the same license, or free ^jower to illustrate and 
heighten our invention, as they did; and not be tied 
to those strict and regidar forms ichich the niceness 
of a few, who are nothing but form, tcould thrust 
up)on us. 

Mit. Well, ice will not dispute of this now ; but 
what's his scene ? 

Cor. Marry, Insula Fortiinata, sir. 

Mit. O, the Fortunate Island : mass, he has 
Mimd himself to a strict laio there. 

Cor; IVJiyso? 

Mit. He cannot lightly alter the scene, loitlwut 
crossing the seas. 

'or. He needs not, having a whole island to run 
through, I think. 

Mit. No ! hoio comes it then, that in some one 
play ice see so many seas, countries, and kingdoms, 
passed over with such admirable dexterity ? 

Cor. O, that but sheics hoio well the authors can 
travel in their vocation, and outrun the ajoprehension 
of their auditory. But, leaving this, I tcould they 
icoidd begin once : this protraction is able to sour the 
best settled patience in the theatre. 

[The third soimding. 

Mit. They have answered your tvish, sir ; they 
sound. 

Cor. O, here comes the Prologue. 

Enter Prologue. 
Note, sir, if you had staid a little longer, I meant to 
have spoke your prologue for you, i' faith. 

Prol. Marry, icith all tny heart, sir, you shall do 
it yet, and I thank you. [Going. 

Cor. Nay, nay, stay, stay ; hoar you ? 

Prol. You could not have studied to have done me 
a greater benefit at the instant ; for I p)rotcst to you 
I am imperfect, and, had I spoke it, I must of ne- 
cessity have been out. 

Cor. Wliy, but do you S2)eak this seriously ? 

Prol. Seriously ! ay, wit's my help, do I ; and 
esteem myself indebted to your kindness for it. 

Cor. For ichat ? 

Prol. Why, for undertaking the prologue for me. 

Cor. How ! did I undertake it for you ? 

Prol. Did you ! I appeal to all these gentlemen, 
lohether you did or no. Cotne, come, it 2ileases you 



to east a strange look on't now ; but 'twill nol 
serve. 

Cor. 'Fore me, but it must serve ; and therefcrs 
S2Kak your 2'>rologue. 

Prol. And I do, let me die poisoned with some 
venomous hiss, and never live to look as high as the 
two-2)enny room again. [Exit. 

!Mit. He has put you to it, sir. 

Cor. 'Sdeath, what a humorous felloio is this! 
Gentlemen, good faith I can S2)ea'k no prologue, 
howsoever his weak wit has had the fortune to make 
this strong use of me here before you : but I 2^^o- 
test 

Enter Carlo Buffone, followed by a Boy with 
wine. 

Car. Come, come, leave these fustian 2}rotestations ; 
away, come, I cannot abide these grey-headed cere- 
monies. Boy, fetch me a glass quickly, I may bid 
these gentlemen welcome; give them a health here. 
[Exit Boy.] / mar'le whose loit it was to 2}ut a 
2n-ologue in yoncV sackbui's mouth ; they might iccll 
think he'd be out of tune, and yet you'd play iqion 
him too. 

Cor. Hang him, dull block ! 

Car. O good words, good words ; a well-timber a 
fellow, he would have made a good column, an ho 
had been tlwught on, lohen the house was a build- 
ing 

Re-enter Boy with glasses. 
O, art tJiou come ? Well said ; give me, boy ; fill, 
so ! Here's a cup) of wine S2Mrkles like a diamond. 
Gentlewomen (I am sworn to put them in first) and 
gentlemen, around, in 23lace of a bad 2}>'ologue, I 
drink this good draught to your health here, Canary, 
the very elixir and S2nrit of wine. [Drinks.] This 
is that our j^oet calls Casfalian liquor, when he comes 
abroad now and then, once in a fortnight, and makes 
a good meal among 2)luycrs, where he has caninum 
appetitum ; marry, at home he keep>s a good x)hilo- 
so2}hical diet, beans and buttermilk ; an honest 2nire 
rogue, he will take you ojf three, four, five of tJiese, 
one after aiwther, and look villaiiwusly ichen he has 
done, like a one-headed Cerberus. — He does not hear 
me, Iho2')e — And then, when his belly is well ballaccd, 
and his brain rigged a little, he sails away withal, 
as though he loould work loonders lohen he comes 
home. He has made a piio,]! here, and he calls it, 
Every Man out of his Humor : but an he get me 
out of the humor he has x)ut me in, I'll trust none 
of his tribe again while I live. Gentles, all I can 
say for him is, you are welcome. I coidd wish my 
bottle hero amongst you ; but there's an old rule. No 
pledging your own health. Marry, if any here 
be thirsty for it, their best way (that I know) is, sit 
still, seal U2) their lips, and drink so much of the 
play in at their ears. [Exit. 

Mit. What may this fellow be, Cordatus ? 

Cor. Faith, if tlie time will suffer his descri2}tion, 
ril give it you. He is one, the aidhor calls hi7n 
Carlo Buffone, an itn2mdent common jester, a vio- 
lent railer, and an incom2:>rehensible epicure ; one 
wliose eom2Mny is desired of all men, but beloved of 
iimie ; he will sooner lose his soul than a jest, 
and 2n'ofane even the most holy things, to excite 
laughter : no honorcMc or reverend p^crsonage what- 
soever can come within the reach of his eye, but ii 
turned into all maimer of variety, by his adulferatk 
similes. 



I 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS IIU^JOH. 



12'j 



Mit. You paint forth a monster. 

Cor. He icill prefer all counirles before his native, 
and thinks he can never siiffieiently, or with admi- 
ration cnovgh, deliver his affectionate conceit of 
foreign atheistical policies. But stay 

Euter Macilente. 

Observe these : he'll appear himself anon. 

Mit. O, this is your envious man, Macilente, I 
think. 

Cor. The same, sir. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — The Coimtry. 

Enter Macilexte, icith a Book. 
Mac. Viri est, fortunce cacitatem facilh ferre. 
'Tis true ; but, Stoic, where, in the vast world, 
Doth that man breathe, that can so much com- 
mand 
His blood and his affection ? Well, I see 
I strive in vain to cure my wounded soul ; 
For every cordial that my thoughts apply 
Turns to a corsive and doth cat it farther. 
There is no taste in this philosophy ; 
'Tis like a potion that a man should drink. 
But turns his stomach with the sight of it. 
I am no such pill'd Cj'nick to believe, 
That beggary is the only hajjpiness ; 
Or with a number of these patient fools, 
To sing : M\j mind to me a kingdom is, 
When the lank hungry belly barks for food, 
I look into the world, and there I meet 
With objects, that do strilce my blood-shot eyes 
Into my brain : where, when I view myself, 
Having before observ'd this man is great, 
Mighty and fear'd ; that lov'd and highly favor'd : 
A third thought wise and learu'd ; a fourth rich. 
And therefore honor'd ; a fifth rarely featur'd ; 
A sixth admired for his nuptial fortunes : 
When I see these, I saj\ and view myself, 
I wish the organs of my sight were crack'd ; 
And that the engine of my grief could east 
IMino eyeballs, like two globes of wildfire, forth. 
To melt this unproportion'd frame of nature. 
Oh, they are thoughts that have transfix'd my 

heart. 
And often, in the strength of apprehension, 
Made my cold j^assion stand irpon my face, 
Like drops of dew on a stiff cake of ice. 

Cor. This alludes loell to that of the poet, 

Invidus sus2}irat, yeniit, incutitque denies, 
Sudat frigidus, intuens quod odit. 

Mit. O, peace, you break the scene. 

Enter SoGLiAEDO and Carlo Buffone. 
Mac. Soft, Avho be these ? 
I'll lay me down awhile till they be past. 

[Lies doivn. 
Cor. Signior, note this gallant, I pray you. 
Mit. What is he? 
Cor. A tame rook, you'll take him preseiitly ; list. 

Sog. Nay, look you. Carlo ; this is my humor 
now ! I have land and money, my friends left 
me well, and I will be a gentleman whatsoever 
it cost me. 



Car. A most gentlemanlike resolution. 

Sog. Tut ! an I take an humor of a thing once, 
I am like your tailor's needle, I go through : 
but, for my name, signior, hoA^" think you ? will 
it not serve for a gentleman's name, when the 
signior is put to it, ha ? 

Car. Let me hear ; how is it ? 

Sog, Signior Insuiso Sogliardo : methinks it 
sounds well. 

Car. O excellent ! tut ! an all fitted to your 
name, you might very well stand for a gentle- 
man : I know many Sogliardos gentlemen. 

Sog. A\liy, and for my wealth I might be a 
justice of peace. 

Car, Ay, and a constable for your wit. 

Sog. AU this is my lordship you see here, and 
those farms you came by. 

Car. Good steps to gentility too, marry : but, 
Sogliardo, if you aft'ect to be a gentleman in- 
deed, you must observe all the rare qualities, 
humors, and compliments of a gentleman. 

Sog. I know it, signior, and if you please to 
instruct, I am not too good to learn, I'll assure 
you. 

Car. Enough, sir. — I'll make admirable use 
in the iJrojection of my medicine upon this 
lump of copper here. [ylstVfc.j — I'll bethink me 
for you, sir. 

Sog. Signior, I will both pay you, and pray 
you, and thanli you, and think on jt)u. 

Cor. Is this not purely good? 

Mac. 'Sblood, why should such a prick-ear'd 
hind as this 
Be rich, ha ? a fool ! such a transparent gull 
That may be seen through ! wherefore should 

he have land, 
Houses, and lordships ? O, I could eat my en- 
trails. 
And sink my soul into the earth with sorrow. 

Car. Fu'st, to be an accomplished gentleman, 
that is, a gentleman of the time, you must give 
over housekeeping in the country, and live alto- 
gether in the city amongst gallants ; where, at 
your first appearance, 'twere good you turn'd 
four or five hundred acres of your best land into 
two or three trunks of apparel — you may do it 
without going to a conjurer — and be sure you 
mix yourself still with such as flourish in the 
spring of the fashion, and are least popular ; study 
their carriage and behavior in all ; learn to i:)lay 
at primero and passage, and ever (when you 
lose) have two or three peculiar oaths to swear 
by, that no man else swears : but, above all, 
protest in your play, and affirm. Upon your cred- 
it. As you are a true gentleman, at every cast ; 
you may do it with a safe conscience, I warrant 
you. 

Sog. O admirable rare ! he cannot choose but 
be a gentleman that has these excellent gifts : 
more, more, I beseech you. 

Car. You must endeavor to feed cleanly at 
your ordinary, sit melancholy, and pick your 
teeth when you cannot speak : and when you 
come to plays, be humorous, look with a good 
starch'd face, and ruffle your brow like a new 
boot, laugh at nothing but your OAvn jests, or 
else as the noblemen laugh. That's a special 
grace you must observe. 



lao 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Sog. I warrant j'-ou, sir. 

Car. Ay, and sit on the stage and flout, pro- 
vided you have a good- suit. 

Sog. O, I'll have a suit only for that, sir. 

Car. You must talk much of your kindred 
and allies. 

Sog. Lies ! no, signior, I shall not need to do 
so, I have kindred in the city to talk of: I have 
a niece is a merchant's wife ; and a nephew, my 
brother Sordido's son, of the Inns of court. 

Car. O, but you must pretend alliance with 
courtiers and great persons : and ever when you 
are to dine or sup in any strange presence, hire 
a fellow with a great chain, (though it be cop- 
per, it's no matter,) to bring you letters, feign'd 
from such a nobleman, or such a knight, or such 
a lady. To their worshipful, right rare, and nobly 
qualified friend and kinsman, signior Insulso Sog- 
liardo : give yourself style enough. And there, 
while you intend circumstances of news, or en- 
quiry of their health, or so, one of your famil- 
iars, whom you must carry about you still,brcaks 
it up, as 'twere in a jest, and reads it publicly at 
the table : at which you must seem to take as 
unpardonable oifence, as if he had torn your 
mistress's colors, or breathed upon her picture, 
and pursue it with that hot grace, as if you 
would advance a challenge upon it presently. 

Sog. Stay, I do not like that humor of chal- 
lenge, it may be accepted ; but I'll tell you 
what's my humor now, I will do this : I will 
take occasion of sending one of my suits to the 
tailor's, to have the pocket repaired, or so ; and 
there such a letter as you talk of, broke open 
and all shall be left ; O, the tailor will presently 
give out what I am, upon the reading of it, worth 
twenty of your gallants. 

Car. But then you must put on an extreme 
face of discontentment at yorrr man's negligence. 
Sog. O, so I will, and beat him too : I'll have 
a man for the purpose. 

Mac. You may ; you have land and crowns : 

partial fate ! 

Car. Mass, well remember' d, you must keep 
your men gallant at the first, fine pied liveries 
laid with good gold lace ; there's no loss in it, 
they may ri^i it off and pawn it when they lack 
victuals. 

Sog. By 'r Lady, that is chargeable, signior, 
twill bring a man in debt. 

Car. Debt ! why that's the more for your 
credit, sir : it's an excellent policy to owe much 
in these days, if you note it. 

Sog. As how, good signior ? I ^vould fain be a 
politician. 

Car. O ! look where you are indebted any 
great sum, your creditor observes you with no 
less regard, than if he were bound to you for 
Bome huge benefit, and will quake to give you 
the least cause of offence, lest he lose his money. 

1 assure you, in these tunes, no man has his ser- 
vant more obsequious and pliant, than gentle- 
men their creditors : to whom, if at any time 
you pay but a moiety, or a fourth part, it comes 
more acceptably than if you gave them a new 
year's gift. 

Sog. I perceive you, sir : I will take up, and 
bring myself in credit, sure. 

Car. Marry this, always beware you commerce 



not with bankrupts, or poor needy Ludgathi- 
ans : they are impudent creatures, turbulent 
spirits, they care not what A'iolont tragedies they 
stir, nor how they play fast and loose with a poor 
gentleman's fortunes, to get their own. Marry, 
these rich fellows that have the Avorld, or the 
better part of it, sleeping in then- counting- 
houses, they are ten times more placable, they ; 
either fear, hope, or modesty, restrains them from 
offering any outrages : but tliis is nothing to 
j-our followers, yoxi shall not run a penn\- more 
in arrearage for them, an you list, yourself. 
Sog. No ! how should I keep 'em then ? 
Car, Keep 'em ! 'sblood, let them keep them- 
selves, they are no sheep, are they ? what, you 
shall come in houses, Avhere plate, apparel, jew- 
els, and divers other pretty commodities lie neg- 
ligently scattered, and I would have those Mer- 
curies follow me, I trow, should remember they 
had not their fingers for nothing. 
Sog. That's not so good, methinks. 
Car. Why, after you have kept them a fort- 
night, or so, and shew'd them enough to the 
Avorld, you may turn them away, and keep no 
more but a boy, it's enough. 

Sog. Nay, my humor is not for boys, I'll keep 
men, an I keep any ; and I'll give coats, that's 
my hiunor : but I lack a cullisen. 

Car. Why, now you ride to the city, you may 
buy one ; I'll bring you where you shall have 
your choice for money. 
Sog. Can j'ou, sir ? 

Car. O, ay : you shall have one take measuic 
of you, and make you a coat of arms to fit you, 
of what fashion you will. 

Sog. By word of mouth, I thank you, signior, 
I'll be once a little prodigal in a humor, i' faith, 
and have a most prodigious coat. 

Mac. Torm.ent and death ! break head and 
brain at onc°, 
To be delivered of your fighting issue. 
Wlio can endure to see blind Fortune dote thus i 
To be enamor'd on this dusty turf. 

This clod, a whoreson jnick-fist ! O G ! 

I could run wild with grief now, to behold 
The rankness of her bounties, that doth breed 
Such bulru.shes ; these mushroom gentlemen. 
That shoot up in a night to place and worship. 
Car. [«'Ci'«i7 Macilente.] Let him alone ; some 
stray, some stray. 

Sog. Nay, I will examine him before I go, sure. 
Car. Tli'e lord of the soil has all wefts and 
strays here, has he not .•' 
Sog. Yes, sir. 

Car. Faith then I pity the poor fellow, he's 
fallen into a fool's hands. [Aside. I 

Sog. Sirrah, who gave you a commission to \ 
lie in my lordship ? 
Mac. Your lordship ! 

Sog. How ! my lordship ? ilo you know me, i 
sir? I 

Mac. I do know you, sir. ' 

Car. He answers him like an echo. [Aside > 
Sog. Why, who am I, sir? 
Mac. One cf those that fortune favors. 
Car. The periphrasis of a foci. I'll observe 
this better. [Aside. 

Sog. That fortune favors ! how mean 70U thet- 
friend r , 



EVEIIY I^IAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



131 



Mac. I mean simply : that you are one that 
lives not by your wits. 

Soff. By my wits ! no sir, I scorn to live by 
my Avits, I. I have better means, I tell thee, 
than to take such base courses, as to live by my 
mts. What, dost thou think I live by my wits ? 

Mac. Methinks, jester, you should not relish 
this well. 

Car. Ha ! does he know me ? 

Mac. Though yours bo the worst use a man 
can put his wit to, of thousands, to prostitute 
it at every tavern and ordinary ; yet, methinks, 
you should have turn'd your broadside at this, 
and have been ready with an apology, able to 
sink this hulk of ignorance into the bottom 
and depth of his contempt. 

Car. Oh, 'tis Macilente ! Signior, you are 
well encountered ; how is it ? — 0, we must not 
regard what he says, man, a trout, a shallow 
fool, he has no more brain than a butterfly, a 
mere stuft s\iit ; he looks like a musty bottle 
new wicker'd, his head's the cork, light, light ! 
[Aside to Macilente.] — I am glad to sec you so 
well return' d, signior. 

Mac. You are ! gramercy, good Janus. 

Sarj. Is he one of j^our acquaintance ? I love 
him the better for that. 

Car. Od's precious, come away, man, what 
do you mean ? an you knew him as I do, you'd 
Bhun him as you would do the plague. 

Soff. Why, sir ? 

Car. 0, he's a black fellow, take heed of him. 

Soff. Is he a scholar, or a soldier ? 

Car. Both, both ; a lean mongrel, he looks as 
if he were chop-fallen, with barking at other 
men's good fortunes : 'ware hoAv you offend 
him ; he carries oil and fire in his pen, will 
scald where it drops : hia spirit is like powder, 
quick, violent; he'll blow a man up with a 
jest : I fear him worse than a rotten wall does 
the cannon ; shake an hour after at the report. 
Awaj', come not near him. 

So</. For God's sake let's be gone ; an he be 
a scholar, you know I cannot abide him ; I had 
as lieve see a cockatrice, specially as cockatrices 
go now. 

Car. What, you'll stay, signior ? this gentle- 
man Sogliardo, and I, are to visit the knight 
Puntarvolo, and from thence to the city ; we 
shall meet there. [Exii toith Sogliardo. 

Mac. Ay, when I cannot shun you, we will 
meet. 
'Tis strange ! of all the creatures I have seen, 
I envy not this BufFone, for indeed 
Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it : 
But I do hate him, as I hate the devil. 
Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism. 
O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur. 
That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him. 
A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like. 
Creep on the ground, as he would cat the dust. 
And to your back will tm-n the tail, and sting 
More deadly than a scorpion : stay, who's this ? 
Now, for my soul, another minion 
Of the old lady Chance's ! I'll observe him. 

En(e7- SoRDiDO icith an Almanach in his hand. 
Sold. rare! good, good, good, good, good ! 
' thank mj stars, I thank my stars for it. 



Mac. Said I not true ? doth not his imsaion 
speak 
Out of my divination ? O my senses. 
Why lose you not j'our powers, and become 
Dull'd, if not deaded, with this spectacle r 
I know him, it is Sordido, the farmer, 
A boor, and brother to that swine was here. 

[Aside. 

Sard. Excellent, excellent, excellent ! as 1 
would wish, as I would wish. 

Mac. See how the strumpet fortune tickles 
him. 
And makes him swoon Avith laughter, O, O, O ! 

Sard. Ha, ha, ha ! I Avill not soav my grounds 
this year. Let me see, what harvest shall we 
have ? June, July ? 

Mac. What, is't a prognostication raps him 
so ? 

Sord. The 20, 21, 22 darjs, rain and -wind. 
good, good ! the 23, and 24:, rain and some wind, 
good ! the 2.5, rain, good still ! 26, 27, 28, loind 
and some rain ; Avould it had been rain and some 
wind ! Avell, 'tis good, Avhen it can be no better. 
29, inclining to rain : inclining to rain ! that's 
not so good noAV : 30, and 31, wind and no rain : 
no rain ! 'slid, stay : this is Avorso and Avorse » 
AVhat says he of St. Swithin's ? turn back, look, 
saint Swithin's : no rain ! 

Mac. O, here's a precious, dirty, damned 
rogue. 
That fats himself Avith expectation 
Of rotten Aveather, and unseason'd hours; 
And he is rich for it, an elder brother ! 
His barns are full, his ricks and moAvs Avell trod, 
His garners crack Avith store ! O, 'tis Avell ; ha, 

ha, ha ! 
A plague consume thee, and thy house ! 

Sord. O here, St. Swithin's, the 15 day, vari- 
able weather, for the most part rain, good ! for 
the most part rain : Avhy, it should rain forty 
days after, noAv, more or less, it Avas a rule held, 
afore I Avas able to hold a plough, and yet here 
are two days no rain ; ha ! it makes me muse. 
We'll see how the next month begins, if that 
be better. August 1, 2, 3, and 4, days, rainy 
and blustering ; this is Avell now : 5, 6, 7, 8, and 
9, rainy, with some thunder ; Ay marry, this is 
excellent ; the other Avas false printed sure : 
the 10 and 11, great store of rain ; O good, good, 
good, good, good ! the 12, 13, and 14, days, 
rain ; good still : 15, and 16, rain ; good still : 
17 and 18, rain, good still: 19 and 20, good 
still, good still, good still, good still, good still ! 
21, some rain; some rain! Avell, Ave must be 
patient, and attend the heavens' pleasure, Avould 
it Avere more though : the 22, 23, great tempests 
of rain, thunder and lightning. 

good again, past, expectation good ! 

1 thank my blessed angel ; never, never 
I^aid I [a] penny better out than this. 

To purchase this dear book : not dear for price, 
And yet of me as dearly prized as life. 
Since in it is contain' d the very life. 
Blood, strength, and sinews, of my happiness. 
Blest be the hour Avhercin I bought this book ; 
His studies happy that composed the bocik. 
And the man fortunate that sold the book I 
Sleep Avith this charm, and be as true to me. 
As I am joy'd and confident in thee. [Puts it up 



132 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Enter a Hind, and gives Soudido a paper to read. 

Mac. Ha, ha, ha ! 
Is not this good ? Is it not pleasing this ? 
Ha, ha, ha ! God pardon me ! ha, ha ! 
Is't possible that such a spacious villain 
Should live, and not be plagued ? or lies he hid 
Witliin the wrinkled bosom of the world. 
Where Heaven cannot sec him ? 'Sblood ! 

methinks 
Tis rare, and strange, that he should breathe 

and walk. 
Peed with digestion, sleep, enjoy his health. 
And, like a boisterous whale swallowing the 

poor. 
Still swim in wealth and pleasure ! is't not 

strange ? 
Unless his house and skin were thunder proof, 
I wonder at it ! Methinks, now, the hectic. 
Gout, leprosy, or some such loath'd disease, 
Might light upon him ; or that fire from heaven 
Might fall upon his barns ; or mice and rats 
Eat up his grain ; or else that it might rot 
Within the hoary ricks, even as it stands : 
Methinks this might be Avell ; and after all 
I'he devil might come and fetch him. Ay, 'tis 

true ! 
Aleantime he surfeits in prosperity. 
And thou, in envy of him, gnaw'st thyself: 
Peace, fool, get hence, and toll thy vexed spirit. 
Wealth in this age will scarcely look on merit. 

[Rises and exit. 
Sard. Who brought this same, sirrah ? 
Hind. Marry, sir, one of the justice's men ; 
he says 'tis a precept, and all their hands be 
at it. 

Sord. Ay, and the prints of them stick in my 

flesh. 
Deeper than in their letters : they have sent me 
Pills wrapt in paper here, that, should I take 

them. 
Would poison all the sweetness of my book, 
And turn my honey into hemlock-juice. 
But I am wiser than to serve their precepts, 
Or follow their prescriptions. Here's a device. 
To charge me bring my grain unto the markets : 
Ay, much ! when I have neither barn nor 

garner. 
Nor earth to hide it in, I'll bring 't ; till then. 
Each corn I send shall be as big as Paul's. 
O, but (saj' some) the poor are like to starve. 
Why, let 'em starve, what's that to mo? are 

bees 
Bound to keep life in drones and idle moths ? 

no: 
Why such are these that term themselves the 

poor. 
Only because they would be pitied. 
But are indeed a sort of lazy beggars. 
Licentious rogues, and sturdy vagabonds. 
Bred by the sloth of a fat jilenteous year. 
Like snakes in heat of summer, out of dung ; 
And this is all that these cheap times are good 

for ; 
Whereas a wholesome and penurious dearth 
Purges the soil of such vile excrements. 
And kills the vipers up. 
Hind. O, but master. 
Take heed thev hear vou not. 



Sord. Why so ? 

Hind. They will exclaim against you. 

Sord. Ay, their exclaims 
Move me as much, as thy breath moves a moun- 

tain. 
Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home 
Can be contented to apjjlaud myself. 
To sit and clap my hands, and laugh, and leap) 
Knocking my head against my roof, Avith joy 
To see how plump my bags are, and my barns. 
Sirrah, go hie you honie, and bid your fellows 
Get all their flails ready again I come. 

Hind. I Avill, sir. [Exit. 

Sord. I'll instantly set all my hinds to thrash- 
ing 
Of a Avhole rick of corn, which I Avill hide 
Under the ground ; and Avith the straw thereoi 
I'll stuff the outsidcs of my other moAVs : 
That done, I'll haA'e them empty all my garners, 
And in the friendly earth bury my store. 
That, Avhen the searchers come, they may sup- 
pose 
All's spent, and that my fortunes Avere belied. 
And to lend more opinion to my Avant, 
And stop that many-mouthed vulgar dog. 
Which else Avould still be baying at my door, 
Each market-day I Avill be seen to buy 
Part of the purest Avhcat, as for my household ; 
Where Avhen it comes, it shall increase my 

heaps : 
'TavIU yield me treble gain at this dear time, 
Promised in this dear book : I have cast all. 
Till then I Avill not sell an ear, I'll hang first. 
O, I shall make my prices as I list ; 
My house and I can feed on peas and barley. 
What though a Avorld of AA'retches starve the 

while ; 
He that will thrive must think no courses vile. 

[Exit. 

Cor. Now, signior, hoic approve you this ? hava 
the humorists exprest themseloes truly or no 1 

Mit. Yes, if it he well prosecuted, 'tis JUtherto 
happy enough : but methinks Macilente icent hence 
too soon ; he might have been made to stay, and 
speak somewhat in reproof of Sordido's wretch- 
edness now at the last- 
Cox. O, no, that had been extretnely improper ; 
besides, he had continued the scene too long loith 
him, as 'twas, being in no more action. 

Mit. You ma,y inforce the length as a necessary 
reason ; but for propriety, the scene would very well 
have borne it, in my judgment. 

Cor. O, loorst of both ; why, you mistake his 
humor utterly then. 

Mit. How do I mistake it ? Is it not envy ? 

Cor. Yes, but you must understand, signior, he 
envies him not as he is a villain, a xcolf in the corz- 
monwealth, but as he is rich and foHunate ; for the 
true condition of envy is, dolor alienai felieitatis, 
to have our eyes continually fixed upon another man's 
2>rospcrify, that is, his chief hapinness, and to grieve 
at that. Whereas, if ice make Jus monstrous and 
abhorr'd actions our object, the grief toe take then 
comes nearer the nature of hate than envy as being 
bred out of a kind of contempit and loathing in 
ourselves. 

Mit. So you'll infer it had been hate, not envy 
in him, to reprehend the humor of Sordido ? 

Cor. Right, for tohat a man truly envies in 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUjMOR. 



135 



another, ho ;ould always love and cherish in him- 
self ; but no man truly reprehends in another, 
what he loves in himself; therefore reprehension 
is out of his hate. And this distinction hath he 
himself made in a speech there, if you marked it, 
where he says, I envy not this Biiffone, but I 
hate him. 

^lit. Stay, sir : I envy not this Buffone, bnt I 
hate him. Why might he not as well have hated 
Sordido as him 1 

Cor. No, sir, there teas subject for his envy in 
Sordido, his wealth : so was there not in the other. 
He stood possest of no one eminent gift, but a most 
odious and fiend-like dispiosition, that would titrn 
charity itself into hate, much more envy, for the 
present. 

Mit. You have satisfied me, sir. O, here comes 
the fool, and the jester again, methinks. 

Cor. ' Ticere pity they should be parted, sir. 

Mit. What bright-shining gallant's that icith 
ihem ? the knight they went to ? 

Cor, No, sir, this is one Monsieur Fastidious 
Brisk, otherwise called the fresh Frenchified 
courtier, 

Isiit. A humorist too ? 

Cor. As humorous as quicksilver ; do hut observe 
him ; the scene is the country still, remember. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — The Country ; before Puntarvolo's 
House. 

Enter Fastidious Brisk, Cinedo, Carlo Buf- 
fone, and SoGLiARDO. 

Fast. Cinedo, watch when the knight comes, 
and give us word. 

Cin. I will, sir. [Exit. 

Fast. How lik'st thou my boy, Carlo ? 

Car. O, well, well. He looks like a colonel of 
the Pigmies horse, or one of these motions in a 
great antique clock ; he would shew well upon 
a haberdasher's stall, at a corner shop, rarely. 

Fast. 'Sheart, what a damn'd witty rogue's 
this ! How he confounds with his similes ! 

Car. Better with similes than smiles : and 
whither were you riding now, signior ? 

Fast. Who, I ? What a silly jest's that ! 
Wliither should I ride but to the court ? 

Car. O, pardon me, sir, twenty places more ; 
your hot-house or your whore-house 

Fast. By the virtue of my soul, this knight 
dwells in Elysium here. 

Car. He's gone now, I thought he would fly 
out presently. These be our nimble-spirited 
catsos, that have their evasions at pleasure, will 
tun over a bog like your wild Irish ; no sooner 
started, but they'll leap from one thing to another, 
like a squii-rel, heigh ! dance and do tricks in their 
discourse, from fire to water, from water to air, 
from air to earth, as if their tongues did but e'en 
lick the four elements over, and away. 

Fast. Sirrah, Carlo, thou never saw'st my gray 
hobby yet, didst thou ? 

Car. No ; have you such a one ? 

Fast. The best in Europe, my good villain, 
tLou'lt say when thou seest him. 

Car. But when shall I see him ? 



Fast. There v/as a nobleman in the court of- 
fered me a hundred pound for him, by this light : 
a fine little fiery slave, he runs like a — oh, excel- 
lent, excellent ! — with the very sound of the spur. 

Car. How ! the sound of the sfiur ? 

Fast. O, it's your only humor now extant, sir ; 
a good gingle, a good gingle. 

Car. 'Sblood ! you shall see him tiirn morrice- 
dancer, he has got him bells, a good suit, and a 
hobby-horse. 

Sog. Signior, now you talk of a hobby-horse, 
I know where one is will not be given for a brace 
of angels. 

Fast. How is that, sir .' 

Sog. Marry, sir, I am telling this gentleman 
of a hobby-horse ; it was my father's indeed, 
and, though I say it 

Car. That should not say it — on, on. 

Sog. He did dance in it, with as good humor 
and as good regard as any man of his degree 
whatsoevei-, being no gentleman : I have danc'd 
in it myself too. 

Car. Not since the humor of gentility was 
upon you, did you ? 

Sog. Yes, once ; marry, that was but to shew 
what a gentleman might do in a humor. 

Car, O, very good. 

Islit. Why, this fellow's discourse toere nothing 
but for the word humor. 

Cor. O bear with him ; an he should lack mat- 
ter and xoords too, 'twere pitiful. ■ 

Sog. Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a gentle- 
man in the country has the like humors, for the 
hobby-horse, as I have ; I have the method for 
the threading of the needle and all, the 

Car, How, the method ? 

Sog, Ay, the leigerity for that, and the whigh- 
hio, and the daggers in the nose, and the travels 
of the egg from finger to finger, and all the hu- 
mors incident to the quality. The horse hangs 
at home in my parlor. I'll keep it for a monu- 
ment as long as I live, sure. 

Car. Do so ; and when you die, 'twill be an 
excellent trophy to hang over your tomb. 

Sog. !Mass, and I'll have a tomb, now I think 
on't ; 'tis but so much charges. 

Car. Best build it in youj.- lifetime then, yout 
heirs may hap to forget it else. 

Sog. Nay, I mean so, I'll not trust to them. 

Car. No, for heirs and executors are grown 
damnable careless, 'specially since the ghosts of 
testators left waUcing. — How like you him, 
signior ? 

Fast. 'Fore heavens, his humor arrides me ex- 
ceedingly. 

Car, Arrides you ! 

Fast, Ay, pleases me : a pox on't ! I am so 
haunted at the court, and at my lodging, with 
your refined choice spuits, that it makes me 
clean of another garb, another sheaf, I know not 
how ! I cannot frame me to your harsh vulgar 
phrase, 'tis against my genius. 

Sog, Signior Carlo ! [Takes him aside. 

Cor. This is right to that of Horace, Dum vi- 
tant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt ; so this ga<.- 
lant, laboring to avoid popularity, falls into j 
habit of a_ffectation , ten thousand times hateful'" 
than the former. 



134 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Car. [})ointiitrf to Fastidious.] Who, he .■* a 
gull, a fool, no salt in him i' the earth, man ; he 
looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tnb ; he'll be 
spent shortly. His brain 's lighter than liis 
feather already, and his tongvie more subject to 
lye, than that is to wag ; he sleeps -with a musk- 
cat every night, and Avalks all day hang'd in 
pomander chains for penance ; he has his skin 
tann'd in civet, to make his complexion strong, 
and the sweetness of his youth lasting in the 
sense of his sweet lady ; a good empty puif, he 
loves you well, signior. 

Sog. There shall be no love lost, sir, I'll as- 
sure you. 

Fast, [aclcancing to them.'] Nay, Carlo, I am 
not happy in thy love, I see : pray thee suffer 
me to enjoy thy company a little, sweet mischief: 
by this air, I shall envy this gentleman's place 
in thy affections, if you be thus private, i'faith. 

Enter Cinedo. 
How now ! Is the knight arrived ? 

Cln. No, sir, but 'tis guess'd ho will arrive 
presently, by his fore-runners. 

Fast. His hounds ! by Minerva, an excellent 
figure ; a good boy. 

Car. You should give him a French crown for 
it ; the boy would find two better figures in that, 
and a good figure of your bounty beside. 

Fast. Tut, the boy wants no crowns. 

Car. No crown ; speak in the singular num- 
ber, and we'll believe you. 

Fast. Nay, thou art so capriciously conceited 
now. Sirrah damnation, I have heard this 
knight Puntarvolo reported to be a gentleman 
of exceeding good humor, thou know'st him ; 
ju'ithee, how is his disposition ? I never was so 
favored of my stars, as to sec him^yet. Boy, 
do you look to the hobby ? 

Cin. Ay, sir, the groom has set him np. 
^As CiXEDO is ffoinff oti/,Soo'Li\n'DO talces him aside. 

Fast. 'Tis well : I rid out of my way of intent 

to visit him, and take knowledge of his 

Nay, good Wickedness, his humor, his humor. 

Car. Why, he loves dogs, and hawks, and his 
■wife well ; he has a good riding face, and he can 
sit a great horse ; ho will taint a staff well at 
tilt ; when he is mounted he looks like the sign 
of the George, that's all I know ; save, that in- 
stead of a dragon, he will brandish against a 
tree, and break his sword as confidently upon 
the knotty bark, as the other did upon the scales 
of the beast. 

Fast. O, but this is nothing to that's delivered 
of him. They say he has dialogiics and dis- 
courses between his horse, himself, and his dog ; 
and that he will court his own lady, as she Avere 
a stranger never encounter'd before. 

Car. Ay, that he will, and make fresh love to 

her every morning ; this gentleman has been a 

spectator of it, Signior Insulso. 

_ Sag. I am resolute to keep a page. — Say you, 

sir r [Leaps froiii wJiispering with Cinedo. 

Car. You have seen Signior Puntarvolo accost 
his lady ? 

Soff. O, ay, sir. 

Fast. And how is the manner of it, prithee, 
good signior ? 

Sog. Faith, sir, in very good sort ; he has his 



humors for it, sir ; as first, (suppose ho were 
now to come from riding or hunting, or so,) ht 
has his trumpet to sound, and then the waiting- 
gentlewoman she looks oiit, and then he speaks, 

and then she speaks, very pretty, i'faith, 

gentlemen. 

Fast. Why, but do you remember no particu- 
lars, signior .' 

Soff. O, yes, sir, first, the gcntlcAvoman, she 
looks out at the window. 

Car. After the trumpet has summon'd a parle, 
not before ? 

Sofj. No, sir, not before ; and then says he, — 
lia, ha, ha, ha ! 

Car. AVhat says he ? be not rapt so. 

Soff. Says he, — ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Fast. Nay, speak, speak. 

Soij. Ha, ha, ha ! — says he, God save you, 
says he ; — ha, ha ! 

Car, Was tliis the ridiculous motive to all 
this passion ? 

Soff. Nay, that that comes after is, — ha, ha, 
ha, ha ! 

Car. Doubtless he apprehends more than he 

utters, this fellow ; or else 

[A cry of hounds within 

So(j, List, list, they are come from hunting , 
stand by, close imder this terras, and you shall 
see it done better than I can show it. 

Car. So it had need, 'twill scarce poise the 
observation else. 

Soff. Faith, I remember all, but the manner 
of it is quite out of my head. 

Fast. O, withdraw, withdraw, it cannot be 
but a most pleasing object. [They stand aside. 

Enter Puntarvolo, folloioed hy his Huntsman 
leading a greyhound. 

Punt. Forester, give wind to thy horn. — 
Enough ; by this the sound hath touch'd the ears 
of the inclos'd : depart, leave the dog, and take 
with thee what thou hast deserved, the horn and 
thanks. [E.vit Huntsman. 

Car. Ay, marry, there is some taste in this. 

Fast. Is"t not good ? 

Sog. Ah, peace ; now above, now above ! 
[A Waiting-gentlewoman appears at the icindow. 

Punt. Stay ; mine eye hath, on the instant, 
through the bounty of the window, received the 
form of a nymph. I will step forward three 
paces ; of the which, I will barely retire one ; 
and, after some little flexure of the knee, with 
an erected grace salute her ; one, two, and 
three ! Sweet lady, God save you ! 

Gent. [«iore.] No, forsooth ; I am but the 
waiting-gentlewoman. 

Car. He knew that before. 

Punt. Pardon me : humanum est errare. 

Car. He learn'd that of his chaplain. 

Punt. To the perfection of compliment, (which 
is the dial of the thought, and guided by the sun 
of your beauties,) are required these three 
specials ; the gnomon, the puntilios, and the 
superficies : the superficies is that we call place i 
the puntilios, circumstance ; and the gnomon, 
ceremony ; in either of which, for a stranger to 
err, 'tis easy and facile ; and such am I. 

Car. True, not knowing her horizon, he mus* 
needs err ; which I fear he knows too well. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



135 



Punt. What call you the lord of tho castle, 
Bwcet face ? 

Gent, [above.] The lord of the castle is a knight, 
sir ; signior Puntarvolo. 

Punt. Puntarvolo ! O 

Car. Now must he ruminate. 

Fast. Does the wench know him all this while, 
then ? 

Car. O, do you know me, man ? why, there- 
in lies the syrup of the jest; it's a project, a 
designment of his own, a thing studied, and re- 
tiearst as ordinarily at his coming from hawking 
or hunting, as a jig after a play. 

Sag. Ay, e'en like your jig, sir. 

Punt. 'Tis a most sumptuous and stately edi- 
fice ! Of what years is the knight, fair dam- 
sel? 

Gent. Faith, much about your years, sir. 

Punt. What complexion, or what stature bears 
he? 

Gent. Of your stature, and very near upon 
your complexion. 

Punt. Mine is melanclioly, 

Car. So is the dog's, just. 

Punt. And doth argue constancy, chiefly in 
love. What are his endowments ? is he cour- 
teous ? 

Gent. O, the most courteous knight in Clii'is- 
tian land, sir. 

Punt. Is he magnanimous ? 

Gent. As the skin between your brows, sir. 

Punt. Is he bountiful ? 

Car. 'Slud, he takes an inventory of liis own 
good parts. 

Gent. Bountiful ! ay, sir, I would you should 
know it ; the poor are served at his gate, early 
and late, sir. 

Punt. Is he learned ? 

Gent. O, ay, sir, he can speak the French and 
Italian. 

Punt. Then he has travelled ? 

Gent. Ay, forsooth, he hath been beyond seas 
once or twice. 

Car. As far as Paris, to fetch over a fashion, 
and come back again. 

Punt. Is he religious ? 

Gent. Religious ! I know Jiot what you call 
religious, but he goes to cluirch, I am sure. 

Fast. 'SHd, methinks these answers should 
offend him. 

Car. Tut, no ; he knows they are excellent, 
and to her capacity that speaks them. 

Punt. Would I might but see his face ! 

Car. She should let down a glass from the 
window at that word, and request him to look 
in't. 

Punt, Doubtless the gentleman is most exact, 
and absolutely qualified ; doth the castle contain 
Jiim ? 

Gent. No, sir, he is from home, but his lady 
Ls within. 

Punt. His lady ! what, is she fair, splondidi- 
ous, and amiable ? 

Gent. O, Lord, sir. 

Punt. Prithee, dear njaiiph, intreat her beau- 
ties to shine on this side of the building. 

[Exit Waitlng-gentleiooman from the windoto. 

Car. That he may erect a new dial of com- 
plimQnt, witl. his gnomons and his puntilios. 



Fast. Nay, thou art such another cynic now, 
a man had need walk uprightly before thee. 

Car. Heart, can any man walk more uprigh* 
than he does ? Look, look ; as if he went in a 
frame, or had a suit of wainscot on : and the 
dog watching him, lest he should leap oiit on't. 

Fast. O, villain ! 

Car. "Well, an e'er I meet him in the city, I'll 
have him jointed, I'll pawn him in Eastchcap, 
among the butchers, else. 

Fast. Peace ; who be these, Carlo ? 

Enter Soiidido and Fuxgoso. 

Sard. "Yonder's your godfather ; do your duty 
to him, son. 

Sog. This, sir ? a poor elder brother of mine, 
sir, a yeoman, may dispcnd some seven or eight 
hundred a year ; that's his son, my nephew, there. 

Punt. You are not ill come, neighbor Sordi- 
do, t'nough I have not yet said, -well-come ; what, 
my godson is grown a great proficient by this. 

Sord. I hope he Vv'ill grow great one day, sir. 

Fast. What docs he study ? the law ? 

Sog. Ay, sir, he is a gentleman, though his 
father be but a yeoman. 

Car. What call you your nephew, signior ? 

Sog. MaiTy, his name is Fuiigoso. 

Car. Fungoso ! O, he look'd somevv-hat like a 
sponge in that pink'd yellow doublet, me- 
thought ; well, make much of him ; I see he 
was never born to lido upon a mule. 

Gent, [i-eajypears at the loindow.'] My lady will 
come presently, sir. 

Sog. 0, now, now. 

Punt. Stand by, retire yourselves a space ; 
naj^, pray you, forget not the use of your hat ; 
the air is piercing. 

[S0R.DID0 and Fu>fG0S0 withdraio. 

Fast. What ! will not their presence prevail 
against the current of his humor ? 

Car. O, no ; it's a mere flood, a torrent car- 
ries all afore it. 

[Lady Puxtahvolo appears at the windoto. 

Punt. What more than heavenly pulchritude 
What magazine, or treasury of bliss ? [is this, 
Dazzle, you organs to my optic sense, 
To view a creature of such emmence : 
O, I am planet-struck, and in yon sphere 
A brighter star than Venus doth appear ! 

Fast. How ! in verse ! 

Car. An extacy, an extacy, man. 

Lady P. [above.] Is your desire to speak with 
me, sir knight ? 

Car. He will tell you that anon ; neither his 
brain nor his body are yet moulded for an an- 
swer. 

Punt. Most debonair, and luculent lady, I de- 
cline me as low as the basis of your altitude. 

Cor. Ho makes congies to his loife in geometru 
cat projjortions. 

Mit. Is it 2^ossible there should be amj such hu-> 
morist ? 

Cor. Very easily possible, sir, you see there is. 

Punt. I have scarce collected my spnuts, but 
lately scattered in the admiration of your form ; 
to which if the bounties of your mind be any 
way responsible, I doubt not but my desires 
shall find a smooth and secure passage. I am p. 



136 



EVERY MAN OUT OE HIS HUMOR. 



poor knight-errant, lady, that hunting in the 
adjacent forest, -was, by adventure, in the pur- 
Buit of a hart, brought to this pLace ; which 
hart, dear madam, escaped by enchantment : the 
evening approaching, myself and servant -wea- 
ried, my suit is, to enter j^our fair castle and re- 
fresh me. 

Lachj. Sir knight, albeit it be not usual with 
me, chiefly in the absence of a husband, to ad- 
mit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true 
regard of those innated virtues, and fair parts, 
which so strive to express themselves in you ; I 
am resolved to entertain you to the best of mj' 
unworthy power ; which I acknowledge to be 
nothing, valued with what so worthy a person 
may deserve. Please you biit stay while I de- 
scend. [Exit from the window. 

Punt. Most admired lady, you astonish me. 

[Walks aside icith Sordido and his son. 

Car. What ! with speaking a speech of your 
own penning ? 

Fast. Nay, look ; prithee, peace. 

Car. Pox on't ! I am impatient of such foppery. 

Fast. O let us hear the rest. 

Car. What ! a tedious chapter of courtship, 
after sir Lancelot and queen Guenever ? Away ! 
I marie in what dull cold nook he found this 
lady out ; that, being a woman, she was blest 
with no more copy of wit but to serve his hu- 
mor thus. 'Slud, I think he feeds her Avith por- 
ridge, I ; she could never have such a thick brain 
else. 

Sog, Why, is porridge so hurtful, signior ? 

Car. O, nothing under heaven more prejudi- 
cial to those ascending subtle powers, or doth 
sooner abate that which Ave call acumen ingenii, 
than your gross fare : Why, I'll make you an 
instance ; your city-wives, but observe 'em, you 
have not more perfect true fools in the world 
bred than they are generally ; and yet you sec 
by the fineness and delicacy of their diet, diving 
into the fat capons, drinking your rich Avines, 
feeding on larks, sparrows, potato-pies, and such 
good unctuous meats, hoAV their wits arc refined 
and rarified ; and sometimes a A'ery quintessence 
of conceit floAvs from them, able to drown a 
Aveak apprehension. 

Enter Lady VvJ^TATCVOLQ and her Waiting-woman. 

Fast. Peace, here comes the lady. 

Lady. Gad's me, here's company ! turn in 
again. [Exit toith her Woman. 

Fast. 'Slight, our presence has cut off the 
convoy of the jest. 

Car. All the better, I am glad on't ; for the 
issue Avas very perspicuous. Come let's discov- 
er, and salute the knight. [ They come fonoard. 

Punt. Stay ; aa'Iio be these that adckess them- 
Bclves towards us ? What, Carlo ! Noav by 
the sincerity of my soul, Avelcome ; Avelccme, 
gentlemen : and hoAv dost thou, thou Grand 
Scourge, or Second Untruss of the time ? 

Car. Faith, spending my metal in this reeling 
world (here and t^here), as the SAA'ay of my affec- 
tion carries me, and perhaps stumble upon a 
yeoman- feu terer, as I do now ; or one of for- 
tune's mules, laden Avith treasure, and an empty 
. cloak-bag, foUoAving him, gaping when a bag 
aill untie. 



Punt. Peace, you bandog, peace ! What brisk 
Nymphadoro is that in the Avhitc virgin-boot 
there ? 

Car. Ttlarry, sir, one that I must intreat you 
to take a very particular knowledge of, and Avith 
more than ordinary respect ; monsieur Fastid- 
ious. 

Punt. Sir, I could Avish, that for the time of 
your vouchsafed abiding here, and more real 
entertainment, this my house stood on the Mu- 
ses hill, and these my OTchards Avere those of 
the Hesperides. 

Fast. I possess as micch in your Avish, sir, as 
if I Avere made lord c i the Indies ; and I pray 
you belicA'C it. 

Car. I have a better opinion of his faith, than 
to think it AA'ill be so corrupted. 

Sog. Come, brother, I'll brin^ you acquainted 
Avith gentlemen, and good fcUoAVS, such as shall 
do you more grace than 

Sard. Brother, I hunger not for such acquaint- 
ance : Do you take heed, lest 

[Carlo comes toioard them. 

Sog. Husht ! Jily brother, sir, for want of ed- 
ucation, sir, soracAvhat nodding to the boor, the 
clown ; but I request you in private, sir. 

Fung, [looking at Fastidious Brisk.] By heav- 
en, it is a very fine suit of clothes. [Aside. 

Cor. Do you observe that, signior? There's 
another humor has neio-craeked the shell. 

Mit. What ! he is enamour d of the fashimi, is 
he? 

Cor. O, you forestall the jest. 

Fung. I marlc Avhat it might stand him in- 

[Asidc. 

Sog. NephcAV ! 

Fung. 'Fore me, it's an excellent suit, and as 
neatly becomes him. [Aside.] — What said you, 
uncle ? 

Sog. When saAv you my niece ? 

Fung. Marry, yesternight I supp'd there. - 
That kind of boot does A'cry rare too. [Aside. 

Sog. And Avhat news hear you ? 

Fung. The gilt spur and all ! AVould I Avere 
hang'ci, but 'tis exceeding good. [Aside.] — Say 
you, uncle .'' 

Sog. Your mind is carried away Avith some- 
AA-hat else : I ask Avhat news you hear ? 

Fung. Troth, Ave hear none. — In good faith, 
[looking at Fastidious Brisk,] I Avas never so 
pleased Avith a fashion, days of my hfe. O an 
I might have but my Avish, I'd ask no more of 
heaven noAA', but such a suit, such a hat, such a 
band, such a doublet, such a hose, such a Loot, 
and such a [Aside. 

Sog. They say, there's a neAV motion of the 
city of Nineveh, with Jonas and the Avhale, to 
be seen at Fleet-bridge. You can tell, cousin ? 

Fung. Here's such a Avorld of questions AA'ith 
him noAV ! — Yes, I think there be such a thing, 
I saAv the jjicture. — Would he would once be 
satisfied ! Let me sec, the doublet, say fifty shil- 
lings the doublet, and botAveen three or four 
pound the hose ; then boots, hat, and band : 
some ten or eleven pound will do it all, and 
suit me, for the heavens ! [Aside. 

Sog. I'll see all those devices an I come to 
London once. 



BOENK I. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



137 



Fuiifj. Ods 'slid, an I could compass it, 'twere 
rare. \_Aside.'\ — Hark you, uncle. 

Sog. What saj-s my nephew ? 

Fung. Faith, vincle, I would have desired you 
to have made a motion for me to my father, in a 

thing that Walk aside, and I'll tell you, 

sir ; no more but this : there's a parcel of law 
books (some twenty pounds worth) that lie in a 
place for little more than half the money they 
cost ; and I think, for some twelve pound, or 
twenty mark, I could go near to redeem them ; 
there's Plowdcn, Dyar, Brooke, and Fitz-Her- 
bert, divers such as I must have ere long ; and 
you know, I were as good save five or six pound, 
as not, uncle. I pray you, move it for me. 

Sog. That I -vnW : when would you have mc 
do it ? presently ? 

Fung. O, ay, I pray you, good uncle; [Sogli- 
ARDO takes Sordido aside.'\ — send me good 
luck. Lord, an't be thy will, prosper it ! O my 
Btars,now, now.ii" it take now, I am made for ever. 

Fast. Shall I tell you, sir ? by this air, I am 
the most beholden to that lord, of any gentle- 
man living ; he does use me the most honor- 
ably, and with the greatest respect, more indeed 
than can be utter' d with any 02:)inion of truth. 

Punt, Then have you the count Gratiato ? 

Fast. As true noble a gentleman too as any 
breathes ; I am exceedingly endear'd to his love : 
By this hand, I protest to you, signior, I speak 
it not glori'ouslj% nor out of affectation, but 
thBre'3 he and the count Frugale, signior Illustre, 
signior Luculento, and a sort of 'cm, that Avlien 
I am at court, they do share me amongst them ; 
happy is he can enjoy me most private. I do 
wish mjself sometime an ubiquitary for their 
love, in good faith. 

Car. There's ne'er a one of these but might 
lie a week on the rack, ere they could bring 
forth his name ; and yet he pours them out as 
familiarly, as if he had seen them stand by the 
fire in the presence, or ta'en tobacco with them 
over the stage, in the lord's room. 

Punt. Then you must of necessity know our 
court-star there, that planet of wit, madona Sa- 
violina ? 

Fast, Lord, sir, my mistress ? 

Punt. Is she your mistress. 

Fast. Faith, here be some slight favors of 
hers, sir, that do speak it, she is ; as this scarf, 
sir, or this ribbon in my ear, or so ; this feather 
grew in her sweet fan sometimes, though now 
it be my poor fortune to wear it, as you see, sir : 
slight, slight, a foolish toy. 

Punt. Well, she is the lady of a most exalted 
and ingenious spirit. 

Fast. Did j'ou ever hear any woman speak 
like her ? or enriched with a more plentiful dis- 
course ? 

Car. O villainous ! nothing but sound, sound, 
a mere echo ; she speaks as she goes tired, in 
cobweb-lawn, light, thin ; good enovigh to catch 
flies withal. 

Punt. O manage your affections. 

Fast. Well, if thou be'st not plagued for this 
blasphemy one day 

Punt. Come, regard not a jester : It is in the 
power of my purse to make him speak well or 
til of me. 



Fast. Sir, I affirm it to you upon my credit 
and judgment, she has the most harmonious and 
musical strain of wit that ever tempted a true 
ear ; and yet to see ! — a rude tongue would 
profane heaven, if it could. 

Punt. I am not ignorant of it, sir. 

Fast. Oh, it flows from her like nectar, and 
she doth give it that sweet qiiick grace, and cx- 
ornation in the composure, that by this good 
air, as I am an honest man, would I might 
never stir, sir, but — she does observe as pure a 
phrase, and use as choice figiu-es in her ordinary 
conferences, as any be in the Arcadia. 

Car. Or rather in Green's works, whence she 
may steal with more security. 

Sord. Well, if ten pound will fetch 'em, you 
shall have it ; but I'll part with no more. 

Fung. I'll try what that will do, if you please. 

Sord. Do so ; and when you have them, study 
hard. 

Fung. Yes, sir. An I could study to get 
forty shillings more now ! Well, I will put 
mj'self into the fashion, as far as this will y , 
presently. 

Sord. I wonder it rains not : the almanack 
^ays, we should have store of rain to-day. 

[Aside. 

Punt. Why, sir, to-morrow I will associate 
you to court myself, and from thence to the city 
about a business, a project I have ; I will ex- 
pose it to you, sir ; Carlo, I am sure, has heard 
of it. 

Car. What's that, sir ? 

Punt. I do intend, this year of jubilee comin|j 
on, to travel : and because I will not altogether 
go upon expense, I am determined to put forth 
some five thousand pound, to be paid me five 
for one, upon the return of myself, my wife, and 
my dog from the Turk's court in Constantinople. 
If all or either of us miscarry in the journey, 
'tis gone ; if we be successful, why, thci'o will 
be five and twenty thousand pound to entertaii-v 
time withal. Nay, go not, neighbor Sordido ; 
stay to-night, and help to make our society the 
fuller. Gentlemen, frolic : Carlo ! what ! dull 
now .' 

Car. I was thinking on yom- project, sir, 
an you call it so. Is this the dog goes with 
you? 

Punt. This is the dog, sir. 

Car. He does not go barefoot, does he : 

Punt. AAvay, you traitor, away ! 

Car. Nay, afore God, I speak simply ; he 
may prick his foot with a thorn, and be as much 
as the whole venture is worth. Besides, for a 
dog that never travell'd before, it's a huge jour- 
ney to Constantinople. I'll tell you now, an he 
were mine, I'd have some present conference 
with a physician, what antidotes were good to 
give him, preservatives against poison ; for as- 
sure you, if once your money be out, there'U 
be divers attempts made against the life of the 
poor animal. 

Punt. Thou art still dangerous. 

Fast. Is signior Deliro's wife your kins- 
woman ^ 

Sog. Ay, sir, she is my niece, my brother's 
daughter here, and my nephew's sister. 

Sord. Do you know her, sir ? 



138 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Fast. O Lord, sir ! signior Dcliro, her hus- 
band, is my merchant. 

Fung. Ay, I have seen this gentleman there 
often. 

Fast. I cry you mercy, sir ; let me crave your 
name, pray you. 

Fu)ig. Fungoso, sir. 

Fast. Good signior Fungoso, I shall request 
to know you better, sir. 

Fung. I am her brother, sir. 

Fast. In fair time, sir. 

Fimt. Come, gentlemen, I will be your con- 
duct. 

Fast. Nay, pray you, sir ; we shall meet at 
signior Deliro's often. 

Sog. You shall have me at the herald's office, 
sir, for some week or so at my first coming up. 
Come, Carlo. [Exeunt. 

Mit. Methinks, Cordatus, ho dwelt somewhat too 
long on this sce7ie ; it hung in the hand. 

Cor. I see not lohere he could have insisted less, 
and to have made the humors x)crspicuous etiough. 

Mit. True, as his sidy'ect lies ; but he might have 
altered the shape of his argument, and explicated 
them better in single scenes. 

Cor. That had been single indeed. TT7i!/, be they 
not the same ^Krsons in this, as they xooidd have 
been in those ? and is it 7iot an object of more state, 
to behold the scene full, and relieved loith variety of 
speakers to the end, than to see a vast empty stage, 
and the actors come in one by one, as if they icere 
dropt down loith a feather into the eye of the spec- 
tators ? 

Mit. Nay, you are better traded loith these things 
than I, and therefore Til subscribe to your judgment ; 
marry, you shall give me leave to make objections. 

Cor. O, lohat else ? it is the special intent of the 
author you shoidd do so ; for thereby others, that 
are piresont, may as well bo satisfied, ivho haply 
toould object the same you loould do. 

Mit. So, sir ; but when api^ars Macilonte again ? 
Cor. Marry, he stays but till our silence give him 
leave : here he comes, and with him signior Dcliro, 
a merchant at tohose house he is come to sojourn : 
make your own observation now, only transfer your 
thoughts to the city, icith the scene : lohere suppiose 
they speak. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Deliro's House. 

Enter Deliro, Macilemte, and Fido with fioioers 
and perfumes. 

Deli. I'll tell you by and by, sir, — 
Yv'el :ome, good Macilente, to my house, 
To SDJourn even for ever ; if my best 
In cates, and every sort of good entreaty, 
May move you stay Avith me. 

[He censeth : the boy strews Jlowers. 
Maei. I thank you, sir. — 
And yet the muftled Fates, had it pleased them, 
Might have supplied me from their own full 

store. 
Without this word, / thank you, to a fool. 
I see no reason why that dog call'd Chance, 
Shoiild fawn upon this fellow more than me : 
I am a man, and I have limbs, flesh, blood, 
Bones, sinews, and a soul, as Avell as he : 
My parts are every way as good as his ; 



If I said better, why, I did not lie. 

Nath'less, his wealth, but nodding on my wants, 

Must malce me bow, and cry, / thank you, sir. 

[Aside. 
Deli. Dispatch ! take heed jouv mistress sea 

you not. 
Fido. I warrant you, sir, I'll steal by hei 
softly. [Exit. 

Deli. Nay, gentle friend, be merry ; raiso 
your looks 
Out of your bosom : I protest, bj' heaven, 
You are the man most welcome in the Avorld. 
Maci. 1 thank you, sir. — I know my cue, I 
think. [Aside. 

Re-enter Fido, ivith more i^erfumes and flowers. 
Fido. Where wiU you have them burn, sir ? 
Deli. Here, good Fido. 
What, she did not see thee ? 
Fido. No, sir. 

Deli. That is well. [so ! 

Strew, strew, good Fido, the freshest flowers ; 
Maci. What means this, signior Deliro ? aU 
this censing ? 

Deli. Cast in more frankincense, yet more; 
O Macilente, I have such a wife ! [well said. — 
So passing fair ! so passing-fair-unkind ! 
But of such worth, and right to be unkind. 
Since no man can be worthy of her kindness • 
Maci. What, can there not ? 
Deli. No, that is as sure as death, 
No man alive. I do not say, is not, 
But cannot possibly be worth her Itindness, 
Nay, it is certain, let me do her right. 
How, said I ? do her right ! as though I could, 
As though this dull, gross, tongue of mine 

could utter 
The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights. 
That sit, as high as I can look, within her ! 
Maci. This is such dotage as Avas never heard. 
Deli. Well, this must needs be granted. 
Maci. Granted, quoth you ? 
Deli. Nay, Macilente, do not so discredit 
The goodness of your judgment to deny it. 
For I do speak the very least of her : 
And I would crave, and beg no more of Heaven. 
For all my fortunes here, but to bo able 
To utter first in fit terms, what she is, 
And then the true joys I conceive in her. 

Maci. Is't possible she should deserve so well, 
As you pretend ? 

Deli. Ay, and she knov.'s so well [tliera, 

Her own deserts, that, when I strive t' enjoy 
She weighs the things I do,with what she merits ; 
And, seeing mj- worth out-weigh'd so in her 
She is so solemn, so precise, so froward, [graces. 
That no observance I can do to her 
Can make her kind to me : if she find fault, 
I mend that fault ; and then she says, I faulted. 
That I did mend it. Now, good friend, advisQ 

me. 
How I may temper this strange spleen in her. 
Maci. You are too amorous, too obsequious. 
And make her too assured she may command 

you. 
When women doubt most of their husbands' 

loves. 
They are most loving. Husbands must ruKf. 
heeJ. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



13S 



They give no gluts of kindness to their Avives, 
But use them like their horses ; whom they feed 
Not with a mangerful of meat together, 
But half a peck at once ; and keep them so 
Still with an appetite to that they give them. 
He that desires to have a loving wife, 
Must bridle all the show of that desire : 
Be kind, not amorous ; nor bewraying kindness. 
As if love wrought it, but considerate duty. 
Offer no love rites, but let wives still seek them, 
For when they come unsought, they "seldom 

like them. 
Deli. Believe me, Macilente, this is gospel. 
O, that a man were his own man so much. 
To rule himself thus. I will strive, i'faith, 
To be more strange and careless ; yet I hope 
I have now taken such a perfect course, 
To make her kind to me, and live contented. 
That I shall find my kindness well return' d, 
And have no need to fight with my affections. 
She late hath found much fault with every room 
Within my house ; one was too big, she said. 
Another Avas not furnish'd to her mind. 
And so through all ; all which, now, I have 

alter' d. 
Then here, she hath a place, on my back-side. 
Wherein she loves to walk ; and that, she said. 
Had some ill smells about it : now, this walk 
Have I, before she knows it, thus perfumed 
With herbs, and flowers ; and laid in divers 

places. 
As 'twere on altars consecrate to her. 
Perfumed gloves, and delicate chains of amber, 
To keep the air in awe of her sweet nostrils : 
This have I done, and this I think will please her. 
Behold, she comes. 

Enter Fallace, 

Fal. Here's a sweet stink, indeed ! 
What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued. 
And sick of husband ? O, my head doth ache. 
As it would cleave asunder, with these savors ! 
All my rooms altered, and but one poor wallc 
That I delighted in, and that is made 
So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd, 
Jly brain doth sweat so, I have caught the 
plague ! [sweet ? 

Deli. Why, gentle wife, is now thy wallc too 
Thou saidst of late, it had sour airs about it, 
And found'st much fault that I did not correct it. 

Fal. Why, an I did find fault, sii-? 

Deli. Nay, dear wife, 
I know thou hast said thou hast loved perfumes, 
No woman better. 

Fah Ay, long since, perhaps ; [me. 

But now that sense is altered: you would have 
LilvC to a puddle, or a standing pool. 
To have no motion, nor no spirit withui me. 
No, I am like a pure and sprightly river. 
That moves for ever, and yet still the same ; 
Or fire, that biirns much wood, yet stUl one 
flame. 

Deli. But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden, 
Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers ; 
And since, I hope, the humor of thy sense 
Is nothing changed. 

Fa2. Why, those were growing flowers. 
And these within nay walk are cut and strewed. 

Deli, But yet they have one scent. 



Fal. Ay ! have they so ? [ferenoe 

In your gross judgment. If you maki; no dif- 
Betwixt the scent of growing flov/ers t.nd cut 
You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith : [ones, 
And with such judgment have you changed the 

chambers. 
Leaving no room that I can joy to be in. 
In all your house ; and now my walk, and all, 
You smoke me from, as if I were a fox. 
And long, belike, to drive me quite away : 
Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list. 

Deli, What shall I do ? 0, 1 shall never please 
her. 

Maci, Out on thee, dotard ! what star ruled his 
birth, [still 

That brought him such a Star j blind Fortuna 
Bestows her gifts on such as cannot use them: 
How long shall I live, ere I be so happy 
To have a wife of this exceeding form ? yAsidc> 

Deli. Away with 'cm ! would I had broke a 
joint 
When I devised this, that should so dislike her. 
Away, bear all away. \_Exit Fido, icith flowers, §c. 

Fal. Ay, do ; for fear 
Aught that is there should like her. O, this man, 
How cunningly he can conceal himself. 
As though he loved, nay, honor'd and ador'd ! — 

Deli. Why, my sweet heart ? 

Fal. Sweet heart ! 0, better still ! [strangely, 
And asking, why ? wherefore ? and looking 
As if he were as white as innocence ! 
Alas, you're simple, you : you -cannot change. 
Look pale at pleasvire, and then red with wonder ; 
No, no, not you ! 'tis'pity o' your naturals. 
I did but cast an amorovis eye, e'en now, 
Upon a pair of gloves that somewhat liked me. 
And straight he noted it, and gave command 
All should be ta'en away. 

Deli. Be they my bane then ! 
What, sirrah, Fido, bring in those gloves again 
You took from hence. 

Fal. 'Sbody, sir, but do not : 
Bring in no gloves to spite me ; if you do 

Deli. Ay me, most Avretched ; how am I mis- 
construed ! [her eye, 

Maci. O, how she tempts my heart-strings with 
To knit them to her beauties, or to break ! 
What mov'd the heavens, that they could not 
Me such a Avoman ! but a man, a beast, [make 
That hath no bliss lilic others .' Would to heaven, 
In wreak of my misfortunes, I were turn'd. 
To some fair water-nymph, that, set iipon 
The deepest whirl-pit of the rav'nous seas, 
My adamantine eyes might headlong hale 
This iron world to me, and drown it all. [Aside, 

Cor. Behold, behold the translated gallant, 
Mit. O, he is icelcome, 

Enter'FvNGOSO, apparelled like Fastidious Brisk. 

Fung, Save you, brother and sister ; save you, 
sir ! I have commendations for you out o' tho 
country. I Avonder they take no knoAvledge oj 
my suit : [Aside.] — Mine uncle Sogliardo is in 
tOAvn. Sister, methinks you are melancholy, 
AA'hy are you so sad ? I think you took me foi 
Master Fastidious Brisk, sister, did you not .' 

Fal, Why should I talie you for him ? 

Fung, Nay, nothing. — I ivas lately in Ma.stei 



140 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Fastidious's company, and methinks wc are very- 
like. 

Deli. You have a fair suit, brother, 'give you 
joy on't. 

Fung. Faith, good enough to ride in, brother ; 
I niade it to ride in. 

Fed. O, now I see the cause of his idle demand 
was his new suit. 

Ddi. Pray you, good brother, try if j'ou can 
change her mood. 

Fung, I warrant you, let me alone : I'U put her 
out of her dumps. Sister, how like you my suit ? 

Fal. O, you are a gallant in print now, brother. 

Fung. Faith, how like you the fashion ? it is 
the last edition, I assure you. 

Fal. I cannot but like it to the desert. 

Fung. Troth, sister, I was fain to borrow these 
spurs, I have left my gown in gage for them, pray 
you lend me an angel. 

Fal. Now, beshrew my heart then. 

Fung. Good truth, Til pay you again at my 
next exhibition. I had but bare ten pound of 
my father, and it would not reach to j^ut me 
wholly into the fashion. 

Fal. I care not. 

Fung. I had spurs of mine own before, but 
they were not ginglers. Monsieur Fastidious 
will be here anon, sister. 

Fal. You jest. 

Fung. Never lend me penny more while you 
live then ; and that Fd be loth to say, in truth. 

Fal. When did you see him ? 

Fung. Yesterday ; I came acquainted with him 
at Sir Puntarvolo's ; nay, sweet sister. 

Maci. I fain would know of heaven now, why 
3''ond fool 
Should wear a suit of satin ? he ? that rook. 
That painted jay, with such a deal of outside ? 
What is his inside, trow ? ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
Good heaven, give me patience, patience, pa- 
A number of these popinjays there are, [tience. 
Whom, if a man confer, and but examine 
Their inward merit, with such men as want ; 
Lord, Lord, Avhat things they are ! \Aside. 

Fal. [^G Ives him money. \ Come, when m'LU you 
pay me again, now ? 

Fung. O lord, sister ! 

Maci. Here comes another. 

Enter Fastidious Brisk, in a new suit. 

Fast. Save you, signior Dcllro ! How dost 
thou, sweet lady ? let me kiss thee. 

Fung. How ! a new suit ? ah me ! 

Deli. And how does master Fastidious Brisk ? 

Fast. Faith, live in court, signior Deliro ; in 
grace, I thank God, both of the noble masculine 
and feminine. I must speak Avith you in private 
by and hj. 

Deli. When you please, sir. 

Fal. Why look you so pale, brother ? 

Fung. 'Slid, all this money is cast away now. 

Maci. Ay, there's a newer edition come forth. 

Fung. 'Tis but my hard fortune ! well, I'll 
have my suit changed, I'll go fetch my taUor 
presently, but first I'll devise a letter to my 
father. Have you any -^en and ink, sister ? 

Fal. What would you do withal ? 

Fung. I would use it. 'Slight, an it had come 
but four days sooner, the fashion. [Exit. 



Fast. There was a countess gave me her hand 
to kiss to-day, i' the presence : did me more good 

by that light than and yesternight sent her 

coach twice to my lodging, to intreat me accom- 
pany her, and my sweet mistress, with some two 
or three nameless ladies more : O, I have been 
graced by them beyond all aim oi' affection : this 
is her garter my dagger hangs in ; and they do 
so commend and aj^prove my apparel, with ray 
judicious wearing of it, it's above wonder. 

Fal. Indeed, sir, 'tis a most excellent suit, and 
you do wear it as extraordinary. 

Fast. Why, I'll tell j-ou now, in good faith, 
and by this chair, Avhich, by the grace of God, I 
intend presently to sit in, I had three suits in 
one year made three great ladies in love with 
me : I had other three, undid three gentlemen 
in imitation : and other three gat three other 
gentlemen widows of three thousand pound a 
year. 

DcIi. Is't possible ? 

Fast. O, believe it sir ; your good face is the 
witch, and your apparel the spells, that bring aU 
the pleasures of the Avoiid into their circle. 

FaL Ah, the sweet grace of a courtier ! 

Maci. Well, would my father had left me but a 
good face for my portion yet ! though I had 
shared the unfortunate wit that goes with it, I 
had not cared ; I might have passed for some- 
what in tlie world then. 

Fast. AVhy, assure you, signior, rich apparel 
has strange virtues ; it makes him that hath il 
without means, esteemed for an excellent w!t : 
he that enjoys it with means, puts the world in 
remembrance of his means : it helps the deform- 
ities of nature, and gives lustre to her beauties ; 
makes continual holiday where it shines ; sets 
the wits of ladies at work, that otherwise would 
be idle ; furnisheth your two-shilling ordinary ; 
takes possession of your stage at your new play ; 
and enricheth your oars, as scorning to go with 
your scull. 

Maci. Pray you, sir, add this ; it gives respect 
to your fools, makes many thieves, as many 
strumpets, and no fewer bankrupts. 

Fal. Out, out ! unworthy to speak where he 
breatheth. 

Fast. What's he, signior ? 

Deli. A fi'iend of mine, sir. 

Fast. By heaven, I wonder at you citizens, 
what kind of creatures you are ! 

Deli. Why, sir ? 

Fast. That you can consort yourselves with 
such poor seam-rent fellows. 

Fal. He says true. 

Deli. Sir, I will assure you, however you es- 
teem of him, he's a man worthy of regard. 

Fast. AVhy, what has he in him of such virtue 
to be regarded, ha ? 

Deli. Marry, he is a scholar, sir. 

Fast. Nothing else ! 

Deli. And he is well travell'd. 

Fast. He should get him clothes ; I would 
cherish those good parts of travel in him, and 
prefer him to some noblemen of good i^lace. 

Deli. Sir, such a benefit should bind me to 
you for ever, in my friend's right ; and I doubt 
not, but his desert shall more than answer my 
praise. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF IIIS HXJMOE. 



141 



Fast, Why, an he had good clothes, I'd carry 
him to court with me to-morrow. 

Dell, He shall not want for those, sir, if gold 
and the whole city will furnish him. 

Fast. You say well, sir : faith, signior Deliro, 
I am come to have you play the alchemist with 
me, and change the species of my land into that 
metal you talk of. 

DcU. With all my heart, sir ; what sum will 
serve you ? 

Fast, Faith, some three or four hundred. 

Dell, Troth, sir, I have promised to meet a 
gentleman this morning in Paul's, but upon my 
return I'll dispatch you. 

Fast. I'll accompanj' you thither. 

Dell, As you please, sir ; but I go not thither 
directly. 

Fast. 'Tis no matter, I have no other design- 
ment in hand, and therefore as good go along. 

Dell. I were as good have a quartain fever fol- 
low me now, for I shall ne'er be rid of him. 
Bring me a cloak there, one. Still, upon his 
grace at court, I am sure to be visited ; I was a 
beast to give him any hope. Well, would I were 

in, that I am out witli him once, and Come, 

signior Macilente, I must confer with you as we 
go. Nay, dear Avife, I beseech thee, forsake these 
moods : look not like winter thus. Here, take 
my keys, open my counting-houses, spread all 
my wealth before thee, choose any object that 
delights thee : if thou wilt eat the spirit of gold, 
and drink dissolved pearl in wine, 'tis for thee. 

Fal, So, sir ! 

Dell. Najs my sweet wife. 

Fal. Good lord, how you are perfumed in your 
terms and aU ! i^ray you leave ixs. 

Dell. Come, gentlemen. 

Fast, Adieu, sweet lady. 

\Exeunt all but Fallace. 

Fal. Ay, ay ! let thy words ever sound in mine 
ears, and thy graces disperse contentment 
through all ray senses ! O, how happy is that 
lady above other ladies, that enjoys so abso- 
lute a gentleman to her servant ! A countess 
qlves hl/H her hand to kiss : ah, foolish countess ! 
ire's a man worthy, if a woman may speak of a 
man's worth, to kiss the lips of an empress. 

Re-enter Fungoso, icith his Tailor. 

Fung. What's master Fastidious gone, sister? 

Fal. Ay, brother. — He has a face like a 
cherubin ! [Aside. 

Fung. 'Ods me, what luck's this ? I have 
fetch'd my tailor and aU : which way Avent he, 
sister, can you tell ? 

Fal. Not I, in good faith — and he has a body 
like an angel ! [Aside, 

Fung. How long is't since he went ? 

Fal. Why, but e'en noAV ; did you not meet 
him ? — and a tongue able to ravish any woman 
in the earth. [Aside. _ 

Fung. O, for God's sake — I'U please you for 
your pains, [to his Tailor.] — But e'en now, say 
you r Come, good sir : 'slid, I had forgot it too : 
if any body ask for mine uncie Sogliardo, they 
shall have him at the herald's office yonder, by 
Paul's. [Exit witli his Tailor. 

Fal. Well, I win not altogether despair : I 
have heard of a citizen's wife has been beloved 



of a courtier ; and why not I ? heigh, ho ! well, 
I will into my private chamber, lock the door to 
me, and think over all his good parts one aftev 
another. [Exit. 

Mit. Well, I doubt, this last scene u-ili endure 
some grievous torture. 

Cor. IIow ? you fear 'twill be rack'd by some 
hard construction ? 

Mit. Do not you ? 

Cor. No, in good faith : taxless mine eyes could 
light me beyond sense. I see no reason tohy thi-i 
should be more liable to the rack than the rest . 
you'll say, 2}erhaps, the city loill not take it well 
that the merchant is made here to doat so perfectly 
upon his icife ; and she again to be so Fastidiously 
affected as she is. 

Mit. You have iitter'd my thought, sir, indeed. 

Cor, Why, by that x>rop>ortlon, the couH might 
as tcell take offence at him we call the courtier, 
and with much more 2'>rctext, by how much the 
2}lace transcends, and goes before in dignity and 
virtue : but can you imagine that any noble or true 
spirit in court, tchose sineioy and altogether unaf- 
fected graces, very worthily express him a courtier, 
tvill make any exception at ike opening of such an 
empty trunk as this Brisk is ? or think his oicn 
worth impeached, by beholding his motley inside ? 

Mit, No, sir, I do not. 

Cor, No more, assure you, will any grave, wise 
citi~en, or modest matron, take the object of this 
folly in Deliro and his loife ; but father apply it 
as the foil to their own virtues. For that loere to 
affirm, that a man tcriting of Nero, should mean 
all emperors ; or speaking of Machiavcl, compre- 
hend all statesmen ; or in our Sordido, all farmers ; 
and so of the rest : than ichich nothing can be tit- 
tered inore malicious or absurd. Indeed there are 
a sort of these narrow-eyed deCypherers, I confess, 
that tcill extort strange and abstruse meanings out 
of any subject, be it never so conspicz'mis and iniio- 
cently delivered. But to such, xohere'er they sit 
concealed, let them knoio, the author defies them 
and their ivriting -tables ; and hopes no sound or 
safe judgment will infect itself with their co7itagioui 
comments, loho, indeed, come here only to pervert 
and jmison the sense of what they hear, and for 
nought else. 

Enter cavalier Shift, with two Si-quissas (biUsJ 
in his hand. 

Mit. Stay, ivhat new mute is this, that walks so 
suspiciously / 

Cor. O, marry, this is one, for whose bette* 
illustration, we must desire you to presuppose the 
stage, the middle aisle in Paul's, and that the west 
end of it. 

Mit, So, sir, and what folloics ? 

Cor, Faith, a wJiole volume of iufr^or, and war* 
thy the unclasping. 

ilit. As hoic? miat name do you give him 
first / 

Cor, He hath shift of names, sir : some call him 
Apple- John, some signior Whiffe ; marry, his main 
standing name is cavalier Shift : the rest are but as 
clean shirts to his natures. 

!Mit. And ichat makes he in Paul's now ? 

Cor. Troth, as you see, for the advancement of 
a si quis, or two ; loherein he has so varied himself, 



M2 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



that if any of 'em taAv, he may hull iqy and down 
in tJie humorous world a little longer. 

Mit. It seems then he bears a very changing 
sail ? 

Cor. O, as the wind, sir : here comes more. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Middle Aisle of St. Paul's. 

Shift, [coming forward.] This is rare, I have 
t?c-t up my bills without discovery. 

Enter Orange. 
Orange. What, signior Whiffe ! Avhat fortune 
has brought you into these west parts ? 

Shift. Troth, signior, nothing but your rheum ; 
. I have been taking an ounce of tobacco hard by 
here, -with a gentleman, and I am come to spit 
private in Paul's. 'Save you, sir. 
Orange. Adieu, good signior Whiffe. 

\_Passcs omcard. 
Enter Clove. 
Clove. Master Apple- John ! you are well met : 
when shall we sup together, and laugh, and be 
fat with those good wenches, ha ? 

Shift. Faith, sir, I must now leave you, upon 

a few humors and occasions ; but when you 

please, sir. \^Exit. 

Clove. Farewell, sweet Apple- John ! lAvonder 

there are no more store of gallants here. 

ilit. Mliat he these tioo, signior ? 

Cor. Marry, a coiqile, sir, that are mere stran- 
^ers to the whole scojie of our play ; only come to 
xoalk a turn or two in this scene of Paul's, by 
chance. 

Orange. Save you, good master Clove ! 
Clove. Sweet master Orange, 

Mit. IIoio ! Clove and Orange ? 

Cor. Ay, and they are well met, for 'tis as dry 
an Orange as ever greio : nothing hut salutation, and 
O lord, sir ! and. It pleases you to say so, sir ! 
one that can laugh at a jest for company with a 
most 2)lausible and cxtcmporal grace ; and some hour 
after in private ask you what it loas. The other 
monsieur, Clove, is a more spiced youth ; he will sit 
you a whole afternoon sometimes in a booJcseller's 
sliop, reading the Greek, Italian, and Spanish, when 
he understands not a icord of either ; if he had the 
tongues to his suits, he were an excellent linguist. 

Clove. Do you hear this reported for certainty ? 
Orange. O lord, sir. 

Enter Puntauvolo and Caulo, followed by tioo 
Serving-men, one leading a dog, the other bear- 
ing a bag. 

Punt. Sirrah, take my cloak ; and you, sir 
knave, follow me closer. If thou losest my dog, 
thou shalt die a dog's death ; I will hang thee. 
Car. Tut, fear him not, he's a good lean slave ; 
he loves a dog well, I warrant him ; I see by his 
looks, I : — Jilass, he's somewhat like him. 'Slud 
[to the Servant.] poison him, make him away with 
n. crooked pin, or somewhat, man ; thou may'st 



have more security of thy life ; and — So, sir ; 
what! you have not put out your whole ven- 
ture yet, have you : 

Punt. No, I do want yet some fifteen or six- 
teen hundred pound'; ; but my lady, my wife, is 
Out of her Humor, she does not now go. 

Car. No ! how the i ? 

Punt. Marry, I am now enforced to give it out, 
upon the return of myself, m.y dog, and my 
cat. 

Car. Y'our cat ! where is she ? 

Punt. My squire has her there, in the bag ; 
sirrah, look to her. How lik'st thou my change, 
Carlo ? 

Car. O, for the better, sir ; your cat has nine 
lives, and your wife has but one. 

Punt. Besides, she will never be sea-sick, 
which will save me so much in conserves. 
When saw you signior Sogliardo ? 

Car. I came from him but now ; he is at the 
herald's office yonder ; he requested me to go 
afore, and take up a man or two for him ii:. 
Paul's, against his cognizance was ready. 

Punt. What, has he purchased arms, then ? 

Car. Ay, and rare ones too ; of as many col- 
ors as e'er you saw any fool's coat in your life 
I'll go look among yond' bills, an I can fit him 
Avith legs to his arms. 

Punt. With legs to his arms ! Good ! I wiD 
go with you, sir. [ They go to read the bills. 

Enter Fastidious, Deliro, and Macilente. 

Fast. Come, let's walk in Mediterraneo : I as- 
sure you, sir, I am not the least respected among 
ladies ; but let that pass : do you know how to 
go into the presence, sir ? 

Maci. V/hj', on my feet, sir. 

Fast. No, on your head, sir ; for 'tis that must 
bear you out, I assure you ; as thus, su\ You 
must first have an especial care so to Avear your 
hat, that it oppress not confusedly this your pre 
dominant, or foretoi> ; because, when you come at 
the presence-door, you may with once or twice 
stroking up your forehead, thus, enter with your 
predominant perfect ; that is, standing up stiff. 

Maci. As if one were frighted ? 

Fast. Ay, sir. 

Hilaci. AVhich, indeed, a true fear of your mis- 
tress should do, rather than gum-water, or 
Avhites of eggs ; is't not so, sir ? 

Fast. An ingenious observation. Give me 
leave to crave your name, sir ? 

Deli. His name is Macilente, sir. 

Fast. Good signior Macilente, if this gentle- 
man, signior Deliro, furnish you, as he says he 
Avill, Avith clothes, I Avill bring you, to-morroAv 
by this time, into the presence of the most diA^ne 
and acute lady in coiu-t ; you shall see SAvect 
silent rhetorick, and dumb eloquence speaking 
in her eye ; but Avhcn she speaks herself, such 
an anatom}^ of Avit, so sinewized and arterized, 
that "tis the goodliest model of pleasure that 
CA-er Avas to behold. Oh ! she strikes the Avorld 
into admiration of her •,0,0,0! I cannot 
express them, believe me. 

Maci. O, your only admiration is your silence, 
sir. 

Punt. "Fore God, Carlo, this is good ! let's 
read them again. [Reads the bill 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



143 



If there te any laxhj or gentlewoman of good car- 
nage that is desirous to entertain to her private 
uses, a young, straight, and upright gentleman, of 
'.lie age of fee or six and twenty at the most ; ?oAo 
'Mil serve in the nature of a gentleman-usher, and 
hath little legs of purpose, and a black satin suit of 
his oxen, to go before her in ; which suit, for the 
more sweetening, now lies in lavender ; and can hide 
his face xoith her fan, if need require ; or sit in the 
cold at the stair foot for her, as well as another gen- 
tleman : let her subscribe her name and 2}lace, and 
diligent respect shall bo given. 

Punt. This is above measure excellent, ha ! 

Car. No, this, this ! here's a fine slave. 

lEeads. 

If this city, or t/ie suburbs of the same, do afford 
any young gentleman of tlie first, second, or third 
head, more or less, tohose friends are but lately de- 
ceased, and lehose lands are but new come into his 
hands, that, to bo as exactly qualified as the best of 
our ordinary gallants are, is affected to entertain the 
most gentleman-like use of tobacco ; as first, to give 
it the most exquisite 2iojfume ; then, to know all the 
delicate sweet forms for the assumpition of it ; as 
also the rare corollary and practice of the Cuban 
ebolition, eurijjus and whijf, iohich ho shall receive 
or take in here at London, and evaporate at TJx- 
bridge, or farther, if it j^lcase him. If there be any 
such generous spirit, that is truly enamoured of 
these good facidties ; may it please him, but by a iwte 
of his hand to specify the jJlaco or ordinary where 
he xises to eat and lie ; and most sweet attendance, 
with tobacco and 2iipes of the best sort, shall be min- 
istered. Stet, quKso, candide Lector. 

Punt. Why, this is without parallel, this. 

Car. Well, FU mark this fellow for Sogiiardo's 
use presentlj\ 

Punt. Or rather, Sogliardo, for his use. 

Car. Faith, either of them will serve, thej- are 
both good properties : I'll design the other a 
place too, that we may see him. 

Punt. No better place than the ^Mitre, that we 
may be spectators Avith you, Carlo. Soft, be- 
hold who enters here : 

Enter Sogi.iaiido. 
Signior Sogliardo ! save you. 

Sog. Save 3'ou, good sir Puntarvolo ; your 
dog's in health, sir, I see : How now. Carlo ? 

Car. We have ta'en simple pains, to choose 
you out followers here. [Shews hj,m the bills. 

Punt. Come hither, signior. 

Clove. Monsieur Orange, yon gallants observe 
115 ; prithee let's talk fustian a little, and gull 
them ; mfikc them believe we are great scholars. 

Orange. O lord, sir ! 

Clovc^ Nay, prithee let us, believe me, — you 
h.ave an excellent habit in discourse. 

Orange. It pleases you to say so, sir. 

Chve. By this church, you have, la; nay, 
come, begin — Aristotle, in his dfemonologia, 
approves Scaliger for the best navigator in his 
time ; and in his hypercritics, he reports him to 
be Heautontimorumenos : — you understand the 
Greek, sir ? 

Orange. O, good sir ! 

Mad. For society's sake he does. 0, here be 
i couple of fine, tame parrot? ! 



Clove. Now, sir, whereas the ingenuity of the 
time and the soul's sjmderisis are but embrions 
in nature, added to the panch of Esquiline, and 
the inter- vallum of the zodiac, besides the eclip- 
tic line being optic, and not mental, but by the 
contemplative and theoric part thereof, doth 
demonstrate to us the vegetable circumference, 
and the ventosity of the tropics, and whereas 
our intellectual, or mincing capreal (according 
to the metaphysicks) as you may read in Plato's 
Ilistriomastix You conceive me, sir ■' 

Orange. lord, sir ! 

Clove. Then coming to the pretty animal, as 
reason long since is fled to animals, you know, 
or indeed for the more modelizing, or enamel- 
ling, or rather diamondizing of your subject, 
you shall perceive the hypothesis, or galaxia, 
(whereof the meteors long since had their ini- 
tial inceptions and notions,) to be merely Pj^tha- 

gorical, mathematical, and aristocratical 

For, look you, sir, there is ever a kind of con- 
cinnitj' and species Let us turn to our for- 
mer discourse, for they mark us not. 

Fast. Mass, yonder's the knight Puntarvolo. 

Deli. And my cousin Sogliardo, methinks- 

Maci. Aj-, and his familiar that haunts him, 
the devil with, the shining face. 

Deli. Let 'em alone, observe 'em not. [gether. 

[Sogliardo, Puntarvolo, and Carlo tcalk to- 

Sog. Nay, I will have him, I am resolute for 
that. By this parchment, gentlemen, I have been 
so toiled among the harrots yonder, you will not 
believe ! they do speak in the strangest lan- 
guage, and give a man the hardest terms for his 
money, that ever you knew. 

Car. But have you arms, have you arms ? 

Sog. I'faith, I thank them ; I can write my- 
self gentleman now ; here's my patent, it cost 
me thirty pound, by this breath. 

Punt. A very fair coat, well charged, and full 
of armory. 

Sjg. Nay, it has as much variety of colors in 
it, as you have seen a coat have ; how like you 
the crest, sir ? 

Punt. I understand it not well, what is't ? 

Sog. Marry, sir, it is your boar without a 
head, rampant. A boar without a head, that's 
very rare ! 

Car. Ay, and rampant too ! troth, I com- 
mend the herald's wit, he has decyphered him 
Avell : a swine without a head, without brain, 
wit,, anything indeed, rampmg to gentility. You 
can blazon the rest, signior, can you not ? 

Sog. O, ay, I have it in writing here of piu"- 
pose ; it cost me two shillings the tricking. 

Car. Let's hear, let's hear. 

Punt. It is the most vile, foolish, absurd, pal- 
pable, and ridiculous escutcheon that ever this 
eye survised. — Save you, good monsieur Fas- 
tidious. [ They salute as they meet in the loalk. 

Car. Silence, good knight ; on, on. 

Sog. [Reads.] Gyrony of eight pieces ; azure 
and gules ; between three plates, a chevron en- 
grailed cheequy, or, vert, and ermins ; on a chief 
argent, between two ami lets sable, a bear's Jicad, 
proper. 
• Car. How's that ! on a chief argent ? 

Sog. [Reads.] On a chief argent, a boar's ^^ad 
proper, between two ann'lets sable. 



144 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOIl. 



Car. 'Slucl, it's a hog's cheek and puddings 
I a a pewter field, this. 

[Here they shift. Fastidious mixes tcith PuN- 
TAUVOLo' ; Carlo and Sogliardo ; Deliro 
and ^Iacilexte ; Clove and Orange ; four 
couple. 

Sog. How like j-ou them, signior ? 

Punt. Let the word be, Not ivithout mustard : 
your crest is very rare, sir. 

Car. A frj'ing-pan to the crest, had had no 
fellow. 

Fast. Iiitrcat your poor friend to walk off a 
little, signior, I Avill salute the knight. 

Car. Come, lap it up, lap it up. 

Fast. You are right well encounter'd, sir ; 
how does your fair dog ? 

Punt. In reasonable state, sir; what citizen 
is that you were consorted with ? A merchant 
of any worth ? 

Fast. 'Tis signior Deliro, sir. 

Punt. Is it he ? — Save you, sir ! [ They salute. 

Deli. Good sir Puntarvolo ! 

Muci. O what copy of fool would this place min- 
ister, to one endued with patience to observe it. 

Car. Nay, look you, sir, noAV you are a gen- 
tleman, you must carry a more exalted presence, 
^change your mood and habit to a more austere 
form ; be exceeding proud, stand upon your 
gentility, and scorn every man ; speak nothing 
humbly, never discourse under a nobleman, 
though you never saAV him but riding to the 
star-chamber, it's all one. Love no man : trust 
no man : speak ill of no man to his face ; nor 
well of any man behind his back. Salute fairly 
on the front, and wish them hanged upon the 
turn. Spread yourself upon his bosom pub- 
licly, whose heart you would eat in private. 
These be princij^les, think on them ; I'll come 
to you again presently. [Exit. 

Punt- [to his servant.'l Sirrah, keep close ; yet 
not so close : thy breath will thaw my ruff. 

Sog. 0, good cousin, I am a little busy, how 
does my niece ? I am to walk with a knight, 
here. 

Enter Fungoso icith his Tailor. 

Fu7ig. 0, he is here ; look you, sir, that's the 
gentleman. 

Tai. What, he, in the blush-colored satin ? 

Fung. Ay, he, sir ; though his suit blush, he 
blushes not, look you, that's the suit, sir : I 
would have mine such a suit without difference, 
such stuff, such a wing, such a sleeve, such a 
skirt, belly and all ; therefore, pray you observe 
it. Have you a pair of tables ? 

Fast. Why, do you see, sir, they say I am fan- 
tastical ; why, true, I know it, and I pursue my 
Iiumor still, in contempt of this censorious age. 
'SUght, an a man should do nothing but what a 
bort of stale judgments about this town will ap- 
prove in him, he were a sweet ass : I'd beg him, 
i'faith, I ne'er knew any more find fault with 
a fashion, than they that knew not how to put 
themselves into it. For mine own part, so I 
please mine own appetite, I am careless what 
the fusty world speaks of me. Puh ! 

Fimg. Do you mark, how it hangs at the* 
Knee there ? 

Tai. I warrant you, sir. 



Fung. For God's sake do, note all ; do you 
see the collar, sir f 

Tai. Fear nothing, it shall not differ in a 
stitch, sir. 

Fung. Pray heaven it do not ! you'll make 
these linings serve, and help me to a chapman 
for the outside, will you ? 

Tai. I'll do my best, sir : you'll put it off 
presently. 

Fung. A}% go with me to my chamber you 

shall have it but make haste of it, for the 

love of a customer ; for I'll sit in my old suit, 
or else lie a bed, and read the Arcadia till you 
have done. [Exit icith his Tailor. 

He-enter Carlo. 

Car. 0, if ever you were struck with a jest, 
gallants, now, now, now, I do usher the most 
strange piece of military profession that ever 
was discovered in Insula Paulina. 

Fast. Where ? where ? 

Punt. What is he for a creature ? 

Car. A pimp, a pimp, that I have observed 
yonder, the rarest superficies of a humor ; he 
comes every morning to empty his lung's in 
Paul's here ; and offers up some five or six heca- 
tombs of faces and sighs, and away again. 
Here he comes ; nay, w-alk, walk, be not seen 
to note him, and vre shall have excellent sport. 

Enter Shift; and toalJcs by, using action to his rapier 

Punt. 'Slid, he vented a sigh e'en now, I 
thought he would have blown up the church. 

Car. O, you shall have him give a number of 
those false fires ere he depart. 

Fast. See, now he is expostulating with his 
rapier : look, look ! 

Car. Did you ever in your days observe bet 
ter passion over a hilt ? 

Punt. Except it were in the person of a cut- 
ler's boy, or that the fellow Avere nothing but 
vapor, I should think it impossible. 

Car. See again, he claps his sword o' the 
head, as who should say, well, go to. 

Fast. O violence ! I wonder the blade can 
contain itself, being so provoked. [breast, 

Car. With that the moody squire thumpt his 
And rear'd his eyen to heaven for revenge. 

Sog. Troth, an you be good gentlemen, let's 
make them friends, and take up the matter be- 
tween his rapier and him. 

Car. Nay, if you intend that, you must lay 
down the matter ; for this rapier, it seems, is in 
the nature of a hanger-on, and the good gentle- 
man Avould happily be rid of him. 

Fast. By my faith, and 'tis to be suspected ; 
I'll ask him. [us go : 

Mac. O. here's rich stuff! for life's sake, le) 
A man would wish himself a senseless pillar, 
Rather than view these monstrous prodigies : 
Nil habet infellx paupertas durius inse,' 

Quam quod ridiculos homines facit 

[Exit with Delird,' 

Fast. Signior. 

Shift. At your service. 

Fast. Will you sell your rapier ? 

Car. He is turn'd wild upon the question 
he looks as he had seen a serjeant. 

Shift. Sell my rapier ! now fate bless mo ' 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



14c 



Ptmt. Amen. 

Shift. You ask'd me if I would sell my ra- 
pier, sir ? 

Fast. I did indeed. 

Shift. Now, lord hare mercy upon mc ! 

Punt. Amen, I saj'- still. 

Shift, 'Slid, sir, what should yoii behold in 
my face, sir, that should move you, as they say, 
sir, to ask mc, sir, if I would sell my rapier ? 

Fast. Nay, let me pray you, sir, be not moved ; 
I protest, I would rather have been silent, than 
any way offensive, had I known your nature. 

Shift. Sell my rapier ? 'ods lid ! — Nay, sh-, 
for mine own part, as I am a man that has serv'd 
in causes, or so, so I am not apt to injure any 
gentleman in the degree of falling foul, but — 
sell my rapier ! I will tell you, sir, I have 
served with this foolish rapier, where some of 
us dare not appear in haste ; I name no man ; 
but let that pass. Sell my rapier ! — death to 
my lungs ! This rapier, sir, has travell'd by my 
side, sir, the best part of France, and the Loav 
Country : I have seen Flushing, Brill, and the 
Hague, with this rapier, sir, in my Lord of 
Leicester's time : ancV by God's will, he that 

should offer to disrapier me now, I would 

Look you, sir, you presume to be a gentleman 
of sort, and so likewise your friends here ; if 
you have any disposition to travel for the sight 
of service, or so, one, two, or all of yovi, I can 
lend you letters to divers officers and command- 
ers in the Low Countries, that shall for my 
cause do you all the good offices, that shall per- 
tain or belong to gentlemen of your 

[lowering his voice.'] Please you to shew the 
bounty of your mind, sir, to impart some ten 
groats, or half a crown to our use, till our ability 
be of growth to return it, and we shall think 
ourself 'Sblood ! sell my rapier ! 

Sog. I pray you, what said he, signior ? he's 
a proper man. 

Fast. Marry, he tells mc, if I please to shew 
the bounty of my mind, to impart some ten 
groats to his use, or so 

Punt- Break his head, and give it him. 

Car. I thought he had been playing o' the 
Jew's trump, I. 

Shift. My rapier ! no, sii- ; my rapier is my 
guard, my defence, my revenue, my honor ; — 
if you cannot impart, be secret, I beseech you 
— and I will maintain it, where there is a grain 
of dust, or a drop of water. {Sighs.] ILard is 
the choice when the valiant must eat their arms, 
or clem. Sell my rapier ! no, my dear, I wUl 
not be divorced from thee, yet ; 1 have ever 

found thee true as steel, and Y''ou cannot 

impart, sir ? — Save you, gentlemen ; — never- 
theless, if you have a fancy to it, sir — 

Fast. Prithee away: Is signiorDeliro departed? 

Car. Have you seen a pimp outface his own 
wants better ? 

Sog. I commend him that can dissemble them 
so well. 

Punt. True, and having no better a cloak for 
it than he has neither. 

Fast. Od's precious, what mischievous luck 
ifi this ! adieu, gentlemen. 

Punt. Whither in such haste, monsieur Fas- 
tidious ? 

10 



Fast- After my merchant, signior Delirn, nir. 

[E:,it. 

Car. O hinder him not, he may hap lose his 
tide ; a good flounder, ''faith. 

Orange. Hark you, signior Whiffe, a word 
with you. [Oraxge and Clove call Shift aside. 

Car. How ! signior Whiffe ? 

Orange. What was the difference between 
that gallant that's gone and you, sii- ? 

Shift. No difference ; he would have given 
me five pound for my rapier, and I refused it ; 
that's all. 

Clove. O, was it no otherwise ? we thought 
j'-ou had been upon some terms. 

Shift. No other than you saw, sir. 

Clove. Adieu, good master Apple-John. 

[Exit with Okanqe. 

Car, How ! Whiffe, and Apple- John too : 
Heart, what will you say if this be the appen- 
dix or label to both yon indentures ? 

Punt. It may be. 

Car. Resolve us of it, Janus, thou that look'st 
every way ; or thou, Hercules, that hast trav- 
elled all countries. 

Punt. Naj', Carlo, spend not time in invoca- 
tions now, 'tis late. 

Car. Signior, here's a gentleman desirous of 
your name, sir. 

Shift. Sir, my name is cavalier Shift : I am 
known sufficiently in this walk, sir. 

Car, Shift ! I heard your name- varied ever, 
now, as I take it. 

Shift, True, sir, it pleases the world, as I am 
her excellent tobacconist, to give me the style 
of signior Whiffe ; as I am a poor esquire about 
the town here, they call me master Apple- John. 
Variety of good names docs avcU, sir. 

Car, Ay, and good parts, to make those good 
names ; out of which I imagine yon bills to be 
yours. 

Shift. Sir, if I should deny the manuscripts, 
I were worthy to be banish'd the middle aisle 
for ever. 

Car. I take your word, sir : this gentleman 
has subscribed to them, and is most desirous to 
become your pupil. Marry, you must use ex- 
pedition. Signior Insulso Sogliardo, this is the 
professor. 

Sog. In good time, sir : nay, good sir, house 
your head ; do you profess these sleights in to- 
bacco ? 

Shift. I do more than profess, sir, and, if you 
please to be a practitioner, I will undertake in 
one fortnight to bring you, that you shall take 
it plausibly in any ordinarj', theatre, or the Tilt- 
y^ard, if need be, in the most popular assembly 
that is. 

Punt. But you cannct bring him to the 
whiffe so soon ? 

Shift, Y'es, as soon, sir ; he shall receive the 
first, second, and third whiffe, if it please him, 
and, upon the receipt, take his horse, drink his 
three cups of canary, and expose one at Houns- 
low, a second at Stains, and a third at Bagshot, 

Car. Baw-waw ! 

Sog. You Avill not serve me, sir, will you ? I'll 
give you more than countenance. 

Shift. Pardon me, sir, I do scorn to serve miy 
man. 



Mo 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Car. '^Vho ! he serve ? 'sbloocl, he keeps high 
men, Olid lo%v men, he ! he has a fair living at 
Fuii-.m. 

K?7i//)!. But in the nature of a fellow, I'll be 
your follo-sver, if you please. 

Soff. Sir, you shall stay, and dine with me, 
and if we can aj^ree, we'll not part in haste : I 
am very bountiful to men of quality. Where 
shall we f?o, signior ? 

Punt. Your Mitre is your best house. 

Shift. I can make this dog take as many 
whifFes as I list, and he shall retain, or efFume 
them, at my pleasure. 

Punt. By your patience, follow me, fellows. 

So(f. Sir Puntarvolo ! 

Punt. Pardon me, my dog shall not eat in his 
company for a million. [Exit loith his Seiwants. 

Car. Nay, be not you amazed, signior WhifFe, 
whatever that stiff-necked gentleman says. 

So(j. No, for you do not know the humor of 
the dog, as we do : Where shall we dine. Car- 
lo ? I would fain go to one of these ordinaries, 
now I am a gentleman. 

Car. So you ma}^ ; were you never at any yet ? 

Sog. No, faith ; but they say there resorts 
your most choice gallants. 

Car. True, and the fashion is, Avhen any 
stranger comes in amongst 'em, they all stand 
up and stare at him, as he were some unknown 
beast, brought out of Africk ; but that will be 
helped with a good adventiirous face. You 
must be impudent enough, sit down, and use 
no respect : when anything's propounded above 
your capacity, smile at it, make two or three 
faces, and 'tis excellent ; they'll think you have 
travell'd ; though you argue, a whole day, in 
silence thus, and discourse in nothing but 
laughter, 'twill pass. Only, now and then, 
give fire, discharge a good full oath, and offer a 
great wager ; 'twill be admirable. 

Sog. I warrant you, I am resolute; come, 
good signior, there's a poor French crown for 
your ordinary. 

Shift. It comes well, for I had not so much 
as the least portcullis of coin before. 

Mit. I travail with another objection, signior, 
which I fear loill be enforced against the author, 
ere I can be deliver' d of it. 

Cor. What's that, sir ? 

Mit. That the argument of his comedy might 
have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be 
in love with a countess, and that countess to be in 
love toith the duke's son, and the son to love the 
lady's waiting-maid; some such cross toooing, loith 
a cloton to their servingman, better than to be 
thus near, and familiarly allied to the time. 

Cor. You say icell, but I icould fain hear one 
of these autumn-judgments define once. Quid sit 
coma;dia ? if he cannot, let him content himself 
with Cicero's definition, till he have strength to i^ro- 
ixise to himself a better, who would have a com- 
edy to be imitatio vita?, speculum consuetudinis, 
iTnago veritatis ; a thing throughout pleasant and 
ridiculous, and accommodated to the correction of 
manners : if the maker have failed in any particle 
of this, they may xoorthily tax him ; but if not, 

lohy be you, that are for them, silent, as I to ill 

^cfor him ; and give way to the actors. 



SCENE II. — The Country. 

Entei' SoEDiDO, loith a halter about his neck. 

Sord. Nay, God's precious, if the weather and 
season be so respectless, that beggars shall live 
as well as their betters ; and that my hunger 
and thirst for riches shall not make them hun- 
ger and thirst with poverty ; that my sleep shall 
be broken, and their hearts not broken ; that my 
coffers shall be full, and yet care ; their's empty, 
and yet merry ; — 'tis time that a cross should 
bear flesh and blood, since flesh and blood can- 
not bear this cross. 

Mit. What, will he hav,j himself? 

Cor. Faith, ay ; it seems his prognostication has 
not kept touch toith hitn, and that makes him despair. 

Mit. Beshreio me, he 2oill be out of iiis humor 
thcji indeed. 

So7-d. Tut, these star-monger knaves, who 
Avould trust them ? One says dark and rainy, 
when 'tis as clear as chrystal ; another says, tem- 
pestuous blasts and storms, and 'twas as calm as 
a milk-bowl ; here be sw(»et rascals for a man to 
credit his whole fortunes with ! You sky-star- 
ing coxcombs you, you fat-brains, out upon you ; 
you are good for nothing but to sweat night- 
caps, and make rug-gowns dear ! you learned 
men, and have not a legion of devils a vostre 
sertice ! a vostre service ! by heaven, I think I 
shall die a better scholar than they : but soft — 

Enter a Hind, toith a letter. 
How now, sirrah ? 

Hind. Here's a letter come from your son, sir. 

Sord. From my son, sir ! what would my son, 
sir? some good news, no doubt. [Reads. 

Sweet and dear father, desiring you first to send 
me your blessing, ichich is more loorth to me than gold 
or silver, I desire you likeicise to be advertised, that 
this Shrove-tide, contrary to custom, we use always 
to have revels ; which is indeed dancing, and makes 
an excellent sheio in truth ; especially if we gentle- 
men be well attired, lohich our seniors note, and 
think the better of our fathers, the better toe are 
maintained, and that they shall know if they come 
up, and have any thing to do in the law ; therefore, 
good father, these are, for your oton sake as well as 
mine, to re-desire you, that tjou let me not toaiit that 
tohieh is fit for the setting up of our name, in the 
honorable volume of gentility, that I may say to 
our caluniniators, toith Tully, Ego sum ortus 
domus mese, tu occasus tuae. And thus, not doubt- 
ing of your fatherly benevolence, I humbly ask your 
blessing, and pray God to bless you. 

Yours, if his oton, [Fu>goso. 

How's this ! Your's, if his oton ! Is he not my son, 
except he be his own son ? belike this is some 
new kind of subscription the gallants use. Well ! 
wherefore dost thou stay, knave ? away ; go. 
[Exit Hind.] Here's a letter, indeed ! revels ? 
and benevolence ? is this a weather to send be- 
nevolence ? or is this a season to revel in ? 'Slid, 
the devil and all takes part to vex me, I think ! 
this letter would never have come now else, now, 
now, when the sun shines, and the air thus 
clear. Soul ! if this hold, Ave shall shortly have 



EVERY MAN OUT OF IIIS HUMOR. 



U1 



an excellent crop of corn spring out of the high 
•ways : the streets and houses of the town will 
be hid with the ranknoss of the fruits, that grow 
there in spite of good husbandry. Go to, I'll 
prevent the sight of it, come as quickly as it 
can, I Avill prevent the sight of it. I have this 
remedy, heaven. [Clambers tip, and suspends the 
halter to a tree.'\ Stay ; I'll try the pain thus a 
little. O, nothing, nothing. Well now ! shall 
ray son gain a benevolence by my death ? or 
anybody be the better for my gold, or so forth ? 
no ; alive I kept it from them, and dead, my 
ghost shall walk about it, and preserve it. My 
son and daughter shall starve ere they touch it ; 
I have hid it as deep as hell from the sight of 
heaven, and to it I go now. [FUnjs himself off. 

Enter Jive or six Rustics, one after another. 

1 Rust. Ah me, what pitiful sight is tliis ! 
help, help, help ! 

2 Rust. How now ! what's the matter ? 

1 Rust. O, here's a man has hang'd himself, 
help to get him again. 

2 Rust. Hang'd himself ! 'Slid, carry him 
fifore a justice, 'tis chance-medley, o' my 
word. 

3 Rust. How now, what's here to do ? 

4 Rust. How comes this ? 

2 Rust. One has executed himself, contrary 
to order of law, and by my consent lie shall 
answer it. [ TJiey cut him down. 

5 Rust. "Would he were in case to answer it ! 

1 Rust, Stand by, he recovers, give him 
breath. 

Sord. Oh! 

2 Rust. ^lass, 'twas well j'^ou went the foot- 
way, neighbor. 

1 Rust. Ay, an I had not cut the halter ■ 

Sord. IIow ! cut the halter ! ah me, I am un- 
done, I am undone ! 

2 Rust. Marry, if you had not been undone, 
you had been hang'd, I can tell you. 

Sord. You thread-bare, horse-bread-eating 
rascals, if you would needs have been med- 
dling, could you not have untied it, but you 
must cut it ; and in the midst too ! ah me ! 

1 Rust. Out on me, 'tis the caterpillar Sor- 
dido ! how curst are the poor, that the viper 
was blest with this good fortune ! 

2 Rust. Nay, how accurst art thou, that art 
cause to the curse of the poor ? 

3 Rust. Ay, and to save so wretched a caitiff? 

4 Rust. Curst be thy fingers that loos'd him ! 
2 Rust. Some desperate fury jjossess thee, 

that thou may'st hang thyself too ! 

5 Rust. Never may'st thou be saved, that 
Baved so damu'd a monster ! 

So)-d. What curses breathe these men ! how 

have my deeds 
Made my looks differ from another man's. 
That they should thus detest and loath my life ! 
Out on my wretched humor ! it is that 
Makes me thus monstrous in true humane eyes. 
Pardon me, gentle friends, I'll make fair 'mends 
For my foul errors past, and twenty-fold 
Restore to all men, what with wrong I robb'd 

them : 
My barns and garners shall stand open still 
To all the poor that corr.e, and my best grain 



Be made alms-bread, to feed half-famish'd 

mouths. 
Though hitherto amongst you I have lived. 
Like an unsavory muck-hill to mj'self. 
Yet now my gathcr'd heaps being spread abroad, 
Shall turn to better and more fruitful uses. 
Bless then this man, curse liim no more for saving 
My life and soul together. O how deeply 
The bitter curses of the poor do pierce ! 
I am by wonder changed ; come in with me 
And witness my repentance : now I prove, 
No life is blest, that is not graced with love. 

[Exit. 

2 Rust. O miracle ! see when a man has grace ! 

3 Rust. Had it not been pity so good a mar. 
should have been cast away ? 

2 Rust. Well, I'll get our clerk put his conver 
sion in the Acts and Monuments. 

4 Ricst. Do, for I warrant him he's a martyr. 

2 Rust. O God, how he wept, if you mark'd 
it ! did you see how the tears trilled ? 

5 Rust. Yes, believe me, like master vicar's 
bowls upon the green, for all the world. 

3 Rust. O neighbor, God's blessing o' your 
heart, neighbor, 'twas a good grateful deed. 

[Exeunt. 

Cor. How noic, Mitis ! what's that you consider 
so seriotishj ? 

Mit. Troth, that which doth essetitialhj please 
me, the tvarpinr/ condition of this green and soggy 
multitude ; but in good faith, signior, your author 
hath largely outstript my expectation in this scene, 
I will liberally confess it. For when I saw Sordido 
so desperately intended, I tJwught I had had a hand 
of him, then. 

Cor. ]\niat ! you supposed he should have hung 
himself indeed ? 

Mit. I did, and had framed my objection to it 
ready, tvhich may yet be very fitly urged, and with 
some necessity ; for though his purposed violence lost 
the effect, and extended not to death, yet tlie intent 
and horror of ihe object was more than the nature 
of a comedy icill in any sort admit. 

Cor. Ay ! what think you of Plautus, in his 
comedy called Cistellaria ? there, tohere he brings in 
Alcesimarchus with a draion stoord ready to kill 
himself, and as he is e'en fixing his breast ujjon it, 
to be restrained from his resolved outrage, by Sile- 
nium and the bawd ! Is not his autliority of poioer 
to give our scene approbation ? 

!Mit. Sir, I have this only evasion left me, to say, 
I think it be so indeed ; your memory is happier 
than mine : but I wonder, what engine he will use to 
bring the rest out of their hunwrs ! 

Cor. That will appear anon, tiever pre-occupy 
your imagination loithal. Let your mind Iceep com- 
pany with the scene still, which tioio removes itself 
from the country to the court. Here comes Maci- 
lente, and signior Brisk freshly suited ; lose not 
yourself, for now the epitasis, or busy part of out 
subject, is in act. 

SCENE III. — An Ainirtment at the Court. 

Enter Macilente, Fastidious, both in a new suit, 
and CiNEDO, with tobacco. 

Fast. Well, now, signior Macilente, you are 
not only welcome to the court, but also to mLy 



148 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



mistress's withdrawing chamber. — Boy, get me 
some tobacco. I'll but go in, and shew I am 
here, and come to you presently, sir. [E.vlt. 

Maci. What's that he said? by heaven, I 
mark'd him not : 
My tnoughts and I were of another world. 
I was admiring mine own outside here. 
To think what privilege and palm it bears 
Here, in the court ! be a man ne'er so vile. 
In wit, in judgment, manners, or what else ; 
If ho can purchase but a silken cover, 
He shall not only pass, but pass regarded : 
Wlicreas, let him be poor, and meanly clad. 
Though ne'er so richly parted, you shall have 
A fellow that knows nothing but his beef, 
Or how to rince his clammy guts in beer, 
WiU take him by the shoulders, or the throat, 
And Icick him down the stairs. Such is the state 
Of virtue in bad clothes ! — ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
That raiment should be in such high request ! 
How long should I be, ere I should put off 
To the lord chancellor's tomb, or the shrives' 

posts ? 
By heaven, I think, a thousand, thousand year. 
His gravity, his Avisdom, and his faith 
To my dread sovereign, graces that survive him. 
These I could well endure to reverence, 
But not his tomb ; no more than I'd commend 
The cliapel organ for the gilt without, 
Or this base-viol, for the varnish'd face. 

Re-enter Fastidious. 

Fast. I fear I have made you stay somewhat 
long, sir ; but is my tobacco ready, boy ? 

Cin. Ay, sir. 

Fast. Give me ; my mistress is upon coming, 
you shall see her presently, sir. {Puffs.^ You'll 
say you never accosted a more piercing wit. — 
This tobacco is not dried, boy, or else the pipe is 
defective. — Oli, your wits of Italy are nothing 
comparable to her : her brain's a very quiver of 
jests, and she does dart thom abroad with that 
sweet, loose, and judicial aim, that you would 

here she comes, sir. 

[Saviolixa looks in, and draivs bac/c again. 

Maci. 'Twas time, his invention had been 
bogged else. 

Sav. [icitJiin^ Give me my fan there. 

Maci. How now, monsieur Brisk ? 

Fast. A kind of affectionate reverence strikes 
me with a cold shivering, mcthinks. 

Maci. I like such tempers avcU, as stand before 
their mistresses with fear and trembling ; and 
before their Maker, like impirdcnt mountains ! 

Fast. By this hand, I'd spend twenty jDound 
rcy vaulting horse stood here now, she might 
see me do but one trick. 

Maci. Why, does she love activity ? 

Cin, Or, if you had but your long stockings 
on, to be dancing a galliard as she comes by. 

Fast. Ay, either. O, these stirring humors 
make ladies mad with desire ; she comes. My 
good genius embolden me : boy, the pipe 
quickly. 

Enter Saviolina. 

Maci, What ! \d]l he give her music ? 
Fast A second good morrow to my fair mis- 
tress. 



Sav. Fair servant, I'll thank you a day hence, 
when the date of your salutation comes forth. 

Fast. How like you that answer ? is't not ad« 
mirable ? 

Maci. I were a simple courtier, if I could not 
admire trifles, sir. 

Fast. \_Talks and takes tobacco between tlit 

broaks.\ Troth, sweet lady, I shall \j>nffs\ be 

prepared to give you thanks for those thanks, 

and study more officious, and obsequious 

regards to your fair beauties. Mend 

the pipe, boy. 

Maci. I never knew tobacco taken as a paren- 
thesis before. 

Fast. 'Fore God, sweet lady, believe it, I do 
honor the meanest rush in this chamber for youi 
love. 

Hav, Ay, you need not tell me that, sir ; I dc 
think you do prize a rush before my love. 

Maci, Is this the wonder of nations ! 

Fast, O, by this air, pardon me, I said for 
j'our love, by this light ; but it is the accustomed 
sharpness of your ingenuity, sweet mistress, to 

\takes doicn the viol, and plai/s] mass, your 

viol's new strung, mcthinks. 

Maci. Ingenuity ! I see his ignorance Avill not 
suffer him to slander her, which he had dono 
most notably, if he had said wit for ingenuity, as 
he meant it. 

Fast, By the soul of music, lady — hum,'hum. 

Sav, Would Avc might hear it once. 

Fast, I do more adore and admire your — 
hum, hum — predominant perfections, than - 
hum, Jmni — ever I shall have power and faC' 
ulty to express — hum. 

Sav, Upon the viol de gambo, you mean ? 

Fast, It's miserably out of tune, by this hand. 

Sav. Nay, rather bj^ the fingers. 

Maci, It makes good harmony with her wit. 

Fast. Sweet lady, tune it. [Saviolixa tunes 
the viol.'l — Boy, some tobacco. 

Maci, Tobacco again ! he does court his mis- 
tress with very exceeding good changes. 

Fast, Siguier Macilente, you take none, sir ? 

Maci. No, unless I had a mistress, signior, it 
were a great indecorum for me to take tobacco. 

Fast. How like you her wit ? 

[ Talks and takes tobacco betioeen again. 

Maci. Her ingenuity is excellent, sir. 

Fast. You see the subject of her sweet fingers 

there Oh, she tickles it so, that She 

makes it laugh most divinely; I'll tell j'ou 

a good jest now, and yourself shall saj-- it's a 
good one : I have wished myself to be that in- 
strument, I think, a thousand times, and not so 
few, by heaven ! 

Maci. Not imlike, sir ; but how ? to be cased 
up and hung by on the wall ? 

Fast. O, no, sir, to be in use, I assure you ; d» 
your judicious eyes may testifj'. 

Sav. Here, servant, if you mil play, come. 

Fast. Instantly, sweet lady. In good faith, 

here's most divine tobacco ! 

Sav, Nay, I cannot stay to dance after your 
pipe. 

Fast. Good ! Nay, dear lady, stay ; by thiri 
sweet smoke, I think your wit be all fire. 

Maci, And he's the salamander belongs 
to it. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



ll'J 



Sav. Is yorir tobacco perfumed, servant, that 
J'ou swear by the sweet smoke ? 

Fast. Still more excellent ! Before heaven, 

and these bright lights, I think you are 

made of ingenuity, I 

3Iaci. True, as j'our discourse is. O abom- 
inable ! 

Fast. Will your ladyship take any ? 

Sav. O peace, I pray you ; I love not the 
breath of a woodcock's head. 

Fast. Meaning my head, lady ? 

Sav. Not altogether so, sir ; but, as it were 
fatal to their follies that think to grace them- 
selves with taking tobacco, Avhen they want bet- 
ter entertainment, you see your pipe bears the 
true form of a woodcock's head. 

Fast. O admirable simile ! 

Sav. 'Tis best leaving of you in admiration, sir. 

Exit. 

Maci. Are these the admired lady-wits, that 
having so good a plain song, can run no better 
division upon it ? All her jests are of the stamp 
March was fifteen years ago. Is this the comet, 
monsieur Fastidious, that your gallants wonder 
at so ? 

Fast. Heart of a gentleman, to neglect me 
afore the presence thus ! Sweet sir, I beseech 
you be silent in my disgrace. By the muses, I 
was never in so vile a humor in my life, and her 
wit was at the flood too ! Report it not for a 
million, good sir; let me be so far endeared to 
your love. {Exeunt. 

Mit. W^iat follows next, signior Cordatus ? this 
gallant's humor is almost spent ; methinks it ebbs 
■ apace, with this coi^'ary breath of his mistress. 

Cor. 0, but it will flow again for all this, till 
there come a general drought of humor among all 
our a-ct07-s, and then I fear not hut his will fall as 
low as any. See loho presents himself here ! 

Mit. ^V^lat, in the old case ? 

Cor. Ai/, faith, tohich makes it the mare pitiful ; 
you understand where the scene is ? 



ACT IV. 

SCENE 1 A Room in Deliro's House. 

Enter Fungoso, Fallace following him. 

Fal. Why are you so melancholy, brother ? 

Fung. I am not melancholy, I thank you, 
sister. 

Fal. Why are you not merry then ? there are 
but two of us in all the world, and if we should 
not be comforts one to another, God help us ! 

Fung. Faith, I cannot tell, sister ; but if a man 
had any true melancholy in him, it would make 
him melancholy to see his yeomanly father cut 
his neighbors' tliroats, to make his son a gentle- 
man ; and yet, when he has cut them, he will 
Bce his son's throat cut too, ere he make him a 
true gentleman indeed, before death cut his own 
throat. I must be the first head of our house, 
and yet he will not give me the head till I be 
made so. Is any man termed a gentleman, that 
is not always in the fashion ? I M'ould know but 
that. 

Fal. If you be melancholy for that, brother, I 



think I have as much cause to be melancholy as 
any one : for I'll be sworn, I live as little in the 
fashion as any woman in London. B j' the faith 
of a gentlewoman, beast that I am to saj' it ! I 
have not one friend in the world besides mj-- 
husband. When saw you master Fastidious 
Brisk, brother ? 

Fung. But a while since, sister, I think : I 
know not Avell in truth. By this hand I could 
fight with all my heart, methinks. 

Fal. Nay, good brother, be not resolute. 

Fung. I sent him a letter, and he writes mc 
no answer neither. 

Fal. Oh, sweet Fastidious Brisk ! O fine 
courtier ! thou art he makest mc sigh, and say, 
how blessed is that woman that hath a courtier 
to her husband, and how miserable a dame she 
is, that hath neither husband, nor friend in the 
court ! O sweet Fastidious ! O fine courtier ! 
How comely he bows him in his court'sy ! how 
full he hits a woman between the lips when he 
kisses ! how upright he sits at the table ! how 
daintily he carves ! how sweetly he talks, and 
tells news of this lord and of that lady ! how 
cleanly he wipes his spoon at every spoonful of 
any whitemeat he eats ! and what a neat case 
of pick-tooths he carries about him still ! O 
sweet Fastidious ! fine courtier ! 

Enter Deliro at a distance, xoith Musicians. 

Deli. See, yonder she is, gentlemen. Nov,-, 
as ever you'll bear the name of musicians, touch 
your instruments sweetly ; she has a delicate 
ear, I tell you : play not a false note, 1 beseech 
you. 

Musi. Fear not, signior Deliro. 

Beli. O, begin, begin, some sprightly thing : 
lord, how my imagination labors with the suc- 
cess of it ! \They strike up a lively tune.] WeU 
said, good i'faith ! Heaven grant it please her. 
rU not be seen, for then she'll be sure to dis- 
like it. 

Fal. Hey da ! this is excellent ! I'll 

lay my life this is my tusband's dotage. I 
thovight so ; naj', never play bo-peep with me ; 
I know you do nothing but study how to anger 
me, sir. 

Deli, [coming fonvard.] Anger thee, sweet 
wife ! why, didst thou not send for musicians at 
supper last night thyself ? 

Fal. To supper, sir ! now, come up to supper, 
I beseech you : as though there were no differ- 
ence between supper-time, when folks should 
be merry, and this time when they should be 
melancholy. I would never take upon me to 
take a wife, if I had no more judgment to please 
her. 

Deli. Bo pleased, sweet wife, and they shall 
have done ; and would to fate my life were done, 
if I can never please thee ! [Exeunt Musicians, 

Filter Macilente. 

Maci. Save you, lady ; Avhere is master De- 
liro ? 

Deli. Here, m.aster Macilente : you are wel- 
come from court, sir ; no doubt you have been 
p-raced exceedingly of master Brisk's mistress, 
and the rest of the ladies for his sake, [known 

Blaci' .A.las, the poor fantastic ! he's scarce 



ICO 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



To any lady tliere ; aud those thai, know him, 

Know him the simplest man of all chey know : 

Deride, and play upon his amorous humors. 

Though he but apishly doth imitate 

The gallant'st courtiers, kissing ladies' pumps, 

Holding th3 cloth for them, praising their wits, 

And servilely observing every one 

May do them pleasure : fearful to be seen 

With any man, though he be ne'er so worthy, 

That's not in grace with some that are the 

greatest. 
Thus courtiers do, and these he counterfeits, 
But sets no such a sightly carriage 
Upon their vanities, as they themselves ; 
And therefore they despise him : for indeed 
He's like the zany to a tumbler. 
That tries tricks after him, to make men laugh. 

Fal. Here's an unthankful spiteful wretch ! 
the good gentleman vouchsafed to make him 
his comi^anion, because my husband put Mm 
into a few rags, and now see how the unrude 
rascal backbites him ! [Aside. 

Deli. Is he no more graced amongst them then, 
say you ? 

Maci. Faith, like a pawn at chess : fills up a 
room, that's all. 

Fal. O monster of men ! can the earth bear 
such an envious caitiff? [Aside. 

Deli. Well, I repent me I ever credited him 
so much : but now I see what he is, and that 
his masking vizor is off, I'll forbear him no longer. 
All his lands are mortgaged to me, and forfeited ; 
besides, I have bonds of his in my hand, for the 
receipt of now fifty pounds, now a hundred, 
now two hundred ; still, as he has had a fan but 
v/agged at him, he would be in a new suit. 
Well, I'll salute him by a serjeant, the next 
time I see him i'faith, I'll suit him. 

Maci. Why, you may soon see him, sir, for he 
is to meet signior Puntarvolo at a notary's by 
the Exchange, presently ; where he means to 
take up, upon return. 

Fal. Now, out upon thee, Judas ! canst thou 
not be content to backbite thy friend, but thou 
must betray him ! AVilt thou seek the undoing 
of any man r and of such a man too ? and will 
you, sir, get your living by the counsel of trai- 
tors ? 

Deli. Dear wife, have patience. 

Fal. The house will fall, the ground will open 
and swallow us : I'll not bide here for all the 
gold and silver in heaven. [Exit tvith Fuxgoso. 

Deli. O, good Macilente, let's follow and ajj- 
pease her, or the peace of my life is at an end. 

[Exit. 

Maci. Now pease, and not peace, feed that 
life, whose head hangs so heavily over a woman's 
manger ! [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Another Eoom in the same. 

Enter Fallace and Fungoso running ; she claps 
to the door. 

Fal. Help me, brother ! Ods body, an you 
come here I'll do myself a mischief. 

Deli, [within.'] Nay, hear me, sweet wife ; un- 
less thou wilt have me go, I will not go. 

Fal. Tut, you shall never have that vantage 
of me, to say, you are undone by me. Ill not 



bid you stay, I. Brother, sweet brother, here'6 
four angels, I'll give you towards your suit : for 
the love of gentry, and as ever you came of 
Christian creature, make haste to the water side, 
(you know Avhere master Fastidious uses to 
land,) and give him warning of my husband's 
maUcious intent ; and tell him of that lean 
rascal's treachery. O heavens, how my fiesh 
rises at him ! Nay, sweet brother, make haste : 
you may say, I would have writ to him, but that 
the necessity of the time would not permit. 
He cannot choose but take it extraordinarily 
from me : and commend me to him, good broth- 
er ; say, I sent you. [Exit. 
Fung. Let me see, these four angels, and then 
forty shillings more I can borrow on my gown in 
Fetter Lane. — Well, I will go presently, say on 
my suit, pay as much money as I have, and swear 
myself into credit with my tailor for the rest. 

[Exit. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Deliko and Macilente. 

Deli, O, on my soul jow Avrong her, Macilente. 
Though she be fro ward, yet I know she is honest. 

Maci, AVell, then have I no judgment. Would 
any woman, but one that were wild in her affec- 
tions, have broke out into that immodest and 
violent passion against her husband ? or is't pos- 
sible 

Deli. If you love me, forbear ; all the argu- 
ments i' the world shall never wrest my heart 
to believe it. [Exeunt. 

Cor. How like you the deciphering of his do- 
tage ? *■ 

Mit. O, strangely : and of the other's envy too, 
that labors so seriously to set debate betwixt a man 
and his loife. Stay, here comes the knight adven- 
turer. 

Cor. Ay, and his scrivener with him. 

SCENE IV. — PuNTAKVOLo's Lodgings. 

Enter Puntauvolo, Notary, and Servants with 
the dog and cat. 

Punt. I wonder monsieur Fastidious comes 
not ! But, notary, if thou please to draw tho 
indentures the while, I will give thee thy in- 
structions. 

Not. With all my heart, sir ; and I'U fall in 
hand with them presently. 

Punt. Well then, first the sum is to be un- 
derstood. 

Not. [writes.] Good, sir. 

Punt. Next, our several appellations, and char- 
acter of my dog and cat, must be known. Shew 
him the cat, sirrah. 

Not. So, sir. 

Punt. Then, that the intended bound is the 
Turk's court in Constantinople ; the time limited 
for our return, a year ; and that if either of ua 
miscarry, the whole venture is lost. These are 
general, conceiv'st thou ? or if either of us turn 
Turk. 

Not. Ay, sir. 

Punt. Now, for particulars : that I may make 
my travels by sea or land, to my best liking ; and 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



151 



that hiring a coach for myself, it shall be lawful 
for my dog or cat, or both, to ride with me in 
the said coach. 

Not, Very good, sii-, 

rimt. That I may choose to give my dog or 
cat, fish, for fear of bones ; or any other nutri- 
ment that, by the judgment of the most authen- 
tical physicip.as where I travel, shall be thought 
dangerous. 

Not. Well, sir. 

Punt. That, after the receipt of his money, 
ho shall neither, in his own person, nor any other, 
either by direct or indirect means, as magic, 
witchcraft, or other such exotic arts, attempt, 
practise, or complot any thing to the prejudice 
of me, my dog, or my cat : neither shall I use 
the help of any such sorceries or enchantments, 
as unctions to make our skins impenetrable, or 
to travel invisible by vu-tue of a powder, or a 
ring, or to hang any three-forked charm about 
my dog's neck, secretly conveyed into his col- 
lar ; (understand you ?) but that all bo per- 
formed sincerely, without fraud or imposture. 

Not. So, sir. 

Punt. That, for testimony of the perform- 
ance, myself am to bring thence a Turk's mus- 
tachio, my dog a Grecian hare's lip, and my cat 
the train or tail of a Thracian rat. 

Not [writes.'] 'Tis done, sir. 

runt. 'Tis said, sir ; not done, sir. But for- 
ward ; that, upon my return, and landing on the 
Tower-Avharf, with the aforesaid testimony, I am 
to receive five for one, according to the propor- 
tion of the sums put forth. 

Not. Well, sir. 

Punt. Provided, that if before our departure, 
or setting forth, either myself or these be visit- 
ed with sickness, or any other casual event, so 
that the whole course of the adventure be hin- 
dered thereby, that then he is to return, and I 
am to receive the prenominatcd proportion upon 
fair and equal terms. 

Not. Very good, sir ; is this all ? 

Punt. It is all, sir ; and dispatch them, good 
notary. 

Not. As fast as is possible, sir. ' [Exit. 

Enter Caelo. 

Punt. O Carlo ! welcome : saw you monsieur 
Brisk ? 

Car. Not I : did he appoint you to meet here ? 

Punt. Ay, and I muse he should be so tardy ; 
he is to take an hundred pounds of me in ven- 
ture, if he maintain his promise. 

Car. Is his hour past ? 

Punt. Not yet, but it comes on apace.* 

Car. Tut, be not jealous of him ; he will 
sooner break all the commandments, than his 
hour ; upon my life, in such a case trust him. 

Punt MethinkSg Carlo, you look very smooth, 
ha! 

Car. Why, I came but now from a hot-house ; 
I must needs look smooth. 

Punt. From a hot-house ! 

Car. Ay, do you make a wonder on't ? why, 
it is your only physic. Let a man sweat once a 
week in a hot-house, and be well-rubb'd, and 
froted, with a good plump juicy wench, and 
sweet linen, he shall ne'er have the pox. 



Punt. What, the French pox? 

Car. The French pox ! our pox : we have 
them in as good a form as they, man ; what ? 

Punt. Let me perish, but thou art a salt one ! 
was your new-created gallant there with you, 
Sogliardo ? 

Car. O porpoise ! hang him, no : he's a lieger 
at Horn's ordinarj', yonder ; his villainous Gan- 
ymede and he have been droning a tobacco-pipe 
there ever since yesterday noon. 

Punt. Who ? signior Tripartite, that would 
give my dog the wliiffe ? 

Car. Ay, he. They have hired a chamber 
and all, private, to practise in, for the making 
of the patoun, the receipt reciprocal, and a num- 
ber of other mysteries not yet extant. I brought 
some dozen or twenty gallants this morning to 
view them, as you'd do a piece of perspective, 
in at a key-hole ; and there we might see Sog- 
liardo sit in a chair, holding his snout up like a 
sow under an apple-tree, while the other open'd 
his nostrils with a iDoking-stick, to give tho 
smoke a more free dclivcrj'. They had spit 
some three or fourscore ounces between 'era, 
afore we came away. 

Punt. How ! spit three or fourscore ounces ? 

Car. Ay, and preserv'd it in poirengers, as a 
barber does his blood, when he opens a vein. 

Punt. Out, pagan ! how dost thou open the 
vein of thy friend .'' 

Car. Friend ! is there any such foolish thing 
in the world, ha ? 'slid, I never relished it yet. 

Punt. Thy humor is the more dangerous. 

Car. No, not a whit, signior. Tut, a man mu 
keep time in all ; I can oil my tongue when I 
meet him next, and look with a good sleek fore- 
head ; 'twill take aAvay all soil of suspicion, and 
that's enough : what Lynceus can see my heart ? 
Pish, the title of a friend ! it's a vain, idle thing, 
only venerable among fools ; you shall not have 
one that has any opinion of wit affect it. 

Enter Deliro and Macilexte. 

Deli. Save you, good sir Puntarvolo. 

Punt. Signior Deliro ! welcome. 

Deli. Pray j'ou, sir, did you see master Fas- 
tidious Brisk ? 
I heard he was to meet j^our worship here. 

Punt- You heard no figment, sir ; I do expect 
him at every piilse of my watch. 

Deli. In good time, sh\ 

Car, There's a fellow now looks like one of 
the patricians of Sparta ; marry, his wit's after 
ten i' the hundred : a good blood-hound, a close- 
mouthed dog, he follows the scent well ; marry, 
he's at a fault now, methinks. 

Punt. I should wonder at that creature is fres 
from the danger of thy tongue. 

Car. O, I cannot abide these limbs of satin, or 
rather Satan indeed, that will Avalk, like the 
children of darkness, all day in a melancholy 
shop, with theii' pockets full of blanks, ready to 
swallow up as many poor unthrifts as come with- 
in the verge. 

Punt. Sc ! and what hr.st thou for liim that ia 
with him, now ? 

Car. O, d n me ! immortality ! I'll not 

meddle with him ; the pure element of fire, aU 
spirit, extraction. 



i52 



EVERY TMAN OUT OF HIS HUMOH. 



Punt. How, Carlo ! ha, ^vhat is lie, man ? 

Car. A scholar, Macilente ; do you not know 
him ? a rank, raw-boned anatomy, he walks up 
and down like a charged musket, no man dares 
encounter him : that's his rest there. 

Puii(. His rest ! why, has he a forked head ? 

Car. Pardon me, that's to be suspended ; you 
are too quick, too apprehensive. 

Deli. Troth, now I think on't, I'll defer it till 
some other time. 

3Iaci. Not by any means, signior, you shall 
not lose this opportunity, he will be here pres- 
ently nowi 

Deli. Yes, faith, Macilente, 'tis best. For, 
look you, sir, I shall so exceedingly offend my 
wife in't, that 

Maci. Your wife ! now for shame lose these 
thoughts, and become the master of your own 
Bjjirits. Should I, if I had a wife, suffer myself 
to be thus passionately carried to and fro with 
the stream of her humor, and neglect my deep- 
est affairs, to serA'c her affections ? 'Slight, I 
would geld myself first. 

Deli. O, but signior, had yon such a Avife as 
mine is, you would • 

Maci. Such a Avife ! Noay hate me, sir, if ever 
I discern'd any wonder in your Avife yet, Avith all 
the speculation I haA'e : I have seen some that 
have been thought fairer than she, in my time ; 
and I have seen those, have not been altogether 
so tall, esteemed properer AA'omen ; and I have 
seen less noses grow upon SAveeter faces, that 
nave done very Avell too, in my judgment. But, 
in good faith, signior, for all this, the gentle- 
woman is a good, pretty, proud, hard-favored 
thing, marry not so peerlessly to be doted upon, 
I must confess : nay, be not angry. 

Deli. Well, sir, hoAvever you please to forget 
yourself, I haA^e not deserved to be thus played 
upon ; but henceforth, pray you forbear my 
house, for I can but faintly endure the savor of 
his breath, at my table, that shall thus jade me 
for my courtesies. 

3Iaci, Nay, then, signior, let me tell you, your 
wife is no proper Avoman, and by my life, I sus- 

E)ect her honesty, that's more, Avhich you may 
ikoAviso suspect, if you please, do you see ? I'll 
urge you to notliing against your appetite, but 
if you please, you may suspect it. 

Deli. Good, sir. [Exit. 

Maci. Good, sir ! noAV horn upon horn pursue 
thee, thou blind, egregious dotard ! 

Car. O, you shall hear him speak like envy. 
— Signior Macilente, you saAV monsi'eur Brisk 
lately : I heard you Avero Avith him at court. 

Maci. Ay, Buffone, I Avas Avith him. 

Car. And how is he respected there ? I knOAv 
you'll deal ingenuously Avith us ; is he made 
much of amongst the SAveeter sort of gallants ? 

Maci. Faith, ay; his civet and his casting- 
glass 
Have helpt him to a place amongst the rest : 
And there, his seniors give him good slight looks, 
After their garb, smile, and salute in French 
With some nCAv compliment. 

Car. What, is this all ? 

Maci. Why say, that they should shew the 
frothy fool 
Buch grace as they pretend comes from the heart, 



He had a mighty Avindfall out of doubt ! 
Why, all their graces are not to do grace 
To virtue or desert ; but to ride both 
With their gilt spurs quite breathless,from them- 
'*ris noAV esteemed precisianism in wit, [selves. 
And a disease in nature, to be kind 
ToAvard desert, to love or seek good names. 
Who feeds A^dth a good name ? Avho thrives with 

loving ? 
Who can provide feast for his OAvn desires, 
With serving others ? — ha, ha, ha ! 
'Tis folly, by our Avisest AvorldUngs proved. 
If not to gain by love, to be beloved. ■ 

Car. How like you him ? is't not a good spite- 
ful slave, ha ? 

Pu7it. ShrcAvd, shrcAvd. 

Car. D — n me ! I could eat his flesh noAV , 
divine sweet villain ! 

Maci. Nay, prithee leave : What's he there ? 

Car. Who ? this in the starched beard ? it's 
the dull stiff knight Puntarvolo, man ; he's to 
travel noAV presently : he has a good knotty wit ; 
marry, he carries little on't out of the land Avith 
him. 

3Iaci. How then ? 

Car. He puts it forth in venture, as he does 
his money upon the return of a dog and cat. 

Maci. is this he ? 

Car. Ay, this is he ; a good tough gentleman : 
he looks like a shield of braAvn at Shrove-tide, 
out of date, and ready to take his leave ; or a 
dry pole of ling upon Easter-eve, that has fur- 
nished the table all Lent, as he has done th? 
city this last A'acation. 

Maci. Come, you'll noA^er leave your stabbing 
similes : I shall haA'e you aiming at me with 'em 
by and by ; but ■ 

Car. O, renounce me then ! pure, honest, good | 
devil, I love thee above the love of women : I I 
could e'en melt in admiration of thee, noAV. Oda i 
so, look here, man ; Sir Dagonet and his squire ' f 

Enter Sogllvrdo and Shift. 

Soff, Save you, my dear gallantos : nay, come, 
approach, good cavalier : prithee, SAveet knight, 
know this gentleman, he's one that it pleases me 
to use as my good friend and comioanion ; and 
therefore do him good offices: I beseech you, 
gentles, knoAV him, I knoAV him all over. 

Pimt. Sir, for signior Sogliardo's sake, let it 
suffice, I knoAV you. 

Soff. Why, as I am a gentleman, I thank you, 
knight, and it shall suffice. Hark j'ou, sir Pun- 
tarvolo, you'd little think it ; he's as resolute 
a piece of flesh as any in the Avorld. 

Punt.- Indeed, sir ! 

Sog. Upon my gentility, sir : Carlo, a Avord | 
Avith you ; do you see that same felloAv, there ? t 

Car. What, cavalier Shift ? 

Sog. O, you knoAV him ; cry you mercy : be- 
fore me, I think him tlie tallest man living Avith- 
in the Avails of Europe. 

Car. The Avails of Europe ! take heed what 
you say, signior ; Europe's a huge thing within 
the Avails. 

Sog. Tilt, an 'tAA'ere as huge again, I'd justify 
Avhat I speak. 'Slid, he SAvagger'd even now in 
a place Avhere Ave were — I never saAV a man do 
it more resolute. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



153 



Car. Nay, indeed, swaggering is a good argu- 
ment of resolution. Do you hear this, signior ? 

Macl. Ay, to my grief. O, that such muddy 
flags, 
For every drunken flourish should achieve 
The name of manhood, whilst true perfect valor, 
Hating to shew itself, goes by despised ! 
Heart ! I do know now, in a fair just cause, 
I dare do more than he, a thousand times : 
Why should not they take knowledge of this, ha! 
And give my worth allowance before his ? 
Because I cannot swagger. — Now, the pox 
Light on your Pickt-hatch prowess ! 

Sog. Why, I tell you, sir ; he has been the only 
Bid-stand that ever kept New-market, Salisbury- 
plain, Hockley i' the Hole, Gads-hill, and all 
the high places of any request : he has had his 
mares and his geldings, he, have been worth 
fortj', threescore, a hundred pound a horse, 
would ha' sprung you over hedge and ditch like 
your greyhound : he has done live hundred rob- 
beries in his time, more or less, I assure you. 

Punt. What, and scaped ? 

Sog. Scaped ! i' faith, ay : he has broken the 
gaol when he has been in irons and irons ; and 
been out and in agaiii ; and out, and in ; forty 
times, and not so few, he. 

Mad. A fit trumpet, to proclaim such a person. 

Car, But can this be possible r 

Shift. Why, 'tis nothing, sir, when a man gives 
his atfections to it. 

Socj. Good Pjdades, discourse a robbery or two, 
to satisfy these gentlemen of thy worth. 

Shift. Pardon me, my dear Orestes ; causes 
have their quiddits, and 'tis ill jesting with bell- 
topes. 

Car. How ! Pjdades and Orestes ? 

Sog. Ay, he is my Pylades, and I am his 
Orestes : how like you the conceit ? 

Car. O, 'tis an old stale interlude device : no, 
I'll give you names myself, look you ; he shall 
be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree 
to hang on. 

Maci. Naj', rather let him be captain Pod, and 
this his motion : for he does nothing but shew 
him. 

Car. Escellent : or thus ; you shall be Holden, 
and he your camel. 

Shift. You do not mean to ride, gentlemen ? 

Punt. Faith, let me end it for you, gallants : 
you shall be his Countenance, and he your Reso- 
lution. 

Sog. Troth, that's pretty : how say you, cava- 
lier, shall it be so ? 

Car. Ay, ay, most voices. 

Shift. Faith, I am easily yielding to any good 
impressions. 

Sog. Then give hands, good Resolution. 

Car. Mass, he cannot say, good Countenance, 
now, properly, to him again. 

Punt. Yes, by an irony. 

Maci. O, sir, the countenance of Resolution 
should, as he is, be altogether grim and unpleas- 
ant. 

Enter Fastidious Brisk. 

Fast. Good hours make music with your 
mirth, gentlemen, and keep time to ■ your hu- 
mors ! — How now, Carlo r 



Punt. Monsieur Brisk ? ir any a long look have 
I extended for you, sir. 

Fast. Good faith, I must '.rave pardon : I was 
invited this morning, ere I was out of my bed, 
by a bevy of ladies, to a banquet : whence it was 
almost one of Hercules's labors for me to come 
away, but that the respect of my promise did so 
prevail with, me. I know they'll take it very 
Ul, especially one, that gave me this bracelet of 
her hair but over night, and this pearl another 

gave me from her forehead, marry she what ? 

are the writings ready ? 

Punt. I wUl send my man to know. Sirrah, 
go j-ou to the notary's, .and learn if he be ready : 
leave the dog, sir. \^E£it Servant. 

Fast. And how does my rare qualified friend, 
Sogliardo ? Oh, signior MacQente ! by these eyes, 
I saw you not ; I had saluted you sooner else, o' 
my troth. I hope, sir, I may presume upon you, 
that you will not divulge my late check, or dis- 
grace, indeed, sir. 

Maci. You may, sir. 

Car. He knoAvs some notorious jest by this 
gull, that he hath him so obsequious. 

Sag. Monsieur Fastidious, do you see this fel- 
loAV there ? does he not look like a clown ? Avould 
j-ou think there Avere any thing in him I 

Fast. Any thing in him ! beshrew me, ay ; the 
felloAV hath a good ingenious face. 

Sog. By this element he is as ingenious a tall 
man as ever swaggered about London : he, audi, 
call Countenance and Resolution ; but his name 
is cavalier Shift. 

Punt. Cavalier, you knew signior Clog, that 
was hang'd for the robbery at Harrow on the 
hill? 

Sog. Knew him, sir ! why, 'twas he gave all 
the directions for the action. 

Punt. How ! was it your project, sir ? 

Shift. Pardon me. Countenance, you do rue 
some Avrong to make occasions public, which I 
imparted to you in private. 

Sog. God's will ! here are none but friends, 
Resolution. 

Shift. That's all one ; things of consequence 
must have their respects ; where, how, and to 
Avhom. — Yes, sir, he shewed himself a true 
Clog in the coherence of that aff"air, sir ; for, if 
he had managed matters as they were corrobo- 
rated to him, it had been better for him by a 
forty or fifty score of pounds, sir ; and he him- 
self might "have lived, in despight of fates, to 
have fed on woodcocks, with the rest : but it 
Avas his heavy fortune to sink, poor Clog ! and 
therefore talk no more of him. 

Punt. Why, had he more aiders then ? 

Sog. O lord, sir ! ay, there Avere some present 
there, that were the" Nine Worthies to him, 
i'faith. 

Shift. Ay, sir, I can satisfy you at more 
convenient conference : but, for mine own 
part, I have noAV reconciled myself to other 
courses, and profess a living out of my other 
qualities. 

Sog. Nay, he has left all noAv, I assure you, 
and is able to live like a gentleman, by his quali- 
ties. By this dog, he has the most rare gift in 
tobacco that ever you knew. 

Car. He keeps more ado with this monster 



154 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOE. 



than ever Banks did with his horse, or the fel- 
low with the elephant. 

MacL He Avill hang out his picture shortly, in 
a cloth, you shall see. 

Soff. O, he does manage a quarrel the best 
that ever you saw, for terms and cu'cumstances. 

Fast. Good faith, signioi", now you speak of a 
quarrel, I'll acquaint you with a difference that 
happened between a gallant and' myself; sir 
Puntarvolo, you know him if I should name 
him, aignior Luculento. 

Punt. Luculento ! what inauspicious chance 
interposed itself to your two loves r 

Fast. Faith, sir, the same that sundered Aga- 
memnon and great Thetis' son; but let the 
cause escape, sir : he sent me a challenge, mixt 
with some few braves, which I restored, and in 
fine we met. Now, indeed, sir, I miist tell you, 
he did offer at first very desperately, but with- 
out judgment : for, look you, sir, I cast myself 
into this figure ; now he comes violently on, 
and withal advancing his rapier to strike, I 
thought to have took his arm, for he had left 
his whole body to my election, and I was sure 
he could not recover his guard. Sir, I mist my 
purpose in his arm, rash'd his doublet-sleeve, 
ran him close by the left cheek, and through his 
hair. He again lights me here, — I had on a 
gold cable hatband, then new come up, which I 
wore about a murrey French hat I had, — cuts 
my hatband, and yet it was massy goldsmith's 
work, cuts my brims, which by good fortune, 
being thick embroidered Avith gold t^\ist and 
spangles, disappointed the force of the blow : 
nevertheless, it grazed on my shoulder, takes 
me away six purls of an Italian cut-work band 
I wore, cost me three pound in the Exchange 
but three days before. 

Ptmt. This was a strange encounter. 

Fast. Nay, you shall hear, sir : with this w^e 
both fell out, and breath' d. Now, upon the 
second sign of his assault, I betook me to the 
former manner of my defence ; he, on the other 
side, abandon'd his body to the same danger as 
before, and follows me still with blows : but I 
being loth to take the deadly advantage that 
lay before me of his left side, made a kmd of 
stramazoun, ran him up tc the hilts through the 
doublet, through the shirt, and yet miss'd the 
skin. He, making a reverse blow, falls ixpon 
my emboss'd girdle, — I had thrown off the hang- 
ers a little before — strikes off a skirt of a thick- 
laced satin doublet I had, lined with four taffa- 
tas, cuts off two panes embroidered with pearl, 
rends through the drawings-out of tissue, enters 
the linings, and skips the flesh. 

Car, I wonder he speaks not of his wrought 
eUirt. 

Fast, Here, in the opinion of mutual damage, 
we pansed ; but, ere I proceed, I must tell you, 
signior, that, in this last encounter, not having 
leisure to put off my silver spurs, one of the 
rowels catch'd hold of the ruffle of my boot, 
and, being Spanish leather, and subject to tear, 
overthrows me, rends me two pair of silk stock- 
ings, that I put on, being somewhat a raw morn- 
ing, a peach color and another, and strikes me 
some half inch deep into the side of the calf : 
be, seeing the blood come, presently takes horse, 



and away : I, having bound up my wound with 
a p)iece of my wrought shirt 

Car. O ! comes it in there ? 

Fast. Rid after him, and, lighting at the c Durt 
gate both together, embraced, and march'd 
hand in hand up into the presence. Was not 
this business well carried ? 

Maci. Well ! yes, and by this we can guess 
what apparel the gentleman wore. 

Punt. 'Fore valor, it was a designment begun 
with much resolution, maintain'd with as much 
prowess, and ended with more humanity. 

Re-enter Servant. 
How now, what says the notary ? 

Serv. He says, he is ready, su' ; he stays but 
your worship's pleasure. 

Punt. Come, we will go to him, monsieur. 
Gentlemen, shall we entreat you to be wit- 
nesses ? 

Soff. You shall entreat me, sir. — Come, Reso* . 
lution. 

Shift. I follow you, good Countenance. 

Car. Come, signior, come, come. 

[Exeunt all but Macilenxe. 

Maci. O, that there should be fortune 
To clothe these men, so naked in desert ! 
And that the just storm of a wretched life 
Beats them not ragged for their wretched souls, 
And, suice as fruitless, even as black, as coals ! 

[Exit. 

Mit. ^V1ly, but signior, how conies it that Fun- 
goso appeared not tcith his sister's intelligence to 
'Brisk? 

Cor. Marry, long of the evil angels that she 
gave hinii icho have indeed tempted the good simjyle 
youth to follow tlxe tail of the fashion, and neglect 1 
tJie i>n2)ositio)i of his friends. Behold, liere he I 
comes, very tvorshijfully attended, and with good 
variety. 

SCENE V. — A Room in Delieo's House. 

Enter Fungoso in a neio suit, followed by his Tailor, 
Shoemaker, and Haberdasher. 

Fu7ig. Gramercy, good shoemaker, I'll put to 
strings myself. [E.vit Shoemaker.] — Now, sir, 
let me see, what must j-ou have for this hat ? 

Ilabe. Here's the bill, sir. 

Fung. How does it become me, well ? 

Tai. Excellent, sir, as ever you had any ha*: 
in your life. 

Fung. Nay, you'll say so all. 

Habe. In faith, sir, the hat's as good as any 
man in this town can serve you, and will main- 
tain fashion as long ; never trust me for a groat 
else. 

Fung. Docs it apply well to my suit ? 

Tui. Exceeding well, sir. 

Fung. How lik'st thou my suit, haberdasher ? 

Habe. By my troth, sir, 'tis very rarely well 
made ; I never saw a suit sit better, I can tell on. 

Tai. Nay, wc have no art to r^case oui 
friends Ave ! 

Fung. Here, haberdasher, tell this same. 

[Gives him money 

Habe. Good faith, sir, it makes you have an 
excellent body. 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



155 



Funff. Nay, believe me, I think I have as good 
a body in clothes as another. 

Tai. You lack ^Joints to bring your apparel 
together, sir. 

Fimcf, I'll have points anon. How now ! Is't 
right ? 

Habe. Faith, sir, 'tis too little ; but upon 

farther hopes Good morrow to you, sir. 

[Exit 

Fung. Farewell, good haberdasher. Well, 
new, master Snip, let me see your biU. 

Mit. Methinks he discharges his followers too 
thick. 

Cor. O, therein he saucily imitates some great 
man. I loarrant you, though he turns off them, he 
keeps this tailor, in place of a page, to follow him 
still. 

Fung. This bill is very reasonable, in faith : 
liark you, master Snip — Troth, sir, I am not 
altogether so well furnished at this present, as I 

could wish I were ; *but if you'U do 

me the favor to take part in hand, you shall 
have all I have, by this hand. 

Tai. Sir 

Fung. And but give me credit for the rest, 
till the beginning of the next term. 

Tai. O lord, sir 

Fung. 'Fore God, and by this light, I'll pay 
you to the utmost, and acknowledge myself 
very deeply engaged to you by the courtesy. 

Tai. Why, how much have you there, sir ? 

Fung. Marry, I have here four angels, and 
fifteen shillings of white money : it's all I have, 
as I hope to be blest. 

Tai. You will not fail me at the next term 
with the rest ? 

Fung. No, an I do, pray heaven I be hang'd. 
Let me never breathe again upon this mortal 
stage, as the philosopher calls it ! By this air, 
and as I am a gentleman, I'll hold. 

Cor. He were an iron-heartecl fellow, in my judg- 
ment, that loould not credit him iipon this volley 
of oaths. 

Tai. Well, sir, I'll not stick with any gentle- 
man for a trifle : you know what 'tis remains ? 

Fung. Ay, sir, and I give you thanks in good 
faith. O fate, how happy am I made in this 
good fortune ! Well, now I'll go seek out 
monsieur Brisk. 'Ods so, I have forgot riband 
for my shoes, and points. 'Slid, what luck's 
this ! how shall I do ? Master Snip, pray let 
me reduct some two or three shillings for points 
and ribands : as I am an honest man, I liave 
utterly disfumished myself, in the default of 
memory ; pray let me be beholding to you ; it 
shall come home in the bUl, believe me. 

Tai. Faith, sir, I can hardly depart with 
ready money ; but I'll take up, and send you 
some by my boy presently. What colored 
riband would you have ? 

Fung. What you shall think meet in your 
judgment, sir, to my suit. 

Tai, Well, I'll send you some presently. 

Fung. And points too, sir ? 
■ Tai. And points too, su. 

Fung. Good lord, how shall I study to de- 
serve this kindness of you, sir- ! Pray let your 



youth make haste, for I should have done g 
business an hour since, that I doubt I shall 
come too late. [Exit Tailor.] Now, in good 
faith, I am exceeding proud of my suit. 

Cor. Do you observe the plunges that this poof 
gallant is 2nit to, signior,to purcliase the fashion? 

Mit. Ay, and to be still a fashion behind toith tl^t 
loorld, that's the sport. 

Cor. Stay : O, here they come from seal'd and 
deliver'd. 

SCENE VI. — PuNTARVOLo's Lodgings. 

Enter Puntarvolo, Fastidious Brisk in a neie 
suit, and Servants, loith the dog. 

Punt. Well, now my whole venture is forth, 
I will resolve to depart shortly. 

Fast. Faith, sir Puntarvolo, go to the court, 
and take leave of the ladies first. 

Punt. I care not, if it be this afternoon's la- 
bor. Where is Carlo ? 

Fast. Here he comes. 

Enter Ckv:lo, Sogliaedo, Shift, awrf Macilexte. 

Car. Faith, gallants, I am persuading this 
gentleman [^points to Sogliardo,] to turn cour- 
tier. He is a man of fair revenue, and his es- 
tate will bear the charge wcU. Besides, for his 
other gifts of the mind, or so, why they are as 
nature lent him them, pure, simple, without 
any artificial drug or mixture of these two 
threadbare beggarly qualities, learning and 
knowledge, and therefore the more accommo- 
date and genuine. Now, for the life itself ^ 

Fast. O, the most celestial, and full of won- 
der and delight, that can be imagined, signior, 
beyond thought and apjirehension of pleasure ! 
A man lives there in that divine rapture, that 
he will think himself i' the ninth heaven for 
the time, and lose all sense of mortality what- 
soever, when he shall behold such glorious, and 
almost immortal beauties ; hear such angelical 
and harmonious voices, discourse with such 
flowing and ambrosial spirits, whose wits are as 
sudden as lightning, and humorous as nectar ; 
oh, it makes a man all quintessence and flame, 
and lifts him up, in a moment, to the very crys- 
tal crown of the sky, where, hovering in the 
strength of his imagination, he shall behold all 
the delights of the Hesperides, the Insulse For- 
tunatEe, Adonis' Gardens, Tempo, or what else, 
confined within the amplest verge of poesy, to 
be mere umbrce, and imperfect figures, conferred 
with the most essential felicity of your court. 

Maci. Well, this encomium was not extempo° 
ral, it came too perfectly off. 

Car. Besides, su', you shall never need to go 
to a hot-house, you shall sweat there with 
courting your mistress, or losing your money at 
primero, as well as in all the stoves in Sweden. 
Marry, this, sir, you must ever be sure to carry 
a good strong perfume about you, that your 
mistress's dog may smeU you out amoi^gst tho 
rest ; and, in making love to her, never fear tc 
be out ; for you may have a pipe of tobacco, oi 
a bass-viol shall hang o' the wall, of purpose, 
will put you in presently. The tricks you* 
Resolution has taught you in tobacco, the whiffe; 



166 



EVER\ MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



and those sleights, will srand you in very good 
ornament there. 

Fast. Ay, to some, perhaps ; but, an he should 
come to my mistress "with tobacco (this gentle- 
man knows) she'd reply upon him i'faith. O, 
by this bright sun, she has the most acute, 

ready, and facetious wit that tut, there's 

no sphit able to stand her. You can report 
it, Siguier, you have seen her. 

Punt. Then can he report no less, out of his 
judgment, I assure him. 

Maci. Troth, I like her well enough, but she's 
too self-conceited, methinks. 

Fast. Ay, indeed, she's a little too self-con- 
ceited ; an 'twere not for that humor, she were 
the most-to-be-admircd lady in the world. 

Punt. Indeed, it is a humor that takes from 
her other excellences. 

Maci. "NVhy, it may easily be made to forsake 
her, in my thought. 

Fast- Easily, sir ! then are all impossibilities 
easy. 

Maci. You conclude too quick upon me, sig- 
nior. What will you say, if I make it so per- 
spicuously apj)ear now, that yourself shall con- 
fess nothing more possible ? 

Fast. Marry, I will say, I will both applaud 
and admire you for it. 

Pant. And I will second him in the admira- 
tion. 

Maci. Why, I'U show you, gentlemen. — Car- 
lo, come hither. 

[Maci. Cau. Punt, and Fast, whisjier togetlm-. 

Sog. Good faith, I have a great humor to the 
cTjxirt. What thinks my Resolution? shall I 
adventure ? 

Shift. Troth, Countenance, as you please ; the 
place is a place of good reputation and ca- 
pacity. 

Sog. 0, my tricks in tobacco, as Carlo says, 
will show excellent there. 

Shift. Why, you may go with these gentle- 
men now, and see fashions ; and after, as you 
shall see correspondence. 

Sog. You say true. You will go with me, 
Resolution ? 

Shift. I will meet you. Countenance, about 
three or four o'clock ; but, to say to go with you, 
I cannot ; for, as I am Apple- John, I am to go 
before the cockatrice you saw this morning, and 
therefore, praj', present me excused, good Coun- 
tenance. 

Sog. Farewell, good Resolution, but fail not 
to meet. 

Shift. As I live. [Exit. 

Pimt. Admirably excellent ! 

Maci. If you can but persuade Sogliardo to 
court, there's all now. 

Car, O, let me alone, that's my task. 

[Goes to Sogliardo. 

Fast. Now, by v/it, Macilente, it's above meas- 
ure sxcellent ; 'twill be the only court-exploit 
that ever proved courtier ingenious. 

Punt. Upon my soul, it puts the lady quite 
out of her humor, and we shall laugh Avith j udg- 
ment. 

. Car. Come, the gentleman was of himself re- 
Dolved to go with you, afore I moved it. 

Maci. Why, then, gallants, you tv/o and Carlo 



go afore to prepare the jest ; Sogliardo and I 
will come some while after you. 

Car. Pardon me, I am not for the court. 

Punt. That's true ; Carlo comes not at court, 
indeed. Well, yoii shall leave it to the faculty 
of monsieur Brisk, and myself; upon our Uves, 
we will manage it happily. Carlo shall bespeak 
supper at the Mitre, against we come back : 
where we will meet and dimple our cheeks with 
laughter at the success. 

Car. Ay, but will you joromise to come ? 

Punt. ]\Iyself shall undertake for them ; he 
that fails, let his reputation lie undor the lash 
of thy tongue. 

Car. Ods so, look who comes here ! 

Enter Fuxgoso. 

Sog. AVhat, nephew ! 

Fung. Uncle, God save you ; did you see tj 
gentleman, one monsieur Brisk, a courtier ? he 
goes in such a suit as I do. 

Sog. Here is the gentleman, nephew, but not 
in such a suit. 

Fung. Another suit ! [Swoons. 

Sog. How now, nephew ? 

Fast. Would you speak with me, sir .' 

Car, Ay, when he has recovered himself, pooi 
Poll! 

Punt, Some rosa-solis. 

Maci. How now, signior ? 

Fung. I am not Avell, sir. 

Maci, Why, this it is to dog the fashion. 

Car, Nay, come, gentlemen, remember your 
affairs ; his disease is nothing but the ilux of 
apparel. 

Punt, Sirs, return to the lodging, keep the 
cat safe ; I'll be the dog's guardian myself. 

[Exeunt Servants. 

Sog. Nephew, will you go to court with us t 
these gentlemen and I are for the court ; nay, be 
not so melancholy. 

Fung. 'Slid, I think no man in Cluistendom 
has that rascally fortune that I have. 

Maci. Faith, your suit is wcU enough, signior. 

Fung. Nay, not for that, I protest ; but I had 
an errand to monsieur Fastidious, and I have 
forgot it. 

Maci. Why, go along to court with us, and 
remember it ; come, gentlemen, j'ou three take 
one boat, and Sogliardo and I will take another; 
we shall be there instantly. 

Fast. Content : good sir, vouchsafe us your 
pleasance. 

Punt, Farewell, Carlo : remember. 

Car. I warrant you : would I had one of 
Kemp's shoes to throw after you. 

Punt. Good fortune will close the eyes of 
our jest, fear not : and we shall frolick. 

[Exeunt. 

Mit. This Macilente, signior, begins to be more 
sociable on a sudden, methinks, than he loas before : 
there s so}ne porte?it in it, I believe. 

Cor. O, he's a felloio of a strange nature. New 
does he, in this calm of his humor, 2}lot, and store up a 
loorld of malicious thoughts in his brain, till he is 
so full with them, that you shall see the very tor' 
rent of his envy break forth like a land-flood : and 
against the course of all their ajfections, oppose 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



157 



itself so violenthj, thai you wiU almost have toonder to 
think, how 'tis liossible the current of their disjMsi- 
tions shall receive so quick and strong an alteration. 

Mit. Ay, marry, sir, this is that, on ichich my 
expectation has dwelt all this tchile ; for I 7nust 
tell you, siynior, though I teas loth to interrupt the 
scene, yet I made it a question in mine otim private 
discourse, how he should 2}>'operly call it Every 
Man out of his Humor, when I saio all his 
actors so strongly pursue,and continue their humors ? 

Cor. Why, therein his art a2ipears most full of 
lustre, and aifproacheth nearest the life ; especially 
lohen in the fame and height of their humors, they 
are laid flat, it fills the eye better, and loith more 
conte7itment. How tedious a sight tcere it to behold 
a proud exalted tree lopt, and cut doxon by degrees, 
when it might be fell' d in a moment! and to set 
the axe to it before it came to that piride and ful- 
ness, were, as not to have it groto. 

Mit. Well, I shall long till I see this fall, you 
talk of. 

Cor. To help your longing, signior, let your im- 
agination be sicifter than a pair of oars : and by 
this, suppose Puntarvolo, Brisk, Fungoso, and the 
dog, arrived at the court-gate, and going tip to the 
great chamber. Macilente and Sogliardo, loe'll 
leave them on the icater, till possibility and natural 
means 7nay land them. Here come the gallants, 
now 2}repare your expectation. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The Palace Stairs. 

.Enter Puxtahyolo, with his dog, folloiced by Fas- 
tidious Eiiisic and FuxGoso. 

Punt. Come, gentles, Signior, you are suffi- 
ciently instructed. 

Fast. "Who, I, sir ? 

Pimt. No, this gentleman. But stay, I take 
thought how to bestow my clog ; he is no com- 
petent attendant for the presence. 

Fast. Mass, that's true, indeed, knight ; you 
must not carry Hm into the presence. 

Punt. I know it, and I, like a dull beast, for- 
got to bring one of my cormorants to attend me. 

Fast. Why, you Avere best leave him at the 
porter's lodge. 

Punt. Not so ; his worth is too well known 
amongst them, to be forth-coming. 

Fast. 'Slight, how will you do then ? 

Punt. I must leave him with one that is igno- 
rant of his quality, if I will have him to be safe. 
And see ! here comes one that \d\l carry coals, 
ergo, wiU hold my dog. 

Enter a Groom, with a basket. 
My honest friend, may I commit the tuition of 
this dog to thj"- prudent care ? 

Groom. You may, if you please, sir. 

Punt. Pray thee let me find thee here at my 
return ; it shall not be long, till I will ease thee 
of thy employment, aiid please thee. Forth, 
gentles. 

Fast. Why, but will you leave him with so 
slight command, and infuse no more charge 
ypon the fellow ? 



Punt. Charge ! no ; there wese no policy in 
that ; that were to let him know the value of 
the gem he holds, and so to tcmi^t frail nature 
against her disposition. No, pray thee let thy 
honesty be sweet, as it shall be short. 

Groom. Yes, sir. 

Punt. But hark you, gallants, and chiefl)" 
monsieur Brisk : when we come in eye-shot, or 
presence of this lady, let not other matters carry 
us from our project ; but, if we can, single her 
forth to some place 

Fast. I warrant you. 

Punt. And be not too sudden, but let the 
device induce itself with good circumstance. 
On. 

Fung. Is this the Avay ? good truth, here be 
fine hangings. 

[Exeunt Punt. Fast, and Fungoso. 

Groom. Honesty ! sxceet, and short! Marry, it 
shall, sir, doubt you not ; for even at this in- 
stant if one Avould give me twenty pounds, I 
would not deliver him ; there's for the sioeet : 
but now, if any man come offer me but two- 
pence, he shall have him ; there's for the short 
now. 'Slid, Avhat a mad humorous gentleman 
is this to leave his dog with me ! I could run 
away with him now, an he were worth any thing. 

Enter Macilente and Sogliakdo. 

Maci. Come on, signior, now prepare to court 
this all-witted lady, most naturally, and like 
yourself. 

Sog. Faith, an you say the word, I'll begin tii 
her in tobacco. 

Maci. O, fie on't ! no ; you shall begin -with, 
Hoio does my sweet lady, or. Why are you so mel- 
ancholy, madam ? though she be very merry, it's 
all one. Be sure to kiss your hand often enough ; 
pray for her health, and tell her, how more than 
most fair she is. Screw your face at one side 
thus, and protest : let her fleer, and look askance, 
and hide her teeth with her fan, when she laughs 
a fit, to bring her into more matter, that's noth- 
ing ; you must talk forward, (though it be with- 
out sense, so it be without blushing,) 'tis most 
court-like and well. 

Sog. But shall I not use tobacco at all ? 

Maci. O, by no means ; 'twill but make j'our 
breath suspected, and that you use it only to 
confound the rankness of that. 

Sog. Nay, I'll be advised, sir, by my friends. 

Maci. O'd's my life, see where sir Puntarvolo's 
dog is. 

Groom. I would the gentleman would return 
for his follower here, I'll leave him to his for- 
tunes else. 

Maci. 'Twere the only true jest in the world 
to poison him now ; ha ! by this hand I'll do it, 
if I could but get him of the fellow. [Aside.\ 
Signior Sogliardo, walk aside, and t>irk. upon 
some device to entertain the lady mth. 

Sog. So I do, sir. [Walks off in a meditating 
2}0sture.] 

Maci. How now, mine honest friend ! whose 
dog-keeper art thou ? 

Groom. Dog-keeper, sir ! I hope I scorn that, 
i'faith. 

Maci. Why, dost thou not keep a dog ? 

(h-oom. Sir, now I do, and now 1 do not • 



158 



ETERY I^IAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



.iCT V 



[throics off" the rlo(j.] I think this be sweet and 
short. Make me his dog-keeper ! [Exit. 

Maci. This is excellent, above expectation ! 
nay, stay, sir ; [seizing the dorj.] you'd be travel- 
ling ; but I'll give you a dram shall shorten 
5-our voyage, here. [Gives him poison-'] So, sir, 
I'll be bold to take my leave of you. Now to 
the Turk's court in the devil's name, for you 
Bhall never go o' God's name. [Kicks him out.] 
— Sogliardo, come. 

Sag. I have it i'faith now, will sting it. 

Maci. Take heed you leesc it not, signior, ere 
you come there ; preserve it. [Exeunt. 

Cor. JIoio like yott this first cxphit of his ? 
Mit. 0, a piece of true envy ; but I expect the 
issue of the other device. 

Cor. Here they come loill make it appear. 

SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace. 

Enter Saviohna, Puntarvolo, Fastidious Brisk, 
and FuNGOso. 

Sav. Why, I thought, sir Puntarvolo, you 
had been gone your voyage ? 

Punt. Dear and most amiable lady, your di- 
vine beauties do bind me to those offices, that I 
cannot depart when I would. 

Sav. 'Tis most court-like spoken, sir ; but how 
might we do to have a sight of your dog and cat ? 

Fast. His dog is in the court, lady. 

Sav. And not your cat ? how dare you trust 
her behind you, sir. 

Punt. Troth, madam, she hath sore eyes, and 
she doth keep her chamber ; marry, I have left 
her under sufficient guard, there are two of my 
followers to attend her. 

Sav. I'll give you some water for her eyes. 
When do you go, sir ? 

Punt- Certes, sweet lady, I know not. 

Fast. He doth stay the rather, madam, to pre- 
sent 3'our acute judgment with so courtly and 
well parted a gentleman as yet your ladyship 
hath never seen. 

Sav. What is he, gentle monsieur Brisk ? not 
that gentleman ? [Points to Fungoso. 

Fast. No, lady, this is a kinsman to justice 
Silence. 

Punt. Pray, sir, give me leave to report him. 
He's a gentleman, lady, of that rare and admi- 
rable faculty, as, I protest, I know not his like 
in Europe ; he is exceedingly valiant, an excel- 
lent scholar, and so exactly travelled, that he is 
able, in discourse, to deliver you a model of any 
prince's court in the world ; speaks the lan- 
guages with that purity of phi-ase, and facility 
of accent, that it breeds astonishment ; his wit, 
the most exuberant, and, above wonder, pleasant, 
of all that ever entered the concave of this ear. 

Fast. 'Tis most true, lady ; marry, he is no 
such excellent proper man. 

Punt. His travels have changed his complex- 
ion, madam. 

Sav. O, sir Puntarvolo, you must thinli every 
man was not born to have my servant Brisk's 
feature. 

Punt. But that which transcends all, lady ; he 
doth so peerlessly imitate any manner of person 
fcr gesture, action, passion, or whatever ^ 



Fast. Ay, especially a rustic or a clown, 
madam, that it is not possible for the sharpest- 
sighted wit in the world to discern any sparks 
of the gentleman in him, when he does it. 

Sav. O, monsieur Brisk, be not so tyrannous 
to confine all wits within the compass of your 
own ; not find the sparks of a gentleman in 
him, if he be a gentleman ! 

FiCng. No, in truth, sweet lad}"-, I believe yo a 
cannot. 

Sav. Do you believe so? Avhy, I can find 
sparks of a gentleman in you, sir. 

Puni. Ay, he is a gentleman, madam, and a 
reveller. 

Fung. Indeed, I think I have seen your lady- 
ship at our revels. 

Sav. Like enough, sir ; but woiild I might 
see this v/onder you talk of; may one have a 
sight of him for any reasonable sum ? 

Punt. Yes, madam, he will arrive presently. 

Sav. What, and shall avc see him clown it ? 

Fast. I'faith, sweet lady, that you shall ; see, 
here he comes. 

Enter Macilexte and Sogliardo. 

Punt. This is he ! pray observe him, lady. 

Sav. Beshrev/ me, he clowns it properly indeed. 

Punt. Nay, mark his courtship. 

Sog. How does my sweet lady .' hot and moist? 
beautiful and lusty? ha ! 

Sav. Beautiful, an it please you, sir, but not 
lusty. 

Sog. O ho, lady, it pleases you to say so, in 
truth : And hmo does my sweet lady f in health ? 
Bona roba, quceso, que novelles ? que novelles ? 
sweet creature ! 

Sav. excellent ! why, gallants, is this he 
that cannot bo deciphered ? they were very 
blear- witted, i'faith, that could not discern the 
gentleman in him. 

Punt. But you do, in earnest, lady ? 

Sav. Do I, sir ! why, if you had any true 
court-judgment in the carriage of his eye, and 
that inward power that forms his coimtenancc, 
you might perceive his cotmterfeiting as clear a-s 

the noon-day ; alas nay, if you would have 

tried my wit, indeed, you should never have 
told me he was a gentleman, but presented him 
for a true clown indeed ; and then have seen if 
I could have deciphered him. 

Fast. 'Fore God, her ladyship says true, 
knight : but does he not affect the clown most 
naturally, mistress ? 

Punt. O, she cannot but affirm that, out of 
the bounty of her judgment. 

Sav. Nay, out of doubt he does well, for a 
gentleman to imitate : but I Avarrant you, he 
becomes his natural carriage of the gentleman, 
much better than his clownery. 

Fast. 'Tis strange, in truth, her ladj-ship 
should see so far into him ! 

Punt. Ay, is it not ? 

Sav . Faith, as easily as may be ; not decipher 
him, quoth you ! 

Fung. Good sadness, I wonder at it. 

Maci. Why, has she deciphered him, gentle- 
men ? 

Punt. O, most miraculously, and beyond ad- 
miration. 



EVERY ISIAN OUT OF HIS HUJIOR. 



159 



Maci, Is it posiible ? 

Fast. She hath gather'd most infallible signs 
of the gentleman in him, that's certain. 

Sav. Why, gallants, let me laugh at you a lit- 
tle : was this your device, to try my judgment 
in a gentleman ? 

Maci. Nay, lady, do not scorn us, though you 
have this gift of perspicacy above others. What 
if he should be no gentleman now, but a clown 
indeed, lady ? 

Punt. How think you of that ? woiild not 
your ladj'ship be Out of your Humor ? 

Fast. O, but she knows it is not so. 

Sav. What if he were not a man, ye may as 
well say ? Nay, if j'our worships could gull me 
GO, indeed, you were wiser than you are taken for. 

Ilaci. In good faith, lady, he is a very perfect 
clown, both by father and mother ; that I'll as- 
sure you. 

Sav. O, sir, you are very pleasurable. 

Maci. Nay, do but look on his hand, and that 
shall resolve you ; look you, lady, what a palm 
here is. 

Sofj. Tut, that was with holding the plough. 

Maci. The plough ! did j'ou discern any such 
thing in him, madam ? 

Fast. Faith, no, she saw the gentleman as 
bright as noon -day, she ; she deciphered him at 
first. 

3Iaci. Troth, I am sorry your ladj'ship's sight 
should be so suddenly struck. 

Sav. O, you are goodly beagles ! 

Fast. What, is she gone r 

Sofjf. Nay, stay, sweet lady : qiio notelles ? qiic 
novelles ? 

Sav. Out, you fool, you ! [Exit in anger- 

Fung. She's Out of her Humor, i'faith. 

Fast. Nay, let's follow it while 'tis hot, gen- 
tlemen. 

Tunt. Come, on mine honor we shall make 
her blush in the presence ; my spleen is great 
with laughter. 

Maci. Your laughter will be a child of a feeble 
life, I believe, sir. \Aside.\ — Come, signior, 
your looks are too dejected, methmks ; why 
mix yo\i not mirth with the rest ? 

Fung. Od's will, this suit frets me at the soiil. 
I'll have it altered to-morrow, sure. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI. — The Palace Stairs. 

Enter Shift. 
Shift. I am come to the court, to meet with 
ray Countenance, Sogiiardo ; poor men must be 
glad of such countenance, when they can get 
no better. Well, need maj' insult upon a man, 
but it shall never make him despair of conse- 
quence. The world will say, 'tis base : tush, 
base ! 'tis base to live under the earth, not base 
to live above it by any means. 

Bifer Fastidious, Puntaevolo, Sogliardo, Fun- 
Goso, and Macilente. 

Fast. The poor lady is most miserably out of 
her humor, i'faith. 

Punt. There was never so witty a jest broken, 
■ t the tilt of all the court wits cliristcn'd. 

Maci. O, this applause taints it foully. 



Sog. I think I did my part in courting. — O, 
Resolution ! 

Punt. Ay me, my dog ! 

Maci. Where is he ? 

Fast. 'Sprecious, go seek for the fellow, good 
signior. [Exit Fungoso 

Pu7it. Here, here I left him. 

Maci. Why, none was here when we came in 
now, but cavalier Shifl; j enquire of him. 

Fast. Did you see sir Puntarvolo's dog here, 
cavalier, since you came ? 

Shift. His dog, sir ! he may look his dog, sir. 
I saw none of his dog, sir. 

Maci. Upon my life, he has stolen your dog, 
sir, and been hired to it by some that have ven- 
tured with you ; you may guess by his peremp- 
tory answers. 

Punt. Not unlilvC ; for he hath been a noto- 
rious thief by his OM'n confession. Sirrah, 
where is my dog ? 

Shift. Charge mc with your dog, sir ! I have 
none of your dog, sir. 

Punt. Villain, thou liest. 

Shift. Lie, sir ! s'blood, — you arc but a man, 
sir. 

Punt. Rogue and thief, restore him. 

Sog. Take heed, sir Puntarvolo, what you do ; 
he'll bear no coals, I can tell you, o'my word. 

Maci. This is rare. 

Sog. It's maiie he stabs j'ou not : by this light, 
he hath stabbed forty, for forty times less mat- 
ter, I can tell you of my knowledge. 

Punt. I will make thee stoop, thou abject. 

Sog. I*Iake him stoop, su' ! Gentlemen, pacify 
liim, or he'll be kill'd. 

Maci. Is he so tall a man ? 

Sog. Tall a man ! if you love liis life, stand 
betwixt them. Make him stoop ! 

Punt. My dog, villain, or I will hang thee; 
thou hast confest robberies, and other felonioun 
acts, to this gentleman, thy Countenance — 

Sog. I'll bear no witness. 

Punt. And without my dog, I will hang thee, 
for them. [Shift kneels. 

Sog. What ! kneel to thine enemies ! 

Shift. Pardon me, good sir ; God is my wit- 
ness, I never did robbery in all my life. 

Re-enter Fungoso. 

Fung. O, sir Puntarvolo, your dog lies giving 
up the ghost in the wood-yard. 

Maci. Heart, is he not dead yet ! [Aside. 

Punt. O, my dog, born to disastrous fortune ! 
pray you conduct me, sir. [Exit with Fungoso. 

Sog. How ! did you never do any robbery in 
your life ? 

Maci. O, this is good ! so he swore, sir. 

Sog. Ay, I heard him : and did you swe^r 
true, sir ? 

Shift. Ay, as I hope to be forgiven, su-, I 
never robbed any man ; I never stood by the 
highway-side, sir, but only said so, because I 
would get myself a name, and be counted a tall 
man. 

Sog. Now out, base viliaco ! thou my Reso- 
lution ! I thy Countenance ! By this light, 
gentlemen, he hath confest to me the most 
inexorable company of robberies, and damn'd 
hhnself that he did 'em : you never heard the 



160 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



like. Out, scoundrel, out ! follow me no more, 
I commnnd thee ; out of my sight, go, hence, 
Bpeak not ; I -will not hear thee : away, ca- 
mouccio ! [Exit Shift. 

Maci, O, how I do feed upon this now, and 
fat myself! here were a couj^le unexpectedly 
dishumor'd. Well, by this time, I hope, sir 
Puntarvolo and his dog are both out of humor to 
travel. [Aside.] — Nay, gentlemen, why do you 
not seek o\xt the knight, and comfort him ? our 
supper at the Mitre must of necessity hold to- 
Tiight, if you love your reputations. 

Fast. Tore God, I am so melancholy for his 
dog's disaster — but I'll go. 

Sog. Faith, and I may go too, but I know I 
shall be so melancholy. 

Maci. Tush, melancholy ! you must forget that 
now, and jcmember you lie at the mercy of a 
fury : Carlo will rack your sinews asunder, and 
rail you to dust, if you come not. [Exeunt. 

Mit. O, then their fear of Carlo, belike, makes 
them hold their meeting. 

Cor. Ay, here he comes ; conceive him but to be 
entered the Mitre, and 'tis enough. 

SCENE IV. — A Room at the Mitre. 

Enter Carlo. 
Car. Holla ! where be these shot-sharks ? 

Enter Drawer. 

Draw. Ey and by ; you are welcome, good 
master BufFone. 

Car. Where's George ? call me George hither, 
quickly. 

Draw. What wine please you have, sir ? I'll 
draw you that's neat, master Buffone. 

Car. Away, neophite, do as I bid thee, bring 
my dear George to me : — 

Enter George. 
Mass, here he comes. 

George. Welcome, master Carlo. 

Car. What, is supper readj-, George ? 

George. Ay, sir, almost : Will you have the 
cloth laid, master Carlo ? 

Car. 0, what else ? Are none of the gallants 
come yet ? 

George. None yet, sir. 

Car. Stay, take me with you, George ; let me 
have a good fat loin of pork laid to the fire, 
presently. 

George. It shall, sir. 

Car. And withal, hear you, draw me the big- 
gest shaft you have out of the butt you wot of ; 
away, you know my meaning, George ; qvdck ! 

George. Done, sir. [Exit. 

Car. I never hungered so much for anything 
in my life, as I do to know our gallants' success at 
court ; now is that lean, bald-rib Macilente, that 
saltvillain, plotting some mischievous device,and 
lies a soaking in their frothy humors like a dry 
crust, till he has drunk 'em all up : Could the 
pummice but hold up his eyes at other men's 
happiness, in any reasonable proportion, 'slid, the 
slave were to be loved next heaven, above honor, 
wealth, rich fare, apparel, Avenches, all the de- 
ights of the belly and the groin, whatever. 



Re-enter George with two jugs of wine. 

George. Here, master Carlo. 

Car. Is it right, boy ? 

George. Ay, sir, I assure you 'tis right. 

Car. Well said, my dear George, depart i 
[Exit George.] — Come, my small gimblet, you 
in the false scabbard, away, so ! [Puts forth the 
Drawer, and shuts the door.^ Now to you, sir 
Burgomaster, let's taste of your bountj'. 

!Mit. What, tviU he deal upon such quantities 
of wine, alone ? 

Cor. You icill 2')erceive that, sir. 

Car. [drinks.] Ay, marry, sir, here's purity ; 
O, George — I could bite offhis nose for this now, 
sweet rogue, he has drawn nectar, the very soul 
of the grape ! I'll wash my temples with some 
on't presently, and drink some half a score 
draughts ; 'twill heat the brain, kindle my im- 
agination, I shall talk nothing but crackers and 
fire-works to-night. So, sir ! please you to be 
here, sir, and I here : so. 

[Sets the two cups asunder, drinks 2vith the one, 
and pledges with the other, speaking for each 
of the cups, and drinking alternatehj. 

Cor. This is worth the observation, signior. 

Car. 1 C^ip. Now, sir, here's to you ; and I 
present you with so much of my love. 

2 Cup. I take it kindly from yovi, sir, [dritilcs,] 
and will return you the like proportion ; but 
withal, sir, remembering the merry night we had 
at the countess's, you know where, sir. 

1 Cup. Byheaven,youput me inmindnowof 
a very necessary office, which I will propose in 
your pledge, sir ; the health of that honorable 
countess, and the sweet lady that sat by her, sir. 

2 Cup. 1 do vail to it with reverence [drinks] . 
And noAV, signior, with these ladies, I'll be bold 
to mix the health of your divine mistress. 

1 Cup. Do you know her, sir ? 

2 Cup. O lord, sir, ay ; and in the respectful 
memory and mention of her, I could wish this 
wine Avere the most precious drug in the world. 

1 Cup. Good faith, sir, you do honor me in't 
exceedingly. [D)-inks.] 

Mit, Whom should he personate in this, signior f 
Cor. Faith, Iknoxo not, sir ; observe, observe him. 

2 Cup. If it were the basest filth, or mud that 
runs in the channel, I am bound to pledge it re- 
spectiAK^ly, sir. [Drinks.] And now, sir, here is a 
replenish' d bowl, which I will reciprocally tiirn 
upon you, to the health of the count Frugale. 

1 Cup. The count Frugale's health, sir .' I'll 
pledge it on my knees, by this ligjit. [Kniels. 

2 Clip. Will you, sir .' I'U drink it on my 
knees, then, by the light. 

Mit. Why this is strange. 

Cor. Have you heard a better drunken dialogue 

2 Cup. Nay, do me right, sir. 

1 Cup. So I do, in faith. 

2 Cup. Good faith you do not ; mine was fuller 

1 Cup. Why, believe me, it was not. 

2 Cup. Believe me it was ; and you do lie. 

1 Cup. Lie, sir ! 

2 Cup. Ay, sir. 



EVERY MA.N OUT OF HIS HU:M011. 



161 



1 Cup. 'Swounds ! 5'ou rascal J 

2 Cup. O, come, stab if you have a mind to it. 

1 Cup. Stab ! dost thou think I dare not ? 

Car. [speaks in his own person.'] Nay, I be- 
seech 3-0U, gentlemen, what means this ? nay, 
look, for shame respect your reputations. 

\_Overturns toino, j^ot, cups, and all. 

Enter Macilente. 

Maci. Why, how now, Carlo ! what humor's 
this ? 

Car. O, mj' good mischief ! art thou come ? 
vhere are the rest, where are the rest ? 

Maci. Faith, three of our ordnance are burst. 

Car. Burst ! how comes that ? 

Maci. Faith, overcharged, overcharged. 

Car. But did not the train hold ? 

Maci. O, yes, and the j)Oor lady is irrecover- 
ably blown uj). 

Car. Why, but which of the munition is mis- 
carried, ha ? 

Maci. Imprimis, sir Puntarvolo ; next, the 
Countenance and Resolution. 

Car. How, how, for the love of wit ? 

Maci. Troth, the Resolution is proved recre- 
ant ; the Countenance hath changed his copy ; 
and the passionate knight is shedding funeral 
tears over his departed dog. 

Car. What ! is his dog dead ? 

Maci. Poison'd, 'tis thought ; marr)', how, or 
by whom, that's left for some cunning woman 
here 0' the Bank-side to resolve. For my part, I 
know nothing more than that we arc like to have 
an exceeding melancholy supper of it. 

Car. 'Slife, and I had purposed to be extraor- 
dinarily merry, I had drunk off a good prepara- 
tive of old sack here ; but wdll they come, wUl 
they come .•' 

Maci. They will assuredly come ; marry, Carlo, 
as thou lov'st me, run over 'era all freely to-night, 
and especially the knight ; spare no suljihurous 
jest that may come out of that sweaty forge of 
thine ; but piy them with all manner of shot, 
minion, saker, culverin, or anything, what thou 
wilt. 

Car. I warrant thee, my dear case of petrio- 
ncls ; so I stand not in dread of thee, but that 
thou'lt second me. 

Maci. Why, my good German tapster, I will. 

Car. What George ! Lomtero, Lomtero, 6$c. 

\_Sings and dances. 

Re-enter George. 

George. Did you call, master Carlo ? 

Car. More nectar, George : Lomtero, S^c. 

George. Your meat's ready, sir, an your com- 
pany wore come. 

Car. Is the loin of pork enough r 

George. Ay, sir, it is enough. \^Exit. 

Maci. Pork ! heart, what dost thou with such 
a greasy dish ? I think thou dost varnish thy 
face with the fat on't, it looks so lilce a glue-pot. 

Car. True, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou 
wouldst farce thy loan ribs with it too, they 
would not, like ragged laths, rub out so many 
doublets as they do ; but thou know'st not a 
good dish, thou. O, it's the only nourishing meat 
in the world. No marvel though that saucy, 
etubborn generation, the Jews, were forbidden it ; 
11 



for what would they have clone, well pamper'd 
with fat pork, that durst murmur at their Maker 
out of garlick and onions ? 'Slight ! fed with it, 
the Avhoresou strummel-patch'd, goggled-eyed 
grumbledories, would have gigantomachized 

Re-enter George icith wine. 
Well said, my sweet George, fill, iill. 

Mit. This savors too much of jirofanation. 

Cor. O Servetur ad imum, 

Qualis ab incoepto processerit, et sibi constet. 
The necessity of Jus vein compels a toleration, for, 
bar this, and , dash him out of humor before his 
time. 

Car. 'Tis an axiom in natural philosophy , what 
comes nearest the nature of that it feeds, converts 
quicker to nourishment, and doth sooner essentiate. 
Now nothing in flesh and entrails assimilates or 
resembles man more than a hog or swine. 

' [Drinks. 

Maci. True ; and he, to requite their cour- 
tesy, oftentimes doffeth his own nature, and puts 
on theirs ; as when he becomes as churlish as a 
hog, or as drunk as a sow ; but to your con- 
clusion. [Drinks. 

Car. Marrj', I say, nothing resembling man 
more than a swine, it follows,nothing can be more 
nourishing ; for indeed (but that it abhors from 
our nice nature) if we fed upon one another, we 
should shoot up a great deal faster, and thrive 
much better ; I refer me to your usurous canni- 
bals, or such like ; but since it is so contrary, 
l^ork, pork, is your only feed. 

Maci. 1 take it, your devil be of the same diet ; 
he would never have desired to have been incor- 
porated into swine else. — O, here comes the mel- 
ancholy mess ; upon 'em Carlo, charge, charge ! 

Enter Puxtarvolo, Fastidious Brisk, Sogliak- 
Do, a7id FuxGOSO. 

Car. 'Fore God, sir Puntarvolo, I am sorry for 
your heaviness : body o' me, a shrew'd mis- 
chance ! why, had you no unicorn's horn, nor 
bezoar's stone about you, ha ? 

Punt. Sir, I would request you be silent. 

Maci. Nay, to him again. 

Car. Take comfort, good knight, if your cat 
have recovered her catarrh, fear nothing ; your 
dog's mischance may be holpen. 

Fast. Say how, sweet Carlo ; for, so God mend 
me, the poor knight's moans draw me into fellow- 
ship of his misfortunes. But be not discouraged, 
good sir Puntarvolo, I am content your adven- 
ture shall be performed upon your cat. 

3Iaci. 1 believe you, musk-cod, I beUeve you ; 
for rather than thou would' st m.ake present re- 
payment, thou would'st take it upon his own 
bare return from Calais. [Aside. 

Car. Nay, 'slife, he'd be content, so he were 
well rid out of his company, to pay him five for 
one, at his next meeting him in Paul's. [Aside to 
Macilente.] — But for your dog. sir Puntarvolo, 
if he be not out-right dead, there is a friend of 
mine, a quack-salver, shall put life in him again, 
that's certain. 

Fung. O, no, that comes too late. 

Maci. 'Sprecious! .knight, will you suffer 
this ? 



1C2 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



Pu7it, Drawer, get me a candle and hard wax 
presently. [Ejcit George. 

Sog. Ay, and bring up supper ; for I am so 
melancholy. 

Car. O, signior, where's your Resolution ? 

So(/. Resolution ! hang him, rascal : O, Carlo, 
if you love me, do not mention him. 

Car. Why, how so ? 

Sog. O, the arrantcst crocodile that ever 
Christian was acquainted with. By my gentry, 
I shall think the worse of tobacco while I live, 
for his sake : I did think him to be as tall a 
man 

Maci. Nay, Buffone, the knight, the knight. 
[Aside to Carlo. 

Car. 'Slud, he looks like an image carved out 
of box, full of knots ; his face is, for all the 
world, like a Dutch purse, Avith the mouth 
downward, his beard the tassels ; and he walks 
— let me see — as melancholy as one o' the mas- 
ter's side in the Counter. — Do you hear, sir 
Puntarvolo ? 

Punt. Sir, I do entreat you, no more, but en- 
join you to silence, as you affect your peace. 

Car. Nay, but dear knight, understand here 
are none but friends, and such as wish you well, 
I would have you do this now ; flay me your 
dog presently, (but in any case keep the head,) 
and stuff his skin well with straw, as you see 
these dead monsters at Bartholomew fair. 

Punt. I shall be sudden, I tell you. 

Car. Or, if you like not that, sii-, get me some- 
what a less dog, and clap into the skin ; here's a 
slave about the town here, a Jew, one Yohan : 
or a fellow that makes perulies will glue it on 
artificially, it shall never be discerned ; besides, 
'twill be so much the warmer for the hound to 
travel in, you know. 

Maci. Sir Puntarvolo, death, can you bo so 
patient ! 

Car. Or thus, sir ; you may have, as you come 
through Germany, a familiar for little or nothing, 
shall turn itself into the shape of your dog, or 

any thing, what you will, for certain hours 

[PuxTARVOLO strikes him.] 'Ods my life, 

knight, Avhat do you mean ? you'll offer no vio- 
lence, will you ? hold, hold ! 

Re-enter George, with wax, and a lighted candle. 

Punt. 'Sdeatli, you slave, you ban-dog, you ! 

Car. As you love wit, stay the enraged knight, 
gentlemen. 

Punt. By my knighthood, he that stii's in his 
rescue, dies. — Drawer , begone ! [Exit George. 

Car. Murder, murder, murder ! 

Punt, Ay, are you howling, you Avolf? — 
Gentlemen, as you tender your lives, suffer no 
man to enter till my revenge be perfect. Sirrah, 
Buffone, lie down ; make no exclamations, but 
down ; down, you cur, or I will make thy blood 
flow on my rapier hilts. 

Car. Sweet knight, hold in thy fury, and 'fore 
heaven I'll honor thee more than the Turk does 
iMahomet. 

Punt, Down, I say ! [Carlo lies down.] — 
Who's there ? [KnocJcing icithin. 

Cons, [u-ithin.] Here's the constable, open the 
doors. , 

Car. Good Slacilente 



Punt. Open no door ; if the Adalantado of 
Spain were here he should not enter : one help 
me with the light, gentlemen ; you knock in vain, 
sir officer. 

Car. Et tu. Brute ! 

Punt. Sirrah, close your lips, or I will drop it 
in thine eyes, by heaven. 

Car. O ! O ! 

Cons, \_within.] Open the door, or I will brenk 
it open. 

Maci. Nay, good constable, have patience a 
little ; you shall come in presently ; we have 
almost done. [Puntarvolo seals xip Carlo's lips. 

Punt. So, now, are you Out of your Humor, 
sir? Shift, gentlemen. 

[ They all draio, and run out, except Fungoso. 
loJw conceals himself beneath the t^ble. 

Enter Constable and officers, and seize Fastidious 
as he is rushing by. 

Cons. Lay hold upon this gallant, and pursue 
the rest. 

Fast. Lay hold on me, sir, for what ? 

Cons. Marry, for your riot here, sir, with the 
rest of your companions. 

Fast. My riot ! master constable, take heed 
what you do. Carlo, did I offer any violence ? 

Cons. O, sir, you see he is not in case to an- 
swer you, and that makes you so peremptory. 

Re-enter George and Drawer. 

Fast. Peremptor}^ ! 'Slife, I appeal to tVt 
drawers, if I did him any hard measure. 

George. They are all gone, there's none oi 
them mil be laid any hold on. 

Cons. Well, sir, j'ou are like to answer till the 
rest can be found out. 

Fast. 'Slid, I appeal to George here. 

Cons. Tut, George was not here : away with 
him to the Counter, sirs. — Come, sir, you were 
best get yourself drest somewhere. 
[Exeunt Const, and officers, loith Fast, and Car. 

George. Good lord, that master Carlo could 
not take heed, and knowing what a gentleman 
the knight is, if he be angry. 

Drawer. A pox on 'em, they have left all the 
meat on our hands ; would they were choaked 
with it for me ! 

Re-e)iier Macilente. 

Maci. What, are they gone, sirs ? 

George. O, here's master Macilente. 

Maci, [pointing to Fungoso.] Sirrah, George, 
do you see that concealment there, that napkin 
under the table ? 

George, 'Ods so, signior Fungoso ! 

Maci. He's good pawn for the reckoning ; bo 
sure you keep him here, and let him not go away 
till I come again, though he offer to discharge 
all. I'll return presently. 

George. Sirrah, Ave have a pawn for the rei'k 
oning. 

Draw. What, of IMacilente 

George. No ; look under the table. 

Fung, [creeping out.] I hope all be quiet now , 
if I can get but forth of this street, I care not ; 
masters, I pray you tell me, is the constable 
gone i 

George. What, master Fungoso ! 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMO ti. 



163 



Fung, "Was't not a good device this same of 
me, sirs ? 

George. Yes, faith ; have you been here all this 
while ? 

Fung. O lord, ay ; good sir, look an the coast 
be clear, I'd fain be going. 

George. All's clear, sir, but the reckoning ; and 
that you must clear and pay before you. go, I 
assure you. 

Fung. I pay ! 'Slight, I eat not a bit since I 
came into the house, yet. 

Draw. Why, you may when you please, 'tis 
all ready below that was bespoken. 

Fung. Bespoken ! not by me, I hope ? 

George. By you, sir ! I know not that ; but 
'twas for you and your company, I am sure. 

Fung. My company ! 'Slid, I was an invited 
guest, so I was. 

Draio. Faith, we have nothing to do Avith that, 
sir : they are all gone but you, and we must be 
answered; that's the short and the long on't. 

Fung. Nay, if you will grow to extremities, 
my masters, then would this pot, cup, and all 
were in my belly, if I have a cross about me. 

George. What, and have such apparel ! do not 
saj' so, signior; that mightily discredits your 
clothes. 

Fung. As I am an honest man, my tailor had 
all my money this morning, and yet I must be 
fain to alter my suit too. Good sirs, let mo go, 
'tis Friday night, and in good truth I have no 
stomach in the world to eat any thing. 

Draio. That's no matter, so you pay, sir. 

Fung. 'Slight, with what conscience can you 
ask me to pay that I never di-ank for ? 

George. Yes, sir, I did see you drink once. 

Fung. By this cup, which is silver, but you 
did not ; you do me infinite wrong : I looked in 
the pot once, indeed, but I did not drink. 

Draic. Well, sir, if you can satisfy our mas- 
ter, it shall be all one to us. 

Within. George ! 

George. By and hj. [Exoimt. 

ijor. Lose not yourself now, signior. 

SCENE V. — A Room in Deliro's House. 

Enter Macilente and Deliro. 

Maci. Tut, sir, you did bear too hard a con- 
ceit of me in that ; but I will now make mj^ love 
to you most transparent, in spite of any dust of 
suspicion that may be raised to cloud it ; and 
henceforth, since I see it is so against your hu- 
mor, I will never labor to persuade you. 

Deli. Why, I thank you, signior ; but what is 
that you tell me may concern my peace so 
much ? 

Maci. Faith, sir, 'tis thus. Your wife's brother, 
signior Fungoso, being at supper to-night at a 
tavern, with a sort of gallants, there happened 
some division amongst them, and he is left in 
pawn for the reckoning. Now, if ever you look 
that time shall present you with an happy occa- 
sion to do your wife some gracious and accept- 
able service, take hold of this opportunity, and 
presently go and redeem him ; for, being her 
Drother, and his credit so amply engaged as now 
it is, when she shall hea?, (as he cannot himself, 



but he must out of extremity report it,) that you 
came, and offered yourself so kindly, and with 
that respect of his reputation ; why, the benefit 
cannot but make her dote, and grow mad of 
your aflfections. 

Deli. Now, by heaven, Macilente, I acknowl- 
edge myself exceedingly indebted to you, by this 
kind tender of your love ; and I am sorry to re- 
member that I was ever so rude, to neglect a 
frieiid of your imjJortance. — Bring me shoes 
and a cloak hero. — I was going to bed, if you 
had not come. What tavern is it ? 

Maci. The Mitre, sir. 

Deli. O ! Why, Fido ! my shoes. — Good 
faith, it cannot but please her exceedingly. 

Enter Fallace. 

Fal. Come, I marie what piece of night-Avork 
you have in hand now, that you call for a cloak, 
and your shoes : What, is this your pander ? 

Deli. O, sweet wife, speak lower, I would not 
he shoxild hear thee for a world 

Fal. Hang him, rascal, I cannot abide him for 
his treachery, with his wild quick-set beard 
there. AVhither go you now with him ? 

Deli. No whither with him, dear Avife ; I go 
alone to a place, from Avhcnce I will return in- 
stantl}'. — Good ^Macilente, acquaint not her 
with it by any means, it may come so much the 
more accepted ; frame some other answer, — I'll 
come back immediately. ' [Exit. 

Fal. Nay, an I be not worthy to know whither 
you go, stay till I take knowledge of your coming 
back. 

Maci. Hear you, mistress Deliro. 

Fal. So, sir, and what say you ? 

Maci. Faith, lady, my intents will not deserv<i 
this slight respect, Avhen you shall know them. 

Fal. Your intents ! why, what may your in- 
tents be, for God's sake ? 

Maci. Troth, the time allows no circumstance, 
ladj-, therefore knoAV this was but a device to 
remove your husband hence, and bestow him 
securely, whilst, -with more conveniency, I might 
report to you a misfortune that hath happened 

to monsievir Brisk Nay, comfort, sweet 

lady. This night, being at supper, a sort of 
young gallants committed a riot, for the which he 
only is apprehended and carried to the Counter, 
Avlierc, if your husband, and other creditors, 
should but have knowledge of him, the poor 
gentleman Avere undone for ever. 

Fal. Ah me ! that he Avere. 

3Iaci. Now, therefore, if you can thinlc upon 
any present means for his delivery, do not fore- 
sloAV it. A bribe to the officer that committed 
him Avill do it. 

Fal. O lord, sir ! he shall not want for a bribe ; 
pray you, Avill you commend me to him, and say 
I'll visit him presently. 

Maci. No, lady, I shall do you better service 
in protracting your husband's return, that you 
may go Avith more safety. 

Fal. Good truth, so you may ; farcAvell, good 
sir. [Exit Maci.] — Lord, hoAV a Avoman may be 
mistaken in a man ! I Avould have sworn upon 
all the Testaments in the world he had not loved 
master Brisk. Bring me my keys there, maid. 
Alas, good gentleman, if alll have in this earthly 



104 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS HUMOR. 



AOT "V 



world ■will pleasure him, it shall be at his ser- 
vice. [Ejsit. 

Hit. IIoio Macilente siccats in this business, if 
you mark him ! 

Cor. Ay, you shall see the true 2}icture of spite, 
anon : here comes the paivn and his redeemer. 

SCENE VI. — A Room at the Mitee. 

Enter Deliro, Fungoso, and George. 

Deli. Come, brother, be not discouraged for 
this, man ; what ! 

Fung. No, truly, I am not discouraged ; but I 
protest to you, brother, I have done imitating 
any more gallants either in jiurse or apparel, but 
as shall become a gentleman, for good carriage, 
or so. 

Deli. You say well. — This is aU in the bill 
here, is it not ? 

George. Ay, sir. 

Deli. There's your money, tell it : a;''d, brother, 
I am glad I met with so good occasion to shew 
my love to you. 

Fung. I Avill study to deserve it in good truth, 
cm I live. 

Deli. What, is it right r 

George. Ay, sir, and I thank you. 

Fung. Let me have a capon's leg saved, now 
the reckoning is paid. 

George. You shall, sii\ [Exit. 

Enter Macilente. 

Maci. Where's signior Deliro? 

Deli. Here, Macilente. 

Maci. Hark you, sir, have you dispatch'd this 
same? 

Deli. Ay, marry have I. 

Maci. Well then, I can tell you news ; Brisk 
is in the Counter. 

Deli. In the Counter ! 

Maci. 'Tis true, sir, committed for the stir licre 
to-night. Now would I have you send your 
brother home afore, with the report of this your 
kindness done him, to his sister, which will so 
pleasingly possess her, and out of his mouth too, 
that in the meantime you may clap your action 
on Brisk, and your wife, being in so happy a 
mood, cannot entertain it ill, by any means. 

Deli. 'Tis very true, she cannot, indeed, I think. 

Maci. Think ! why, 'tis past thoxight ; you shall 
never meet the like opportunity, I assure you. 

Deli. I will do it. — Brother, praj^ you go 
home afore, (this gentleman and I have some 
private business,) and tell my sweet Avife I'll 
come presently. 

Fung. I will, brother. 

Maci, And, signior, acquaint your sister, how 
liberally, and out of his bounty, your brother 
has used you, (do you see ?) made you a man 
of good reckoning ; redeem'd that you never 
were possest of, credit ; gave you as gentleman- 
like terms as might be; found no fault with 
your coming bcliind the fashion; nor nothing. 

Fung. Nay, I am out of those humors now. 

Maci. Well, if you be out, keep your dis- 
tance, and be not made a shot- clog any more. — 
Come, signior, let's make haste. [Exeunt. 



SCENE VII. ~ The Counter. 
Enter Fallace and Fastidious Brisk. 

Fal. O, master Fastidious, what pity is it to 
see so sweet a man as you are, in so sour u 
place ! [Kisses him. 

Cor. As upon her lips, does she mean ? 

Mit. O, this is to be imagined the Counter, belike.. 

Fast. Troth, fair lady, 'tis first the pleasure 
of the fates, and next of the constable, to have 
it so : but I am i^atient, and indeed comforted 
the more in your kind visit. 

Fal. Nay, you shall be comforted in me more 
than this, if you please, sir. I sent you word 
by my brother, sir, that my husband laid to 
'rest you this morning ; I know not whether 
you received it or no. 

Fast. No, believe it, sweet creature, your 
brother gave me no such intelligence. 

Fal. O, the lord ! 

Fast. But has your husband any such purpose >; 

Fal. O, sweet master Brisk, yes : and there- 
fore be presently discharged, for if he come with 
his actions upon you, Lord deliver you ! you, 
are in for one half-a-score year ; he kept a poor 
man in Ludgate once twelve year for sixteen 
shillings. Where's your keeper ? for love's 
sake call him, let him take a bribe, and despatch 
you. Lord, how my heart trembles ! here are 
no spies, are there ? 

Fast. No, sweet mistress. Why are you in 
this passion ? 

Fal. O lord, master Fastidious, if j-ou knew 
how I took up my husband to-day, when he said 
he would arrest you ; and how I railed at him 
that persuaded him to it, the scholar there, 
(who, on my conscience, loves you now,) and 
what care I took to send you intelligence by my 
brother ; and how I gave him four sovereigns 
for his pains : and now, how I came running 
out hither without man or boy with me, so 
soon as I heard on't ; you'd say I were in a 
passion indeed. Y'our keeper, for God's sake ! 
O, master Brisk, as 'tis in Eujjhues, Hard is the 
choice, lohen one is compelled either by silence to. 
die with grief, or by sjieaking to live loilh shame. 

Fast. Fair lady, I conceive you, and may this 
kiss assure you, that where adversity hath, as it 

were, contracted, prosperity shall not Od'a 

me ! your husband. 

Enter Deliro and Macilente. 

Fal. O me ! 

Dell. Ay ! Is it thus ? 

Maci. Why, how now, signior Deliro ! has 
the wolf seen you, ha ? Hath Gorgon's head 
made marble of you ? 

Deli. Some jjlanet strike me dead ! 

Maci. Whj', look you, sir, I told you, j'oa 
might have suspected this long afore, had you 
pleased, and have saved this labor of admira- 
tion now, and passion, and such extremities as 
this frail lump of flesh is subject unto. Nay, 
why do you not doat now, signior ? methinks 
you should say it were some enohantment, de^ 
ceptio visus, or so, ha ! If you could persmde 
yourself it were a dream now. 'twere excellent ! 



4 



EVERY MAN OUT OF HIS IIUJMOR. 



105 



faith, try what you can do, signior : it may be 
your imaginatiou will be brought to it in time ; 
there's nothing impossible. 

Fal. Sweet husband! 

DcU. Out, lascivious strumpet ! [Exit, 

Maci. What ! did you see how ill that stale 
vein became him afore, of siceet wife, and dear 
heart ; and are you fallen just into the same now, 
M'ith sweet Jiushand ! Away, follow him, go, keep 
state : what ! remember you are a woman, turn 
impudent ; give him not the head, though you 
give him the horns. Away. And yet, methinks, 
you should take your leave of enfant perdu, here, 
your forlorn hope. [^Exit Fal.] — How now, 
monsieur Brisk ? what ! Friday night, and in 
affliction too, and j-et your pulpamenta, your 
delicate morsels ! I perceive the affection of 
ladies and gentlewomen pursues you whereso- 
ever you go, monsieur. 

Fast. Now, in good faith, and as I am gentle, 
there could not have come a thing in this world 
to have distracted me more, than the wrinkled 
fortunes of this jDOor dame. 

Maci, yes, sir ; I can tell you a thing will 
distract you much better, believe it : Signior 
Deliro has entered three actions against you, 
three actions, monsieur! marry, one of them 
(I'll put you in comfort) is but three thousand, 
and the other two, some five thousand pound 
together : trifles, trifles. 

Fast. O, I am undone. 

Maci. Nay, not altogether so, sir ; the knight 
must have his hundred pound repaid, that will 
help too ; and then six score pounds for a 
diamond, you know where. These be things will 
weigh, monsieur, they will weigh. 

Fast. O heaven ! 

Maci. "What ! do you sigh ? this is to kiss the 
hand of a countess, to have her coach sent for you, 
to hanc/ poignards in ladies' garters, to wear brace- 
lets of their hair, and for every one of these great 
favors to give some slight jewel of Jive hundred 
croicns, or so ; why, 'tis nothing. Now, mon- 
sieur, you see the plague that treads on the 
heels o' your foppery : well, go your ways in, 



remove yourself to the two-penny ward quickly, 
to save charges, and there set up your rest to 
spend sir Puntarvolo's hundred pound for him. 
Away, good pomander, go ! {Exit Fastidious. 

Why, here's a change ! now is my soul at peace i 

I am as empty of all envy now. 

As they of merit to be envied at. 

My humor, like a flame, no longer lasts 

Than it hath stuff to feed it ; and their folly 

Being now raked up in their repentant ashes. 

Affords no ampler subject to my spleen. 

I am so far from malicing their states. 

That I begin to pity them. It grieves me 

To think they have a being. I could wish 

They might turn wise upon it, and be saved 

now, [vapors ! 

So heaven were pleased ; but let them vanish. 
Gentlemen, how like you it? has't not been te- 
dious ? 

Cor. Nay, we have done censuring noio. 
Mit. Yes, faith. 

Maci. How so ? 

Cor. Marry, because toe'll imitate your actors, 
and be out of our humors. Besides, here are those 
round about you of more ability in censure than we, 
whose judgments can give it a more satisfying 
allowance ; loell refer you to them, 

[Exeunt Cordatus and Mitis. 

Maci. [coming foricard.] Ay, is it even so ? — 
Well, gentlemen, I should have gone in, and re- 
turn'd to you as I was Asper at the first ; but by 
reason the shift would have been somewhat 
long, and we are loth to draw 5'our patience 
farther, we'll entreat j'ou to imagine it. And 
now, that you may see I will be out of humor 
for company, I stand wholly to your kind ap- 
probation, and indeed am nothing so peremptory 
as I was in the beginning : marry, I will not do 
as Plautus in his Amphytrio, for all this, summi 
Jovis causd 2^iaudite ; beg a plaudite for God's 
sake ; but if you, out of the bounty of yom 
good-liliing, will bestow it, why, you may in 
time make lean Macilente as fat as sir John Fal- 
staff. \Exit. 



THE EPILOGUE AT THE PIIESENTATION EEFOUE QUEEN ELIZABETH. 



BY MACILENTE. 



iNever till now did object greet mine eyes 
With any light content : but in her graces 
All my malicious poAvers have lost their stings. 
Envy is fled my soul at sight of her, [bosom. 
And she hath chased all black thoughts from my 
Like as the sun doth darkness from the world. 
Jly stream of humor is run out of mo. 
And as our city's torrent, bent t'infect 
The hallow'd bowels of the silver Thames, 
Is check' d by strength and clearness of the river, 
Till it hath spent itself even at the shore ; 
So in the ample and unmeasured flood 
Of her perfections, are my passions drown'd ; 
And I have now a spirit as sweet and clear 
As the more rarefied and subtle air : — 
With which, and v>'ith a heart as pure as iire. 
Yet humble as the earth, do I implore, [Kneels. 
heaven, that She, whose presence hath effected 



This change in me, may suffer most late clnnge 
In her admired and hap^iy government : 
jSIay still this Island be call'd Fortunate, 
And rvigged Treason tremble at the sound. 
When Fame shall speak it with an emphasis. 
Let foreign polity be dull as lead, 
And pale Invasion come with half a heart. 
When he but looks upon her blessed soil. 
The throat of War be stopt within her land. 
And turtle-footed Peace dance fairy rings 
About her court ; where never may there como 
Suspect or danger, but all trust and safety. 
Let Flattery be dumb, and Envy blind [her : 
In her dread presence ; Death himself admire 
And may her virtues make him to forget 
The use of his inevitable hand. [throne , 

Fly from her, Age; sleep, Time, before her 
Our strongest wall falls dowa. when she is gono. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS: 

OR, THE FOUNTAIN OF SELF-LOVE. 

TO THE SPECIAL EOUXTAIX OF MAISTNERS, 

THE COURT. 

Thod art a bountiful and bravo spring, and vvaterest aU the noblest plants of this island. In thee the wliole kingdom 
dresseth itself, and is ambitious to use thee as her glass. Beware then thou render men's figures truly, and teach thein 
no less to hate their deformities, than to love their forms : fur, to grace, there should come reverence ; and no man can 
call tliat lovely, which is not also venerable. It is not powdering, perfuming, and every day suielling of the tailor, that 
converteth to a beautiful object : but a mind shining tiirough any suit, which needs no false light, either of riclies nl 
honors, to help it. Sucli shalt thou find some here, even in the reign of Cynthia, — a Crites and an Arete. Now, un 
der thy Phoebus, it will be thy province to make more ; except tlwu desirest to have tliy source mix with the spring 
o<" self-love, and so wilt draw upon thee as welcome a discovery of thy days, as was then made of her nights. 

Thy servant, but not slave, Ben Jonsos- 



Cynthia. 

Mercury. 

Hesperus. 

Crites. 

AraoRPiius. 

.A.SOTUS. 

Hedon. 
Anaides. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

morphides. 
Prosaites 

MORUS. 
CUPID. 

Echo. 
Arete. 
Phantaste. 
Arguriok. 

SCENE, — Gargaphie. 



Piiilautia. 

JNIORIA. 

Cos. 

Gelaia. 

Phronesis, i 

Thauma. > Mules. 

Time, ' J 



INDUCTION. 



THE STAGE. 



Afier the second sounding, 

Euter thi-ee of the Children struggling. 

1 Cliild. Pray you away ; why, fellows ! Gods 
so, what do you mean 1 

2 CJiild. Marry, that you shall not speak the 
prologue, sir. 

3 Child. JV7iy, do you hope to speak it ? 

2 Child. Ay, and I think I Jiave most right to 
it : I am sure I studied it Jirst. 

3 Child. That's all one, if the autlvor think I 
can speak it better. 

1 Child. I plead possession of the cloak: gentles, 
your suffrages, I pray you. 

[Withiu.] ^V}ly, children ! are you not asJmmed ? 
come in tliere. 

3 Child. Slid, Til play nothing in the ^Jtoy, U7i- 
less I speak it. 

1 ChUd. ^Vhy, will you stand to most voices of 
the gentlemen f let that decide it. 

3 Child. 0, no, sir gallant ; you 2)resume to have 
tJie start of us there, and that makes you offer so 
prodigally. 

1 ChUd. No, loould I were whii)ped if I had any 
such thought ; try it by lots either. 

2 Child. Faith, I dare temp)t my fortune in a 
greater venture than this. 

3 Child. Well said, resolute Jack ! I am content 
too, so toe draio first. Make the cuts. 

1 Cliild. But will you not snatch my cloak ichile 
I am stoo])ing ? 



3 Child. No, we scorn treachery. 

2 Child. Which cut shall speak it? 

3 Child. The sJwrtest. 

1 Child. Agreed : draio. [They draw cuts.] 
The shortest is come to the shortest. Fortune was 
not altogether blind in this. Note, sir, I hope 1 
shall go forward loithout your envy. 

2 Cliild. A sp>ite of all mischievous luck ! I toai 
once plucking at the otlier. 

3 Child, atay, Jack : 'slid, Til do somewhat tiow 
afore I go in, tliough it be nothing but to revenge 
myself on the author : since IsjJeak not his pirohgue, 
I'll go tell all the argument of his play afore-hand, 
and so stale his invention to the auditory, before it 
come foHh. 

1 Child. O, do not so. 

2 Child. By no means. 

3 Child. [Advancing to the front of the stage.] 
First, the title of his play is Cyntliia's Revels, as 
any man that hath hope to be saved by his book ccm 
witness ; the scene Gargap)hie, ichich I do vehe- 
mently suspect for some fustian country ; but let that 
vanish. Here is the court of Cynthia, whither he 
brings Cujnd travelling on foot, resolved to turn 
page. By the way Cu2nd meets toith Mercury, (as 
that's a thing to be noted) ; take any of our play- 
books loithout a Cupid or a Mercury in it, and burn 
it for an heretic in poetry. — [In those and the sub- 
sequent speeches, at every break, the other two 
interrupt, and endeavor to stop him.] Pray 
thee, let me alone. Mercury, he in the nature of a 
conjurer, raises up Echo, who loeeps over her love., 
or daffodil. Narcissus, a little ; sings ; curses the 

166 



CYNTHIA'S EEVELS. 



167 



spring loherein the x>^'ctty foolish gentleman melted 

himself away : and there's an end of her. ■ 

Now I am to inform you, that Cupid and Mercury 
do both become ])ages. Cujiid attends on Philautia, 
or Self-love, a court lady : Mercury follows Iledon, 
the Voluptuous, and a courtier ; one that ranks him- 
self even with Anaides, or the Impudent, a gallant, 
and that's my i^art ; one that keeps Laughter, Ge- 
laia, the daughter of Folly, a wench in boy's attire, 

to icait on him. 2'liese, in the court, meet 

with Amorphus, or the defornied, a traveller that 
hath drunk of the fountain, and there tells the won- 
ders of the water. They presently dispatch away 
their pages with bottles to fetch of it, and themselves 
go to visit the ladies. But I should have told you — 
Look, these emmets ind me out here — that ivith this 
Amorphus, there comes along a citizen's heir, Aso- 
tus, or the Prodigal, loJio, in imitation of the trav- 
eller, who hath the Whetstone following him, enter- 
tains the Beggar, to be his attendant Noio, 

the nymphs who are mistresses to these gallants, 
are Philautia, Self-love ; Phantasic, a light Witti- 
ness ; Argarian, Money ; and their guardian, mother 
Moria, or mistress Folly. 

1 Child. Pray thee, no more. 

3 Cliild. There Cupid strikes Money in love with 
the Prodigal, makes her dote upon him, give him 
jewels, bracelets, carcanets, &:c. All which he most 
ingeniously departs withal to he made known to the 
other ladies and gallants ; and in the heat of this, 
■increases his train with the Fool to follow him, as 
loell as the Beggar By this time, your Beg- 
gar begins to loait close, loho is returned with the 

rest of his fellow hottlemen. There they all 

drink, save Argurian, loho is fallen into a sudden 
apoplexy 

1 Child. Stop his mouth. 

3 Child. And then, there's a retired scholar 
there, you would not loish a thing to be better con- 
temn' d of a society of gallants, than it is ; and he 
applies his service, good gentleman, to the lady Arete, 
or Virtue, a poor nymph of Cynthia's train, that's 
scarce able to buy herself a gown ; you shall see her 
play in a black robe anon : a creature that, I assure 
you, is no less scorn'd than himself. IVItere am I 
now? at a stand! 

2 Cliild. Come, leave at last, yet. 

3 Child. O, the night is come, ('twas somewhat 
dark, methought,) and Cynthia intends to come 
forth ; that helps it a little yet. All the courtiers 
tnust 2}rovide for revels ; they conclude upon a 

masque, the device of which is — — IVJiaf, icill 

you ravish me ? that each of tliese Vices, 

being to appear before Cynthia, tvould seem other 
than indeed they are ; and therefore assume the 
most neighboring Virtues as their masking habit 
I'd cry a rape, but that you are children. 

2 Child. Come, we'll have no more of this antici- 
pation ; to give them the inventory of their cates 
aforehand, were the discipline of a tavern, and not 
fitting this presence. 

1 ChUd. Tut, this teas but to show us the happi- 
ness of his memory. I thought at first he would 
have 2^1'^id the ignorant critic with every thing, 
along as lie had gone ; / expected some such device. 

3 Child. O, you shall see me do that rarely ; 
lend me thy cloak. 

1 Child. Soft, sir, you'll speak my prologue in it. 
3 Cliild. No, would I might never stir then. 



2 Child. Lend it him, lend it him. 
1 Child. Well, you have sworn. 

[Gives hiin the cloak. 

3 ChUd. / have. Noio, sir, stqjpose I am one of 
your genteel auditors, that am come in, having paid 
my money at the door, with much ado, aiid here 1 
take my p)lace and sit down : I have my three sorts 
of tobacco in my pocket, my light by me, and thus 1 
begin. [At the breaks he takes Ms tobacco.] By 
this light, I wonder that any tnan is so mad, to come 

to see these rascally tits play here They do 

act like so many wrens or pismi)'es not the 

fifth part of a good face amongst them all. 

And then their inusic is abominable able to 

stretch a man's ears worse than ten /)i7forjes 

and their ditties most lamoitable things, like 

■2Mets. By 
1 think 



the pitiful felloxos that make them ■ 
this vapor, an 'twere not for tobacco ■ 

the very stench of 'em ivould 2Joison me, 1 

shoidd not dare to come in at their gates A 

man ivere better visit fifteen Jails or a dozen 

or two of hospitals than once adventure to 

come near them. How is' t? loell? 

I Child. Excellent ; give me my cloak? 

3 ChUd. Stay ; you shall see me do another now, 
but a more sober, or better-gather d gallant ; that is, 
as it may be tlmught, some friend, or well-wislier to 
the house : and here I enter. 

1 Child. What, upon the stage too ? 

2 Child. Yes ; and I step forth like one of the 
children, and ask you, Would you have a stool, sir? 

3 Child. A stool, boy ! 

2 Cliild. Ay, sir, if you'll give me sixpence Fll 
fetch you one. 

3 Child. For what, I pray thee ? lohat shall I do 
with it ? 

2 Child. O lord, sir ! tcill you betray your igno- 
rance so much? ivhy throne yourself in state on the 
stage, as other gentlemen use, sir. 

3 Child. Away, wag ; what, tvould' st thou make 
an implement of me? 'Slid, the boy takes ine for a 
piece of perspective, I Jiold my life, or some silk cur- 
tain, come to hang the stage here ! Sir crack, I am 
none of your fresh pictures, that use to beautify the 
decayed dead arras in a public theatre. 

2 Child. 'Tis a sign, sir, you p)ut not that con- 
fidence in your good clothes, and your better face, 

that a gentleman sliould do, sir. But I pray you, 
sir, let me he a suitor to you, that you loill quit our 
stage then, and take a place; the play is instantly 
to begin. 

3 Child. Most willingly, my good wag ; but 1 
icoidd speak loith your author : where is he ? 

2 ChUd. Not this way, I assure you, sir; we 
are not so officiously befriended by him, as to have 
his in'cscnce in the tiring-house, to 2}rompt us aloud, 
stamp at the book-holder, swear for our 2}roperties, 
curse the 2}oor tireman, rail the music out of tune, 
and sweat for every venial tresjyass toe commit, as 
some autlior toould, if he had such fine enghles as 
toe. Well, 'tis but our hard fortune ! 

3 Child. Nay, crack, be not dishearten' d. 

2 Child. Not I, Sir ; but if you 2ylease to confer 
toith our author, by attorney, you may, sir ; oui 
proper self here, stands for him. 

3 Child. Troth, I have no such serious affair fa 
negotiate toith him, hut what may very safely be 
turn'd upon thy trust. It is in the general behalf 
of this fair society here that I am to speak, at leaai 



168 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



the more judicious part of it, which seems much 
distasttd with the immodest and obscene loriting of 
many in their plai/s. Besides, they could toish your 
poets wonld leave to he promoters of other men's 
jests, mid to way -lay all the stale apothegms, or old 
hooks they can hear of, in print, or othenoise, to farce 
'heir scenes withal. That they tcould not so penuri- 
ousJy glean wit from every laundress or hackney- 
man, or derive their best grace, tvith servile imita- 
tion, from common stages, or observation of the 
company they converse with ; as if their invention 
lived wholly \tpon another man's trencher. Again, 
that feeding their friends with nothing of their 
own, but what they have twice or thrice cooked, they 
shoidd not wantonly give out, how soon they had 
drest it ; nor how many coaches came to carry away 
the broken meat, besides hobby-horses and foot-cloth 
nags. 

2 Chikl. So, sir, this is all the reformation you 
seek ? 

3 Child. It is ; do not you, think it necessary to 
be practised, my little wag ? 

2 Child. Yes, where any such ill-habited custom 
is received. 

3 Child. O, (I had almost forgot it too,) they 
say, the umbriE or ghosts of some three or four plays 
departed a dozen years since, have been seen walk- 
ing on your stage here ; take heed, boy, if your house 
be haunted loith such hobgoblins, 'twill fright away 
all your spectators quickly. 

2 Child. Good, sir ; but what roill you say now, 
if a poet, untouch' d with any breath of this disease, 
find the tokens upon you, that are of the auditory ? 
As some one civet-tvit among you, that hnoxos no 
other learning, than the j^rice of satin and velvets: 
nor other perfection than the wearing of a neat suit ; 
and yet will censure- as desperately as the most pro- 
fess' d critic in the house, piresuming his clothes 
should bear him out in it. Another, whom it hnth 
pleased nature to furnish with more beard than 
brain, primes his musiaccio, lisps, and, with some 
score of affected oaths, sioears down all that sit 
about him ; " That the old Hieroniino, as it was 
first acted, was the only best, and judiciously penn\l 
play of Europe." A third great-bellied juggler 
talks of tioenty years since, and when Monsieur was 
here, and would enforce all wits to be of that fashion, 
because his doublet is still so. A fourth miscalls all 
by the name of fustian, that his grounded capiacity 
cannot aspire to. A fifth only shakes his bottle 
head, and out of his corky brain squeezeth out a 
vitiful learned face, and is silent. 

3 Child. By my faith. Jack, you have 2}nt me 
down : I tcould I knew hoio to get off with any in- 
different grace 1 here, take your cloak, and promise 
some satisfaction in your p)rologue, or, I'll be sworn 
we have marfd all. 

2 Child. Tut, fear not, child, this will never dis- 
taste a true sense : be not out, and good enough. I 
wotdd thou hadst some sugar candied to sweeten thy 
mouth. 

The Third Sounding. 

PROLOGUE. 

ff gracious silence, sweet attention. 

Quick sight, and quicker apprehension. 

The lights of judgment's throne, shine any tohere. 

Our doubtful author hopes this is their sphere ; 



And therefore ojjens he himself to those. 

To other loeaker beams his labors close, 

As loth to prostitute their virgin-strain. 

To eveng vulgar and adulterate brain. 

In this alone, his Muse her sioeetness hath. 

She shuns the 2}rint of any beaten path ; 

And proves new ways to come to learned ears : 

Pied ignorance she neither loves nor fears. 

Nor hunts she after popular applause. 

Or foamy praise, that drops from common jaws : 

The garland that she wears, their hands must ttcir^ 

Who can both censure, understand, define 

What merit is : then cast those piercing rays, 

Bound as a crown, instead of honor d bays, 

About his poesy ; which, he knoics, affords 

Words, above action; matter, above loordi 



ACT L 

SCENE I. — A Grove and Fountain. 

Enter Cupid, and Mercury toith his caduceu^, ora 
different sides. 

Cap. Who goes there ? 

Mer. 'Tis I, blind archer. 

Cup. Who, Mercury ? 

Mer. Ay. 

Cup. Farewell. 

Mer. Stay, Cupid. 

Cup. Not in your company, Hermes, except 
your hands were riveted at your back. 

Mer. Why so, my little rover ? 

Cup. Because I know you have not a fingei, 
but is as long as my quiver, cousin Mercury, 
when you please to extend it. 

Mer. Whence derive you this speech, boy ? 

Cup. O ! 'tis your best polity to bo ignorant. 
You did never steal Mars his sword out of the 
sheath, you ! nor Neptune's trident ! nor 
Apollo's bow ! no, not you ! Alas, your palms, 
Jiipiter knows, they are as tender as the foot of 
a foundered nag, or a lady's face new mercuries 
they'll touch nothing. 

ilcr. Go to, infant, j'-ou'U be daring still. 

Cup. Daring ! O Janus ! what a Avord is 
there ? whj% my light feather-heel' d coz, what 
arc you any more than my uncle Jove's pander ? 
a lacquey that runs on errands for him, and can 
whisper a light message to a loose wench with 
some round volubility ? wait mannerly Ki' a table 
with a trencher, warble upon a crowd a little, i 
and fill out nectar when Ganymede's away ? I 
one that sv/eeps the gods' drinking-room every 
morning, and sets the cushions in order agair 
which they threw one at another's head ovcv 
night ; can brush the carpets, call the stools 
again to their places, play the crier of the court 
with an audible voice, and take state of a presi- 
dent upon you at wrestlings, pleadings, negocia- 
tions, &c. Here's the catalogue of your em- 
ploj'ments, now ! O no, I err ; you have the 
marshalling of all the ghosts too that pass the 
Stj'gian ferry, and I suspect you for a sliare v,-ith 
the old sculler there, if the truth were known , 
but let that scape. One other peculiar virtue 
you possess, in lifting, or leiger-du-main, which 
few of the house of heaven have else besides, I 
must confess. But, methinks, that should not 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



16'J 



make you put that extreme distance 'twixt 
yourself and others, that we should be said to 
< ovor-dare ' in speaking to your nimble deity. 
So Hercules might challenge priority of us both, 
because he can throw the bar farther, or lift 
more join'd stools at the arm's end, than we. 
If this miglit carry it, tlien Ave, who have made 
tlie whole body of divinity tremble at the twaag 
of oi'JT bow, and enforc'd Saturnius himself to 
lay :y his curled front, thunder, and three- 
fork'd fires, and put on a masking suit, too light 
for a reveller of eighteen to be seen in — — 

Mer, How now ! my dancing braggart in cle- 
cimo sexto ! charm your skipping tongue, or 
I'll 

Ciqi, What ! vise the virtue of your snaky 
tipstaff there upon us ? 

il/er. No, boy, but the smart vigor of my 
palm about your ears. You have forgot since I 
took your heels up into air, on the very hour I 
was born, in sight of all the bench of deities, 
when the silver roof of the Ol5''mpian palace 
rung again with applause of the fact. 

Ciqj. O no, I remember it frcslily, and by a 
particular instance ; for my mother Venus, at 
the same time, but stoop' d to embrace you, and, 
to speak by metaphor, you borrow'd a girdle of 
her's, as you did Jove's sceptre while he was 
laughing ; and would have done his thunder 
too, but that 'twas too hot for your itching 
lingers. 

Mer. 'Tis well, sir, 

Ciq}. I heard, you but look'd in at Vulcan's 
forge the other day, and entreated a pair of his 
new tongs along with you for company : 'tis joy 
on you, i'faith, that you will keep your hook'd 
talons in practice with any thing. 'Slight, now 
j^ou are on earth, we shall have you filch spoons 
and candlesticks rather than fail : pray Jove the 
perfum'd courtiers keep their casting-bottles, 
pick-tooths, and shittle-cocks from you, or our 
more ordinary gallants their tobacco-boxes ; for 
I am strangely jealous of your nails. 

Mer. Never trust me, Cupid, but yo^x are 
turn'd a most acute gallant of late ! the edge 
of my wit is clean taken off with the fine and 
subtile stroke of jonv thin- ground tongue ; you 
fight with too poignant a phrase, for me to deal 
with. 

Cup. Herme?, your craft cannot make me 
confident. I know my own steel to be almost 
spent, and therefore entreat my peace with you, 
in time : you are too cunning for me to en- 
counter at length, and I think it my safest ward 
to close. 

Mer. Well, for once, I'll suffer you to win 
upon mo, wag ; but use not these strains too 
often., they'll stretch my patience. Whither 
might yDu march, now ? 

Cup. Taith, to recover thy good thoughts, I'll 
discover iny whole project. The huntress and 
queen of these groves, Diana, in regard of some 
black arid envious slanders hourly breathed 
against her, for her divine justice on Acteon, as 
Bhe pretends, hath here in the vale of Gar- 
gaphie, proclaim' d a solemn revels, which (her 
godhead put off) she will descend to grace, with 
the full and royal expense of one of her clear- 
ast moons : in which time it shall be lawful for 



all sorts of ingenious persons to visit her palace-, 
to court her nymphs, to exercise all variety of 
generous and noble pastimes ; as v,<A\ to inti- 
mate how far she treads such malicious hnputa- 
tions beneath her, as also to shew how clear her 
beauties are from the least wrinkle of austerit}' 
they may be charged with. 

Mer. But, what is all this to Cupid .' 

Cup. Here do I mean to put ofT the title of a 
god, and take the habit of a page, in which dis- 
guise, during the interim of these revels, I will 
get to follow some one of Diana's maids, where, 
if my bow hold, and my shafts fly but with 
half the willingness and aim they are directed. 
I doubt not but I shall really redeem the min- 
utes I have lost, by their so long and over nic c ^ 
proscription of my deity from their court. 

Mer. Pursue it, divine Cupid, it will be r:*ro 

Cup. But will Hermes second me ? 

Mer. I am now to put in act an especial de- 
signment from my father Jove ; but, that per- 
form' d, I am for any fresh action that offers 
itself. 

Cup. Well, then we part. [Exit 

Mer. Farewell, good wag. 
Now to my charge. — Echo, fair Echo, speak, 
'Tis Mercury that calls thee ; sorrowful nymph. 
Salute me with thy repercussive voice. 
That I may know what cavern of the earth 
Contains thy airy spirit, how, or where 
I may direct my speech, that thou may'st hear. 

Echo, [bahw.] Here. 

Mer. So nigh ! 

Echo. Ay. [Jove, 

Mer. Know, gentle soul, then, I am sent fron» 
AVho, pitj"ing the sad burthen of thy woes. 
Still growing on thee, in thy want of words 
To vent thy passion for Narcissus' death. 
Commands, that now,after three thousand years. 
Which have been exercised in Juno's spite, 
Thou take a corporal figure, and a.scend, 
Enrich'd with vocal and articulate power, [rod 
Make haste, sad nymph, thrice shall my winged 
Strike the obsequious earth, to give thee way. 
Arise, and speak thy sorrows. Echo, rise. 
Here, by this fountain, where thy love did pino, 
Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame. 
Shrined in this yellow flow(?r, that bears his 
name. 

Echo, [ascends.'] His name revives, ai.d lifts 
me lip from earth. 
O, which way shall I first convert myself, 
Or in what mood shall I essay to speak. 
That, in a moment, I may be dclivcr'd 
Of the prodigious grief I go withal ? [weep yet 
See, see, the mourning fount, A\^iose springs 
Th' untimely fate of that too beauteous boy. 
That troph)- of self-love, and spoil of nature, 
^Vho, now transform'd into this droopmg flower, 
Hangs the repentant head, back fro'm the stream, 
As if it wish'd. Would I had never look'd 
In such a flatter in J mirror! O Narcissus, 
Thou that wast once, and yet art, my Narcissus. 
Had Echo but been private with thy thoughts, 
She would have dropt away herself in tears, 
Till she had all turn'd water ; that in her. 
As in a truer glass, thou might'st have gazed 
And seen thy beauties by more kind reflection i 
But self-love never yet could look on truth 



170 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



But with blear' d beams ; slick flattery and she 
Are twin-born sisters, and so mix their eyes, 
As if you sever one, the other dies. 
"Why did the gods give thee a heavenly form, 
And earthly thoughts to make thee proud of it ? 
Why do I ask ? "lis now the known disease 
That beauty hath, to bear too deep a sense 
Of her own self-conceived excellence. [gift, 

O, hadst thou known the worth of heaven's rich 
Thou wouldst have turn'd it to a truer use, 
And not with starv'd and covetous ignorance, 
IMned in continual eyeing that bright gem, 
The glance whereof to others had been more, 
Than to thy famish'd mind the wide world's 

store : 
So wretched is it to bo merely rich ! [tasted, 
Witness thy youth's dear sweets here spent un- 
Like a fair taper, with his own flame wasted. 

3Ier. Echo, be brief, Saturnia is abroad. 
And if she hear, she'll storm at Jove's high will. 

Echo. I Avill, kind Mercury, be brief as time. 
Vouchsafe me, I may do him these last rites. 
But kiss his flower, and sing some mourning 
Over his wat'ry hearse. [strain 

Mer. Thou dost obtain ; 
I were no son to Jove, should I deny thee. 
Begin, and more to grace thy cunning voice. 
The humorous air shall mix her solemn tunes 
With thy sad words : strike, music, from the 

spheres. 
And with your golden raptures swell our ears. 

Echo [accompanied]. 
Sloio, slow, fresh fount, keep time loith my salt 
tears : 
Yet, sloioer, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs : 
List to the heavy part the music bears. 

Woe weeps out her division, ivhen she sings. 
Droop herbs and floicers, 
Fall grief in shoivers. 
Our beauties are not ours ; 
O, I could still, 
Like molting snojo upon some craggy hill, 

Drop, drop, drop, drop. 
Since nature's pride is 71010 a loitherd daffodil. — 

Mer. Now, have you done ? 

Echo. Done presently, good Hermes : bide a 
Suffer my thirsty eye to gaze awhile, [little ; 
But e'en to taste tlie place, and I am vanish'd. 

Mer. Forego thy use and liberty of tongue, 
And thou niayst dwell on earth, and sport thee 
there. [torn 

Echo. Here young Actcon fell, pursued and 
By Cynthia's wrath, more eager than his hounds ; 
And here — ah me, the place is fatal ! — see 
The weeping Niobe, translated hither 
From Phrygian mountains ; and by Phoebe 

rear'd. 
As the proud trophy of her sharp revenge. 

M-ir. Nay, but hear — [love. 

Echo. But here, O here, the fountain of self- 
In which Latona, and her careless nymphs. 
Regardless of my sorrows, bathe themselves 
In hourly pleasures. 

Mer. Stint thy babbling tongue ! 
Fond Echo, thou profan'st the grace is done thee. 
So idle Avorldlings merely made of voice, 
Censure the Powers above them. Come, away. 



Jove calls thee hence ; and his will brooks no 
stay. 

Echo. O, stay : I have but one poor thought to 
In airy garments, and then, faith, 1 go. [clothe 
Henceforth, thou treacherous and murdering 

spring, 
Be ever call'd the fountain op self-love : 
And with thy water let this curse remain. 
As an inseparate plague, that who but taste 
A drop thereof, may, with the instant touch, 
Grow dotingly enamour' d on themselves. 
Now, Hermes, I have finish' d. 

Mer. Then thy speech 
Must here forsake thee. Echo, and thy voice, 
As it was wont, rebound but the last words. 
Farewell. 

Echo, [retiring.'] Well. [mirth, 

Mer. Now, Cupid, I am for you, and your 
To make me light before I leave the earth. 

Enter Amorphus, hastily. 

Amo. Dear spark of beauty, make not so fast 

Echo. Away. [away. 

Mer. Stay, let me observe this portent yet. 

Amo. I am neither your Minotaur, nor your 
Centaur, nor your saty4', nor your hyngna, nor 
your babion, but yoiu- mere traveller, believe me. 

Echo. Leave me. 

Mer. I guess'd it should be some travelling 
motion pursued Echo so. 

Amo. Know you from whom you fly ? oi 
whence ? 

Echo. Hence. [Exit. 

Amo. This is soinewhat above strange : A 
nymph of her feature and lineament, to be so 
preposterously rude ! well, I will but cool my- 
self at yon spring, and follow her. 

Mer. Nay, then, I am familiar with the issue : 
I'll leave you too. [Exit. 

Amor. I am a rhinoceros, if I had thought a 
creature of her symmetry could have dared so 
improportionable and abrupt a digression. — 
Liberal and divine fount, suffer my profane 
hand to take of thy bounties. [Takes up some 
of the water.] By the purity of my taste, here is 
most ambrosiac water ; I will sup of it again. 
By thy favor, sweet fount. See, the water, a 
more running, subtile, and humorous nymph 
than she, permits mc to touch, and handle her. 
What should I infer ? if mj' behaviors had been 
of a cheap or customary garb ; my accent or 
phrase vulgar ; my garments trite ; my coun- 
tenance illiterate, or unpractised in the en- 
counter of a beautiful and bravo attired piece ; 
then I might, with some change of color, have 
su.spectcd ray faculties : But, knowing myself 
an essence so sublimated and refined by travel , 
of so studied and well exercised a gesture ; sc 
alone in fashion ; able to render the face of any 
statesman living ; and to speak the mere extrac- 
tion of language, one that hath now made the 
sixth return upon venture; and was your first that 
ever enrich'd his country with the true laws of 
the duello ; whose optics have drunk the spirit 
of beauty in some eight scpre and eighteen 
prince's courts, where 1 have resided, and been 
there fortunate in the amours of three hundred 
forty and live ladies, all nobly, if not princely 
descended ; whose names I have in catalogue : 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



171 



To conclude, in all so happy, as even admiration 
herself doth seem to fasten her kisses upon me : 
— certes, I do neither see, nor feel, nor taste, 
nor savor the least steam or fume of a reason, 
that should invite this foolish, fastidious nymjoh, 
so peevishly to abandon me. Well, let the 
memory of her fleet into air ; my thoughts 
and I am for this other element, water. 

E)iter Crites and Asotus. 

Cri. What, the well dieted Amorphus become 
a water drinker ! I see he means not to write 
verses then. 

Aso. No, Crites ! why ? 

CrL Because 

Nulla placere diu, nee vivere carmina 2Mssunf, 
Q'.tce scrlbimtur aquce potoribus. 

Amo. Wliat say you to your Helicon ? 

Cri. O, the Muses' well ! that's ever excepted. 

Amo. Su", your Muses have nO such water, I 
assure you ; your nectar, or the juice of your 
nepenthe, is nothing to it ; 'tis above your me- 
theglin, believe it. 

Aso. Metheglin ; what's that, sir ? may I be 
so audacious to demand ? 

Amo. A kind of Greek wine I have met with, 
sir, in my travels ; it is the same that Demos- 
thenes usually drunk, in the composure of all 
his exquisite and mellifluous orations. 

Cri. That's to be argued, Amorphus, if we 
may credit Lueian, who, in his Encomio Demos- 
thenis, affirms, he never drunk but water in any 
of his compositions. 

Amo. Ijucien is absurd, he knew nothing: I 
will believe mine own travels before all the 
Lucians of Europe. Ho doth feed you with 
fittons, figments, and leasings. 

Cri. Indeed, I think, next a traveller, he does 
prettily well. 

Amo. I assure you it was wine, I have tasted 
it, and from tlie hand of an Italian antiquary, 
who derives it authentically from the duke of 
Fcrrara's bottles. How name yovi the gentle- 
man you are in rank with there, sir ? 

Cri. 'Tis Asotus, son to the lato deceased 
Philargj'rus, the citizen. 

Amo. Was his father of any eminent place or 
means ? 

Cri. He was to have been prajtor next year. 

Amo. Ila ! a pretty formal young gallant, in 
good sooth ; pity he is not more genteelly prop- 
agated. Hark j'ou, Crites, you may say to him 
what I am, if you please ; though I affect not 
popularity, yet I would loth to stand out to any, 
whom you shall vouchsafe to call friend. 

Cri. Sir, I fear I may do wrong to your suf- 
ficiencies in the reporting them, by forgetting 
or misplacing some one : j'ourself can best in- 
form him of yourself, sir ; except you had some 
catalogue or list of your faculties ready drawn, 
which you would request me to show him for 
you, and him to take notice of. 

Amo. This Crites is sour: [Aside] — I will 
think, sir. 

Cri. Do so, sir. — O heaven ! that anything 
in the likeness of man should suffer these rack'd 
extremities, for the uttering of his sophisticate 
srood pai'ts. [Aside. 

Aso. Crites, I have a suit to you ; but you 



must not deny me : j)ray you make this gentle- 
man and I friends. 

Cri. Friends ! why, is there any difference 
between you ? 

Aso. No ; I mean acquaintance, to know ont 
another. 

Cri. O, now I apprehend you ; your phrase 
was without me before. 

Aso. In good faith, he's a most excellent rare 
man, I warrant him. 

Cri. 'Slight, they are mutually enamour'd by 
this time. [Asitiff. 

Aso. Will you, sweet Crites ? 

Cri. Yes, yes. 

Aso. Nay, but when ? you'll defer it now, and 
forget it. 

Cri. Why, is it a thing of such present neces- 
sity, that it requires so violent a disj^atch ! 

Aso. No, but would I migh't never stir, he's a 
most ravishing man ! Good Crites, you shalj 
endear me to you, in good faith ; la ! 

Cri. Well, your longing shall be satisfied, sir. 

Aso. And withal, you may tell him what my 
father was, and how well he left me, and that I 
am his heir. 

Cri. Leave it to me, I'll forget none of your 
dear graces, I warrant you. 

Aso. Nay, I know you can better marshal 

these affairs than I can O gods ! I'd give al! 

the world, if I had it, for abundance of such 
acquaintance. 

Cri. What ridiculous circumstance might I 
devise now to bestow this reciprocal brace of 
butterflies one upon another ? [Aside. 

Amo. Since I trod on this side the Alps, I was 
not so frozen in my invention. Let me see : to 
accost him with some choice remnant of Span- 
ish, or Italian ! tliat would indifferently express 
my languages now : marry, then, if he shall fall 
out to be ignorant, it were both hard and harsh. 
How else ? sfep into some rajioni del stato, and 
so make my induction ! that were above him 
too ; and out of his element, I fear. Feign to 
have seen him in Venice or Padua ! or some 
face near his in similitude ! 'tis too pointed and 
open. No, it must be a more quaint and col- 
lateral device, as stay: to frame some en- 
comiastic speech upon this our metropolis, or 
the wise magistrates thereof, in which politic 
number, 'tis odds but his father fill'd up a 
room ? descend into a particular admiration of 
their justice, for the due measuring of coals, 
burning of cans, and such like ? as also their re- 
ligion, in pulling down a superstitious cross, and 
advancing a Venus, or Priapus, in place of it 5 
ha ! 'twill do well. Or to talk of some hospital, 
whose walls record his father a benefactor ? ou 
of so many buckets bestow'd on his parish, 
church in his lifetime, with his name at length 
for want of arms, trickt iipon them ? any of 
these. Or to praise the cleanness of the street 
wherein he dwelt ? or the jprovidcnt painting of 
his posts, against he should have been pr?etor ? 
or, leaving his parent, come to some s^iecial or- 
nament about himself, as his rapier, or some 
other of his accoutrements ? I have it : thaiilis 
gracious Minerva ! 

Aso. Would I had but once spoke to him, and 
then He comes to me ! 



172 



CYNTUIA'S REVELS. 



ACT & 



Amo. 'Tis a most curious and neatly wrought 
Dand this same, as I have seen, sir. 
Aso. O lord, sir ! 

Amo. You forgive the humor of mine eye, in 
observinn; it. 

Cri. Ilis eye waters after it, it seems. [Aside. 
Aso. O lord, sir ! there needs no such apol- 
ogy, I assure you. 

Cri. I am anticipated ; they'll make a solemn 
deed of gift of themselves, you shall see. 

[Aside. 
Amo. Your riband too does most gracefully in 
troth. 

Aso. 'Tis the most genteel and received wear 
now, sir. 

Atno. Believe me, sir, I speak it not to humor 
you — I have not seen a young gentleman, gen- 
erally, put on his clothes with more judgment. 
Aso. O, 'tis your pleasure to say so, sir. 
Anio. No, as I am virtuous, being altogether 
untravell'd, it strikes me into wonder. 
Aso. I do purpose to travel, sir, at spring. 
A7}to. I think I shall affect you, sir. This last 
speech of yours hath begun to make you dear 
to me. 

Aso. lord, sir ! I would there were any tiling 
in me, sir^ that might a^ipear worthy the least 
worthiness of your Avorth, sir. I protest, sir, I 
should endeavor to shew it, sir, with more than 
common regard, sir. 

Cri. O, here's rare motley, sir. [Aside. 

Amo. Both your desert, and your endeavors 
are plentiful, suspect them not : bat your sweet 
disposition to travel, I assure you, hath made 
you another myself in mine eye, and struck me 
enamour'd on your beauties. 

Aso. I would I were the fairest lady of France 
for your sake, sir ! and yet I would travel too. 

Amo. 0, 3^ou should digress from yourself else : 
for, believe it, your travel is your only thing 
that rectifies, or, as the Italian eays, vi rendi 
pronto all' aftioni, makes you fit for action. 
Aso. I think it bo groat charge though, sir. 
Aino. Charge ! why 'tis nothing for a gentle- 
man that goes private, as yourself, or so ; my 
intelligence shall quit my charge at all time. 
Good faith, this hat hath posscst mine eye ex- 
ceedingly ; 'tis so pretty and fantastic : what ! 
is it a beaver ? 

Aso. Ay, sir, I'll assure you 'tis a beaver, it 
cost me eight crov/ns but this morning. 
Amo. After your French account ? 
Aso. Yes, sir. 

Cri. And so near his head ! beshrew me, dan- 
gerous. [Aside. 
Amo. A very pretty fashion, believe me, and 
a most novel kind of trim : your band is con- 
ceited too ! 
Aso. Sir, it is all at your service. 
Amo. O, pardon me. 

Aso. I beseech you, sir, if you please to wear 
it, you shall do me a most infinite grace. 

Cri. blight; will he be praised oiit of his 
clothes ? 

Aso. By heaven, sii-, I do not offer it you after 
the Italian manner ; I would you should con- 
ceive so of me. 

Amo. Sir, I shall fear to appear rude in deny- 
ing your courtesies, especially being invited by 



so proper a distinction : May I praj' youi 
name, sir ? 

Aso. My name is Asotus, sir. 

Amo. I take your love, gentle Asotus ; but let 

me win you to receive this, in exchange 

[ They exchange heavers, 

Cri. Heart ! they'll change doublets anon. 

[Aside. 

Amo. And, from this time esteem yourself in 
the first rank of those few Avhom I profess to 
love. What make you in company of this 
scholar here ? I Avill bring you known to gal- 
lants, as Anaides of the ordinary, Iledon the 
courtier, and others, whose society shall render 
j'ou graced and respected : this is a trivial fel- 
low, too mean, too cheap, too coarse for you to 
converse with. 

Aso. 'Slid, this is not worth a crown, and 
mine cost mc eight but this morning. 

Cri. I looked when he would repent him, he 
has begun to be sad a good while. 

Amo. Sir, shall I say to you for that hat ? Be 
not so sad, be not so sad : It is a relic I could 
not so easily have departed with, but as the hi- 
eroglyphic of my affection ; you shall alter it to 
what form you please, it will take any block ; 
I have received it varied on record to the three 
thousandth time, and not so few : It hath these 
virtues beside ; your head shall not ache under 
it, nor your brain leave you, without license ; it 
will preserve joxvc complexion to eternity ; for 
no beam of the sim, should 3'ou wear it under 
zo7ia torrida, hath power to approach it by two 
ells. It is proof against thunder, and enchant- 
ment ; and was given me by a great man in 
Russia, as an especial prized present j and con- 
stantly affirm'd to be the hat that accompanied 
the politic Ulysses in his tedious and ten years' 
travels. 

Aso. By Jove, I will not depart withal, who- 
soever would give me a million. 

Enter Cos and Puosaites. 

Cos. Save you, sweet bloods ! does any of you 
want a creature, or a dependent ? 

Cri. Beshrew mc, a fine blunt slave ! 

Amo. A page of good timber ! it A^ill now be 
my grace to entertain him first, though I cashier 
him again in private How art thou call'd ? 

Cos. Cos, sir, Cos. 

Cri. Cos ! how happily hath fortune furnished 
him with a whetstone ? 

Amo. I do entertaiir you, Cos ; conceal your 
quality till wo bo private ; if your parts bo 
worthy of mo, I will countenance you ; if not, 
catechize you. — Gentles, shall we go ? 

Aso. Stay, sir : I'll but entertain this other 

fellow, and then I have a great humor to 

taste of tliis water too, but I'll come again alone 

for that mark the place. — What's your 

name, youth ? 

Pros. Prosaites, sir. 

Aso. Prosaites ! a very fine name ; Critcs, is 
it not ? 

Cri. Yes, and a very ancient one, sir, the Beg- 
gar. 

Aso. Follow me, good Prosaites ; let's talk. 

[Exeimt all but Ckites, 

Cri. He will rank even with you, ere't be long, 



CYNTHIA'S EEVELS, 



173 



If you hold on your course. O, vanity, 

How arc thy painted beauties doted on, 

By light and empty idiots ! how pursued 

With open and extended appetite ! 

How they do s^^•eat, and run themselves from 

breath, 
liaised on their toes, to catch thy airy forms. 
Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards, 
That buy the merry madness of one hoiir 
AVith the long irksomcness of following time ! 
O, how despised and base a thing is man, 
If he not strive t'erect his grovelling thoughts 
Above the strain of flesh ! but how more cheap. 
When, cv'n his best and understanding part. 
The crown and strength of all his faculties. 
Floats, like a dead drown'd body, on the stream 
Of vulgar humor, mixt with common' st dregs ! 
I suffer for their guilt now, and my soul, 
Like one that looks on ill-affected eyes. 
Is hurt with mere intention on their follies. 
Why will I view them then, my sense might 
Or is't a rarity, or some new object, [ask me ? 
That strains my strict observance to this point ? 
O, woiild it were ! therein I could afford 
My spirit should draw a little near to theirs, 
To gaze on novelties ; so vice were one. 
Tut, she is stale, rank, foul ; and were it not 
That those that woo her greet her with lock'd 

eyes, 
In spight of all th' impostures, paintings, drugs, 
Which her bawd, Custom, dawbs her cheeks 

withal. 
She would betray her loth'd and leprous face. 
And fright the enamour'd dotards from them- 
selves ; 
But such is the perversoness of our nature. 
That if wc once but fancy levity, 
How antic and ridiculous soe'er 
It suit vi'ith us, yet will our muffled thoiight 
Choose rather not to see it, than avoid it : 
And if wc can but banish our own sense, 
We act our mimic tricks with that free license. 
That lust, that pleasure, that security. 
As if we practised in a paste-board case, 
And no one saw the motion, but the motion. 
Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too loud : 
While fools are i>itied, they wax fat and proud. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The Court. 

Enter Cupid and Mekcury, disguised as Pages. 

Cup. Why, this v.'as most unexpectedly fol- 
lowed, my divine delicate ^Mercury ; by the 
beard of Jove, thou art a precious deity. 

Mcr. Nay, Cupid, leave to speak improperly ; 
since we arc turn'd cracks, let's study to be like 
cracks ; practise their language and behaviors, 
and not with a dead imitation : Act freely, care- 
lessly, and capriciously, as if our veins ran with 
quicksilver, and not vitter a j^hrase, but what 
shall come forth steep' d in the A'ery brine of 
conceit, and sparkle like salt in fire. 

Cup. That's not every one's happiness, Her- 
mes : Though you can presume upon the easi- 
,ness and dexteritj of your wit, you shall give 



mo leave to be a little jealous of mine ; and not 
desperately to hazard it after yoiu- capering hu- 
mor. 

Mer. Nay, then, Cupid, I think we must have 
you hood-wink'd again; for jotx are grown too 
provident since your eyes were at liberty. 

Cup. Not so, Mercury, I am still blind Cupid 
to thee. 

Mer. And what to the lady nymph you serve ? 

Cup. Troth, page, boy, and sirrah : these are 
all my titles. 

Mer. Then thou hast not altered thy name, 
with thy disguise ? 

Cup. O, no, that had been supererogation ; 
you shall never hear your courtier call but by 
one of these three. 

Mer. Faith, then both our fortunes are the 
same. 

Cup. Why, what parcel of man hast thou 
lighted on for a master ? 

Mer. Such a one as, before I begin to decipher 
him, I dare not affirm to be anytliing less than 
a courtier. So much he is during this open time 
of revels, and Avould be longer, but that his 
means are to leave him shortly after. His name 
is Hedon, a gallant wholly consecrated to his 
pleasures. 

Cup. Hedon ! he uses much to my lady's 
chamber, I think. 

Mer. How is she call'd, and then I can shew 
thee ? 

Cup. Madam Philautia. 

Mer. O ay, ho affects her very particularly in- 
deed. These are his graces. He doth (besides 
me) keep a barber and a monkey ; he has a rich 
wrought waistcoat to entertain his visitants in, 
with a cap almost suitable. His curtains and 
bedding are thought to be his own ; his bathing- 
tub is not suspected. He loves to have a fencer, 
a pedant, and a musician seen in his lodging 
a-mornings. 

Cup. And not a poet ? 

Mer. Fie, no : himself is a rhymer, and that's 
thought better than a poet. He is not lightly 
within to his mercer, no, though he come when 
he takes physic, wliieh is commonly after his 
play. He beats a tailor very well, but a stock- 
ing-seller admirably : and so conseqiiently any 
one he owes money to, that dares not resist him. 
He never makes general invitement, but against 
the publishing of a new suit ; marty, then you 
shall have more drawn to his lodging, than come 
to the launching of some three ships ; especially 
if he be furnished with supplies for the retiring 
of his old wardrobe from pawn : if not, he does 
hire a stock of apparel, and some forty or fifty 
pound in gold, for that forenoon, to shew. He 
is thought a very necessary perfume for the 
presence, and for that oiily cause welcome thith- 
er : six milliners' shops afford you not the like 
scent. He courts ladies with how many great 
horse he hath rid that morning, or how oft he 
hath done the whole, or half the pommado in a 
seven-night before : and sometime ventures so 
far upon the virtue of his pomander, that ho 
dares tell 'em how many shirts he has sweat at 
tennis that week ; but wisely conceals so man> 
dozen of balls he is on the score. Here he cc.-ues, 
that is all this. 



174 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Enter Hedo.v, Axaides, and Gelaia. 

md. Boy! 

Mer. Sir. 

Hed- Are any cf tlie ladies in the presence ? 

Mer. None yet, sir. 

Hed. Give me some gold, — more. 

Ana. Is that thy boy, Hedon ? 

lied. Ay, Avhat think'st thou of him ? 

Ana. I'd geld him ; I warrant he lias the phi- 
losopher's stone. 

lied. Well said, my good melancholy devil : 
sirrah, I have devised one or two of the prettiest 
oaths, this morning in my bed, as ever thou 
heard'st, to protest withal in the presence. 

Ana. Prithee, let's hear them. 

Hed. Soft, thou'lt use them afore me. 

Ana. No, d — mn me then — I have more oaths 
than I know how to utter, by this air. 

Hed. Faith, one is, By the tip of your ear, sweet 
UkIij. Is it not prett3% and genteel ? 

Ana. Yes, for the person 'tis applied to, a 
lady. It should be light and 

Hed. Nay, the other is better, exceeds it much : 
the invention is farther fct too. By the white 
valley that lies between the alpine hills of your 
bosom, I protest. 

Ana. Well, you travell'd for that, Hedon. 

Mer. Ay, in a map, Avhcre his eyes were but 
blind guides to his understanding, it seems. 

Hed.' And then I have a salutation will nick 
all, by this caper : hay ! 

Ana. How is that ? 

Hed. You know I call madam Pliilautin, my 
Honor ; and she calls me, her Ambition. Now, 
when I meet her in the presence anon, I will 
come to her, and saj^ Sweet Honor, I have hith- 
erto contented my sense with the lilies of your hand, 
but now I will taste the roses of your lip ; and, 
withal, kiss her : to which she cannot but blush- 
ing answer. Nay, noxo you areipo ambitious. And 
then do I reply: / cannot be too Ambitious of 
Honor, sweet lady. Will't not bo good ? ha ? ha ? 

Ana. O, assure your soul. 

Hed. By heaven, I think 'twill be excellent : 
and a very politic achievement of a kiss. 

Ana. I have thought upon one for Moria of a 
sudden too, if it take. 

Hed. What is't, my dear Invention? 
Ana. Marry, I will come to her, (and she 
alwaj's wears a muff, if you be remembered,) 
and 1 will tell her, Madam, your whole self can- 
not but be perfectly wise ; for your hands have wit 
enough to keep themselves loarm. 

Hed. Now, before Jove, admirable ! [Gelaia 
laughs.^ Look, thy page takes it, too. By 
Phoebus, m)' sweet facetious rascal, I could eat 
water-gruel with tKee a month for this jest, my 
dear rogue. 

Ana. O, Hercules, 'tis ji-our only dish ; above 
all 5'our potatoes or oyster-pies in the world. 

Hed. 1 have ruminated upon a most rare wish 
too, and the prophecy to it ; but I'll have some 
friend to be the prophet ; as thus : I do -wish 
myself one of my mistress's cioppini. Another 
demands. Why would he be one of his mistress's 
cioppini? a third answers, Because he would 
make her higher : a fourth shall say. That will 
make her proud : and ■; ivfth shall conclude, 



Then do I prophesy pride will have a fall ; — 
and he shall give it her. 

Ana. I will be your prophet. Gods so, it 
will be most exquisite ; thou art a fine inventious 
rogue, sirrah. 

Hed. Nay, and I have posies for rings, too, and 
riddles that they dream not of. 

Ana. Tut, they'll do that, when they come to 
slcej) on them, time enough : But were thy de- 
vices never in the presence yet, Hedon ? 

Hed. O, no, I disdain that. 

Ana. 'Twere good we went afore then, and 
brought them acquainted with the room where 
they shall act, lest the strangeness of it put them 
out of countenance, when they should come 
forth. [Exeunt Hedox and Axaides. 

Cup. Is that a courtier, too ? 

Mer. Troth, no ; he has two essential parts of 
the courtier, pride and ignorance ; marry, the 
rest come somewhat after the ordinary gallant. 
'Tis Impudence itself, Anaides ; one that speaks 
all that comes in his cheeks, and will blush no 
move than a sackbut. He lightly occupies the 
jester's room at the table, and keeps laughter, 
Gelaia, a wench in page's attire, following him in 
place of a squire, whom he now and then tickles 
with some strange ridiculous stuff, utter'd as his 
land came to him, by chance. He will censure 
or discourse of any thing, but as absurdly as 
you would wish. His fasliion is not to take 
knowledge of him that is beneath him in clothes. 
He never drinks below the salt. He does nat- 
urally admire his wit that wears gold lace, or 
tissue : stabs any man that speaks more con- 
temptibly of the scholar than he. He is a great 
proficient in all the illiberal sciences, as cheat- 
ing, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such 
like : never kneels but to pledge healths, nor 
prays but for a pipe of pudding-tobacco. He 
will blaspheme in his shirt. The oaths which 
he vomits at one supper would maintain a town 
of garrison in good swearing a twelvemonth. 
One other genuine quality he has which croAvrm 
all these, and that is this : to a friend in want, 
he will not depart with the weight of a soldered 
groat, lest the world might censure him prodi- 
gal, or report him a gull : marry, to his cocka- 
trice or punquetto, half a dozen taffata gowns 
or satin kirtles in a pair or two of months, why, 
they are nothing. 

Cup. I commend him, he is one of my clients. 
[ They retire to the back of the stage. 



£«fc)- Amorphus, Asotus, and Cos. 

Amo. Come, sir. You are now within regard 
of the presence, and see, the privacj' of this room 
how sweetly it offers itself to our retired intend- 
ments. — Page, cast a vigilant and enquiring eye 
about, that we be not rudely surprised by the 
approach of some ruder stranger. 

Cos. I warrant you, sir. I'U tell you when 
the wolf enters, fear nothing. 

Mer. O what a mass of benefit shall we possess, 
in being the invisible spectators of this strange 
show now to be acted ! 

Amo. Plant yourself there, sir ; and observe 
me. You shall now, as well be the ocular, as 
the ear-witness, how clearly I can refel that 
paradox, or rather pseudodox, of those, whic]; , 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



116 



hold the face to be the index of the mind, which, 
I assure j'ou, is not so in any politic creature : 
for instance ; I will now give you the particular 
and distinct face of every your most noted spe- 
cies of persons, as your merchant, your scholar, 
your soldier, your lawyer, courtier, &c. and each 
of these so truly, as you would swear, but that 
your eye shall see the variation of the lineament, 
it \\ere my most proper and genuine aspect. 
First, for your merchant, or city-face, 'tis thus : 
a dull, plodding-face, still looking in a direct 
lino, forward : there is no great matter in this 
face. Then have you your student's, or aca- 
ioraic face, which is here an honest, simple, and 
methodical face ; but somewhat more spread 
than the former. The third is your soldier's 
face, a menacing and astounding face, that looks 
broad and big : the grace of his face consisteth 
much in a beard. The anti-face to this, is your 
lawyer's face, a contracted, subtile, and intricate 
face, full of quirks and turnings, a labyrinthean 
face, now angularly, now circularly, every way 
aspected. Next is your statist's face, a serious, 
Bolemn, and supercilious face, full of formal and 
square gravity ; the eye, for the most part, 
deeply and artificially shadow' d : there is great 
judgment required in the making of this face. 
But now, to come to your face of faces, or cour- 
tier's face ; 'tis of three sorts, according to our 
subdivision of a courtier, elementary, practic, 
and theoric. Your courtier theoric, is he that 
hath arrived to his farthest, and doth now know 
the court rather by speculation than practice ; 
and this is his face : a fastidious and oblique 
face ; that looks as it went with a vice, and were 
scrcw'd thus. Your courtier practic, is he that 
is j'et in his path, his course, his waj-, and hath 
not touch'd the punctilio or point of his hopes ; 
his face is here : a most promising, open, smooth, 
and overflowing face, that seems as it would run 
and pour itself into you ; somewhat a northerly 
face. Your courtier elementary, is one but newlj' 
enter'd, or as it were in the alphabet, or ut-7-c- 
mi-fa-sol-la of courtship. Note well this face, 
for it is this you must practise. 

.■4>o. I'll practise them all, if you please, 
sir. 

Amo. Ay, hereafter you may : and it will not 
be altogether an ungrateful studj-. For, let your 
soul be assured of this, in any rank or profession 
whatever, the more general or major part of 
opinion goes Avith the face and simply respects 
nothing else. Therefore, if that can be made 
exactly, curiously, exquisitely, thoroughly, it is 
enough : but for the present you shall only ap- 
ply yourself to this face of the elementary 
courtier, a light, revelling, and protesting face, 
now blushing, now smiling, which yori may help 
much with a wanton wagging of your head, 
thus, (a feather will teach you,) or with kissing 
your finger that hath the ruby, or playmg with 
some string of your band, which is a most quaint 
kind of melancholy besides : or, if among ladies, 
laughing loud, and crying up your own wit, 
though perhaps borrow'd, it is not amiss. 
Where is your page ? call for your casting-bottle, 
and place your mirror in your hat, as I told 
yuu : so ! Come, look not pale, observe me, set 
vour face, and enter. 



Mer. O, for some excellent painter, to Imve 
taken the copy of all these faces ! {Aside. 

Aso. Prosaites ! 

Amo. Fie ! I premonish you of that : in the 
court, bo}% lacquey, or sirrah. 

Cos. Master, lupus in O, 'tis Prosaites. 

Enter PBOSAixEa. 

Aso. Sirrah, prepare my casting-bottle; I 
think I must bo enforced to purchase me another 
page ; you see how at hand Cos waits here. 
[Exeunt Amorphus, Asotus, Cos, aiid Prosaites. 

Mer. So will he too, in time. 

Cup. What's he. Mercury ? 

Mer. A notable smelt. One that hath newly 
entertain'd the beggar to follow him, but cannot 
get him to wait near enough. 'Tis Asotus, the 
heir of Philargyrus ; but iirst I'll give ye the 
other's character, which may make his the 
clearer. He that is with him is Amorphus, a 
traveller, one so made out of the mixture of 
shreds of forms, that himself is truly deform'd. 
He walks most commonly with a clove or pick- 
tooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of com- 
pliment, all his behaviors are printed, his face is 
another volume of essays, and his beard is an 
Aristarchus. He speaks all cream skimm'd, and 
more affected than a dozen Avaiting-women. He 
is his own promoter in every place. The wife 
of the ordinary gives him his diet to maintain 
her table in discourse ; Avhich, indeed, is a mere 
tyranny over her otlier guests, for he will usurp 
all the talk : ten constables are not so tedious. 
He is no great shifter ; once a year his apparel 
is ready to revolt. He doth use much to arbi- 
trate quarrels, and fights himself, exceeding AveU, 
out at a Avindow. He Avill lie cheaper than any 
beggar, and louder than most clocks ; for Avhich 
he is right properly accommodated to the Whet- 
stone, his page. The other gallant is his zany, 
and doth niost of these tricks after him ; SAveats 
to imitate him in every thing to a hair, except 
a beard, Avhich is not yet extant. He doth 
learn to make strange sauces, to eat anchovies, 
maccaroni, bovoli, fagioli, and caA'iare, because 
he loves them ; speaks as he speaks, looks, Avalks, 
goes so in clothes and fashion : is in all as if ho 
Avere moulded of him. Marry, before they met, 
he had other very pretty sufiiciencies, which yet 
he retains some light impression of; as frequent- 
ing a dancing-school, and grieA'Ously torturing 
strangers Avith inquisition after his grace in his 
gaUiard. He buys a fresh acquaintance at any 
rate. His eyes and his raiment confer much 
together as "he goes in the street. He treads 
nicely like the fellow that walks upon ropes, 
especially the first Sunday of his silk stockii;^- 
and Avhen he is most neat and ncAV, you shall 
strip him Avith commendations. 
Cup. Here comes another. 

[Crites passes over the stage~ 

Mer. Ay, but one of another strain, Cupid : 
this fellow Aveighs somcAvhat. 
Cup. His name, Hermes ? 
Mer. Crites. A creature of a most perfect and 
divine temper : one, in Avhom the humors and 
elements are peaceably met, Avithout emulation 
of precedency ; he is neither too fantastically mel 
anchol/, too sloAvly phlegjnatic, too lightly sr.n- 



i76 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



guine, or too rashly choleric ; but in all so com- 
posed and ordered, as it is clear nature -went 
about some full work, she did more than make 
a man when she made him. His discourse is 
like his behavior, uncommon, but not unpleas- 
ing ; he is prodigal of neither. He strives rather 
to be that which men call judicious, than to be 
thought so ; and is so- truly learned, that he 
affects not to shew it. He will think and speak 
his thought both freely ; but as distant from 
depraving another man's merit, as proclaiming 
his own. For his valor, 'tis such, that he dares 
as little to offer any injury as receive one. In 
sum, he hath a most ingenuous and sweet spirit, 
a sharp and season'd wit, a straight judgment 
and a strong mind. Fortune could neA'cr break 
him, iior make him less. He counts it his pleas- 
ure to despise pleasures, and is more delighted 
with good deeds than goods. It is a competency 
to him that he can be virtuous. He doth neither 
covet nor fear ; he hath too much reason to do 
either ; and that commends all things to him. 
Cup. Not better than ^Mercury commends him. 
Mer. O, Cupid, 'tis beyor.d my deity to give 
him his due praises : I could leave my place in 
heaven to live among mortals, so I were sure to 
be no other than he. 

Cup. 'Slight, I. believe he is your minion, you 
seem to be so ravish'd with him. 

Mer. He's one I would not have a wry thought 
darted against, willingly. 

Cup. No, but a straight shaft in his bosom I'U 
promise him, if I am Cytherea's son. 
Mer. Shall we go, Cupid ? 
Cup. Stay, and see the ladies noAV : they'll 
come presently. I'll help to paint them. 

Mer. AVhat, lay color upon color ! that affords 
but an ill blazon. 

Cup. Here comes metal to help it, the lady 
Argurion. [Argurion passes over the stage. 

Mer. Monej', money. 

Cup. The same. A nymph of a most wandering 
and giddy disposition, humorous as the air, she'll 
run from gallant to gallant, as they sit at primero 
in the presence, most strangely, and seldom stays 
withanj'. She sjKeads as she goes. To-day you 
shall have her look as clear and fresh as the morn- 
ing, and to-morrow as melancholic as midnight. 
She takes special pleasure in a close obscure 
lodging, and for that cause visits the city so often, 
where she has many secret true concealing favor- 
ites. Yv^hen she comes abroad, she's more loose 
and scattering than dust, and will fly from place 
to place, as she were wrapped with a whirh^-ind. 
Your young student, for the most part, she affects 
not, only salutes him, and away : a poet, nor a 
philosopher, she is hardly brought to take any 
notice of; no, though he be some part of an al- 
chemist. She loves a player well, and a lawyer 
infinitely ; but your fool above all. She can do 
much in court for the obtaining of any suit what- 
soever, no door but flies oiDcn to her, her presence 
is above a charm. The worst in her is want of 
keeping state, and too much descending into in- 
ferior and base offices ; she's for any coarse em- 
ployment you will put upon her, as to be your 
procurer, or punder. 

Mer. Peace, Cupid, here comes more work for 
you, another character or two. 



Enter Phantaste, Mohia, a7id Philautia. 

Pha. Stay, sweet Philautia, I'll but change 
my fan, and go i)resentlj'. 

Mor. Now, in very good serious, ladies, I will 
have this order rcvers'd, the presence must be 
better maintain' d from you : a quarter past ele^•- 
en, and ne'er a nymph h\ prospective ! Beshrew 
my hand, there must be a reform'd discipline. 
Is that your new ruff, sweet lady-bird ? By my 
truth, 'tis most intricatelj^ rare. 

Mer. Good Jove, what reverend gentlewoman 
in years might this be ? 

Cup. 'Tis madam Moria, guardian of the 
nj-mphs ; one that is not now to be persuaded of 
her Avit ; she will think herself wise against all 
the judgments that come. A lady made all of 
voice and air, talks any thing of any thing. She 
is like one of your ignorant poetasters of the time, 
who, when they have got acquainted with a 
strange word, never rest till they have v/rung it 
in, though it loosen the whole fabric of their 
sense. 

Mer. That was pretty and sharply noted,Cupid. 

Cup. She will tell you, Philosophy Avas a fine 
reveller, when she was young, and a gallant, and 
that then, though she say it, she was thought to 
be the dame Dido and Helen of the court : as 
also, what a sweet dog she had this time four 
years, and how it was called Fortune ; and that, 
if the Fates had not cut his thread, he had been 
a dog to hare given entertainment to any gallant 
in this kingdom ; and unless she had Avhelp'd 
it herself, she could not have loved a thing bet- 
ter m this world. 

Mer. O, I prithee no more ; I am full of her, 

Cup. Yes, I must needs tell you she composes 
a sack-posset well ; and would court a young 
page sweetly, but that her breath is against it. 

Mer. Now, her breath or something more 
strong protect mo from her ! The other, the 
other, Cupid ? 

Cup. O, that's my lady and mistress madam 
Philautia. She admires not herself for any one 
particularity, but for all : she is fair, and she 
knows it ; she has a pretty light wit too, and she 
knows it ; she can dance, and she knows that too ; 
play at shuttle-cock, and that too : no quality she 
has, but she shall take a very particular knowl- 
edge of, and most lady-like commend it to you. 
You shall have her at any time read you the his- 
tory of herself, and very subtilely run over anoth- 
er lady's sufficiencies to come to her own. She 
has a good superficial judgment in jDainting, and 
would seem to have so in poetry. A most com- 
plete lady in the opinion of some three beside i 
herself. I 

Phi. Faith, how liked you my quip to Hedon, ^ 
about the garter ? Was't not witty ? 

Mor. Excecdingwitty and integrate : you did 
so aggravate the jest withal. 

Phi. And did I not dance movingly the last 
night ? 

Mor. Movingly ! out of measure, in troth, 
sweet charge. 

Mer. A happy commendation, to dance out of 
measure ! 

Mor. Save only you wanted the swim in the 
turn : ! when I was at fourt;pen 



■™ 



SUENE 1, 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



177 



Phi. Nay, that's mine own from any nymph 
in the court, I'm fBure on't ; therefore you mis- 
take me in that, guardian : both the sAvim and the 
trip are properly mine ; every body will affirm it 
that has any judgment in dancing, I assure you. 

Pha. Come now, Philautia, I am for you ; 
ehall we go ? 

Phi. Ay, good Phantaste : What ! have you 
changed your head-tire ? 

Pha. Yes, faith, the other was so near the 
common, it had no extraordinary grace ; besides, 
I had worn it almost a day, in good troth. 

Phi. I'll be sworn, this is most excellent for 
the device, and rare ; 'tis after the Italian print 
we look'd on t'other night. 

Pha. 'Tis so : by this fan, I cannot abide any 

thing that savors the poor over-worn cut, that 

has any kindred with it ; I must have variety, 

I : this mixing in fashion, I hate it worse than 

, to burn juniper in my chamber, I protest. 

Phi. And yet Ave cannot have a new peculiar 
court-tire, but these retainers will have it ; these 
suburb Sunday- waiters ; these courtiers for high 
days ; I know not what I should call 'em 

Pha. O, ay, they do most pitifully imitate ; 
but I have a tire a coming, i' faith, shall 

Mor. In good certain, madam, it makes yo-u. 
look most heavenly ; but, lay your hand on your 
heart, you never skinn'd a new beautj' more pros- 
perously in your life, nor more metaphysically . 
look, good lady ; sweet lady, look. 

Phi. 'Tis very clear and well, believe me. 
But if you had seen mine 5^csterday, when 'twas 
young, you would have Who's your doc- 
tor, Phantaste ? 

Pha. Nay, that's counsel, Philautia ; you shall 
pardon me : yet I'll assure you he's the most 
dainty, sweet, absolute, rare man of the whole 
college. O ! his very looks, his discourse, his be- 
havior, all he does is physic, I protest. 

Phi. For heaven's sake, his name, good dear 
Phantaste ? 

Pha. No, no, no, no, no, no, believe me, not 
for a million of heavens : I will not make him 

cheap. Fie • 

[Exeunt Ph.vntaste, Moria, and Philautia. 

Cup. There is a nymph too of a most curious 
and elaborate strain, light, all motion, an ubi- 
quitary, she is every where, Phantaste 

Mer. Her very name speaks her, let her pass. 
But are these, Cupid, the stars of Cynthia's 
court ? Do these nymphs attend upon Diana ? 

Cup They are in her court, Mercury, but not 
as stars ; these never come in the presence of 
Cynthia. The nymphs that make her train are 
the divine Arete, Time, Phronesis, Thauma, and 
others of that high sort. These are privately 
brought in by Moria in this licentious time, 
against her knowledge : and, like so many me- 
teors, will vanish when she appears. 

Enter Pkosaites singin(j, foUoioed by Gelaia a7id 
Cos, with bottles. 

Come folloto me, my icags, and say, as I say. 
There's no riches but in rags, hey day, hey day : 
You that profess this art, come away, come aivay. 
And hel2i to bear a part. Iley day, hey day. Sec. 
[Mercury and Cupid come forioard, 
12 



Mer. What, those that were our fellow pages 
but now, so soon preferr'd to be yeomen of the 
bottles ! The mystery, the mystery, good wags ? 

Cup. Some diet-drink they have the guard of. 

Pro. No, sir, we are going in quest of a strange 
fountain, lately found out. 

Cup. By whom .^ 

Cos. My master, or the great discoverer Amor- 
phus. 

Mer. Thou hast well entitled him, Cos, for he 
will discover all he knows. 

Gel. Ay, and a little more too, when the spirit 
is upon him. 

Pro. O, the good travelling gentleman yonder 
has caused such a drought in the presence, with 
reporting the wonders of this new Avater, that all 
the ladies and gallants lie languishing upon the 
rushes, like so many jiounded cattle in the midst 
of harvest, sighing one to another, and gasping, 
as if each of them expected a cock from the foun- 
tain to be brought into his mouth ; and Avithout 
Ave return quickly, they are all, as a youth Avould 
say, no better than a fcAV trouts cast asliore, or 
a dish of eels in a sand-bag. 

Mer. Well then, you AA-ere best dispatch, and 
have a care of them. Come, Cupid, thou and 
I'll go peruse this dry Avonder. {Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment at th^ Cour^ 

Eater Amorphus and Asotus. 

Amo. Sir, let not this discountenance or aio ■ 
gallant you a Avhit ; you mvist not sink under the 
first disaster. It is Avith your young grammat- 
ical courtier, as Avith your neophyte player, a 
thing usual to be daunted at the first presence 
or intervicAV : you saAV, there Avas Hedon, and 
Anaides, far more practised gallants that your- 
self, AA'ho Avcre both out, to comfort you. It is no 
disgrace, no more than for your adA^enturoua 
reveller to fall by some inauspicious chance in 
his galliard, or for some subtile politic to under- 
take the bastinado, that the state might think 
Avorthily of him, and respect him as a man Avell 
beaten to the Avorld. What ! hath your tailor 
provided the property Ave spake of at your 
chamber, or no ? 

Aso. I think he has. 

Amo. Nay, I entreat you, be not so flat and 
melancholic. Erect your mind : you shall re- 
deem this Avith the courtship I Avill teach you 
against the afternoon. Where eat you to-day? 

Aso. Where you please, sir ; any Avhere, I 

Amo. Come, let us go and taste some light din- 
ner, a dish of sliced caviare, or so ; and after, you 
shall practise an hour at your lodging some few 
forms that I have recall'd." If you had but so far 
gathered your spirits to you, as to have taken up a 
rush Avhen you AA'ere out, and Avagg'd it thus, or 
cleansed your teeth Avith it ; or but turn'd aside, 
and feign'd some business to AA'hisper Avith youi 
page, till you had recovered yourself, or but 
found some slight stain in your stocking, or 
any other pretty invention, so it had been sud- 
den, 3'ou might have come off Avith a most clew 
and courtly grace. 



178 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Aso. A poison of all ! I think I was forc- 
siDoke, I. 

A}no. No, I must tell you, you are not auda- 
cious enough ; you must frequent ordinaries a 
month more, to initiate yourself : in which time, 
it will not be amiss, if, in private, you keep good 
your acquaintance witk Crites. or some other of 
his poor coat ; visit his lodging secretly and 
often ; become an earnest suitor to hear some of 
nis labors. 

Aso. O Jove ! sir, I could never get him to 
read a line to me. 

Amo. You must then wisely mix yourself in 
rank with such as you know can ; and, as 3'our 
ears do meet with a new phrase, or an acute jest, 
take it in : a quick nimble memory will lift it 
away, and, at your next public meal, it is your 
ov>n. 

Aso. But I shall never utter it perfectly, sir. 

A7m. No matter, let it come lame. In ordi- 
nary tiCk you shall play it away, as you do your 
light crowns at primero : it will pass. 

Aso. 1 shall attempt, sir. 

A7no. Do. It is your shifting age for wit, and, 
I assru'e you, men must be prudent. After this 
you may to court, and there fall in, first with the 
waiting-woman, then with the lady. Put case 
they do retain you there, as a lit property, to 
hire coaches some pair of months, or so ; or to 
read them asleep in afternoons upon some pretty 
pamphlet, to breathe jou ; Avhy, it shall in time 
embolden you to some farther achievement : in 
the interim, you may fashion yourself to be 
careless and impudent. 

Aso. How if they would have me to make 
verses ? I heard Hedon spoke to for some. 

Amo. AVhy, you must prove the aptitude of 
your genius ; if you find none, you must hearken 
out a vein, and buy ; provided you pay for the 
silence as for the work, then you may securely 
call it your ovrn. 

Aso. Yes, and I'll give out my acquaintance 
with all the best writers, to countenance me the 
more. 

Amo. Ilather seem not to know them, it is 
your best. A}', be wise, that you never so much 
as mention the name of one, nor remember it 
mentioned ; but if they be offered to you in dis- 
course, shake your light head, make between a 
Bad and a smiling face, pity some, rail at all, and 
commend yourself: 'tis your only safe and un- 
suspected course. Come, you shall look back 
upon the court again to-day, and be restored to 
your colors : I do now partly aim at the cause 
of your repulse — Avhich was ominous indeed — 
for as you enter at the door, there is opposed to 
you the frame of a wolf in the hangings, which, 
surprising your eye suddenly, gave a false alarm 
to the heart ; and that was it called your blood 
out of your face, and so routed the whole rank 
of 3'oiu- spirits : I beseech yoir labor to forget 
it, And remember, as I inculcated to you be- 
k re, for your comfort, Hedon and Anaides. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Apartment in the same. 

Enter Hedon and Anaides. 
Ihd. Heart, was there ev ^r so preposterous an 



invention thus unluckily perverted and spoiled 
by a whoreson book-worm, a candle-wastci ? 

Ana. Nay, be not impatient, Hedon. 

Hed. 'Slight, I would fain know his name. 

Ana. Hang him, poor grogran rascal ! prithee 
think not of him : I'll send for him to my lodg- 
ing, and have him blanketed when thou wilt, 
man. 

Hed. Ods so, I would thou couldst. Look, 
here he comes. 

Enter Crites, and walks in a musing posture cri 

the back of the sfaye. 
Laugh at him, laugh at him ; h «, ha, ha ! 

Ana. Fough ! he smells ull lamp-oil with 
studjdng bj'' candle-light. 

Hed. How confidently hr, went by us, and 
carelessly ! Never moved, nor stirred at any 
thing ! Did j-ou observe him ? 

Ana. Ay, a pox on h'lr.i, let him go, dormouse : 
he is in a dream now. He has no other time to 
sleep, but thus when he walks abroad to take 
the au'. 

IJed. 'Sprecious, tl\is afflicts me more than all 
the rest, that we should so particularly direct 
our hate and contempt against him, and he to 
carry it thuswitliout wound or passion ! 'tis in- 
sufferable. 

Ana. 'Slid, my dear Envy, if thou but say'st 
the word now, I'll imdo him eternally for thee. 

Hed. How, sweet Anaides ? 

Ana. ]\Iarry, half a score of us get him in, one 
night, and make him pawn his wit for a supper. 

Hed. Away, thou hast such unseasonable 
jests ! Ey this heaven, I v/onder at nothing 
more than our gentlemen ushers, that will suffer 
a piece of serge or perpctuana to come into the 
presence : methinks they should, out of their 
experieiice, better distinguish the silken dispo- 
sition of courtiers, than to let such terrible coarse 
rags mix Avith us, able to fret anj- smooth or 
gentle society to the threads with their rubbing 
devices. 

Ana. Unless 'twere Lent, Ember-weeks, or 
fasting-days, when the place is most penuriously 
empty of all other good outsides. D — n me, if 
I should adventure on his company once more, 
without a suit of buff to defend my wit ! he does 
nothing but stab, the slave ! How mischievously 
he cross'd thy device of the prophecy, there ! 
and ]\Ioria, she comes Avithout her muff too, and 
there my invention Avas lost. 

Hed. Well, I am resoh'ed Avhat I'll do. 

Ana. "\¥hat, my good spirituous spark ? 

Hed. ^Marry, speak all the venom I can of 
him ; and poison his reputation in every place 
Avhere I come. 

Ana. 'Fore God, most coiu'tly. 

Hed. And if I chance to be present where any 
question is made of his sufiicicncies, or of any 
thing he hath done private or public, I'll cen- 
sure it slightly and ridiculouslj'. 

Ana. At any hand bcAvare of that ; so thou 
may'st draAV thine own judgment in suspect. 
No, I'll instruct thee Avhat thou shalt do, and by 
a safer means : aj^prove any thing thoAi hearest 
of his, to the rcceiA-ed opinion of it ; but if it be 
extraordinary, giA^e it from him to some other 
Avhom thou more particularly affect' st ; that's 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



17'' 



the way to plague him, and he shall never come 
to defend himself. 'Slud, I'll give out all he does 
is dictated from other men, and swear it too, if 
thou'lt have me, and that I know the time and 
place where he stole it, though my soul be guilty 
of no such thing ; and that I think, out of my 
heart, he hates such barren shifts : yet to do thee 
a pleasure, and him a disgrace, I'll damn myself, 
or do any thing. 

Heel. Granimercy, my dear devil ; we'll put it 
Bcriously in practice, i'faith. 

[Exeunt Hedox and Anaides. 
Cn. [comuig forward.'] Do, good Detraction, 

do, and I the while 
Shall shake thy spight off with a careless smile. 
Poor piteous gallants ! what lean idle slights 
Their thoughts suggest to flatter their starv'd 
As if I knew not how to entertain [hopes ! 

These straw-devices ; but of force, must yield 
To the weak stroke of their calumnious tongues. 
What should I care what every dor doth buz 
In credulous ears ? It is a crown to me 
That the best judgments can report me wrong'd ; 
Them liars, and their slanders impudent. 
Perhaps, upon the rumor of their speeches. 
Some grieved friend will wlii«per to me ; Crites, 
Men speak ill of thee. So they be ill men, 
If thej' spake worse, 'twere better : for of such 
To be dis J raised, is the most perfect praise. 
"Wliat can his censure hurt me, whom the world 
Ilath censured vile before me ! If good Chrestus, 
Euthus, or Phronimus, had spoke the words, 
They would have moved me, and I should have 

call'd 
My thoughts and actions to a strict account 
Upon the hearing : but when I remember, 
'Tis Hedon and Anaides, alas, then 
I think but what they are, and am not stirr'd. 
The one a light voluptuous reveller. 
The other, a strange arrogating puff, 
Both impudent, and ignorant enough ; 
That talk as they are wont, not as I merit ; 
Traduce by custom, as most dogs do bark. 
Do nothing out of judgment, but disease. 
Speak iU, because they never could speak well. 
And who'd be angry with this race of creatures ? 
What wise physician have we ever seen 
Jloved with a frantic man ? the same affects 
That ho doth bear to his sick patient, 
Should a right mind carry to such as these : 
And I do count it a most rare revenge. 
That I can thus, with such a sweet neglect, 
Pluck from them all the pleasure of their malice, 
Por that's the mark of all their enginous drifts, 
To wound my patience, howsoe'er they seem 
To aim at other objects ; which if miss'd, 
Their envy's like an arrow shot upright, 
That, in the fall, endangers their own heads. 

Enter Akete. 

Are. What, Crites ! where have you drawn 
forth the day, 
You have not visited your jealous friends ? 

Cri. Where I have seen, most honor'd Arete, 
The strangest pageant, fashion'd like a court, 
(At least I dreamt I saw it) so diffused. 
So painted, pied, and full of rainbow strains, 
As never yet, either by time, or place. 
Was made t'ne food to my dis' isted sense ; 



Nor can my weak imperfect memory 
Now render half the forms unto my tongue, 
That were convolved within this thrifty room. 
Here stalks me bj^ a proud and spangled sir. 
That looks three handfuls higher than his fore« 
Savors himself alone, is only kind [top ; 

And loving to himself; one that will speak 
More dark and doubtful than six oracles ! 
Salutes a friend, as if he had a stitch ; 
Is his own chronicle, and scarce can eat 
For regist'ring himself; is waited on 
By mimics, jesters, panders, parasites. 
And other such like prodigies of men. 
He past, appears some mincing marmoset 
Made all of clothes and face ; his limbs so set 
As if they had some voluntary act 
Without man's motion, and must move just so 
In spight of their creation : one that weighs 
His breath between his teeth, and dares not smile 
Beyond a point, for fear t'unstarch his look ; 
Hath travell'd to make legs, and seen the cringe 
Of several courts, and courtiers ; knows the time 
Of giving titles, and of taking walls ; 
Hath read court common-places ; made them his : 
Studied the grammar of state, and all the rules 
Each formal usher in that politic school 
Can teach a man. A third comes, giving nods 
To his repenting creditors, protests 
To weeping suitors, takes the coming gold 
Of insolent and base ambition. 
That hourly rubs his dry and itchy palms ; 
Which griped, like burning coals, he hurls away 
Into the laps of bawds, and buffoons' mouths. 
With him there meets some subtle Proteus, one 
Can change, and vary with aU forms he sees ; 
Be any thing but honest ; serves the time ; 
Hovers betwixt two factions, and explores 
The drifts of both ; which, with cross face, ho 
To the divided heads, and is received [bears 
With mutual grace of either : one that dares 
Do deeds worthy the hurdle or the wheel. 
To be thought somebody ; and is in sooth 
Such as the satirist points truly forth, 
That only to his crimes owes all his worth. 
Are. You tell us wonders, Crites. 
Cri. This is nothing. 
There stands a neophite glazing of his face, 
Pruning his clothes, perfuming of his hair. 
Against his idol enters ; and repeats. 
Like an unperfect prologue, at third music. 
His part of speeches, and confederate jests, 
In passion to himself. Another swears 
His scene of courtship over ; bids, beheve him, 
Twenty times ore they will ; anon, doth seena 
As he would kiss away his hand in kindness ; 
Then walks off melancholic, and stands Avreath'd, 
As he were pinn'd up to the arras, thus. 
A third is most in action, swims and frisks. 
Plays with his mistress's paps, salutes her 

pumps. 
Adores her hems, her skirts, her knots, her curls, 
Will spend his patrimony for a garter, 
Or the least feather in her bounteous fan. 
A fourth, he only comes in for a mute ; 
Divides the act with a dumb show, and exit. 
Then must the ladies laugh, straight comes theii 

scene, 
A sixth times worse confusion than the rest. 
Where you shall hear one talk of this man's eyQ, 



180 



CYNTHIA S REVELS. 



Another of his lip, a third, his nose, 

A fourth commend his leg, a fifth, his foot, 

A sixth, his hand, and every one a limb ; 

That you would think the poor distorted gallant 

Must there expire. Then fall they in discourse 

Of tires and fashions, how they must take place, 

Where they may kiss, and whom, when to sit 

down. 
And with what grace to rise ; if they salute. 
What conrt'sy they must use : such cobweb stuff 
As would enforce the common'st sense abhor 
Th* Arachnean workers. 

Are. Patience, gentle Crites. 
This knot of spiders will be soon dissolved. 
And all their webs swept out of Cynthia's court. 
When once her glorious deity appears. 
And but presents itself in her full light : 
'Till when, go in, and sjiend your hours with us, 
Your honor'd friends, Time and Phronesis, 
In contemplation of our goddess' name. 
Think on some sweet and choice invention now, 
Worthy her serious and illustrious eyes, 
That from the merit of it we may take 
Desired occasion to prefer your worth. 
And make your service known to Cynthia. 
It is the pride of Arete to grace 
Her studious lovers ; and, in scorn of time, 
Envy, and ignorance, to lift their state 
Above a vulgar height. True happiness 
Consists not in the multitude of friends. 
But in the worth and choice. Nor would I have 
Virtue a jjopular regard pursue : 
Let them be good that love me, though but few. 

Cri. I kiss thy hands, divincst Arete, 
And vow myself to thee, and Cynthia. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another uipartment in the same. 

Enter Amoepuus, foUoioed by Asotus and his 
Tailor. 

Amo. A little more forward : so, sir. Now go 
in, discloak yourself, and come forth. [Exit 
Asotus.] Tailor, bestow thy absence vipon us ; 
and be not prodigal of this secret, but to a dear 
customer. [Exit Tailor. 

Re-enter Asotus. 

'Tis well enter'd, sir. Stay, you come on too 
fast ; your pace is too impetuous. Imagine this 
to be the palace of your pleasure, or place where 
your lady is pleased to be seen. First, you pre- 
sent yourself, thus : and spying her, you fall off, 
and walk some two turns ; in which time, it is 
to be supposed, your passion hath sufficiently 
whited your face, then, stifling a sigh or two, 
and closing your lips, with a trembling boldness, 
and bold terror, you advance yourself forward. 
Prove th-i3 much, I pray you. 

Aso. Yes, sir ; — pray Jove I can light on it ! 
Here, I come in, you say, and present myself ? 

Amo. Good. 

Aso. And then I spy her, and walk off? 

Amo. Verj' good. 

Aso. Now, sir, I stifle, and advance forward ? 

Amo. Trembling. 

Aso. Yes, sir, trembling : I shall do it better 
when I come to it. And what must I speak 
now ' 



Amo. Marry, you shall say ; Dear Beauty, ol 
sioeet Honor, (or by what other title you please 
to remember her,) methinks you are melancholy. 
This is, if she be alone now, and discompanied. 

Aso. Well, sir, I'll enter again ; her title shall 
be. My dear Lindabrides. 

Amo. Lindabrides ! 

Aso. Ay, sir, the emperor Alicandroe's daugh- 
ter, and the prince Meridian's sister, in the Knight 
of the Sun ; she should have been married to him, 
but that the princess Claridiana 

Amo. O, you betray your reading. 

Aso. Nay, sir, I have read history, I am a little 
humanitian. Interrupt me not, good sir. My 
dear Lindabrides, — my dear Lindabrides, — my 
dear Lindabrides, methinks you are melancholy. 

Amo. Ay, and take her by the rosy finger'd 
hand. 

Aso. Must I so : O ! — My dear Lindabrides, 
methinks you are melancholy. 

Amo. Or thus, sir. All variety of divine iileas- 
tires, choice sports, sioeet music, rich fare, brave 
attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, attend this 
dear beauty. 

Aso. Believe me, that's pretty. All variety of 
divine 2oleasu7-es, choice sjjorts, sweet music, rich 
fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts, 
attend this dear beauty. 

A?no. And then, offering to kiss her hand, if 
she shall coily recoil, and signify your repulse, 
you are to re-enforce yourself with, 
More than most fair lady, 
Let not the rigor of your just disdain 
Thus coarsely censure of your servant's zeal. 
And withal, protest her to be the onlj'- and abso 
lute unparallel'd creature you do adore, and ad- 
mire, and respect, and reverence, in this court, 
corner of the world, or kingdom. 

Aso. This is hard, by my faith. I'll begin it 
all again. 

Amo. Do so, and I will act it for your lady. 

Aso. Will you vouchsafe, sir .' All variety of 
divine pleasures, choice sports, sioeet tnusic, rich 
fare, brave attire, soft beds, and silken thoughts 
attend this dear beauty. 

Amo, So, sir, pray you, away. 

Aso. Mo7-e than most fair lady. 
Let not the rigor of your just disdain 
Thus coarsely censure of your servant's zeal ; 
I p)rotest you are the oiily, and absolute, unap 
par ell' d 

Amo. Unijarallel'd. 

Aso. Unjiarallel' d creature, I d-o adore, a7id ad' 
mire, and resjject, and reverence, in this corner of 
the world or kingdom. 

Amo. This is, if she abide you. But now, put 
the case she should be passant when jou enter, 
as thus : you are to frame your gait thereafter, 
and call upon her, lady, tiymph, sweet refuge, 
star of our court. Then, if she be giiardant, here ; 
you are to come on, and, laterally disposing 
yourself, swear by her blushing and well-colored 
cheek, the bright dye of her hair, her ivory teeth, 
(though they be ebony,) or some such Avhite and 
innocent oath, to induce you. If regardant, then 
maintain your station, brisk and ripe, show the 
supple motion of your pliant body, but in chief 
of your knee, and hand, which cannot but arrid-3 
her proud humor exceedmgly. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



181 



b 



Aso. I conceive yon, sir. I shall perform all 
these things in good time, I doubt not, they do 
BO hit me. 

Amo. Well, sir, I am your lady ; make use of 
any of these beginnings, or some other out of 
your o-svn invention ; and prove how you can 
hold up, and follow it. Say, say. 

Aso, Yes, sir. Mi/ dear Lindabrides. 

Amo. No, you affect that Lindabrides too 
much ; and let me tell you it is not so courtly. 
Your pedant should provide you some parcels 
of French, or some pretty commodity of Italian, 
to commence with, if you would be exotic and 
exquisite. 

Aso. Yes, sir, he was at my lodging t'other 
morning, I gave him a doublet. 

Amo. Double your benevolence, and give him 
the hose too ; clothe you his bodj% he will help to 
apparel your mind. But now, see what your 
proper genius can perform alone, without ad- 
'ection of any other Minerva. 

Aso. I comprehend j'ou, sir. 

Amo. I do stand you, sir ; fall back to your 
first place. Good, passing well : very properly 
pursued. 

Aso. Bemdifulf ambiguous, and sufficient lady, 
what ! are you all alone ? 

Amo. We would be, sir, if you would leave us, 

Aso. I am at your beauty's apiJointment, bright 
angel; but 

Amo. What but ? 

Aso. No harm, more than most fair feature, 

Amo. That touch relish'd well. 

Aso. But, l2}rotest 

Amo. And luhy should you protest f 

Aso. For good toill, dear esteem' d madam, and 
I hope your ladyship loill so conceive of it : 
And toill, in time, return from your disdain. 
And rue the suff'rarice of our friendly pain, 

Amo, O, that piece was excellent ! If you 
could pick out more of these play-particles, and, 
as occasion shall salute you, embroider or dam- 
ask your discourse with them, persuade your 
soul, it would most judiciously commend you. 
Come, this was a well-discharged and auspicious 
bout. Prove the second. 

Aso. Lady, I cannot ruffle it in red and yel- 
low, 

Amo. Why, if you can revel it in lohite, sir, 'tis 
^sufficient, 

Aso. Say you so, sweet lady ! Lan, tede, de, de, 
de, dant, dant, dant, dante, [Sings and dances.] 
No, in good faith, madam, whosoever told your 
ladyship so, abused you ; but I tcould he glad to 
meet your ladyship in a measure, 

Amo. Me, sir I Belike you tneasure me by 
yourself, then ? 

Aso. Would I tnighf, fair feature. 

And what were you the better, if you 



Amo 

might ? 

Aso. 

Amo, 



The better it please you to ash, fair lady. 
Why, this was ravishing, and most 
acutely continued. Well, spend not your humor 
too much, j^ou have now competently exercised 
yoiir conceit : this, once or twice a day, will 
tender you an accomplish' d, elaborate, and well- 
levell'd gallant. Convey in your courting-stock, 
we will in the heat of this go visit the nymphs' 
chamber. \^Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace. 

Enter Phantaste, Philautia, Argurion, Mopia, 
and Cupid. 

Pha, I would this water Avould arrive once, 
our travelling friend so commended to us. 

Arg, So would I, for he has left all us in 
travail with expectation of it. 

Pha. Pray Jove, I never rise from this couch 
if ever I thirsted more for a thing in my whole 
time of being a courtier. 

Phi, Nor I, I'll be sworn : the very mention 
of it sets my lips in a worse heat, than if he had 
sprinkled them -with mercury. Reach mo the 
glass, sirrah. 

Cup. Here, lady. 

Mor. They do not peel, sweet charge, do they r 

Phi, Yes, a little, guardian. 

Mor. O, 'tis an emment good sign. Ever when 
my lips do so, I am sure to have some delicious 
good drink or other approaching. 

Arg. Marry, and this may be good for us ladies, 
for it seems 'tis far fet by their stay. 

Mor. My palate for yours, dear Honor, it 
shall prove most elegant, I warrant you. O, I do 
fancy this gear that's long a coming, with an 
unmeasurable strain. 

Pha. Pray thee sit down, Philautia ; that re- 
batu becomes thee singularly. 

Phi. Is it not quaint ? 

Pha. Yq5, faith. Methinks, thy servant He- 
don is nothing so obsequious to thee, as he was 
wont to be : I know not how, he is grown out 
of his garb a-late, he's warp'd. 

Mor. In trueness, and so raethinks.too ; he is 
much converted. 

Phi. Tut, let him be what he will, 'tis an ani- 
mal I dream not of. This tire, methinks, makes 
me look very ingeniously, quick, and spirited ; I 
should be some Laura, or some Delia, methinks. 

Mor. As I am wise, fair Honors, that title 
she gave him, to be her Ambition, spoil'd him : 
before, he Avas the most propitious and observant 
young novice 

Pha. No, no, you are the whole heavfen awry, 
guardian ; 'tis the swaggering coach-horse 
Anaides draws with him there, has been the 
diverter of him. 

Phi. For Cupid's sake speak no more of him ; 
M'ould I might never dare to look in a mirror 
again, if I respect ever a marmoset of 'em all, 
otherwise than I would a feather, or my shuttle- 
cock, to make sport with now and then. 

Pha. Come, sit down ; troth, an you.be good 
beauties, let's run over them all now : Which is 
the properest man amongst them ? I say, the 
traveller, Amorphus. 

Phi. O, fie on him, he looks like a Venetian 
trumpeter in the battle of Lepai to, in the gal- 
lery yonder ; and speaks to the tune of a coun- 
try lady, that comes ever in the rearward ot 
train of a fashion. 

Mor. I should have judgment in a feature, 
sweet beauties. 

Pha. A body Avould think so, at these years. 



182 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Mor. And I prefer another now, far before 
him, a million, at least. 

PJia. Who might that be, guardian ? 

Mor. IMarry, fair charge, Auaides. 

Pha. Anaides ! you talk'd of a tune, Philau- 
ria ; there's one sj>eaks in a key, like the opening 
of some justice's gate, or a postboy's horn, as if 
his voice feared an arrest for some ill words it 
shovild give, and were loth to come forth. 

Phi. Ay, and he has a very imperfect face. 

Pha. Like a sea-monster, that Avere to ravish 
Andromeda from the rock. 

Phi. His hands too great too, by at least a 
straw's breadth. 

Pha. Nay, he has a worse fatilt than that too. 

Phi. A long heel ? 

Pha. That were a fault in a lady, rather than 
him : no, they say he puts off the calves of his 
legs, with his stockings, every night. 

Phi. Out upon him ! Turn to another of the 
pictures, for love's sake. What says Argurion ? 
Whom does she commend afore the rest ? 

Cup. I hope I have instructed her suiliciently 
for an answer. [Aside. 

Mor. Troth, I made the motion to her lady- 
ship for one to-day, i'the presence, but it ap- 
pear'd she was otherways furnished before: she 
would none. 

Pha. Who was that, Argiirion ? 

Mor. Marry, the poor plain gentleman in the 
black there. 

Pha. Who, Crites .' 

Arg. Ay, ay, he : a fellow that nobody so 
much as look'd upon, or regarded ; and she would 
have had me done him particular grace. 

PJia. That was a true trick of yourself, Moria, 
to persuade Argurion to affect the scholar. 

Arg. Tut, but she shall bo no chooser for me. 
In good faith, I like the citizen's son there, Aso- 
tus ; methinks none of them all come near 
liim. 

Pha. Notlledon? 

Arg. Hedon ! In troth, no. Hedon's a pretty 
Blight courtier, and he wears his clothes well, and 
sometimes in fiishion ; marry his face is but indif- 
ferent, and he has no such excellent body. No, 
the other is a most delicate youth ; a sweet face, 
a straight body, a well-proportion'd leg and foot, 
a white hand, a tender voice. 

Phi. How now, Argurion ! 

Pha. O, you should have let her alone, she i^as 
bestov.'ing a copy of him upon tis. Such a nose 
Avere enough to make me love a man, now. 

Phi. And then his several colors, he vv'cars ; 
wherein he flourisheth changeablj^, every day. 

Pha. O, but his short hair, and liis narrow 
eyes ! 

Phi. Why she doats more palpably upon him 
than ever his father did upon her. 

Pha. Believe me, the young gentleman de- 
serves it. If she could doat more, 'twere not 
amiss. He is an exceeding proper youth, raid 
would have made a most neat bavber surger'n, 
if he had been put to it in time. 

Phi. Say you so ! Methinks he looks like a 
tailor already. 

Pha. Ay, that had. sayed on one of his cus- 
tomer's suits. His face is lilic a squeezed orange.. 



Arg. Well, ladies, jest on : the best of yon 
both would be glad of such a servant. 

Mor. Ay, I'll be sworn would they, though he 
be a little shame-faced. 

Pha. Shame-faced, Moria ! oiit upon him. 
Your shame-faced servant is your onlj"- gull. 

Mor. Go to, beauties, make much of time, and 
l)lace, and occasion, and oi^portunity, and favor- 
ites, and things that belong to them, for I'll en- 
sure you they will all relinquish ; they cannot 
endure above another year ; I know it out of 
future experience ; and therefore take exhibi- 
tion and warning. I was once a reveller myself, 
and though I speak it, as mine own trumpet, I 
was then esteemed 

Phi. The very march-pane of the court, I 
warrant you. 

Plia. And all the gallants came about you liko 
flies, did they not ? 

Mor. Go to, they did somewhat ; that's no 
matter now. 

Pha. Nay, good Moria, be not angry. Put 
case, that we four now had the grant from Juno, 
to wish ourselves into what hapjjy estate we 
could, what would you wish to be, Moria ? 

Mor. Who, I ! let me see now. I would wish 
to be a wise Avoman, and know all the secrets of 
court, city, and country. I would knoAV what 
vrere done behind the arras, Avhat upon the stairs, 
what in the garden, Avhat in the nymphs' cham- 
ber, Avhat by barge, and what by coach. I would 
tell you v/hich covvrtier Avere scabbed and Avhich 
not ; Avhich lady had her OAvn face to lie Avith 
her a-nights and which not ; who put off their 
teeth Avith their clothes in court, who their hair, 
who their complexion 5 and in Avhich box they 
put it. There should not a nymph, or a Avidow, 
be got with cluld in the verge, but I Avould 
guess, Avithin one or tAvo, Avho Avas the right 
father, and in Avhat month it Avas gotten ; Avith 
AA'hat Avords, and Avhich way. I Avould tell you 
Avhich madam loved a monsieur, Avliich a i^layer, 
AA'hich a page ; Avho slept Avith her husband, Avho 
Avith her friend, Avho Avith her gentleman-usher, 
who with her horse-keeper, Avho with her mon- 
key, and who Avith all ; yes, and avIio jigg'd tho 
cock too. 

Pha. Fie, you'd tell all, Moria ! If I should 
AA'ish noAA', it should be to have j^our tongue out. 
But Avhat says Philautia ? Who should she be ? 

Phi. Troth, the very same I am. Only I 
would Avish myself a little more command and 
sovereignty ; that all the court AA'Ci-e subject to 
my absolute beck, and all things in it depending 
on my look ;. as if there Avere no other heaven 
but in my smile, nor other hell but in my froAvn ; 
that I might send for any man I list, and have 
his head cut off Avhen I have done Avith him, 
or made an eunuch if he denied me ; and if I 
saAv a better face than mine OAvn, I might have 
my doctor to poison it. What Avould you Avish, 
Phantaste ? 

PJia. Faith, I cannot readily tell you Avhat : 
but metliinks I should Avish myself all manner 
of creatures, Noav I would be an empress, and 
by and by a duchess ; then a great lady of state, 
then one of j'our miscellany madams, then a 
waiting-Avoman, then your citizen's Avife, then a 
coarse coui;tr} gciitlcAVoman, then a dairy-maidi 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



18a 



then a £.hephcrd''s lass, then an emprews again, 
or the queen of fairies : and thus I -would prove 
the vicissitudes and whirl of pleasures about 
and again. As I were a shepherdess, I would 
be piped and sung to ; as a diary-wench, I would 
dance at maypoles, and make syllabubs ; as a 
country-gentlewoman, keep a good house, and 
come up to term to see motions ; as a citizen's 
wife, be troubled with a jealous husband, and 
nut to my shifts ; others' miseries should be my 
pleasures As a waiting-woman, I would taste 
my lady's delights to her ; as a m.iscellany mad- 
am, invent new tires, and go visit courtiers ; as 
a groat lady, lie a-bed, and have courtiers visit 
me ; as a duchess, I v/ould keep my state ; and 
as an empress, I would do any thing. And, in 
all these shapes, I would ever be foUow'd with 
the affections of all that see me. Marry, I my- 
self v,'ould affect none ; or if I did, it should 
not bo heartily, but so as I might save myself in 
them still, and take pride in tormenting the 
poor wretches. Or, now I think on't, I would, 
for one year, wish myself one woman ; but the 
richest, fairest, and delicatest in a kingdom, the 
very centre of wealth and beauty, wherein all 
lines of love should meet ; and in that person I 
would prove all manner of suitors, of all hu- 
mors, and of all complexions, and never have 
any two of a sort. 1 would see how love, by 
the power of his object, could work inwardly 
alike, in a choleric man and a sanguine, in a 
melancholic and a phlegmatic, in a fool and a 
wise man, in a clown and a courtier, in a valiant 
man and a coward ; and how ho could vary out- 
ward, by letting this gallant express himself in 
dumb gaze ; another with sighing and rubbing 
his fingers ; a third Avith play-ends and pitiful 
verses ; a fourth, with stabbing himself, and 
drinking healths, or writing languishing letters 
in his blood ; a fifth, in color'd ribands and good 
clothes ; with this lord to smile, and that lord 
to court, and the t'other lord to dote, and one 
lord to hang himself. And, then, I to have a book 
made of all this, which I would call the Book 
of Humors, and every night read a little piece 
ere I slept, and laugh at it. — Here comes Iledon. 

Enter Hedon, Anaides, and Mercury, toho re- 
tires loith Cupid to the back of the stage, lohsre 
they converse together. 

Hed. Save you sweet and clear beauties ! By 
the spirit that moves in me, you are all most 
pleasingly bestow' d, ladies. Only I can take it 
for no good omen, to find mine Honor so dejected. 
Phi. You need not fear, sir ; I did of purpose 
humble myself against your coming, to decline 
the pride of my Ambition. 

Hed. Pair Honor, Ambition dares not stoop ; 
but if it be your sweet pleasure I shall lose that 
title, I will, as I am Hedon, apply myself to 
your.bounties. 

Phi. That were the next way to dis-title my- 
self of honor. O, no, rather be still Ambitious, 
I pray you. 

Hed. I will be anytliing that you please, whilst 
it pleaseth you to be yourself, lady. Sweet 
Phantaste, dear Moria, most beautiful Argu- 

cion 

Ana. Farewell, Hedon. 



Hed. Anaides, stay, whither go you ? 

Ana. 'Slight, what should I do here ? an you 
engross them all for your own use, 'tis time for 
me to seek out. 

Hed. I engross them ! Away, mischief ; this 
is one of your extravagant jests now, because I 
began to salute them by their names. 

Ana. Faith, you might have spared us mad- 
am Prudence, the guardian there, though you 
had more covetously aim'd at the rest. 

Hed. 'Sheart, take them all, man : what speak 
you to me of aiming or covetous ? 

Ana. Ay, say you so ! nay, then, have at 
them : — Ladies, here's one hath distinguish'd 
you by your names already : It shall only be- 
come me to ask how you do. 

Hed. Ods so, Avas this the design you travail'd 
with ? 

Pha. Who answers the brazen head ? it spoke 
to somebody. 

Ana. Lady Wisdom, do you interpret for 
these puppets .' 

Mor. In truth and sadness, honors, you are in 
great offence for this. Go to ; the gentleman 
(I'll undertake with him) is a man of fair living, 
and able to maintain a lady in her two coaches 
a day, besides pages, monkeys, and paraquet- 
tocs, with such attendants as she shall think 
meet for her turn ; and therefore there is mora 
respect requirable, howsoe'er you seem to con- 
nive. Hark you, sir, let me discourse a sylla- 
ble Avith 5'ou. I am to say to you, these ladies 
are not of that close and open behaA-ior as haply 
you may suspend ; their carriage is Avell knoAvn 
to be such as it should be, both gentle and ex- 
traordinary. 

Mer. O, here comes the other pair. 

Enter Amorphus and Asoxus. 

Amo. That Avas your father's love, the nymph 
Argurion. I Avould have you dii-ect all your 
courtship thither ; if you could but endear 
yourself to her affection, you Avere eternally en- 
gallanted. 

Aso. In truth, sir ! pray Phojbus I prove fa- 
A'orsome in her fair eyes. 

A7no. All divine mixture, and increase of 
beauty to this bright bevy of ladies ; and to the 
male courtiers, compliment and courtesj''. 

Hed. In the behalf of the males, I gratify y ou, 
Amorphus. 

Pha. And I of the females. 

Amo. Succinctly return' d. I do vail to both 
your thanks, and kiss them ; but primarily to 
yours, most ingenious, acute, and polite lady. 

Phi. Ods my life, how he does all-to-bequal 
ify her ! ingenious, acute, and j^oUto ! as if tlierc- 
Avas not others in place as ingenious, acute, ans 
polite as she. 

Hed. Yes, but you must know, lady, he cannol 
speak out of a dictionary method. 

Pha. Sit doAvn, SAA^eet Amorphus. When aa-IU 
this water come, think you ? 

Amo. It cannot noAV be long, fair lady. 

Cup. Now observe. Mercury. 

Aso. How, most ambiguous beauty ! lovv 
you ? that I Avill, by this handkerchief. 

Mer. 'Slid, ho draAVs his oaths out of his pocket 

Arg. But Avill you be constant ; 



184 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Aso. Constant, madam ! I ■will not say for 
constantncss ; but by this purse, Avliich I would 
be loth to swear by, unless it were embroidered, 
I protest, more than most fair lady, you are the 
only absolute, and unparallel'd creature, I do 
adore, and admire, and respect, and reverence in 
this court, corner of the world, or kingdom. 
Methinks you are melancholy. 

A)-(/. Does your heart speak all this ? 
Aso. Say you ? 

Ma: O, he is groping for another oath. 
Aso. Now by this watch — I raarle how for- 
ward the day is — I do iinfeigncdly avow my- 
self — 'slight, 'tis deeper than I took it, past five 
— yours entirely addicted, madam. 

Arff. I require no more, dearest Asotus ; 
henceforth let me call you mine, and in remem- 
brance of me, vouchsafe to wear this chain and 
this diamond. 
Aso. O lord, sweet lady ! 
Cup. There are new oaths for him. What ! 
doth Hermes taste no alteration in all this ? 

Mei: Yes, thou hast strook Argurion enam- 
our'd on Asotus, methinks. 

Cap. Alas, no ; I am nobody, I ; I can do 
nothing in this disguise. 

Mo: But thou hast not wounded any of the 
rest, Cupid. 

Cup. Not yet ; it is enough that I have begun 
so prosperously. 

Arff. Nay, these are nothing to the gems I 
will hourly bestow upon thee ; be but faithful 
and kind to me, and I will lade thee with my 
richest bounties : behold, here my bracelets 
from mine arms. 
Aso. Not so, good lady, by this diamond. 
Afff. Take 'em, wear 'em ; my jewels, chain 
3f pearl pendants, all I have. 

^4*0. Nay then, by this pearl you make me a 
wanton. 

Cup. Shall she not answer for this, to main- 
tain him thus in swearing ? 

Met: O no, there is a way to wean him from 
this, the gentlaman may be reclaim'd. 

Cup. Ay, if you had the airing of his apparel, 
30Z, I think. 

Aso. Loving ! 'twere pity an I should be liv- 
hig else, believe me. Save you, sir, save you, 
Bweet lady, save you, monsieur Anaides, save 
you, dear madam. 

A>ia. Dost thou know him that saluted thee, 
Kedon ? 

Ilod. No, some idle Fungoso, that hath got 
above the cupboard since yesterday. 

A?ia. 'Slud, I never saw him till this morning, 
and he salutes me as familiarly as if we had 
known together since the deluge, or the first 
year of Troy action. 

A»io. A most right-handed and auspicious 
encounter. Confine youfself to your fortunes. 
Phi. For sport's sake let's have some Riddles 
or Purposes, ho ! 

Pha. No, faith, your Prophecies are best, the 
t'other are stale. 

Phi. Prophecies ! we cannot all sit in at them ; 
we shall make a confusion. No ; what call'd 
you that we had in the forenoon ? 

Pha. Substantjv r-s and adjectives, is it not, 
lledon ? 



Phi. Ay, that. Who begins ? 

Pha. I "have thought ; speak your adjeclivCf>, 
sirs. 

Phi. But do not you change then. 

Pha. Not I. Why says ? 

Moi: Odoriferous. 

Phi. Popular. 

Arff. Humble. 

A?ia. White-livered. 

Hed. Barbarous. 

A/no. Pythagorical. 

Hed. Yours, signior. 

Aso. What must I do, sir ? 

Amo. Give forth your adjective -mth the rest ; 
as prosperous, good, fair, sweet, well 

Hod. Any thing that hath not been spoken. 

Aso. Y''es, sir, well spoken shall be mine. 

Pha. What, have you all done ? 

All. Ay. 

Pha. Then the substantive is Breeches. Why 
odoriferous breeches, guardian ? 

Mor. Odoriferous, — because odoriferous : that 
which contains most variety of savor and smell 
we say is most odoriferous ; now breeches, I 
presume, are incident to that variety, and there- 
fore odoriferous breeches. 

Pha. Well, we must take it howsoever. 
Who's next ? Philautia ? 

Phi. Popular. 

Pha. 'SYhy popular breeches^ 

Phi. Marry, that is, when they are not con^ 
tent to be generally noted in court, but will 
press forth on common stages and brokers' stalls, 
to the public view of the world. 

Pha. Good. Why humble breeches, Argurion ? 

Arff. Humble ! because they use to be sat 
upon ; besides, if you tie them not up; their 
property is to fall down about your heels. 

Mer. She has worn the breeches, it seems, 
which have done so. 

Pha. Bnt yvhy ivhite-livcr'd? 
Ana. Why! are not their linings white ? Be- 
sides, when they come in swaggering company, 
and will pocket up anything, may they not prop- 
erly be said to be Avhite-liver'd ? 

Pha. O yes, we must not deny it. And why 
barbarous, Hedon ? 

Hed. Barbarous ! because commonly, when 
you have worn your breeches sufficiently, you 
give them to your barber. 

Amo. That's good ; but how Pythafforical? 
Phi. Ay, Amorphus, why Pythagorical' 
breeches ? 

Amo. O most kindly of all ; 'tis a conceit of 
that fortune, I am bold to hug va.y brain for. 
Pha. How is it, exquisite Amorphus ? 
Amo. O, I am rapt with it, 'tis so fit, so proper, 
so haj^py — 

Phi. Nay, do not rack us thus. 
Amo. I never truly relish'd myself before. 
Give me your ears. Breeches Pythagorical, by 
reason of their transmigration into sevtial 
shapes. 

Mor. Most rare, in sweet troth. Marry this 

young gentleman, for his well-spoken 

Pha- Ay, why %oell- spoken breeches ? 
Aso. Well-spoken ! Marry, well-spoken, be 
cause — whatsoever they speak is well- taken 
and whatsoever is well-taken is well-spoken. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



18S 



Mor Excellent ! believe me. 

Aso. Not so, ladies, neither. 

Hed. But -why breeches, now ? 

Pha. Breeches, quasi bear-riches ; when a 
gallant bears all his riches in his breeches. 

Amo. Most fortunately etymologized. 

Pha. Nay, we have another sport afore this, 
of A thing done, and Avho did it, &c. 

Phi. Ay, good Phantaste, let's have that : dis- 
tribute the places. 

Pha. Why, I imagine, A thing done ; Hedon 
thinks, who did it ; Moria, with what it was 
done ; Anaides, where it was done ; Argurion, 
when it was done ; Amorphus, for what cause 
was it done ; you, Philautia, what followed uj)on 
the doing of it ; and this gentleman, who would 
have done it better. What ? is it conceived 
about ? 

All. Yes, yes. 

Pha. Then speak j'ou, sir. Who would have 
done it hetler 1 

Aso. How ! does it begin at me ? 

Pha. Yes, sir : this play is called the Crab, it 
goes backward. 

Aso. May I not name myself ? 

Phi. If you please, sir, and dare abide the 
venture of it. 

Aso. Then I would have done it better, what- 
ever it is. 

Pha. No doubt on't, sir : a good confidence. 
What foUoifled upon the act, Philautia? 

Phi. A few heat drops, and a mouth's mirth. 

Pha. For what cause, Amorphus ? 

Amo. For the delight of ladie?. 

Pha. When, Argurion? 

Afff. Last progress. 

Pha. Where, Anaides ? 

Ana. Why, in a pair of pain'd slops. 

Pha. With tvhat, Moria ? 

Mor. With a glyster. 

Pha. Who, Hedon ? 

Hed. A traveller. 

Pha. Then the thing done was, A7t oration 
was made. Rehearse. An oration was made — 

Hed. By a traveller — 

Mor. With a glyster — 

Ana. In a pair of pain'd slops — 

Arg. Last progress — 

Amo. For the delight of ladies — 

Phi. A few heat drops, and a month's mirth 
followed. 

Pha. And, this silent gentleman would have 
done it better. 

Aso. This was not so good, now. 

Phi. In good faith, these unhappy pages 
would be whipp'd for staying thus. 

Mor. Beshrew my hand and ray heart else. 

Amo. I do wonder at their protraction. 

Ana. Pray Venus my whore have not dis- 
cover'd herself to the rascally boys, and that 
. be the cause of their stay. 

Aso. I must suit myself with another page : 
this idle Prosaites will never be brought to wait 
well. 

Mor. Sir, I have a kinsman I could willingly 
wish to your service, if you will deign to accept 
of him. 

.450. And I shall be glad, most sweet lady, to 
embrace him : Where is he ? 



Mor . I can fetch him, sir, but I would be loth 
to make you to turn away j^our other page. 

Aso. Y'ou shall not, most sufficient lady ; 1 
will keep both : pray you let's go see him. 

Arg. Whither goes my love ? 

Aso. I'll return presently, I go but to see a 
page with this lady. 

[Exeunt Asotus a)id Moeia. 

Ana. As sure as fate, 'tis so : she has opened 
aU : a pox of all cockatrices ! D — n me, if she 
have play'd loose with me, I'U cut her throat, 
within a hair's breadth, so it may be heal'd 
again. 

Mer. What, is he jealous of his hermaphro- 
dite ? 

Cup. 0, ay, tliis will be excellent sport. 

Phi. Phantaste, Argurion ! what, you are 
suddenly struck, methinks ! For love's sake 
let's have some music till they come : Ambition, 
reach the lyra, I pray you. 

Hed. Anything to which my Honor shall di- 
rect me. 

Phi. Come, Amorphus, cheer up Phantaste. 

Amo. It shall be my pride, fair lady, to at 
tempt all that is in my power. But here is an 
instrument that alone is able to infuse soul into 
the most melancholic and dull-disposed creature 
upon earth. O, let me kiss thy fair knees. 
Beauteous ears, attend it. 

Hed. Will you have " the Kiss," Honor > 

Phi. Ay, good Ambition. 

Hedox sings. 
O, that joy so soon should waste ! 
Or so sweet a bliss 
As a kiss 
Might iwtfor ever last ! 
So sugar'd, so melting, so soft, so delicioiis, 
The dew that lies on roses. 
When the morn herself discloses, 
Is not so precious. 
O rather than I loould it smotlier. 
Were I to taste such another ; 
It should be my wishing 
That I might die with kissing. 

Hed. I made this ditty, and the note to it, 
upon a kiss that my Honor gave me ; how like 
you it, sir ? 

Amo. A pretty air ; in general, I like it well : 
but in particular, your long die-note did arride 
mc most, but it was somewhat too long. I can 
show one almost of the same nature, but much 
before it, and not so long, in a composition of 
mine own. I think I have both the note and 
ditty about me. 

lied. Pray you, sir, see. 

Amo. Yes, there is the note ; and all the 
parts, if I misthink not. I will read the ditty to 
your beauties here ; but first I am to make you 
familiar with the occasion, which presents itself 
thus. Upon a time, going to take my leave of 
the emperor, and kiss his great hands, there 
being then present the kings of France and Ar- 
ragon, the dukes of Savoy, Florence, Orleans, 
Bourbon, Brunswick, the Landgrave, count 
Palatine ; all which had severally feasted mc ; 
besides infinite more of inferior persons, as 
counts and others ; it was my chance, (the cm- 



186 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



peror detained by some exorbitant afFaii') to 
wait him the fifth part of an hour, or much 
near it. In Avliich time, retiring mj-sclf into a 
bay-window, tlie beauteoxis ladj' Annabel, niece 
to the empress, and sister to the king of Arra- 
gon, who having never before eyed me, but only 
heard the common report of my virtue, learn- 
ing, and travel, fell into that extreniity of pas- 
sion for my love, that she there immediately 
swooned : physicians were sent for, she had to 
her chamber, so to her bed ; where, languishing 
some few days, after many times calling upon 
me, with my name in her lips, she exi^ired. As 
that (I must mourningly say) is the only fault 
of my fortune, that, as it hath ever been mj^ hap 
to be sued to, by all ladies and beauties, where 
I have come ; so I never yet sojourn'd or rested 
in that place or part of the world, v,'here some 
high-born, admhable, fair feature died not for 
my love. 

Mer. O, the sweet power of travel ! — Are 
you guilty of this, Cupid ? 

Cup. No, Mercury, and that his page Cos 
knows, if he were here present to be sworn. 

Phi. But how doth this draw on the ditty, 
sir? 

Mei: O, she is too quick with him ; he hath 
not devised that yet. 

Amo. Marry, some hour before she departed, 
she bequeath'd to me this glove : which golden 
legacy, the emperor himself took care to send 
after me, in sLx coaches, cover'd all Avith black 
velvet, attended by the state of his empire ; all 
which he freely presented me with : and I re- 
ciprocally (out of the same bounty) gave to the 
lords that brought it : only reserving the gift 
of the deceased lady, upon which I composed 
tMs ode, and set it to mj^ most affected instru- 
ment, the lyra. 

Thou more than most sweet glove, 

Unto my more siceet love, 

Silver me to store with hisses 

This emjjti/ lodging, that noio viisses 

The }}ure rosy hand, that icear thee, 

Whiter than the kid that bare thee. 

Thou art soft, but that %oas softer ; 

Cupid's sef hath kiss'd it after 

'Than e'er he did his another's doves. 

Sujjposing her the queen of loves. 

That was thy mistress, best of gloves. 

Mer. Blasphemy, blasphemy, Cupid ! 

Cup. I'll revenge it time enough, Hermes. 

Phi. Good Amorphus, let's hear it sung. 

Amo. I care not to admit that, since it pleas- 
eth Philautia to request it. 

Hed. Here, sir. 

Amo. Nay, play it, I pray you ; you do well, 
you do A^'cli. — [He sings it.] — How like you 
it, sir. 

lied. Very well, in troth. 

Amo. But very well ! 0, you are a mere 
mamothrept in judgment, then. Why, do you 
not observe how excellently the ditty is affected 
in every place ? that I do not marry a Avord of 
short quantity to a long note ? nor an ascending 
syllable to a descending tone ? Besides, upon 
the word best there, you see how I do enter with 
an odd rainum, and drive it through the brief ; 



which no intelligent musician, I know, but 
will afRrm to be very rare, extraordinary, and 
pleasing. 

Mer. And yet not fit to lament the death cf a 
lady, for all this. 

Cup. Tut, here be they will swallow anything, 

Pha. Pray you, let me have a copy of it, 
Amorphus. 

Phi. And mc too ; in troth, I like it ex- 
ceedingly. 

Amo. I have denied it to princes ; neverthe- 
less, to you, the true female twins of peifec- 
tion, I am won to depart withal. 

Hed. I hope, I shall have my Honor's copy. 

Pha. You are Ambitious in that, Hedon. 

Pie-enter Anaides. 

Amo. How now, Anaides ! what is it hath con- 
jured up this distemperature in the circle of 
your face ? 

Ana. Why, what have j'oii to do ? A pox upon 
your filthy travelling face ! hold your tongue. 

lied. Nay, dost hear. Mischief ? 

Ana. Away, musk-cat ! 

Amo. I say to thee thou art rude, debauch' d, 
impudent, coarse, unpolish'd, a frapler, and base. 

Hed. Heart of my father, wliat a strange al- 
teration has half a year's haunting of ordinaries 
wrought in this fellow ! that came with a tuif- 
taffata jerkin to town but the other day, and a 
pair of pennyless hose, and now he is turned 
Hercules, he wants but a club. 

Ana. Sir, you with the pencil on your chin ; I 
will garter my hose with your guts, and that 
shall be all. [Exit. 

Mer. 'Slid, what rare fireworks be here ? flash, 
flash. 

Pha. What's the matter, Hedon ? can you tell ? 

Hed. Nothing, but tiiat he lacks crowns, and 
thinks we'll lend him some to be friends. 

Re-enter AsoTt;s and Moria, toith Menus. 

Aso. Come, SAveet lady, in good truth I'll have 
it, you shall not deny me. Morus, persuade your 
aunt I may haA'e her picture, by any means, 

Morus. Yea, sir : good aunt noAV, let him have 
it, he Avill use me the better ; if you love me do, 
good aunt. 

Mor. Well, tell him he shall have it. 

Morus. Master, you shall have it, she says. 

Aso. Shall I ? thank her, good jiage. 

Cup. What, has he cntertain'cl the fool ? 

3Ier. Ay, he'll Avait close, you shall sec, 
though the beggar hang ofi' a v/hile. 

3Iorus. Aunt, my master thanks you. 

Mor. Call him hither. 

Morus. Yes; master. 

Mor. Yes, in verity, and gave mc this purse, 
and he has promised me a most fine dog ; AA'hich 
he Avill have clraAvn Avith my picture, he says : 
and desires most vehemently to be knoAvn to 
your ladyships. 

Pha. Call him hither, 'tis good groping such 
a gull. 

Morus. Master Asotus, master Asotus ! 

Aso. For love's sake, let mc go : you see I am 
call'd to the ladies. 

Arg. Wilt thou forsake me, then ? 

Aso. Od so ! Avhat Avould you have me do i 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



187 



Mor. Come hither, master Asotus. — I do cii- 
Bure your ladyships, he is a gentleman of a very 
worthy desert : and of a most bountiful nature. — 
You must shew and insinuate yourself respon- 
sible, and cqiiivalent now to my commendment. 
— Good honors grace him. 

Aso. I protest, more than most fair ladies, / 
do ivish all variety of divine pleasures, choice sports, 
sweet 7nusic, rich fare, hrave attire, soft beds, and 
silken thouc/hts, attend these fair beauties. Will it 
please your ladyship to wear this chain of pearl, 
and this diamond, for my sake ? 

Arg. O ! 

Aso. And you, madam, this jewel and pen- 
dants ? 

Arg. O ! 

Pha. We know not how to deserve these 
bounties, ovit of so slight merit, Asotus. 

Phi. No, in faith, but there's my glove for a 
favor. 

Pha. And soon after the revels, I will bestow 
a garter on you. 

Aso. O lord, ladies ! it is more grace than 
ever I could have hoped, but that it pleaseth 
your ladyships to extend. I protest it is pnough, 

that you but take knowledge of my if 

your ladyships want embroider'd gowns, tires 
of any fashion, rebatues, jewels, or carcanets, 
any thing whatsoever, if you vouchsafe to ac- 
cejjt — — 

Cup. And for it they will help you to shoe- 
ties, and devices. 

Aso. I cannot utter myself, dear beauties, but 
you can conceive 

Arg. O ! 

Pha. Sir, we will acknowledge your service, 
doubt not — henceforth, you shall be no more 
Asotus to us, but our goldfinch, and we your 
cages. 

Aso. O Venus ! madams ! how shall I deserve 
this ? if I were but made acquainted with Hedon, 
now, — I'll try : pray you, away. [ To Arguiiiox. 

Mer. How he prays money to go away from 
him! 

Aso. Amorphus, a word with 3'ou ; here's a 
watch I would bestow upon you, i^raj'' you make 
me known to that gallant. 

Amo. That I will, sir. — Monsieur Hedon, I 
must entreat you to exchange knoAvledge with 
this gentleman. 

Hed. 'Tis a thing, next to the water, we expect, 
I thirst after, sir. Good monsieur Asotus. 

Aso. Good monsieur Hedon, I would be glad 
to be loved of men of your rank and spirit, I 
protest. Please you to accept this pair of brace- 
lots, sir ; they are not worth the bestowing 

Mer. O Hercules, how the gentleman pur- 
chases ! this must needs bring Argurion to a con- 
sumption. 

Ilcd. Sir, I shall never stand in the merit of 
such bounty, I fear. 

Aso. O Venus, sir ; your acquaintance shall 
be sufficient. And if at any time you need my 
bill, or my bond 

Arg. O ! O ! [Swoons. 

Amo. Help the lady there ! 

Mor, Gods-dear, Argurion ! madam, how do 
you? 

Art], Sick. 



Pha. Have her forth, and give her air. 
Aso. I come again straight, ladies. 

[Exeunt Asotus, Morus, and Arguriox. 
Mer. Well, I doubt all the physic he has will 
scarce recover her; she's too far spent. 

Re-enter Axaides xoith Gealia, Prosaites, and 
Cos, loilh the bottles. 

Phi. O here's the water come ; fetch glasses, 
page. ' 

Gel. Heart of my body, here's a coil, indeed, 
with your jealous humors ! nothing but whore 
and bitch, and all the villainous swaggering 
names you can think on ! 'Slid, take your bot- 
tle, and put it in your guts for me, I'll see you 
pox'd ere I follow you any longer. 

Ana. Nay, good punk, sweet rascal ; d n 

me, if I am jealous now. 

Gel. That's true, indeed ; pray let's go. 

Mor. What's the matter there ? 

Gel. 'Slight, he has mo upon interrogatories, 
(nay, my mother shall know how you use me,) 
where I have been ? and why I should stay so 
long, and, how is't possible ? and Avithal calls me 
at his pleasure I know not how many cocka- 
trices, and things. 

Mor. In truth and sadness, these are no good 
epitaphs, Anaides, to bestow upon any gentle- 
woman ; and I'll ensure you if I had known you 
would have dealt thus with my daughter, she 
should never have fancied you so deeply as she 
has done. Go to. 

Ana. Wh}-, do you hear, mother Moria? heart ! 

Mor. Nay, I pray you, sir, do not swear. 

Ana. Swear! Avhy? 'sblood, I have sworn 
afore now, I hope. Both you and your daughter 
mistake me. I have not bonor'd Arete, that is 
hold the worthiest lady in court, next to Cyn- 
thia, with half that observance and respect, as 
I have done her m private, howsoever outwardly 
I have carried myself careless, and negligent. 
Come, you are a foolish punk, and know not 
when you are well employed. Kiss me, come 
on ; do it, I say. 

Mor. Nay, indeed, I luust confess, she is apt 
to misprision. But I must have you leave it, 
minion. 

Re-enter Asotus. 

Amo. How now, Asotus ! how does the lady ? 

Aso. Faith, ill. I have left my page with her, 
at her lodging. 

lied. O, here's the rarest water that ever was 
tasted : fill him some. 

Pro. What ! has my master a new page ? 

Mer. Yes, a kinsman of the lady Moria's : yon 
must wait better now, or you are cashiered, Pro- 
saites. 

A7ia. Come, gallants, you must pardon my 
foolish humor ; when I am angry, that any thing 
crosses me, I grow impatient straight. Here, I 
drink to you. 

Phi. O, that we had five 01 six Dottles more 
of this liquor ! 

Pha. Now I commend your judgment, Amor- 
phus : — [knocking within.'\ Who's that knocks 
look, page. [Exit Cos, 

Mor. O, most delicious ; a little of this would 
make Argurion well. 



168 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Pha. O, no, give her no cold drink, by any 
means. 

Ana. 'Sblood, this wa.<^er is the spirit of wine, 
I'll be hang'd else. 

Re-enter Cos xoitk Arete. 

Cos. Here's the lady Arete, madam. 

Are. What, at your bever, gallants ? 

Mor. AVill't please your ladyship to drink? 
tis of the New Fountam water. 

Are. Not I, Moria, I thank you. — Gallants, 
you arc for this night free to your peculiar de- 
lights ; Cynthia will have no sports : when she 
is pleased to come forth, you shall have knowl- 
edge. In the mean time, I could wish j'ou did 
provide for solemn revels, and some unlooked 
for device of wit, to entertain her, against she 
should vouchsafe to grace your pastimes with 
her presence. 

Amo. What say j'ou to a masque ? 

Hed. Nothing better, if the project were new 
and rare. 

Are. Why, I'll send for Crites, and have his 
advice : be you ready in your endeavors : he 
shall discharge you of the inventive part. 

Pha. But will not your ladyship stay ? 

A7-e. Not now, Phantaste. \^Exit. 

Phi. Let her go, I pray you, good lady Sobri- 
ety, I am glad we are rid of her. 

Pha. What a set face the gentlewoman has, 
as she were still going to a sacrifice ! 

Phi. O, she is the extraction of a dozen of 
Puritans, for a look. 

Mor, Of all nymphs i' the court, I cannot 
Rway with her ; 'tis the coarsest thing ! 

Phi, I wonder how Cynthia can affect her so 
above the rest. Here be they are every way as 
fair as she, and a thought fairer, I trow. 

Pha. Ay, and as ingenious and conceited as 
she. 

Mor. Ay, and as politic as she, for all she sets 
such a forehead on't. 

Phy. Would I were dead, if I would change 
to be Cynthia. 

Pha. Orl. 

Mor. OrL 

Amo. And there's her minion, Crites : why his 
advice more than Amorphus ? Have not I in- 
vention afore him ? learning to better that in- 
vention above him ? and infanted with pleasant 
travel 

Ana. Death, what talk you of his learning ? 
he understands no more than a schoolboy ; I 
have put him down myself a thousand times, by 
this air, and yet I never talk'd with him but 
twice in my life : you never saw his like. I 
could never get him to argue with me but once ; 
and then because I could not construe an author 
I quoted at first sight, he went aAvay, and 
laughed at me. By Hercules, I scorn him, as I 
do the sodden nymph that was here even now, 
his mistress, Arete : and I love myself for noth- 
ing else. 

Hed. I wonder the fellow does not hang him- 
self, being thus scorn'd and contcmn'd of us that 
are held the most accomplish' d society of gal- 
lants. 
Mer. By yourselves, none else. 
Hed. I protest, if I had no music in me, no 



coiirtship, that I were not a reveller and could 
dance, or had not those excellent qualities that 
give a man life and perfection, but a mere poor 
scholar as he is, I think I should make soma 
desperate Avay Avith myself ; whereas now, — 
would I might never breathe more, if I do know 
that creature in this kingdom with whom I 
would change. 

Ciq}. This is excellent ! Well, I must alter all 
this soon. 

Mer. Look you do, Cupid. The bottles have 
wrought, it seems. 

Aso. O, I am sorry the revels are crost. I 
should have tickled it soon. I did never appear 
tiU then. 'Slid, I am the neatliest-made gallant 
i' the company, and have the best presence ; 

and my dancing well, I know what our 

usher said to me last time I was at the school : 
Would I might have led Philautia in the meas- 
ures, an it had been the gods' will ! I am most 
worthy, I am sure. 

Re-enter Morus. 

Morus, Master, I can tell you news ; the lady 
kissed me yonder, and played ynth. me, and says 
she loved you once as well as she does me, but 
that you cast her off. 

Aso. Peace, my most esteemed page. 

Morus. Yes. 

Aso. What luck is this, that our revels arc 
dash'd ! now Avas I beginning to glister in the 
very highway of preferment. An Cynthia had 
but seen me dance a strain, or do but one trick, 
I had been kept in court, I should never have 
needed to look towards my friends again. 

Amo. Contain yoxxrself, you were a fortunate 
young man, if you knew your own good ; wliich 
I have now projected, and will presently multi- 
ply upon you. Beauties and valors, your vouch- 
safed applause to a motion. The humorous Cj'n- 
thia hath, for this night, withdrawn the light of 
your delight. 

Pha. "Tis true, Amorphus ; what may we d« 
to redeem it ? 

Amo. Redeem that we cannot, but to create a 
new flame is in our jDOwer. Here is a gentleman, 
my scholar, whom, for some private reasons me 
specially moving, I am covetous to gratify with 
title of master in the noble and subtile science of 
courtship : for which grace, he shall this night, iu 
court, and in the long gallery, hold his public act, 
by open challenge, to all masters of the mystery 
whatsoever, to play at the four choice and princi- 
pal weapons thereof, viz., the Bare Accost, the 
Better Regard, the Solemn Address, and the Per 
feet Close. Wliat say you ? 

All. Excellent, excellent, Amorphus. 

Amo. Well, let us then take our time by the 
forehead : I will instantly have bills drawn, and 
advanced in every angle of the court. — Sir, be- 
tray not your too much joy. — Anaides, we must 
mix this gentleman with you in acquaintance 
monsieur Asotus. 

Ana. I am easUy entreated tc grace any ot 
your friends, Amorjihus. 

Aso. Sir, and his friends shall likewise grace 
you, sir. Nay, I begin to know myself now. 

Amo. O, you must continue your bounties. 

Aso. Must I ? Why, I'll give him this ruby 
on my finger. Do you hear, sir ? I do heartily 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



189 



wish your acquaintance, and I partly know my- 
self worthy of it ; please you, sir, to accept this 
poor ruby in a ring, sir. The poesy is of my own 
device, Let this blush for me, sir. 

Ana. So it must for me too, for I am not 
asham'd to take it. 

Morns. Sweet man ! By my troth, master, I 
love you ; will you love me too, for my aunt's 
sake ? I'll wait well, you shall see. I'll stiU be 
here. Would I might never stir, but you are a 
fine man in these clothes ; master, shall I have 
them when you have done with them ? 

Aso. As for that, Morus, thou shalt see more 
hereafter ; in the meantime, by this air, or by 
this feather, I'll do as much for thee, as any gal- 
lant shall do for his page, whatsoever, in this 
court, corner of the world, or kingdom. 

[Exeunt all but the Pages. 

Mcr. I wonder this gentleman should affect to 
keep a fool : methinks ho makes sport enough 
with himself. 

Cup. Well, Prosaites, 'twere good you did wait 
closer. 

Pro, Ay, I'll look to it ; 'tis time. 

Cos. The revels would have been most sumji- 
tuous to-night, if they had gone forward. [Exit. 

Mer. They mixst needs, Avhen all the choicest 
singularities of the court were up in pantofles ; 
ne'er a one of them but was able to make a 
whole show of itself. 

Aso. [loithin.] Sirrah, a torch, a torch ! 

Pro. O , what a call is there ! I Mill have a 
tanzonet made, with nothing in it but sirrah ; 
and the burthen shall be, I come. [Exit. 

Mer. How now, Cupid, how do you like this 
change ? 

Cuj}. Faith, the thread of my device is crack'd, 
I may go sleep till the revelling music awake me. 

Mcr, And then, too, Cupid, without you had 
prevented the fountain. Alas, poor god, that 
remembers not self-love to be proof against the 
violence of his quiver ! Well, I have a i:)lot 
against these prizers, for which I must presently 
find out Critcs, and with his assistance pursue 
it to a high strain of laughter, or Mercury hath 
lost of his metal. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The same. 

Enter Mercury and Crites. 

Mer. It is resoh'ed on, Crites, you must do it. 

Cri. The grace divinest Mercury hath done me, 
In this vouchsafed discover}'- of himself. 
Binds my observance in the utmost term 
Of satisfaction to his godly will : 
Though I profess, without the affectation 
Of an enforced and form'd austerity, 
I could be willing to enjoy no place 
With so unequal natures. 

Mer. We believe it. 
But for our sake, and to inflict just pains 
On their prodigious follies, aid us now : 
No man is presently made bad with ill. 
And good men, like the sea, should still maintain 
Their noble taste, in midst of all fresh humors 
I'hat flow about them, to corrupt their streams, 



Bearing no season, much less salt of goodness 

It is our purpose, Crites, to correct. 

And punish, with our laughter, this night's sport. 

Which our court- dors so heartily intend : 

And by that worthy scorn, to make them know 

How far beneath the dignity of man 

Their serious and most practised actions are. 

Cri. Ay, but though Mercury can warrant out 
His undertakings, and make all things good, 
Out of the powers of his divinity, 
Th' offence will be return'd with weight on me, 
That am a creature so despised and poor ; 
When the whole court shall take itself abused 
By our ironical confederacy. 

3Ier. You are deceived. The better race in 
court, 
That have the true nobility call'd virtue. 
Will ai^prehend it, as a grateful right 
Done to their separate merit ; and approve 
The fit rcbvike of so ridiculous heads, 
AVho, with their apish customs and forced garbs 
Would bring the name of courtier in contempt. 
Did it not live unblcmish'd in some few, 
Whom equal Jove hath loved, and Phoebus 
Of better metal, and in better mould, [form'o 

Cri. Well, since my leader-on is Mercury, 
I shall not fear to follow. If I fall, 
My proper virtue shall be my relief, 
That follow'd such a cause, and such a chief. 

[Exeunt: 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Asotus and Amorphus. 

Aso. No more, if you love me, good master ; 
you are incompatible to live withal : send me 
for the ladies ! 

Aino. Nay, but intend me. 

Aso. Fear me not ; I Avarrant you, sir. 

Amo. Render not yourself a refractory on the 
sudden. I can allow, well, you should repute 
highly, heartily, and to the most, of your own 
endowments ; it gives you forth to the world the 
more assured : but with reservation of an eye, to 
be always turn'd dutifully back upon your 
teacher. 

Aso. Nay, good sir, leave it to me. Trust me 
with trussing all the points of this action, I pray. 
'Slid, I hope we shall find wit to perform the 
science as well as another. 

A7no. I confess you to be of an apted and doci- 
ble humor. Yet there are certain punctilios, or 
(as I may more nakedly insinuate them) certain 
intrinsecate strokes and wards, to wliich your 
activity is not yet amoiinted, as your gent£e dor 
in colors. For supposition, your mistress appears 
here in prize, ribanded with green and yel'ow ; 
now, it is the part of every obsequious scivant to 
be sure to have daily about him copy and variety 
of colors, to be presently answerable to any 
hourly or half-hourly change in his mistress's 
revolution 

Aso. I know it, sir. 

Amo. Give leave, I pray you — which, if yoiu 
antagonist, or i^laycr against you, shall ignorant- 
ly be without, and 3'ourself can produce, you 
give him the dor. 

Aso. Ay, ay, sir. 

Amo. Or, if you can possess your opposite, that 



190 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



the green your mistress wears, is her rejoicing or 
exultation in his service ; the yellow, suspicion 
of his truth, from her height of affection : and 
that he, greenly credulous, shall withdraw thus, 
in private, and from the abundance of his pocket 
(to displace her jealous conceit) steal into his hat 
the color, whose blueness doth express trueness, 
she being not so, nor so affected 3 you give him 
the dor. 

Aso. Do not I know it, sir ? 

Amo. Na}', good swell not above your un- 
derstanding. There is yet a third dor in colors. 

Aso. I know it too, I know it. 

Amo. Do you know it too ? what is it ? make 
good your knowledge. 

Aso. "Why it is no matter for that. 

Amo. Do it, on pain of the dor. 

Aso. AVhy ; what is't, say you ? 

Amo. Lo, you have given yourself the dor. But 
I will remonstrate to you the third dor, Avhich is 
not, as the two former dors, indicative, but delib- 
erative : as how ? as thus. Your rivalis, with a 
dutiful and serious care, lying in his bed,meditat- 
ing how to observe his mistress, dispatcheth his 
lacquey to the chamber early, to know what her 
colors are for the day, with purpose to apply his 
wear that day accordingly : you lay wait Joefore, 
preoccupy the chambermaid, corrupt her to re- 
turn false colors ; he follows the fallacy, comes 
out accoutred to his believed instructions ; your 
mistress smiles, and you give him the dor. 

Aso. Why, so I told you, sir, I knew it. 

Amo. Told me ! It is a strange outrecuidance : 
3'our humor too much redouncleth. 

Aso. Why, sir, what, do you think you know 
more ? 

A7no. I know that a cook may as soon and 
properly be said to smell Avell, as you to be wise. 
I knoAV these are most clear and clean strokes. 
But then, you have your passages and imbrocatas 
in courtship ; as the bitter bob in wit ; the reverse 
in face or wry-moixth ; and these more subtile and 
secure offenders. I will example unto you : Y'our 
opponent makes entry as you are engaged with 
your mistress. You seeing him, close in her ear 
with this whisper. Here comes your baboon, dis- 
grace him ; and withal stepping off, fall on his 
bosom, and turning to her, politicly, aloud say, 
Ladj', regard this noble gentleman, a man rarely 
parted, second to none in this court : and then, 
stooping over his shoulder, your hand on his 
breast, your mouth on his backside, you give 
him the reverse stroke,with this sanna, or stork's- 
bill, which makes up your wit's bob most bitter. 

Aso. Nay, for heaven's sake, teach me no more. 

I knoAV all as well 'Slid, if I did not, why was 

I nominated ? why did you choose me ? why did 
the ladies prick out me ? I am sure there were 
other gallants. But me of all the rest ! By that 
light, and, as I am a courtiei-, would I might 
never stir, but 'tis strange. Would to the lord 
the ladies would come once ! 

Enter Morphides. 

Morp. Signior, the gallants and ladies are at 
hand. Are you ready, sir ? 

Amo. Instantly. Go, accomplish your attire : 
[Exit AsoTUS.] Cousin Morphides, assist me to 
make good the door with your ofhcious tyranny. 



Citize7i. [toithin.] By j'our leave, my masters 
there, pray you let's come by. 

Pages, [wilhin.] Y''ou by ! why should you 
come by more than Ave ? 

Citizen's Wife, [within.] Why, sir ! because 
he is my brother that plays the prizes. 

il/or/j. \''our brother ! 

Citizen, [loithin.'] Ay, her brother, sir, and we 
must come in. 

Tailor, [within.] Why, what are you r 

Citizen, [icithin-] I am. her husband, sir. 

Tailor, [icithin.] Tlwn thrust forward your 
head. 

Amo. What tumult is there ? 

Morp, Who's there .' bear back there ! Stand 
from the door ! 

Amo. Enter none but the ladies and their 
hang-byes. — 

Enter Puantaste, Philautia, Argueiost, Moria, 
Hedox, and Axaides, introducing two Ladies. 
Welcome beauties, and your kind shadows. 

lied. This country lady, my friend, good sig- 
nior Amorphus. 

Ana. And my cockatrice here. 

Amo. She is welcome. 

The Citizen, and his Wife, Pages, S^c. apjjear at 
the door. 

Morp. Knock those same pages there ; and, 
goodman coxcomb the citizen, who would you 
speak withal ? 

Wife. My brother. 

Amo. With whom ? your brother ! 

Morp. Who is your brother ? 

Wife. Master Asotus. 

Amo. Master Asotus ! is he your brother ? ho 
is taken up with great persons j he is not to know 
you to-night. 

Re-enter Asotus hastily. 

Aso. O Jove, master ! an there come e'er a 
citizen gentlewoman in my name, let her have 
entrance, I pray you : it is my sister. 

Wife. Brother ! 

at. [thrusting in.] Brother, master Asotus ! 

Aso. Who's there ? 

Wife. 'Tis I, brother. 

Aso. Gods me, there she is ! good master, in- 
trude her. 

Morp. Make place ! bear back there ! 

Enter Citizen's Wife. 

Amo. Knock that simple fellow there. 

Wife. Nay, good sir, it is my husband. 

Morp. The simpler fellow he. — Away ! back * 
with your head, sir ! [Pushes the Citizen back. 1 

Aso. Brother, you must pardon your non- ' 
entry : husbands are not allow'd here, in truth. 
I'U come home soon with my sister ; pray you 
meet us with a lantern, brother. Be merry, 
sister ; I shall make j^ou laugh anon. [Exit. 

Pha. Your prizer is not ready Amorphus. 

Amo. Apprehend your places; he shall be 
soon, and at all points. 

Ana. Is there any body come to answer hiir..-' 
shall we have any sport .' 

Amo. Sport of importance ; howsoever, give 
me the gloves. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



191 



IJed, Gloves ! why gloves, signior ? 

Phi. AVhat's the ceremony ? 

Amo. [distributing gloves.] Beside their re- 
ceived fitness, at all prizes, they are here prop- 
erly accommodate to the nuptials of my 
scholar's 'havior to the lady Courtship. Please 
you apparel your hands. Madam Phantastc, 
madam Philautia, guardian, signior Iledon, 
Bignior Anaides, gentlemen all, ladies. 

All. Thanks, good Amorphus. 

Amo. I will now call forth my provost, and 
present him. [Exit. 

Aim. Heart ! why should not we be masters 
as well as he ? 

Tied. That's true, and play our masters prizes 
as well as the t'other ? 

Mar. In sadness, for using your court-weapons, 
methinks you may. 

PJia. Nay, but Avhy should not we ladies 
play our ])rizes, I pray ? I see no reason but we 
should take them down at their own weapons. 

Phi. Troth, and so we may, if we handle 
them well. 

Wife. Ay, indeed, forsooth, madam, if 'twere 
in the city, we would think foul scorn but we 
would, forsooth. 

Pha. Pray you, what should we call your 
name? 

Wife, My name is Downfall. 

lied. Good mistress Downfall ! I am sorry 
your husband could not get in. 

Wife. 'Tis no matter for him, sir. 

Ana, No, no, she has the more liberty for 
herself. [A flourish. 

Pha. Peace, peace ! they come. 

Re-enter A.'sioiwa.vs, introducing Asoxus in a full- 
dress suit. 
Amo. So, keep up your ruff; the tincture of 
rour neck is not all so pure, but it will ask it. 
Maintain your sprig upright ; your cloke on 
your half-shoulder falling ; so : I will read your 
bill, advance it, and present you. — Silence ! 

Be it known to all that profess couHship, by these 
vresents (from the tohite satin o-eveller, to the cloth 
of tissue and bodkin) that we, Ulysses- Poly tropus- 
Amorphus, master of the noble and subfile scie?ice 
of courtship, do give leave and licence to our prov- 
ost, Acolastus-Polypragmon-Asotus, to play his 
master's pirize, against all tnasters whatsoever, in 
this subtile mystery, at these four, the choice and 
most cunning iceapons of coitrt-complinient, viz. 
the BAKE ACCOST ; the better regard ; the 

SOLEMN" ADDRESS ; a?ld the PERFECT CLOSE. TllCSe 

are therefore to give notice to all comers, that lie, 
the said Acolastus-Polypragmon-Asotus, is here 
present (by the Jielp of his mercer, tailor, mil- 
liner, sempsfer, and so forth) at his designed 
hour, ill this fair gallery, the p)resent day of this 
present month, to perform and do his uttermost for 
the achievement and bearing aioay of the prizes, 
which are these : viz. For the Bare Accost, two 
loall-eyes in a face forced : for the Better Begard, a 
face favorably simpering, with a fan leaving : for 
the Solemn Address, two lips wagging, and never a 
wise word : for the Perfect Close, a taring by tlie 
Imnd, with a banquet in a corner : A?id Phoebus 
mve Cynthia! 



Appeareth no man yet, to answer the prizer 1 
no voice ? — Music, give them their summons. 

[Music, 

Pha. The solemnity of this is excellent. 

Amo. Silence ! Well, I perceive your name is 
their terror, and keepcth them back. 

Aso, I' faith, master, let's go ; no body comes. 

Victus, victa, victum ; victi, victce, ticli let's 

be retrograde. 

Amo, Stay. That were dispunct to the ladies . 
Eather ourself shall be your encounter. Take 
your state up to the wall ; and, lady, [leading 
MoEiA to the state,] may we implore you to stand 
forth, as first term or bound to our courtship. 

Hed. 'Fore heaven, 'twill shew rarely. 

Amo. Sound a charge. [A charge. 

Ana. A pox on't ! Your vulgar will count 
this fabulous and impudent now ; by that can- 
dle, they'll never conceit it. 

[They act their Accost severally to Moaw 

Pha. Excellent well ! admirable ! 

Phi. Peace ! 

Hed. Jlost fiishionably, believe it. 

Phi. O, he is a well-spoken gentleman. 

Pha. Now the other. 

Phi. Very good. 

Red. For a scholar. Honor. 

Ana, O, 'tis too Dutch. He reels too mucn. 

[A flourish, 

Hed. This weapon is done. 

Amo. No, we have our tv/o bouts at every 
weapon; expect. 

Cri [within.] Whore be these gallants, and 
their brave prizer here ? 

Morp. Who's there r bear back ; keep the 
door. 

Enter Crites, introducing ^Iercury fantasticalli 
dressed, 

Amo, What are you, sir ? 

Cri. By your license, grand-master. — Come 
forward, sir. [To Mercury. 

Aiia. Heart ! who let in that rag there amongst 
us ? Put him out, an impecunious creature. 

Hed. Out with him. 

Morp. Come, sir. 

Amo. You must be retrograde. 

Cri. Soft, sir, I am truchman, and do flourish 
before this monsieur, or French-behaved geu- 
tlcman, here ; who is drawn hither by report of 
your chartels, advanced in court, to prove his 
fortune with your prizer, so he may have fair 
play shewn liim, and the liberty to choose Ms 
stickler. 

Amo. Is he a master ? 

Cri. That, sir, he has to shew here; and con- 
firmed under the hands of the most skilful and 
cunning complimcntaries alive : Please you read, 
su". [Gives him a certiflcate. 

Amo. What shall m'c do ? 

Ana. Death ! disgrace this fellow in the black 
stuff", whatever you do. 

Ai7io. Why, but he comes with the stranger. 

Hed. That's no matter : he is our own coun- 
tryman. 

Ana. Ay, and he is a scholar besides. You 
may disgrace him here with authority. 

A)7io. Well, see these first. 

Aso. Now shaU I be observed by yon scholar, 



192 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Acr V 



till I sweat again; I would to Jove it were 
over. 

Cri. [to :Mercuey.] Sir, this is the wight of 
worth, that dares you to the encounter. A gen- 
tleman of so pleasing and ridiculous a carriage ; 
as, even standing, carries meat in the mouth, 
you see ; and, I assure you, although no bred 
courtling, yet a most particular man, of goodly 
havings, well fashion'd 'havior, and of as hard- 
ened and excellent a bark as the most naturally 
qualified amongst them, inform' d, reform'd, and 
transform' d, from his original citycism ; by this 
elixir, or mere magazine of man. And, for your 
spectators, you behold them what they are : the 
most choice particulars in court : this tells tales 
well; this proA-ides coaches ; this repeats jests.; 
this presents gifts ; this holds up the arras 5 
this takes down from horse ; this protests by 
this light ; this swears by that candle ; this de- 
lighteth ; this adoreth : yet aU but three men. 
Then, for your ladies, the most proud, witty 
creatures, all things apprehending, nothing 
understanding, perpetually laughing, curious 
maintainers of fools, mercers, and minstrels, 
costly to be kept, miserably keeping, all dis- 
daining but their painter and apothecary, 'twixt 
whom and them there is this reciprock com- 
merce, their beauties maintain their painters, 
and their painters their beauties. 

Mer. Sir, you have plaid the painter yourself, 
and limn'd them to the life. I desire to deserve 
before them. 

Amo. [returning the certificate. 1 This is authen- 
tic. We must resolve to entertain the mon- 
sieur, howsoever we neglect him. 

Hed. Come, let's all go together,and salute him. 

Ana. Content, and not look on the other. 

Amo. Well devised ; and a most punishing 
disgrace. 

Hed. On. 

Amo. Monsieur, we must not so much betray 
ourselves to discourtship, as to suffer you to be 
longer unsaluted : please you to use the state 
ordain'd for the opponent ; in which nature, 
without envy, we receive you. 

Hed. And embrace you. 

Ana. And commend us to you, sir. 

Phi. Believe it, he is a man of excellent 
silence. 

Pha. He keeps all his wit for action. 

Ana. This hath discountenanced our scholaris, 
most richly. 

Hed. Out of all emphasis. The monsieur 
Bees we regard him not. 

Amo. Hold on ; make it known hoAV bitter a 
thing it is not to be look'd on in court. 

Hed- 'Slud, will he call him to him yet ! 
Does not monsieur perceive our disgrace ? 

Ana. Heart ! he is a fool, I see. We have 
done ourselves wrong to grace him. 

Hed. 'Slight,what an ass was I to embrace liim ! 

Cri. Illustrious and fearful judges 

Hed. Turn away, turn away. 

Cri. It is the suit of the strange opponent (to 
whom you ought not to turn your tails, and 
whose noses I must follow) that he may have 
the justice, before he encounter his respected 
adversary, to see some light stroke of his play, 
commenced with some other. 



Hed. Answer not him, but the stranger ; we 
will not believe him. 

Amo. I Avill demand him, myself. 

Cri. O dreadful disgrace, if a man were so 
foolish to feel it. 

Amo. Is it your suit, monsieur, to see some 
prelude of my scholar ? Now, sure the mon- 
sieur wants language 

Hed. And take upon him to be one of the ac- 
complished ! 'Slight, that's a good jest ; would 
we could take liim with that nullity. — Non 
sapete voi jiarlar' Italiano ? 

Ana. 'Sfoot, the carp has no tongue. 

Cri. Signior, in courtship, you are to bid youi 
abettors forbear, and satisfy the monsieur's re- 
quest. 

Amo. Well, I will strike him more silent -with 
admiration, and terrify his daring hither. He 
shall behold my own play with my scholar. 
Lady, with the touch of your Avhite hand, let me 
reinstate you. [Leads Moma hack to the state.'] 
Provost, [to AsoTus.] begin to me at the Bare 
Accost. [A charge.] Now, for the honor of my 
discipline. 

Hed. Signior Amorphus, reflect, reflect ; what 
means he by that mouthed wave ? 

Cri. He is in some distate of your fellow dis- 
ciple. 

3Ier. Signior, your scholar might have played 
well still, if he could have kept his seat longer ; 
I have enough of him, now. He is a mere piece 
of glass, I see through him by this time. 

A7710. You come not to give us the scorn, 
monsieur ? 

Mer. Nor to be frighted with a face, signior. 
I have seen the lions. You must pardon me. 
I shall be loth to hazard a reputation with one 
that has not a reputation to lose. 

Amo. How ! 

Cri. Meaning your pupil, sir. 

Ana. This is that black devil there. 

Amo. You do offer a strange affront, monsieur 

Cri. Sir, he shall yield you all the honor of 
a competent adversary, if you please to under- 
take him. 

3Ier. I am prest for the encounter. 

Amo. Me ! challenge me ! 

Aso. What, my master, sir ! 'Slight, monsieur, 
meddle with me, do you hear : but do not med- 
dle with my master. 

Mer. Peace, good squib, go out. 

Cri. And stink, he bids you. 

Aso. Master ! 

Amo. Silence ! I do accept him. Sit you down 
and observe. Me ! he never profest a thing at 
more charges. — Prepare yourself, sir. — Chal- 
lenge me ! I will prosecute what disgrace my 
hatred can dictate to me. 

Cri. HoAV tender a traveller's spleen is ! Com- 
parison to men that deserve least, is ever most 
offensive. 

Amo. You are instructed in our ch artel, and 
know our weapons ? 

31er. I appear not without theii- notice, sir-. 

Aso. But must I lose the prizes, master? 

Amo. I will win them for you ; be patient.— 
Lady, [to !Moria,] vouchsafe the tenure of this 
ensign. — Who shall be your stickler ? 

Mer. Behold him. [P.mts to Ckites. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



193 



A)no. I -would not wish you a weaker. — Sound, 
musics. — I provoke you at the Bare Accost. 

[A charge. 

Pha. Excellent comely ! 

Cri. And worthily studied. This is the ex- 
alted forctop. 

lied. 0, his leg was too much produced. 

Ana. And his hat was carried scurvily. 

Phi. Peace ; let's see the monsieur's Accost : 
Rare ! 

Pha. Sprightly and short. 

Ana. True, it is the French courtcau : he 
lacks but to have his nose slit. 

lied. He does hop. He does bound too much. 

\A flourish. 

Amo. The second bout, to conclude this 

weapon. [A charge. 

Pha. Good, believe it ! 

Phi. An excellent offer ! 

Cri. This is called the solemn band-string. 

lied. Foh, that cringe was not put home. 

Ana. He makes a face like a stabb'd Lucrece. 

Aso. "Well, he would needs take it upon him, 
but would I had done it for all this. He makes 
me sit still here, like a baboon as I •o.nn.. 

Cri. Making villainous faces. 

Phi. See, the French prepares it richly. 

Cri. Ay, this is ycleped the Serious Trifle. 

Ana, 'Slud, 'tis the horse-start out o' the 
brown study. 

Cri. Rather the bird- eyed stroke, sir. Your 
observance is too blunt, sir, [Afloitrish. 

Amo. Judges, award the prize. Take breath, 
sir. This bout hath been laborious. 

Aso. And yet your critic, or your besogno, 
will think these things foppery, and easy, 
now ! 

Cri. Or rather mere lunacy. For would any 
reasonable creature make these his serious stud- 
ies and perfections, much less, only live to these 
ends ? to be the false pleasure of a few, the true 
love of none, and the just laixghter of all r 

llcd. AYe must jjrefer the monsieur, we cour- 
tiers must be partial. 

Ana. Speak, guardian. Name the prize, at the 
Bare Accost. 

Mor. A pair of wall-eyes in a face forced. 

Ana. Give the monsieur. Amorphus hath 
lost his eyes. 

Amn. i ! Is the palate of your judgment 
down ? Gentles, I do appeal. 

Aso. Yes, master, to me : the judges be 
fools. 

Ana. How now, sir ! tie up your tongue, mun- 
grel. He cannot appeal. 

Aso. Say, you sir ? 

Ana. Sit you still, sir. 

Aso. Why, so I do ; do not I, I pray you ? 

Mer. Remercie, madame, and these honora- 
ble censors. 

Amo. Well, to the second weapon, the Better 
Regard. I will encounter you better. Attempt. 

Hed. Sweet Honor. 

Phi. What says my good Ambition ? 

lied. Which take you at this next weapon ? 
I lay a Discretion with you on Amorphus's head. 
• Phi. AVhy, I take the French behaved gentle- 
man. 

Hed. 'Tis dojie. a Discretion. 
13 



Cri. A Discretion ! A pretty court-Avager ! 
Would any discreet person hazard his wit so ? 

Pha. I'll lay a Discretion with you, A.naides. 

Ana, Hang 'em, I'll not venture a doit of 
Discretion on cither of their heads. 

Cri. No, he should venture all then. 

Ana. I like none of their plays. [-4 charge. 

Hed. See, sec ! this is strange play ! 

Ana. 'Tis too full of uncertain motion. He 
hobbles too much. 

Cri. 'Tis call'd 3'our court-staggers, sir. 

Hed. That same felloAV talks so now he has a 
place ! 

Ana. Hang him ! neglect him. 

Mer. Your good ladgskips affeotioncd. 

Wife. Ods so ! they speak at this weapon, 
brother. 

Aso. They must do so, sister ; how should it 
be the Better Regard, else ? 

Pha. Mothinks he did not this respectively 
enough. 

Phi. Why, the monsieur but dallies with him. 

Hed. Dallies ! 'SHght, see ! he'll put him to't 
in earnest. — Well done, Amorphus ! 
,Ana. That puff was good indeed. 

Cri. Ods me ! this is desperate play : ho hits 
himself o'the shins. 

Hed. An he make this good through, he car- 
ries it, I warrant him. 

Cri. Indeed he displays his feet rarely. 

Hed. See, see ! he does the respective leer 
damnably well. 

Amo. The true idolater of your beauties shall 
never 2}(iss their deities iinadorcd :' I rest your poor 
knight. 

Hed. See, now the oblique leer, or the Janus : 
he satisfies all with that aspect most nobly. 

\^A flourish. 

Cri. And most terribly he comes off ; like your 
rodomontado. 

Pha. How like you this play, Anaides ? 
■Ana. Good play ; but 'tis too rough and bois- 
terous. 

Amo. I will second it with a stroke easier, 
wherein I will prove his language. [-1 charge- 
Ana. This is filthy, and grave, now. 

Hed. 0, 'tis cool and wary play. We must 
not disgrace our own camerade too much. 

Amo.. Signora, ho tanto obligo per le favore re- 
seiuto da lei; che veramente desidero con tuito il 
core, ci remunerarla in parte : e sicurative, signora 
mea cava, chd io sera sempre pronto A servirla, e 
honoraria. Bascio le mane de vo signoria. 

Cri. The Venetian dop this. 

Pha. ]\Iost unexpectedly excellent ! The 
French goes down certain. 

Aso. As buckets are put dotcn into a loell ; 
Or as a school-boy ^^— 

Cri. Truss up your simile, jack-daw, and ob- 
serve. 

Hed. Now the monsieur is moved. 

Ana. Bo-peep ! 

Hed. O, most an tick. 

Cri. The French quirk, this, sir. 

Ana, Heart, he M'ill over-run her. 

Mer. Madamoyselle, Je voudroy que 2}ouvoy mon- 
strer mon affection, mais je suis taut malheureuse, 

ci froid, ci layd, ci Je ne scay qui de dire 

excuse tnoi, Je suis tout vostre. [A flourish. 



101 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS, 



Phi. O brave and spirited ! lie's a right Jovi- 
(tlist. 

Pha. No, no: Amorphus's gravity outweighs it. 

Cri. And yet your lady, or your feather, 
Avould outweigh both. 

Ana. What's the prize, lady, at this Better 
Regard ? 

Mor. A face favorably simpering, and a fan 
waving. 

Ana. They have done doubtfully. Divide. 
Give the favorable face to the signior, and the 
light wave to the monsieur. 

Amo. You become the simper well, lady. 

IS'Ier. And the wag better. 

Amo. Now, to our Solemn Address. Please 
the well-graced Philautia to relieve the lady 
sentinel ; she hath stood long. 

Phi. With all my heart ; come, guardian, re- 
sign your ]i]acc. [MoiuA comes from the state. 

Amo. IMonsiour, furnish yourself with what 
solemnity of ornament you think fit for this 
third wcajion ; at which you are to shew all the 
cunning of stroke your devotion can possibly 
devise. 

Mer. Let mo alone, sir. I'll sufficiently {le- 
cipher your amorous solemnities. — Crites, have 
patience. See, if I hit not all their practic ob- 
servance, with which they lime twigs to catch 
their fantastic lady-birds. 

Cri. Ay, but you should do more charitably 
to do it more openly, that they might discover 
themselves mock'd in these monstrous affections. 

[A charge. 

Mer. Lackey,* where's the tailor ? 

Enter Tailor, Barbei-, Perfumer, Milliner, Jew- 
eller, and Feather-maker. 

Tat. Here, sir. 

Hed. See, they have their tailor, barber, per- 
fumer, milliner, jeweller, feather-maker, all in 
comnion ! 

\They make themselves readij on the stdgc. 

Ana. Ay, this is pi-etty. 

Amo. Here is a hair too much, take it off. 
Where are thy mullets ? 

Mer. Is this pink of equal proportion to tliis 
L'ut, standing off this distance from it r 

Tai, That it is, sir. 

Mer. Is it so, sir r You impudent poltroon, 

you slave, you list, you shreds, you 

[ Beats the Tailor. 

lied. Excellent ! This was the Dcst j-ot. 

Ana. Why, we must vise our tailors thus : this 
is our true magnanimity. 

Mor. Come, go to, put on ; we must bear with 
you for the times sake. 

Amo. Is the perfume rich in this jerkin ? 

Per. Taste, smell ; I assure you, sir, i:)urc ben- 
jamin, the only spirited scent that ever awaked 
a Neapolitan nostril. You would wish yourself 
all nose for the love on't. I fretted a jerkin for 
a new-rcvenued gentleman yielded me three- 
score crowns but tliis morning, and the same 
titillation. 

Amo. I savor no sampsuchine in it. 

Per. I am a NuUi-tidian, if there be not three- 
thirds of a scruple more of sampsuchinum in 
this confection, than ever I put in any. I'll tell 
you all the ingredients, sir. 



Amo. You shall be simple to discover your 
simples. 

Per. Simple ! why, sir ? What reck I to whom 
I discover ? I have in it musk, civet, amber, 
Phociilcobalanus, the decoction of turmcrick, 
sesana, nard^ spikenard, calamus odoratu.s, 
stacte, opobalsamum, amonium, storax, ladanum, 
aspa^lal)hum, opoponax, ocnanthe. And what 
of all these now ? what are you the better ? 
Tut, it is the sorting, and the dividing, and the 
mixing, and the tempering, and the searching, 
and tlie decocting, that makes the fumigation 
and the suffumigation. 

Amo. Well, indue me with it. 

Per. I will, sir. 

Tied. An excellent confection. 

Cri. And most worthy a true voluptuary, 
Jove ! what a coil these musk-worms take to 
purchase another's delight r for themselves, who 
bear the odors, have ever the least sense of them. 
Yet I do liltc better the prodigality of jewels 
and clothos, whereof one passeth to' a man's 
heirs ; the other at least wears out time. This 
presently expires, and, Avithout continual riot 
in reparation, is lost : which whoso strives to 
keep, it is one special argument co me, that, af- 
fecting to smell better than other men, he doth 
indeed smell far Avorse. 

Mer. I know you will say, it sits well, sir. 

Tai. Good faith, if it do not, sir, let your 
mistress be judge. 

Mer. By heaven, if my mistress do not like it, 
I'll make no more conscience to undo thee, than 
to undo an 03'ster. 

Tai. Believe it, there's ne'er a mistress in ths 
world can mislike it. 

Mer. No, not goodwife tailor, your mistress ; 
that has only the judgment to heat your press- 
ing-tool. But for a court-mistress that studies 
these decorums, and knoAvs the proportion of 
every cut to a hair, knows why such a color is 
cut upon such a color, and when a satin is cut 
upon six taffatacs, will look that we should dive 

into the depth of the cut Give me my scarf. 

Shew some ribands, sirrah. Have you the 
feather ? 

Feat. Ay, sir. 

Mer. Have you the jewel ? . 

Jeio. Yes, sir. 

Mer. What must I give for the hire on't ? 

Jew. You shall give me .six crowns, sir. 

Mer. Six croAvns ! By heaven 'twere a good 
deed to borrow it of thee to shew, and never let 
thee have it again. 

,Uw. I hope your Avorship Avill not do so, sir. 

Mer. By Jove, sir, there lie such tricks stir- 
ring, I can tell you, and Avorthily too. Extort- 
ing knaves, that live by these court-decorums, 
and yet ■ What's your jcAvel Avorth, I pray : 

Jew. A hundred crowns, sir. 

Mer. A hundred crowns, and six for the loan, 
on't an hour ! Avhat's that in tlie hundred for 
the year ? These impostors Avould not be hang'd ! 
Your thief is not comparable to them, by Her- 
cules. Well, put it in, and the feather ; you 
Avill have it and you shall, and the pox give you 
good on't ! 

Am<u Give me my conf jcts, my moscadini, and 
place those colors in my hat. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



196 



Mer. These are Bolognian ribands, I warrant 
you. 

Mil. In truth, sir, if they be not right Grana- 
do silk 

Mcr. A pox on you, you'll all say so. 

Mil. You give me not a penny, sir. 

Mer. Come, sir, perfume my devant ; 
■ Ma'j it ascend like solemn sacrifice, 
Into the nostrils of the Queen of Love ! 

Tied- Your French ceremonies are the best. 

Ana. ISIonsieur, signior, your Solemn Address 
!s too long ; the ladies long to have you come on. 

Amo. Soft, sir, our coming on is not so easily 
orepared. Signior Fig ! 

Per. Ay, sir. 

Amo. Can you help my complexion, here ? 

Per. O 3'cs, sir, I have an excellent mineral 
fucus for the purpose. The gloves are right, sir ; 
you shall bury them in a muck-hill, a draught, 
seven years, and take them out and wash them, 
they shall still retain their first scent, true Span- 
ish. There's ambre in the umbre. 

Mcr. Y'our price, sweet Fig ? 

Per. Give me what you will, sir ; the signior 
pays me two crowns a pair ; you shall give rac 
your love, sir. 

Mer. My love ? with a pox to you, goodman 
Sassafras. 

Per. I come, sir. There's an excellent diapasm 
in a chain, too, if you like it. 

Amo. Stay, what are the ingredients to your 
fucus ? 

Per. Nought but sublimate and crude mer- 
cury, sir, well prepared and dulcified, with the 
jaw-bones of a sow, burnt, beaten, and scarced. 

Amo. I approve it. Lay it on. 

Mer. I'll have your chain of pomander, sirrah ; 
what's your price ? 

Per. AV^c'll agree, monsieur ; I'll assure you 
it was both decocted and dried where no sun 
came, and kept in an onyx ever since it was 
balled. 

Mcr. Come, invert my mustachio, and we have 
done. 

Amo. 'Tis good. 

Bar. Hold still, I pray you, sir. 

Per. Nay, the fucus is exorbitant, sir. 

Mer, Death, dost thou burn me, harlot ! 

Bar. I beseech you, sir. 

Mer. Beggar, varlet, poltroon. [Beats him. 

lied. Excellent, excellent ! 

Ana. Your French beat is the most natural 
Deat of the world. 

Aso. O that I had played at this weapon. 

[.4 charge. 

Pha. Peace, now they come on; the second 
part. 

Amo. Madant, your beauties being so attractive, 
I muse you are left thus alone. 

Phi. Better be alone, sir, than ill accompanied. 

Amo. Nought can be ill, ladg, that can come 
lear your goodness. 

Mcr. Sweet madam, on what part of you soever 
a man casts his eye, he meets loith perfection ; you 
nre the lively image of Venus throughout ; all the 
graces smile in your cheeks ; your beauty nourishes 
as well as delights ; you have a tongue steeped in 
honey, and a breath like a panther ; your breasts 
md forehead are whiter than goafs' milk, or 



May blossoms ; a cloud is not so soft as your 
skin 

lied. Well strook. monsieur ! He charges Iik» 
a Frenchman indeed, thick and hotly. 

Mer. Your checks are Cupid's baths, wherein he 
uses to steep himself in milk and nectar : he does 
light all his torches at your eyes, and instructs you 
how to shoot a/id wound with their beams. Yet 1 
love nothing in you more than your innocence ; you 
retain so native a simiilicity, so unblamcd a beha- 
vior ! Methinks, loith such a love, I should find no 
head, nor foot of my pleasure : you are the very 
spirit of a lady. 

Ana. Fair play, :nonsleur, you are too hot on 
the quarry ; give your competitor audience. 

Amo. Lady, hoio stirring soever the monsieur's 
tongue is, he will lie by your side more dull than 
your eunuch. 

Ana. A good stroke ; that mouth was excel- 
lently put over. 

Amo. You are fair, lady 

Cri. Y''ou offer foul, signior, to close ; keep 
your distance ; for all your bravo rampant here. 

Amo. / say you are fair, lady, let your choice be 
fit, as you are fair. 

Mer. / say ladies do never believe they are fair, 
till some fool begins to doat upon them. 

Phi. You play too rough, gentlemen. 

Amo. Your Frenchified fool is your only fool, 
lady : I do yield to this ho)iorable monsieur in all 
civil and humane courtesy. [A"flourish. 

Mer.- Buz ! 

Ana. Admirable. Give him the prize, give 
him the prize : that mouth again was most court- 
ly hit, and rare. 

Amo. I knew I should pass upon him with the 
bitter bob. 

Ilcd. O, but the reverse was singular. 

Pha, It was most subtile, Amorphus. 

Aso. If I had done't, it should have been better 

Mer. How heartily they applaud this, Crites ' 

Cri. Y'ou suffer them too long. 

Mcr. I'll take off their edge instantly. 

Ana. Name the iirize, at the Solemn Address. 

Phi. Two lips wags;ing. 

Cri. And never a wise word, I take it. 

Ana. Give to Amorphus. And, upon him 
again ; let him not draw free breath. 

Amo. Thanks, fair deliverer, and my honor- 
able jud^ges. Madam Phantaste, j'^ou are our 
worthy object at this next weapon. 

Pha. Most covctingly ready, Amorphus. 

[She takes the state instead of Piiil.vuti.Y. 

lied. Y"our monsieur is crest-fallen. 

Ana. So are most of them once a year. 

Amo. YovL Avill see, I shall now give him the 
gentle Dor presently, he forgetting to shift the 
colors, which are now changed with alteration 
of the mistress. At your last weapon, sir. The 
Perfect Close. Set forward. [A charge.] Intend 
your approach, monsieur. 

Mer. 'Tis yours, signior. 

A)no.' With your example, sir. 

Mer. Not I, sir. 

Amo. It LS your right. 

Mer. By no possible means. 

Amo. YovL have the way. 

Mcr. As I am noble 

Amo. As I am virtuous —'— 



196 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Mer. Pardon me, sir. 

Amo. I will die first. 

Mer. You are a tyrant in courtesy. 

Amo. He is removed. — [Stays Mercury on 
his moving.'] — Judges, bear witness. 

Mei: What of that, sir ? 

Amo. You are removed, sir. 

Mer. Well. 

A^no. I challenge you ; you have received the 
Dor. Give me the prize. 

Mer. Soft, sir. How, the Dor ? 

Amo. The common mistress, you see, is 
changed. 

Mer. Right, sir. 

Amo. And you have still in your hat the 
former colors. 

Mer. You lie, sir, I have none: I have pulled 
them out. I meant to i^lay discolored. 

[A flourish. 

Cri. The Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the 
Dor, the palpable Dor ! 

Ana. Heart of my blood, Amorphus, what 
have j'ou done ? stuck a disgrace upon us all, 
and at your last weapon ! 

Aso. I could have done no more. 

Hed. By heaven, it was most unfortunate luck. 

Ana. Luck ? by that candle, it was mere rash- 
ness, and oversight ; would any man have ven- 
tured to play so open, and forsake his ward ? 

D n me, if he have not eternally undone 

himself in court, and discountenanced us that 
were his maiil countenance, by it. 

Amo. Forgive it now: it Avas the solecism of 
my stars. 

Cri. The wring by the hand, and the banquet, 
is ours. 

Mer. 0, here's a lady feels like a wench of the 
first year ; you would think her hand did melt 
in your touch ; and the bones of her fingers ran 
out at length when you prest 'em, they are so 
gently delicate ! He that had the grace to print 
a kiss on these lips, should taste wine and rose- 
leaves. O, she kisses as close as a cockle. Let's 
take them down, as deep as our hearts, wench, 
till our very souls mix. Adieu, signior : good 
faith I shall drink to you at supper, sir. 

Ana. Stay, monsieur. AVho awards you the 
prize ? 

Cri. Why, his proper merit, sir ; you sec he 
has played do-\Vn your grand garb-master, here. 

Ana. That's not in your logic to determine, 
sir : you are no courtier. This is none of your 
seven or nine beggarly sciences, but a certain 
mystery above them, wherein we that have skill 
must pronounce, and not such fresh men as you 
are. 

Cri. Indeed, I must dcckire myself to you no 
profest courtling ; nor to have any excellent 
stroke at your subtile Aveapons ; yet if you please, 
I dare venture a hit with you, or your fellow, 
sir Dagonot, here. 

Ajia. With me ! 
Cri. Yes, sir. 

Ana. Heart, I shall never have such a fortune 
to save myself in a fellow again, and your two 
reputations, gentlemen, as in this. I'll under- 
talce him. 

Hed. Do, and swinge him soundly, good Ana- 
ides. 



Ana. Let me alone ; I'll play other manner of 
play, than has been seen yet. I Avould the prizr 
lay on't. 

Mer. It shall if you will, I forgive my right. 

Ana. Are you so confident ! what's youj 
weapon ? 

Cri. At any, I, sir. 

Mer. The Perfect Close, that's now the best. 

Ana. Content, I'll pay your scholarity. Whc 
offers .' 

Cri. Marry, that will I ; I dare give you thai 
advantage too. 

Ana. You dare ! well, look to your liberal 
sconce. 

Amo. Make j^our play still, upon the an- 
swer, sir. 1 

Ana. Hold your peace, you are a hobby-horse. I 

Aso. Sit by me, master. ' 

Mer. Now, Crites, strike home. [A charge. 

Cri. You shall see me undo the assured swag- 
gerer with a trick, instantly : I wiU play all his | 
own play before him ; court the wench in hia f 
garb, in his phras6, with his face ; leave him not 
so much as a look, an eye, a stalk, or an imper- 
fect oath, to express himself by, after me. 

[Aside to Meecurt 

Mer. Excellent, Crites. 

Ana. When begin you, sir.' have you con- 
sulted ? 

Cri. To your cost, sir. Which is the piece 
stands forth to be courted ? O, are you she ? 
[To Philautia.] Well, madam, or sweet lady, it is 
so, I do love you in some sort, do you conceive ? and 
though I am no monsieur, nor no signior, and do 
want, as they say, logic and sophistry, and (jooil 
toords, to tell you lohy it is so ; 'yet by this hand and 
by that candle it is so ; and though I be no book- 
loorm, ')ior one that deals by art, to give you rhetoric 
and causes, why it should be so, or make it good it is 

so; yet, d n me, hut I know it is so, and am 

assured it is so, and I and my sioord shall make it 
appear it is so, and give you reason sufficient haw 
it can be no othcrivise but so 

Hed. 'Slight, Anaides, y^ou are mocked, and 
so Ave are all. 

Mer. HoAV now, signior ! what, suffer yourself 
to be cozened of your courtship before yom- face ? 

Hed. This is plain confederacy to disgrace lis : 
let's be gone and plot some revenge. 

Amo. Whe)i men disgraces share. 

The lesser is the care. 

Cri. Nay, stay, my dear Ambition, [To He- 
Dox.] I can do you OA^er too. You that tell 
your mistress, her beauty is all composed of 
theft ; her hair stole from Apollo's goldy-locks ; 
her Avhite and red, lilies and roses stolen out of 
paradise ; her eyes two stars, pluck't from the 
sky ; her nose the gnomon of Love's dial, that 
tells you how the clock of your heart goes : and 
for her other parts, as you cannot reckon them, 
they are so many ; so yoir cannot recount them, 
they ai-e so manifest. Yours, if his OAvn, un- 
fortunate Hoyden, instead of Hedon. 

[A flourish. 

Aso. Sister, come aAvay, I cannot endure them 
longer. [Exeunt all but Mejicuky and Crites.' 

Mer. Go, Dors, and you, my madam Court- 
ing-stocks, 
FoUoAv your scorned and derided mates ; 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



197 



Tell to your guilty breasts, what mere gilt blocks 
You are, and how unworthy human states. 

Cri. Now, sacred God of Wit, if you can make 
Those, whom our sports tax in these apish graces, 
Kiss, like the fighting snakes, your peaceful rod : 
These times shall canonize you for a god. 

Mcr. Why, Crites, think you any noble spirit. 
Or any, worth the title of a man, 
Will bo incensed to see the enchanted veils 
Of self-conceit, and servile flattery. 
Wrapt in so many folds by time and custom. 
Drawn from his wronged and bewitched eyes ? 
Who sees not now their shape and nakedness, 
Is blinder than the son of earth, the mole ; 
Crown' d with no more humanity, nor soul. 

Crl. Though they may see it, yet the huge 
estate, 
Fanc}'", and form, and sensual pride have gotten, 
Will make them blush for anger, not for shame, 
And turn shewn nakedness to impudence. 
Humor is now the test we try things in : 
All power is just : nought that delights is sin. 
And yet the zeal of every knowing man 
Opprest with hills of tj'ranny, cast on virtue 
By the light fancies of fools, tlius transported, 
Cannot but vent the yEtna of his fires, 
T'infiame best bosoms with much worthier love 
Than of these outward and effeminate shades ; 
That these vain joys,in which their wills consume 
Such powers of wit and soul as are of force 
To raise their beings to eternity, 
May be converted on works fitting men : 
And, for the practice of a forced look, 
An antic gesture, or a fustian phrase. 
Study the native frame of a true heart, 
An inward comeliness of bounty, knowledge, 
And spirit that may conform them actually 
To God's high figures, which they have in power; 
Which to neglect for a self-loving neatness, 
Is sacrilege of an impardon'd greatness. 

Mer. Then let the truth of these things 
strengthen thee. 
In thy exempt and only man-like course ; 
Like it the more, the less it is respected : 
Though men fail, virtue is by gods protected. — 
See, here comes Arete ; I'll withdraw myself. 

[Exit. 

Enter Arete. 

Arc. Crites, you must provide straight for a 
'Tis Cynthia's pleasure. [masque, 

Cri. How, bright Arete ! 
Why, 'twere a labor more for Hercules : 
Better and sooner durst I undertake 
To make the different seasons of the j^ear, 
The winds, or elements, to sympathize. 
Than their unmeasurable vanity 
Dance truly in a measure. They agree ! 
Wliat though all concord's born of contraries ; 
So many follies will confusion prove, 
And like a sort of jarring instruments, 
All out of tune ; because, indeed, we see 
There is not that analogy 'twixt discords. 
As between tilings but merely opj^osite. 

Are- Theie is your error : for as Hermes' wand 
Charms the disorders of tumultuous ghosts ; 
And as the strife of Chaos then did cease, 
. When better light than Nature's did arrive : 
So, what could never in itself agree, 



Forgetteth the eccentric property, 
And at her sight turns forthwith regular, 
Whose sceptre guides the flowing ocean : 
And though it did not, yet the most of them 
Being either courtiers, or not wholly rude. 
Respect of majesty, the place, and presence, 
AVill keep them within ring, especially 
When they are not presented as themselves, 
But masqued like others : for, in troth, not so 
To incorporate them, could be nothing else, 
Than like a state ungovern'd, without laws, 
Or body made of nothing but diseases : 
The one, through impotency, poor and wretched; 
The other, for the anarchy, absurd. 

Cri. But, lady, for the revellers themselves, 
It would be better, in my poor conceit, 
That others were employ' d ; for such as are 
Unfit to be in Cynthia's court, can seem 
No less unfit to be in Cynthia's sj^orts. 

Are. That, Crites, is not purposed without 
Particular knowledge of the goddess' mind ; 
W^ho holding true intelligence, what follies 
Had crept into her palace, she resolved 
Of sports and triumphs, under that pretext. 
To have them muster in their pomp and fulness, 
That so she might more strictly, and to root, 
Effect the reformation she intends. 

Cri. I now conceive her heavenly drift in all, 
And will apply my spirits to serve her will. 
O thou, the very power by which I am. 
And but for which it were in vain to be, 
Chief next Diana, virgin heavenly fair, 
Admired- Arete, of them admired 
Whose souls are not enkindled by the sense. 
Disdain not my chaste fire, but feed the fiame 
Devoted truly to thy gracious name. 

Are. Leave to suspect us : Crites well shall 
find, 
As we are now most dear, we'll prove most kind 

\_Within.] Arete ! 

Are. Hark, I am call'd. [Exit 

Cri. I follow instantly. 
Phoebus Apollo, if with ancient rites. 
And due devotions, I have ever hung 
Elaborate Paeans on thy golden shrine. 
Or sung thy triumphs in a lofty strain. 
Fit for a theatre of gods to hear : 
And thou, the other son of mighty Jove, 
Cyllenian Merchry, sweet Maia's joy, 
If in the busy tumults of the mind 
!My path thou ever hast illumined. 
For which thine altars I have oft perfumed, 
And deck'd thy statues with discolor 'd flowers i 
Now thrive invention in this glorious court, 
Tliat not of bounty only, but of right, 
Cynthia may grace, and give it life by sight. 

[Exit 

SCENE III. 

Enter Hesperus, Cyxthia, Arete, Time, Phuo. 
NESis, and Thauma. 

Music accom2}anied, Hesperus sinffs. 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fah'. 
Now tlie sun irf laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair, 
State in wonted manner keep: 

Hesperus entreats thy light, 

Goddess excellently bright 



198 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



Earth, let not tliy envious shade 

Dare itself to interpose ; 

Oyntliia's sliining orb was made 

Heav'n to clear, when day did close ; 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 

t,ay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal shining quiver; 

Give unto the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever : 
Thou that raak'st a day of night, 
Goddess excellently bright. 



Cyn. When hath Diana, like an envious 
wretch, 
That glitters only to his soothed self, 
Denying to the world the precious use 
Of hoarded wealth, withheld her friendly aid ? 
Monthly wc spend our still-repaired shine. 
And not forbid our virgin-waxen torch 
To burn and blaze, while nutriment doth last : 
That once consumed, out of Jove's treasury 
A new we take, and stick it in our sphere. 
To give the mutinous kind of wanting men 
Their look'd-for light. Yet what is their desert ? 
Bounty is wrong'd, interpreted as due ; 
Mortals can challenge not a ray, by right, 
Yet do expect the whole of Cynthia's light. 
But if that deities withdrew their gifts 
For human follies, what could men deserve 
But death and darkness ? It behoves the high, 
For their own sakes, to do things worthily. 
Are. Most true, most sacred goddess ; for the 
heavens 
Receive no good of all the good they do : 
Nor Jove, nor you, nor other heavenly Powers, 
Are fed ■\\-ith fumes which do from incense rise, 
Or sacrifices reeking in their gore ; 
Yet, for the care which you of mortals have, 
(Wliose proper good it is that they be so,) 
You well are pleased with odors redolent : 
But ignorant is all the race of men, 
Which still comjilains, not knowing why, or 
when. 
Cyn. Else, noble Arete, they would not blame, 
And tax, or for unjust, or for as proud. 
Thy Cynthia, in the things which are indeed 
The greatest glories in our starry crown ; 
Such is our chastity, which safely scorns. 
Not love, for who more fervently doth love 
Immortal honor, and divine renoVn ? 
But giddy Cupid, Venus' frantic son. 
Yet, Arete, if by this veiled light 
We biit discover'd (what we not discern) 
Any the least of impvrtations stand 
Ready to sprinkle our unspotted fame 
With note of lightness, from these revels near ; 
Not, for the empire of the imiverse, 
Should night, or court, this whatsoever shine. 
Or grace of ours, unhappily enjoy. 
Place and occasion are tv.'o privy thieves. 
And from y>oot innocent ladies often steal 
The best of things, an honorable name ; 
To stay with foUies, or where faults may be. 
Infers a crime, although the party free. 

Are. How Cynthianly, that is, how worthily 
And like herself, the matchless Cynthia .speaks ! 
Infinite jealousies, infinite regards, 
Do Avatch about the true virginity : 
But Phcebc lives from all, not only fault, 
But as from thought, so Lorn suspicion free. 



Thy presence broad-seals our delights for purej 
What's done in Cynthia's sight, is done se« 

cure. 
Cyn. That then so answer'd, dearest Arete, 
What th' argument, or of what sort our sports 
Are like to be this night, I not demand. 
Nothing which duty, and desire to jDlease, 
Bears written in the forehead, comes amiss. 
But unto whose invention must we owe 
The complement of this night's furniture ? 
Are. Excellent goddess, to a man's, whose 

worth. 
Without hyperbole, I thus may praise ; 
One at least studious of deserving well. 
And; to speak truth, indeed deserving well. 
Potential merit gtands for actual. 
Where only opportunity doth want, 
Not will, nor power ; both which in him abound. 
One whom the INIuses and Minerva love ; 
For whom should they, than Crites, more esteem, 
Whom Phoebus, • though not Fortune, holdeth 

dear ? 
And, which convinceth excellence in him, 
A principal admirer of yourself. 
Even through the ungentle injuries of Fate, 
And dtfficulties, which do virtue choke, 
Tluis much of him appears. What other things 
Of farther note do lie unborn in him. 
Them I do leave for cherishment to shew. 
And for a goddess graciously to judge. 

Cy?i. We have already judged him, Areto ; 
Nor are we ignorant how noble jninds 
Suff'er too much through those indignities 
Which times and vicious persons cast on them. 
Ourself have ever vowed to esteem 
As virtue for itself, so fortune, base ; 
Who's first in worth, the same be first in place. 
Nor farther notice. Arete, we crave 
Than thine approval's sovereign warranty : 
Let 't be thy care to make us known to him ; 
Cynthia shall brighten Avhat the v.-orld made 

dim. [Exit AiiETE- 



THE FIRST MASQUE. 

Enter Cupid, disguised as Anteros, folloiced bij 
Storge, Aglaia, Euphantaste, and Apheleia. 

Cup. Clear pearl of heaven, and, not to be far- 
ther ambitious in titles, Cynthia! the fame of this 
illustrious night, among others, hath also draum 
these four fair virgins from the ^ja^aoe of their 
queen Perfection, (a toord which makes no suf- 
ficient difference betwixt her's and thine,) to visit 
thy imjierial court : for she, their sovereign, not 
finding where to dwell among me?i, before her re- 
turn to heaven, advised them toholly to consecrate 
themselves to thy celestial service, as in whose clear 
s^nrit (the 2^^'opcf' element and sphere of virtue} 
they should behold not her alone, their ever-hon- 
ored mistress, but themselves (more truly them- 
selves) to live enthronized. Herself would have 
commended them unto thy favor more jxirticu- 
larly, but that she Icnows no commendation is more 
available with thee, than that of jyroper virtue. 
Nevertheless she willed them to present this crysta 
mound, a note of monarchy, and symbol of perfec- 
tion, to thy more tcorthy deity ; ichich, as here by 
me they most humbly do, so amongst the rarities 
thereof, that is the chief, to shew whatsoever the 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



199 



world hath excellent, howsoever remote and va- 
rious. But your irradiate judgment icill soon 
discover the secrets of this little crystal icorld. 
Themselves, to appear more plainly, because the]/ 
hnozo nothing more odious than false pretexts, have 
chosen to express their several qualities thus in 
several colors. 

The first, in citron color, is natural affection 
which, given tis to procure our good, is sometime 
called Storgd ; and as every one is nearest to him- 
self, so this handmaid of reason, allowable Self- 
hve, as it is loithout harm, so are none icithout it: 
her place in the court of Perfection was to quicken 
minds in thji mirsuit of honor. Her device is a 
perjjendicular level, upion a cube or square ; the 
word, se suo modulo ; alluding to that true meas- 
ure of one's sef, which, as every one ought to make, 
so is it most conspicuous in thy divine example. 

The second, in green, is Aglaia, delectable and 
pleasant conversation, tohose propertxj is to move a 
kindly delight, and sometime not- icithout laiq/hter : 
her' office to entertain ccssonblies, and keep societies 
together loiih fair familiarity. Her device, within 
a ring of clouds, a heart with shine about it ; the 
u'ord curarum nubila j^ello : an allegory of Cyn- 
thia's light, xohich no less clears the sky than her 
fair mirth the heart. 

The third, in the discolored mantle spangled all 
over, is Euphatitaste, a tcell-conceitcd Wittiness, 
and employed in honoring the court with the riches 
of her piure invention. Her device, tipon a Pe- 
tasus, or Mercurial hat, a crescent; the toord, sic 
laus ingenii ; inferring that' the jn-aise and glo- 
ry of icit doth ever increase, as doth thy growing 
moon. 

The fourth, in white, is Aphelcia, a nymph as 
pure and simpk as the soul, or as an abrase table, 
and, is therefore called Simplicity ; without folds, 
without piluits, without color, without counterfeit ; 
and (to speak plainly) ^ilainness itself. Her device 
is no device. The woi-d xtnder her silver shield, 
omnis abest fucus ; alluding to thy spotless self, 
who art as far from impurity as from mortality. 

Myself, celestial goddess, more fit for the court of 
Cynthia than the arbors of Cytherea, am called 
Anteros, or Love's enemy ; the more welcoine there- 
fore to thy couH, and the fitter to conduct this qua- 
ternion, who, as they are thy jn-qfessed votaries, and 
for that cause adversaries to Love, yet thee, j^eypet- 
ual virgin, they both love, and vow to love eternally. 

Pie-enter Akete, tcith Ckites. 
Cyn. Not mtliout ■\vondor, nor without de- 
light, 
Mine eyes have view'd, in contemplation's depth, 
This Avork of wit, divine and excellent : 
What shape, what substance, or what tmkno^^'n 

power. 
In virgin's habit, crown'd with laurel leaves. 
And olive-branches woven in betv/een. 
On sea-girt rocks, like to a goddess shines ! 
O front ! O face ! O all celestial, sure, 
And more tiian mortal ! Arete, behold 
Another Cynthia, and another queen. 
Whose glory, like a lasting plenilunc, 
Seems ignorant of Avhat it is to wane. 
Nor uiider heaven an object could be found 
More fit to please. Let Crites make approach. 
Bounty forbids to pall our thanks with stay. 



Or to defer our favor, after view : 

The time of grace is, when the cause is new. 

Are. Lo, here the man, celestial Delia, 
Who (like a circle bounded in itself) 
Contains as much as man in fulness may. 
Lo, here the man, who not of usual earth, 
But of that nobler and more precious mould 
Which Phoebus self doth temper, is composed ; 
And who, thougli all were wanting to reward. 
Yet to himself he would not wanting be : 
Thy favor's gain is his ambition's most. 
And labor's best ; who (humble in his height) 
Stands fixed silent in thy glorious sight. 

Cyn. With no less pleasure than we have be- 
held 
This precious crystal work of rarest wit, 
Our eye doth read thee, now instiled, our Crites : 
Whom learning, virtue, and our favor last, 
Exempteth from the gloomy multitude. 
With common eye the Supreme should not see : 
Henceforth be ours, the more thyself to be. 
Cri. Heaven's purest light, whose orb may be 
eclipsed, 
Eut not thy praise ; divinest Cj'nthia ! 
How much too narrow for so high a grace. 
Thine (save therein) the moat unworthy Crites 
Doth, find himself ! for ever shine thy fame ; 
Thine honors ever, as thy beauties do. 
In me they must, my dark world's chiefest 

lights, 
By whose propitious beams my powers are 

raised 
To hope some part of those most lofty points. 
Which blessed Arete hath pleased to name. 
As marks, to which my endeavor's steps should 

bend : 
Mine, as begun at thee, in thee must end. 

THE SECOND MASOL'E 

Enter Mercury as a page, introducing Eucosmos, 
Eupathes, Eutolmos, and Eucolos. 

Sler. Sister of Pheebus, to whose bright orb ice 
owe, that we not complain of his absence : these 
four brethren (for they arc brethren, and so)is of 
Eutaxia, a lady known, and highly beloved of your 
resplendent deity) not able to be absent, when 
Cynthia Jield a solemnity, officiously insinuate 
theniselves into thy piresence : for, as there are four 
ca,rdinal virtues, upon ichich the whole frame of the 
court doth move, so are these the four cardinal jirop- 
erties, witJiout which the body of compliment moveth 
not. With these four silver javelins, (which they 
bear in their hands) they support in princes courts 
the state of the p)resence, as by office they are 
obliged; which, though here they may seem super- 
fluous, yet, for /wiwr's sake, they thus piresume to 
visit thee, having also been employed in the pialaca 
of queen Perfection. And though to them that 
woxdd make tliemselves gracious to a goddess, sacri- 
fices loere fitter than 2}rescnts, or impresses, yet they 
both liope thy favor, and (in place of eitlier) use 
several symbols, containing, the titles of thy imperial 
dignity. 

First, the hithcrmost, in the changeable blue ana 
green robe, is the commendably-fashioned gallant, 
Eucosmos ; whoso courtly habit is tJic grace of the 
2)resence, and dehf't of the surva/ing eye : whom 
ladies understand ly the 7iames of Neat and . Ek- 



200 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



^ant. His symbol is, divse virgiui, in . wJiich he 
would express thy deity's 2}riiicipal glory, which hath 
ever been virginity. 

The second, in the rich accoutrement, and robe of 
purple, empaled xoith gold, is Eupathes ; wlio enter- 
tains his mind loith an harmless, but not incurious 
variety : all the objects of his senses are sumptuous, 
himself a gallant, that, loithout excess, can make use 
of superflidty, go richly in embroideries, jewels, and 
what vc^., without vanity, and fare delicately with- 
out gluttojiy ; and therefore (not loithout cause) is 
unicersally thought to be of fine humor. His sym- 
bol is, divse optimse ; an attribute to express thy 
goodness, in xchich thou so rescmblest Jove thy 
fatlier. 

The third, in the blush-colored suit, is Eutolmos, 
as duly respecting others, as never negkcting him- 
•self; commonly known by the title of good Audacity ; 
to courts and courtly assemblies a guest most accept- 
able. His symbol is, divse viragini ; to express thy 
hardy courage in chase of savage beasts, which har- 
bor in woods and wildernesses. 

The fourth, in toafchet tinsel, is the land and 
truly bencfique Eiifolos, icho imparteth not loithout 
respect, but yet without difficulty, and hath the hap- 
piness to make every kindness seem double, by the 
timely and freely bestoioing thereof. He is the chief 
of them, who by the vulgar arc said to be of good 
nature. His symbol is, divae maximte ; an ad- 
junct to signify thy greatness, which in heaven, 
earth, and hell, is formidable. 

Music. A Dance by the two Masqxies joined, dur- 
ing which Cupid and Meecuuy retire to the side 

of tlie stage. 

Cup. Is not that Amorphus, the traveller ? 

Mer. As though it were not ! do you not see 
how his legs are in travail with a measure ? 

Cup. Hedon, thy master is next. 

Mer. What,,will Cupid turn nomenclator, and 
cry them ? 

Cup. No, faith, but I have a comedy toward, 
that would not be lost for a kingdom. 

Mer. In good time, for Cupid will prove the 
comedy. 

Cup. Mercury, I am studying how to match 
them. 

Mer. How to mismatch them were harder. 

Cup. They are the nymphs must do it; I 
shall sport myself with their passions above 
measure. 

Mer. Those nymphs would be tamed a little 
indeed, but I fear thou hast not arrows for the 
purpose. 

Cup. O yes, here be of all sorts, flights, 
rovers, and butt-shafts. But I can wound 
with a brandish, and never draw bow for the 
matter. 

Mer. I cannot but believe it, my invisible 
archer, and yet methinks you are tedious. 

Cup. It behoves mc to be somewhat circum- 
spect, Mercury ; for if Cynthia hear the twang 
Df my bow, she'll go near to whip mc with the 
Jtring ; therefore, to prevent that, I thus dis- 
charge a brandish n^^on it makes no matter 

vhich of the couples. Phantastc and Amor- 
phus, at you. [TFaucs his arrow at them. 

Mer. Will the shaking of a shaft strike them 
Into such a fever of affection ? 



Cup. As well as the wink of an evf : l;ut, 1 
pray thee, hinder me not with thy prat; le. 

Mer. Jove forbid I hinder thee ; Marry, all 
that I fear is Cynthia's presence, wh.ch, with 
the cold of her chastity, casteth such an anti- 
peristasis about the place, that no heat of thine 
will tarry with the patient. 

Cup. It will tarry the rather, for the antipe 
ristasis \nll keep it in. 

Mer. I long to see the experiment. 

Cup. AVhy, their marrow boils already, or 
they are all turn.'d eunuchs. 

Mer. Nay, an't be so, I'll give over speaking, 
and be a spectator only. [The first dance ends. 

Amo. Cynthia, by my bright soul, is a right 
exquisite andsplendidious ladj^ ; yet Amorphus, 
I think, hath seen more fashions, I am sure 
more countries ; but whether I have or not, 
Avhat need we gaze on Cynthia, that have our- 
self to admire ? 

'Pha. O, excellent Cynthia ! yet if Phantaste 
sat where she does, and had such attire on her 
head, (for attire can do much,) I say no more — 
but goddesses are goddesses, and Phantaste is 
as she is ! I would the revels were done once, 
I might go to. my school of glass again, and 
learn to do myself right after all this ruffling. 
[Music ; they begin the second dance. 

Mer. How now, Cupid ? here's a wonderful 
change with your brandish ! do you not hear 
how they dote ? 

Cup. What prodigy is this ? no word of love, 
no mention, no motion ! 

Mer. Not a word, my little ignis fatue, not a 
Avord. 

Cup. Arc my darts enchanted ? is their vigor 
gone ? is their virtue 

Mer. What ! Cupid turned jealous of him- 
self ? ha, ha, ha ! 

Cup. Laughs Mercury ? 

Mer. Is Cupid angry ? 

Cup. Hath he not cause, ■^^•hcn his purpose is 
80 deluded ? 

Mer. A rare comedy, it shall be entitled 
Cupid's ? 

Cup. Do not scorn us, Hermes. 

Mer. Choler and Cupid are two fiery tilings ; 
I scorn them not. But I see that come to pass 
which I presaged in the beginning. 

Cup. You cannot tell : perhaps the physic 
will not work so soon upon some as upon 
others. It may be the rest are not so resty. 

Mer. Ex ungue ; you know the old adage, as 
these so are the remainder. 

Cup. I'll try : this is the same shaft with 
which I wounded Argurion. 

[Waves his arrOw again. 

Mer. Ay, but let me save you a labor, Cujjid : 
there were certain bottles of water fetch'd, and 
drunk off si:ipe that time, by these gallants. 

Cap. Jove strike me into the earth ! the 
Fountain of Self-love ! 

Mer. Naj', faint not, Cupid. 

Cup. I remember'd it not. 

Mer. Faith, it was ominous to take the name 
of Anteros upon you ; you know not what 
charm or enchantment lies in the word : you 
saw, I durst not venture upon any. device in 
our presentment, but was content to be no. 



CYNTHIA'S HEVELS. 



201 



other than a snnple page. Your arrows' prop- 
erties (to keep decorum) Cupid, are suited, it 
should seem, to the nature of him you per- 
sonate. 

Cu'p. Indignity not to be borne ! 

Mer. Nay rather, an attempt to have been 
forborne. [ The second dance ends. 

Cup. How might I revenge m.yself on this in- 
sulting Mercury ? there's Crites, his minion, he 
has not tasted of this water. [Waves his arroio 
at Crites.] It shall be so. Is Crites turn'd 
dotard on himself too .' 

Mer. That follows not, because the venom of 
your shafts cannot pierce him, Cupid. 

Cup. As though there were one antidote for 
these, and another for him. 

Mey. As though there Avere not ; or, as if one 
effect might not arise of divers causes ? What 
say you to Cynthia, Arete, Phronesis, Time, and 
others there ? 

Cup. They are divine. 

Mer. And Crites aspires to be so. 

[Music; they begin the third dance. 

Cup. But that shall not serve him. 

Mer. 'Tis like to do it, at this time. But Cu- 
pid is grown too covetous, that will not spare 
one of a multitude. 

Cup. One is more than a multitude. 

Mer. Arete's favor makes any one shot-proof 
against tliee, Cupid. I pray thee, light. honey- 
bee, remember tliou art not now in Adonis' 
garden, but in Cynthia's presence, where thorns 
lie in garrison about the roses. Soft, Cynthia 
speaks. 

Cyn. Ladies and gallants of our court, to end. 
And give a timely period to our sports. 
Let us conclude them with declining night ; 
Our empire is but of the darker half. 
And if 5^ou judge it any recompence 
For your fair pains, t'have earn'd Diana's 

thanks, 
Diana grants them, and bestows their crown 
To gratify your acceptable zeal. 
For you are they, that not, as some have done. 
Do censure us, as too severe and soui". 
But as, more rightly, gracious to the good ; 
Although M'e not deny, unto the proud. 
Or the profane, perhaps indeed austere : 
For so Actffion, by presuming far. 
Did, to our grief, incur a fatal doom ; 
And so, swoln Niobe, comparing more 
Than he presumed, was trophajed into stone. 
But are we therefore judged too extreme ? 
Seems it no crime to enter sacred bowers, 
And hallow'd places, with impure aspect. 
Most lewdly to pollute .'' Seems it no crime 
To brave a deity ? Let mortals learn 
To make religion of offending heaven, 
And not at all to censure powers divine. 
To men this argument should stand for firm, 
A goddess did it, therefore it was good : 
We are not cruel, nor delight in blood. — 
But what have serious repetitions 
To do with revels, and the sports of court "r 
We not intend to sour your late delights 
With harsh expostulation. Let it suffice 
That M e take notice, and can take revenge 
Of tiiese calumnious and lewd blasphemies. 
For M e are no less Cynthia than we were, 



Nor is our power, but as ourself, the same : 
Though we have now put on no tire of shine, 
But mortal eyes undazzled may endure. 
Years are beneath the spheres, and time makea 

weak 
Things under heaven, not powers which govern 

heaven. 
And though aursclf be in ourself secure, 
Yet let not mortals challenge to themselves 
Immunity from thence. Lo, this is all : 
Honor hath store of spleen, but wanteth gall. 
Once more we cast the skimber of our frhanks 
On your ta'en toil, which here let take an- end. 
And that we not mistake your several worths, 
Nor you our favor, from yourselves remove 
What makes you not yourselves, those clouds of 

masque ; 
Particular pains particular thanks do ask. 

[The dancers unmask. 
How ! let me view you. Ha ! are Ave con- 
temn' d ? 
Is there so little awe of our disdain. 
That any (under trust of their disguise) 
Should mis themselves with others of the 

court, 
And, Avithout forehead, boldly press so far, 
As farther none ? Hoav apt is lenity 
To be abused ! severity to be loath' d ! 
And yet, hoAV much more doth the seeming 

face 
Of neighbor virtues, and their borroAv'd names, 
Add of loAvd boldness to loose vanities ! 
Who Avould have thought that Philautia durst 
Or have usurped noble Storge's name. 
Or with that theft have ventured on our eyes r 
Who Avould have thought, that all of them should 

hope 
So much of our connivance, as to come 
To grace themselvet with titles not their OAAm ? 
Instead of med'cines, have avo maladies ? 
And such imposthumes as Phantaste is 
GroAV in our palace ? We must lance these 

sores. 
Or all Avill putrify. Nor are these all, 
For Ave suspect a farther fraud than this ■ 
Take off our veil, that shadoAVS may depart, 

And shapes appear, beloved Arete So, 

Another face of things presents itself. 

Than did of late. What ! feather' d Cupid 

masqued, 
And masked like Anteros ? And stay ! mora 

strange ! 
Dear Mercury, our brother, like a page. 
To countenance the ambush of the boy ! 
Nor endeth our discovery as yet . 
Gelaia, like a nymph, that, but ercAvhile, 
In male attire, did serve Anaides ? — 
Cupid came hither to find sport and game, 
Who heretofore hath been too conversant 
Among our train, but ncA-er felt revenge ; 
And Mercury bare Cupid company. 
Cupid, Ave must confess, this time of mirth, 
Proclaim'd by us, gaA'e opportunity 
To thy attempts, although no privilege : 
Tempt us no farther ; Ave cannot endure 
Thy presence longer ; A'anish hence, away ! 

[Exit Cupid 
You, Slercury, Ave must entreat to stay. 
And hear Avhat Ave determine of th^ rest ; 



202 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



For in this plot wc -well perceive your hand. 
But, (for -wo mean not a censorian task, 
And yet to lance these ulcers grown so ripe,) 
Dear Arete, and Crites, to you two 
Wc give the charge ; imj^ose what pains you 

please : 
Th' incurable cut off, the rest reform, 
Ilemembering ever what we first decreed, 
SiBoe revels Avere proclaim' d, let now none 
bleed. 

Are. How well Diana can distinguish times, 
And sort, her censiires, keeping to herself 
The doom of gods, leaving the rest to us ! 
Come, cite them, Crites, first, and then proceed. 

Cri. First, Philautia, for she was the first, 
Then light Gelaia in Ajjlaia's name, 
Phirdlj', Phantaste, and Gloria next. 
Main Follies all, and of the female crew : 
Amorphus, or Eucosmos' counterfeit, 
Voluptuous Hedon ta'en for Eupathes, 
Brazen Anaidcs, and Asotus last, 
With his two pages, INIorus and Prosaites ; 
And thou, the traveller's evil, Cos, approach, 
Impostors all, and male deformities 

Arc. Nay, forward, for I delegate my power, 
And will that at thy mercy they do stand, 
Whom they so oft, so plainly scorn'd before. 
'Tis virtue which they want, and wanting it, 
Honor no garment to their backs can fit. 
Then, Crites, practise thy discretion. 

Cri. Adored Cynthia, and bright Arete, 
Another might seem fitter for this task, 
Than Crites far, but that j^ou judge not so : 
For I (not to appear vindicative. 
Or mindful of contempts, which I contemn'd. 
As done of impotence) must be remiss ; 
Who, as I was the author, in some sort, 
To work their knowledge into Cynthia's sight, 
So should be much severer to revenge 
The indignity hence issuing to her name : 
But there's not one of these who are unpained. 
Or by themselves unpunished ; for vice 
Is like a fury to the vicious mind. 
And turns delight itself to punishment. 
But we must forward, to define their doom. 
You are offenders, that must be confcss'd ; 
Do you confess it ? 

All. We do. 

Cri. And that you merit sharp correction .' 

All. Yes. 

Cri. Then we (reserving unto Delia's grace 
Her farther pleasure, and to Arete 
What Delia granteth) thiis do sentence you : 
That from this place (for penance known of all. 
Since you have drunk so deeply of Self-love) 
You, two and two, singing a Palinode, 
March to your several homes by Niobe's stone, 
And offer up two tears a-piece thereon. 
That it may change the name, as you must 

change, 
And of a stone be called Weeping-cross ; 
Because it standeth cross of Cynthia's Avay, 
One of whose names is sacred Trivia. 
And after penance thus perform'd you pass 
In like set order, not as IMidas did, 
To wash his gold off into Tagus' stream ; 
Cut to the Avell of knowledge. Helicon ; 
Where, purged of your present maladies. 
Which are not few, nor slender, you become 



Such as you fain would seem, and then return^ 
Offering your service to great Cynth'a. 
This is yoiu- sentence, if the goddess please 
To ratify it with her Hgh consent ; 
The scope of wise mirth unto fruit is bent. 
Ci/n. We do approve thy censure, belov'o 
Crites ; 
Which Mercury, thy true propitious friend, 
(A deity next Jove beloved of us,) 
Will undertake to see exactlv dor.c. 
And for this service of discovery. 
Performed by thee, in honor of our name. 
We vow to guerdon it with such due grace 
As shall become our bounty, and thy place. 
Princes that would their people should do wcLI, 
Must at themselves begin, as at the head ; 
For men, by their example, pattern oiit 
Their imitations, and regard of laws : 
A virtuous cotirt, a world to virtue draws. 

[Exeunt Cynthia mid Iter NymjDhs, fol- 
loiced bij Aeete mid Crites : — Amor- 
phus, Phantaste, &c., go off the stagi 
in pairs, singing the following 

PALINODE. 

Amo. From Sjianish shrugs, French face.--, 
smirks, irpes, find all affected humors. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
rha. From secret friends, sweet servants,loves, 
cloves, and such fantastic humors, 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us 

Amo. From stabbing of arms, fiap-dragons, 

healths, whiffs, and all such swaggering humors. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 

rha. From waving fans, coy glances, glicks, 

cringes, and all such simpering humors. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us, 
Amo. From making love by attorney, coiirtinj; 
of puppets, and paying for new acquaintance, 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
Pha. From perfumed dogs, monkics, Si^arrows, 
dildoes, and paraquettoes, 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us 
Amo. From wearing bracelets of hair, shoe- 
ties, gloves, garters, and rings with poesies. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
Pha. From, pargetting, painting, slicking, 
glazing, and renewing old rivclled faces. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
A)no. From -'squiring to tilt yards, play- 
houses, pageants, and all such public places. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
Pha. From entertaining one gallant to gull 
another, and making fools of either. 

Chorus. Good Mercury defend us. 
Amo. From belying ladies' favors, noblemen's 
countenance, coining counterfeit employments, 
vain-glorious taking to them other men's ser- 
vices, and all s(iIf-loving humors, 

Chorus. Good INIercurj'- defend us. 

Mercuky and Crites sing. 
Now each one dry his weeping eyes, 

And to the Well of Kiwwledge haste; 
Where, purged of your maladies, 

You may of sioeeter waters taste : 
And, with refined voice, report 
The gra£A of Cynthia, and her coii.'. 

[Exeunt. 



CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 



203 



THE EPILOGUE. 



Gentles, be't known to you, since I went in 

I am turn'd rhymer, and do thus begin. 

The author (jealous how your sense doth take ' 

His travails) hath enjoined me to make 

Some short and ceremonious epilogue ; 

But if I yet know what, I am a rogue : 

He ties me to such laws as quite distract 

My thoughts and would a year of time exact. 

I neither must be faint, remiss, nor sorry. 

Sour, serious, confident, nor peremptory ; 

But betwixt those. Let's see ; to lay the blame 

U'j)f)n the children's notion, thht Avere lame. 



To crave your favor, with a begging knee, 
Were to distrust the writer's faculty. 
To promise bettor at the next we bring. 
Prorogues disgrace, commends not any thing. 
Stiffly to stand on tliis, and proudly approve 
The play, might tax the maker of Self-love. 
I'll only speak what I have heard him say, 
" By 'tis good, and if you like't, you mny.°* 



Ecce ruhei qtiidam, pallet, stupet, osciiat, odit. I'lS 
volo : nunc ?iobis carmina nostra plaoerii. 



THE POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT. 

TO THE VIRTUOUS, AND MY WORTHY FRIEND, 

MR. EICHARD MARTIN. 

Sia, — A tlianklul man owes a courtesy ever; the tintliankful but when he needs it. To make mine own mark appear, 
vA shew by whicli of these seals I am known, I send you this piece of wliat may live of mine ; for whose innocencK, 
Bs for the author's, you were once a noble and timely undertaker, to the greatest justice of this kingdom. Enjoy now the 
delight of your goodness, which is, to see that prosper you preserved, and posterity to owe the reading of tliat, without 
otTence, to your name, which so much ignorance and malice of tlie times then conspired to have supprest. 

Your true lover, Ben Jonsok. 

DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



Augustus C^sak. 
Mec^nas. 
Marc. Ovid. 
COR. Gallus. 
gEX. Propertius. 
Fus. Aristius. 
Pub. Ovid. 
Virgil. 
Horace. 
Trebatius. 



AsiNius Lupus. 


JEsov. 


Pantilius Tucca. 


PVRGI. 


Luscus. 


Lictors, Equitis, S^c. 


RuF. Lab. Crispinus. 




Hermogenes Tigellius. 


Julia. 


Demetrius Fannius. 


Cytiieris. 


Albius. 


Plautia. 


JIixos. 


ClILOE. 


IIlSTRIO. 


Maids. 



SCENE, — Rome. 



Afler the second sounding. 

Envy arises in the midst of tlie stage. 

Light, I salute thee, hut with tcounded nerves, 
Wishing thy golden splendor pitchij darkness, 
IVhat's here f The Arraignment ! ay ; this, 

this is it. 
That our sunk eyes have waked for all this while : 
Here toill be subject for my snakes and me. 
Cling to my neck and wrists, my loving toornts. 
And cast you round in soft and amorous folds, 
Till I do bid icncurl ; then, break your knots. 
Shoot out yourselves at length, as your forced stings 
Would hide themselves within his maliced sides. 
To whom I shall apply you. Stay ! the shine 
Of this assembly here offends tny sight ; 
Til darken thatfrst, and outface their grace- 
Wonder not, if I stare : these fifteen weeks, 
So lotig as since the plot was but an embrion, 
Have I, xcith burning lights niixt vigilant thoughts, 
In expectation of this hated 2}lay, 
To lohich at last I am arrived as Prologue. 
Nor would I you should look for other looks. 
Gesture, or compliment from me, than ivhat 
Tlie infected bulk of Envy can afford : 
For I am risse here with a covetous hop)e. 
To blast your phcj!'' "cs and destroy your sjwrts. 
With torestlings, comments, applications, 
Spy -like suggestions, 2)rivy whisperings. 
And thousand such promoting sleights as these. 
Mark hoio I loill begin : The scene is, ha ! 
Rome ? Rome ? and Rome ? Crack, eye-strings, ana 

your balls 
Drop into earth : let tne be ever' blind, 
I am prevented ; all my hopes are crost, 
Check' d, and abated ; fie, a freezing sioeal 
Flows forth at all my pores, my entrails burn : 
Wha,t should I do ? Rome. Rome ! O my vext soul. 



Hoio might I force this to the present state / 

Are there iw players here'? no poet apes. 

That come with basilisk's eyes, ichose forked tongita 

Are steepi'd in venom, as their hearts in gall ? 

Either of these icould help' me ; they could toresi. 

Pervert, and p)oison all they hear or see, . 

With senseless glosses, and allusions. 

Noio, if you be good devils, fly me not. 

You know what dear and ample faculties 

I have endowed you with : Til lend yoti more. 

Here, take my snakes among you, come and eat, 

And while the squeezd juice floics in your black jaws, 

Help me to damn the author. Spit it forth 

Upon his lines, and sheio your rusty teeth 

At every word, or accent : or else choose 

Out of my longest vipers, to stick down 

In your deep throats ; and let the heads come forth 

At your rank mouths ; that he may see you arm'd 

With triple malice, to hiss, sting, and tear 

His work and him ; to forge, and then declaim. 

Traduce, corrupt, apply, inform, suggest ; 

O, these are gifts wherein your soids are blest, 

]l7tat ! do you hide yoiirselves ? loill none appear ? 

None anstoer ? ichat, doth this calm troop hffrighX 

Nay, then I do despair ; doivn, sink again : [you * 

This travail is all lost with my dead hopes. 

If in such bosoms spite have left to dwell. 

Envy is not on earth, nor scarce in hell. 

[Descends slowly. 

The third sounding. 

As she disappears, enter Prologue hastily, iu 

armor. 
Stay, monster, ere thou sink — thus on thy head 
Set toe our bolder foot ; -loith which xoe tread 
Thy malice into earth : so Spite sJioidd die, 
Desjnsed and scorn' d by noble Industry, 

204 



THE POETASTER. 



205 



If any muse lohy I salute the stage, 

An armed Prologue ; know, tis a dangerous age : 

Wherein who writes, had need present his scenes 

Forty-fold iwoof against the conjuring means 

Of base detractors, and illiterate apes, 

That fill up rooms in fair and formal shapes. 

'Gainst these, have we 2nit on this forced defence: 

Whereof the allegory and hid setise 

Is, that a well erected confidence 

Can fright their pride, and laugh their folly hence. 

Here now, put case our author should, once more, 

Swear that his play tvere good ; he doth implore. 

You would not argue him of arrogance : 

Hoice'er that tommon spaion of ignorance. 

Our fry of writers, may heslime his fame, 

And give his action that adulterate name. 

Such full-blown vanity he more doth loth, 

Than base dejection ; there's a mean 'twixt both, 

Which with a constant firmness 'he jmrsues. 

As one that knows the strength of his own Muse. 

And this he hopes all free souls will allow : 

Others that take it with a rugged brow, 

Their moods he rather pities than envids : 

His mind it is above their injuries. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Scene draws, and discovers Ovid in 
his study. • 

Ovid. Then, when this body falls in funeral fire, 
My 7iame shall live, and my best paH aspire. 
It shall go so. 

Enter Luscus, icith a gown and cap. 

Lus. Young master, master Ovid, do you 
hear ? Gods a' me ! away with your songs and 
sonnets, and on -with your gown and cap quickly : 
here, here, your father will be a man of this 
room presently. Come, nay, nay, nay, nay, be 
brief. These verses too, a poison on 'em ! I 
cannot abide them, they make me ready to cast, 
by the banks of Helicon ! Nay, look, what a 
rascally untoAvard thing this poetry is ; I could 
tear them now. 

Ovid. Give me ; how near is my father ? 

Lus. Heart a man : get a law book in j'our 
hand, I will not answer you else. [Ovid j^uts on 
his cap and goion.] Why so ! now there's some 
formality in you. By Jove, and three or four of 
the gods more, I am right of mine old master's 
humor for that ; this villainous poetry will undo 
you, by the welkin. 

Ovid. "What, hast thou'buskins on, Luscus, that 
thou swearest so tragically and high ? 

Lus. No, but I have boots on, sir, and so has 
your father too by this time ; for he call'd for 
them ere I came from the lodging. 

Ovid. Why, was he no readier ? 

L%is. O no ; and there was the mad skelder- 
ing captain, with the velvet arms, ready to lay 
hold on him as he comes down : he that presses 
every man he meets, with an oath to lend him 
money, and cries, Thou must clo't, old boy, as thou 
trt a ma?i, a man of worship. 

Ovid. Who, Pantilius Tucca ? 

Lus. Ay, he ; and I met little master Lupus, 
the tribune, going thither too. 



Ovid. Naj', an he be under their arrest, I may 
with safety enough read over my elegy before he 
come. • 

Lus. Gods a' me ! what will you do ? Avhy 
young master, you are not Castalian mad, luna- 
tic, fraiitic, desperate, ha ! 

Ovid. What ailest thou, Luscus ? 

Lus. God be with you, sir ; I'll leave yoxi to 
your poetical fancies, and furies. I'll not be 
guilty, I. [Exit. 

Ovid. Be not, good ignorance. I'm glad th'art 
For thus alone, our ear shall better judge [gone ; 
The hasty errors of our morning muse. 

Envy, why twit'st thou me my times sjxnt ill. 

And call'st my verse, fruits of an idle quill? 

Or that, unlike the line from tahence I sprung. 

War's dusty honors I jjursue not young ? 

Or that I study 7iot the tedious laws. 

And prostitute my voice in every cause? 

Thy scope is mortal; mine, eternal fame. 

Which through tJie world shall ever chaunt 7ny name 

Homer loill live whilst Tenedos stands, and Idc, 

Or, to the sea, fleet Simais doth slide : 

And so shall Hesiod too, while vines do bear. 

Or crooked sickles crop the ri^Ku'd ear. 

Callimachus, though in invention loiv, 

Shall still be sung, since he in art doth flow. 

No loss shall come to Soplwcles' protul vein , 

With sun and moon Aratus shall remain. 

While slaves be false, fathers hard, and, bawds be 

lohorish, 
Wliilst harlots flatter, shall 3£enandcr flourish. 
Ennius, tliough rude, and Accius's high-reard 
Afresh applause in every age shall gain, [strain, 
Of Varro's name, what Sar shall not be told, 
Of Jason's Argo and the fleece of gold? 
Then shall Lucretius' lofty ^lumbers die, 
When earth and seas in fire and flame shaU fry. 
Tifyrus, Tillage, JEnce shall be read, 
Whilst Rome of all the coiiquer'd world is licnd ! 
Till Cupid's fires be out, and his bow broken. 
Thy verses, neat Tibullus, shall be spoken. 
Our Gallus shall be known from east toiceat ; 
So shall Lycoris, tohom he noio loves best. 
The sujfering plough-share or the flint may tcear ; 
But heavenly Poesy no death can fear. 
Kings shall give place to it, and kingly shows. 
The banks o'er lohich gold-bearing Tagus flows. 
Kneel hinds to trash : me let bright Phoebus swell 
With exciJs full floioing from the Muses' loell. 
Frost-fearing myrtle shall imjoale my head. 
And of sad lovers I be often read. 
Envy the living, not the dead, doth bite ! 
For after death all men receive their right. 
Then, when this body falU in funeral fire. 
My name shall live, and my best 2)art aspire. 

Enter Ovid senior, followed by Luscus, TuccA, 
and Lupus. 
Ovid se. Your na}ne shall live, indeed, sir ! you 
say true : but how infamously, how scorn' d and 
contemn' d in the eyes and ears of the best and 
gravest Romans, that you think not on ; you 
never so much as dream of that. Are these the 
fruits of all my travail and expenses ? Is this 
the scope and aim of thy studies ? Are these 
the hopeful courses, wherewith I have so long 
flattered my expectation from thee ? Verses J 



206 



THE POETASTER. 



ACT t, 



Poetry ! Ovid, whom I thought to sec the plead- 
er, become Ovid the play-maker ! 

Ovid Ju. No, sir. 
..' Ovid $p. Yes, sir ; I liear of a tragedy of yours 
coming forth for the common players there, call'd 
Medea. By my household gods, if I come to the 
acting of it, I'll add one tragic part more than is 
yet expected to it : believe me, when I promise 
it. Wliat ! shall I have my son a stager now ? 
an enghle for players ? a gull, a rook, a shot- 
clog, to make suppers, and be laugh'd at? Pub- 
lius, I will set thee on the funeral pile first. 

Ovid Ju. Sir, I beseech you to have patience. 

Lus. Nay, this 'tis to have your ears damm'd 
up to good counsel. I did augur all this to him 
beforehand, without poring into an ox's paunch 
for the matter, and yet he would not be scrupu-f^ 
lous. 

Tuc. How now, goodman slave ! what, rowly- 
powly ? all rivals, rascal ? Why, my master of 
worship, dost hear ? are these thy best projects ? 
is this thy designs and thy discipline, to suffer 
knaves to be competitors with commanders and 
gentlemen? Are we parallels, rascal, are we 
parallels ? 

Ovid se. Sirrah, go get m j' horses read}'. You'll 
still be prating. 

Tuc. .Do, you perpetual stinkard, do, go ; talk 
to tapsters and ostlers, you slave ; they are 
in your element, go ; here be the emperor's cap- 
tains, you ragamuffin rascal, and not your com- 
rades. [Exit Luscus. 

Lup. Indeed, Marcus Ovid, these players are 
an idle generation, and do miich harm in a state, 
corrupt young gentry very much, I know it ; I 
have not been a tribune thus long and observed 
nothing : besides, tliey will rob us, i\p, that arc 
magistrates, of our respect, bring us upon their 
stages, and make us ridiculous to the plebeians ; 
they will play you or me, the Avisest men they 
can come by still, only to bring us in contempt 
with the vulgar, and make us cheap. 

Tuc. Thou art in the right, my venerable 
cropshin, they will indeed; the tongue of the 
oracle never twang'd truer. Your courtier can- 
not kiss his mistress's slippers in quiet for them ; 
nor your while innocent gallant pawn his revel- 
ling suit to make his x^unk a supper. An honest 
decayed commander cannot skelder, cheat, nor 
be seen in a bawdy-liouse, but he shall be straight 
in one of their wormwood comedies. They are 
grown licentious, the rogues ; libertines, flat lib- 
ertines. They forget they are in the statute, the 
rascals ; they are blazon'd there ; there they are 
trick't, they and their pedigrees ; they need no 
other heralds, I wiss. 

Ovid se. ]\Iethinks, if nothing else, yet this 
alone, the very reading- of the public edicts, 
should fright thee from commerce with them, 
and give thee distaste cnougli of their actions. 
But this betrays what a student you are, this 
argues your proficiency in the law ! 

Ovid ju. They wrong me, sir, and do abuse 
you more, 
That blow your ears with these untrue re- 
ports. 
i am. not known unto the open stage, 
Nor do I traffic in their theatres : 
Indeed, I do acknowledge, at request 



Of some near friends, and honorable Romans, 
I have begun a poem of that nature. 

Ovid se. You have, sir, a poem ! and where is 
it ? That's the law you study. 

Ovidju. Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to read. 

Ovid se. Cornelius Gallus ! there's another 
gallant too hath drunk of the same poison, and 
'Tibullus and Propertius. But these are gentle- 
men of means and revenues now. Thou art a 
younger brother, and hast nothing but thy bare 
exhibition ; which I protest shall bo bare indeed, 
if thou forsake not these unprofitable by-courses, 
and that timely too. Name me a profest poet, 
that his poetry did ever afford him so much as 
a competency. Ay, your god of poets there, 
whom all of you admire and reverence so much. 
Homer, he whose worm-eaten statue nnrst not 
be spewed against, but with hallow'd lips and 
grovelling adoration, what was he ? what was he ? 

Tuc. Marry, I'll tell thee, old swaggerer ; he 
was a poor blind, rhyming rascal, tliat lived 
obscurely up and down in booths and tap-houses, 
and scarce ever made a good meal in his sleep, 
the whoreson hungry beggar. 

Ovid se. He says well : — nay, I know this 
nettles you now ; but answer me, is it not true ? 
You'll J;ell me his name shall live ; and that now 
being dead his works have eternized him, and 
made him divine : but could this divinity feed 
him while he lived ? could his name feast him ? 

Tuc. Or purchase him a senator's reven'ae, 
could it .'' 

Ovid se. Ay, or give him place in the com- 
monwealth ? worship, or attendants ? make him 
be carried in his litter ? 

Tuc. Thou speakest sentences, old Bias. 

L7ip. All this the law will do, young sir, if 
you'll follow if. 

Ovid se. If he be mine, he shall follow and 
observe what I will apt him to, or I profesa 
liere openly and utterly to disclaim him. 

Ovid ju. Sir, let me crave you will forego 
these moods : 
I will be any thing, or study any thing ; 
I'll prove the unfashion'd body of the law 
Pure elegance, and make her rugged'st strains 
Run smoothly as Proijertius' elegies. 

Ovid se. Propertius' elegies ? good ! 

Liip. Nay, you take him too quickly, Marcus. 

Ovid se. Why, he cannot speak, he cannot 
think out of poetry ; he is bewiteh'd Avith it. 

Lup. Come, do not misprize him. 

Ovid sc. Misprise ! ay, marry, I would have 
him use some such words novy ; they have some 
touch, some taste of the ]aw. He should make 
himself a style out of these, and let his Proper- 
tius' elegies go by. 

Lup. Indeed, young Publius, he that will now 
hit the mark, mirst shoot through the law ; we 
have no other planet reigns, and in that sphere 
you may sit and sing with angels. Why, the 
law makes a man happy, Avithout respecting any 
other merit; a simple scholai", or none at all, 
may be a lawyer. 

Tuc. He tells thee true, my noble neophyte , 
my little grammatic aster, he does : it shall never 
put thee to thy mathematics, metaphj-sics, phi- 
losoph3% /ind I know not what supposed suffi- 
ciencicp , if thou canst but have the patieiice tc 



THE POETASTER. 



207 



plod enough, talk, and make a noise enough, be 
impudent enough, and 'tis enough. 

Lup. Three books will furnish you. 

Tuc. And the less ai't the bettor : besides, 
when it shall be in the power of thy chevril con- 
science, to do right or wrong at thy pleasure, my 
pretty Alcibiades. 

Lup. Ay, and to have bettor men than him- 
self, by many thousand degrees, to observe him, 
and stand bare. 

Tuc. True, and he to carry himself proud and 
etately, and have the law on his side for't, old 
boy. 

Ovid se. Well, the day grows old, gcntlomen, 
and I must leave you. Publius, if thou wilt 
hold my favoi% abandon these idle, fruitless 
studies, that so bewitch thee. Send Janus home 
his back face again, and look only fonvard to 
the law : intend that. I will allow thee what 
shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and 
maintain thy society with the best ; and tinder 
these conditions I leave thee. My blessings light 
upon thee, if thoti respect them ; if not, mine 
eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will 
ache for itself ; and so farewell ! What, are my 
horses come ? 

Lus. Yes, sir, they are at the gate without. 

Ovid se. That's well. — Asinius liUpus, a 
word. Captain, I shall take m»y leave of you ? 

Tuc. No, my little old boy, disj^atch with Co- 
thurnus there : I'll attend thee, I — 

Ltis. To borrow some ten drachms : I know 
hia project. [Aside. 

Ovid se. Sir, you shall make me beholding to 
you. Now, captain Tucca, what say you ? 

2\(c. Why, what should I say, or what can I 
Baj% my flower o' the order ? .Shoiild I say thoiv, 
art rich, or that thou art honorable, or wise, or 
valiant, or learned, or liberal ? why, thou art all 
these, and thou knowest it, my noble Lucullus, 
thou knowest it. Come, be not ashamed of thy 
virtues, old stump : honor's a good brooch to 
wear in a man's hat at all times, 'lliou art the 
man of war's Mccsenas, old boy. Why shouldst 
not thou be graced then by them, as well as ho 
is by his poets ? — 

Enter Pyrgus and tvhispers Tucca. 
How now, my carrier, what news ? 

Lus. The boy has stayed within for his cue this 
half-hour. [Aside. 

Tuc. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak 
it out : what ; it is no treason against the state 
I hope, is it ? 

Lus. Yes, against the state of my master's 
purse [Aside, dnd exit. 

ryf. [alau■d.^ Sir, Agrippa desires you to for- 
K.ar him till the next week ; his mules are not 
yet come up. 

Tuc. His mules ! now the bots, the spavin, 
and the glanders, and some dozen diseases more, 
light on him and his mules ! What, have they 
the yellows, his mules, that they come no faster ? 
or are they foundered, ha ? his mules have the 
staggers belike, have they ? 

Pi/r. O no, sir : — then your tongue might be 
suspected for one of his mules. [Aside. 

Tuc, He owes me almost a talent, and he 
thiuks to bear it away with h:o mules, does he ? 



Sirrah, you nut-cracker, go your ways to him 
again, and tell him I must have money, 1 : 1 
cannot eat stones and turfs, say. "\\liat, will 
he clem me and my followers ? ask him an he 
will clem me ; do, go. He would have me fry 
my jerkin, would he? Away, setter, away. 
Yet, stay, my little tumbler, this old boy shall 
supply now. I will not trouble him, I cannot 
be importimate, I ; I cannot be impudent. 

Fyr. Alas, sir, no ; you are the most maidenly 
blushing creature upon the earth. [Aside. 

Tuc. Dost thou hear, my little six and fiftj', 
or thereaboiits ? thou art not to learn the humors 
and tricks of that old bald cheater, Time ; thou 
hast not this chain for nothing. Men of worth 
have their chimeras, as v/ell as other creatures ; 
and they do see monsters, sometimes they do, 
they do, brave boy. 

Pi/r. Better cheap than he shall see you, I 
warrant him. . [Aside, 

Tuc. Thou must let me have six — six drachms, 
I mean, old boy : thou shalt do it ; I tell thee, 
old boy, thou shalt, and in private too, dost thou 
see ? — Go, walk off : [to the Boy] — There, 
there. Six is the sura. Thy son's a gallant 
spark, and must not be put out of a sudden. 
Come hither, Callimachus ; thy father tells me 
•thou art too poetical, boy : thou must not be so ; ^^ 
thou must leave them, young novice, thou must ; ' 
they are a sort of poor starved rascals, that are 
ever wrapt up in foul linen ; and cfm boast of 
nothing but a lean visage, peering out of a seam- 
rent suit, the very emblems of beggary. No, 
dost hear, turn lawyer, thou shalt be my soli 
citor. — "lis right, old hoy, is't ? 

Ovid se. You were best tell it, captain. 

Tuc. No 5 fare thou well, mine honest horse- 
man ; and thou, old beaver, [to Lupus] — Pray 
thee, Koman, when thou comest to town, see 
me at my lodging, visit mo sometimes ? thou 
shalt be welcome, old boy. Do not balk me, 
good swaggerer. Jove keep thy chain from 
pawning ; go thy ways, if thou lack money I'll 
lend thee some ; I'll leave thee to thy horse now. 
Adieu. 

Ovid se. Farewell, good captain. 

Tuc. Boy, you can have but half a share now, 
boy. [E.vif, folloioed by Pyrgus. 

Ovid se. 'Tis a strange boldness that accom- 
panies this fellow. — Come. 

Ovid ju. I'll give attendance on you to your 
horse, sir, please you. 

Ovid se. No ; keep your chamber, and fall to 
your studies ; do so : The gods of liome bless 
thee ! [Exit ivith Lupus. 

Ovidju. And give me stomach to digest this 
law: 
That should have follow'd sure, had I been he. 
O, sacred Poesy, thou spirit of arts. 
The soul of science, and the queen of souls ; 
"What profane violence, almost sacrilege. 
Hath here been offered thy divinities ! 
That thine own guiltless poverty should arm 
Prodigious ignorance to Avound thee thus ! 
For thence is all their force of argument 
Drawn forth against thee ; or, from the abuse 
Of thy great powers in adulterate brains : 
When, would men learn but to distinguish spirits, 
And set true difference 'twixt those jaded wits 



THE POETASTER. 



That run a broken pace for common hire, 
And the hi<?h raptures of a happy muse, 
Borne on the winss of her immortal thought, 
That kicks at earth with a disdainful heel, 
And beats at licavcn gates with her bright hoofs ; 
They would not then, with such distorted faces, 
And desperate censures, stab at Poesy. 
They would admire bright knowledge, and their 

minds 
•should ne'er descend on so unworthy objects 
As gold, or titles ; they would dread far more 
To be thought ignorant, than be known poor, 
'the time was once, when wit drown'd wealth ; 

but now, 
Your only barbarism is t'have wit, and want. 
No matter now in virtue who excels, 
He that hath coin, hath all perfection else. 
Tib. [irithhi.] Dvid ! 
Ovid. Who's there ? Come in. 

Enier Tiuullus. 

■Tib. Good morrow, lawyer. 

Oi'id. Good morrow, dear Tibullus ; welcome : 
sit down. 

Tib. Not I. What, so hard at it ? ' Let's see, 
what's here ? 
Numa in deciino nono ! Nay, I will see it 

Oeid. Prithee away ' 

Tib. If thrice in field a man vanquish his foe, 
'Tis after in his choice to serve or no. 
How now, Ovid ! Law cases in verse ? 

Ovid. In troth, I know not ; they run from my 
pen unwittingly, if they be verse. What's the 
news abroad ? 

Tib. Off with this gown ; I come to have thee 
walk. 

Ovid. No, good Tibullus, I'm not now in case. 
Pray let me alone. 

Tib. How ! not in case ? 
'Slight, thou'rt in too much case, by all this law. 

Ovid. Troth, if I live, I will new dress the law 
In sprightlv Poesy's habiliments. 

Tib. The hell thou wilt ! What ! turn law 
into verse ? 
Thy father has school'd thee, I see. Here, read 

that same ; 
There's subject for you ; and, if I mistake not, 
A stijjersedeas to your melancholy. 

Ovid. How ! subscribed Julia ! my life, my 
heaven ! 

Tib. Is the mood changed ? 

Ovid. Music of Avit ! note for th' harmonious 
spheres ! 
Csi©3tial accents, how you ravish me ! 

Tib. What is it, Ovid ? 

Ovid. That I must meet my Julia, the princess 
J alia. 

Tib. Where? 

Ovid. Why, at 

Heart, I've forgot ; my passion so transports me. 

Tib. I'll save your pains : it is at Albius' house, 
The jeweller's, where the fair Lycoris lies. 

Ovid. Who ? Cytheris, Cornelius Gallus' love : 

Tib. Ay, he'll "be there too, and my Plautia. 

Ovid. And why not your Delia ? 

Tib. Yes, and. your Corinna. 

Ovid. True ; but, my sweet Tibullus, keep 
that secret ; 
I would not, for all Rome, it should be thought 



I veil bright Julia undei-neath that name : 

Julia, the gem and jewel of my soul. 

That takes her honors from the golden sky. 

As beauty doth all lustre from her ej'e. 

The air respires the pure Elysian sweets 

In which she breathes, and from her looks de« 

scend 
The glories of the summer. Heaven she is, 
Praised in herself above all praise ; and he 
Which hears her speak, would swear the tuneful 

orbs 
Turn'd in his zenith only. 

Tib. Publius, thou'lt lose thj'self. 

Ovid'. O, in no labj-rinth can I safelier err, 
Than when I lose myself in praising her. 
Hence, law, and welcome Muses, though not rich, 
Yet are jov. pleasing : let's be reconciled. 
And new made one. Henceforth, I promise faith, 
And all my serious hours to spend with you ; 
With you, whose music strikcth on m.y heart. 
And with bewitching tones steals forth my spirit, 
In Julia's name ; fair Julia : Julia's love 
Shall be a law, and that sweet law I'll study. 
The law and art of sacred Julia's love : 
All other objects_will but abjccts prove. • 

Tib. Come, we shall have thee as passionate 
as Propertius, anon. 

Ovid. O, how does my Sextus ? [death. 

Tib. Faith, full of sorrow for his Cynthia's 

Ovid. What, still ? 

Tib. Still, and still more, his griefs do grow 
upon him 
As do his hours. Never did I know 
An understanding spirit so take to heart 
The common work of Pate. 

Ovid. O, my Tibullus, 
Let us not blame him ; for against such chances 
The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof. 
Wc may read constancy and fortitude 
To other souls ; but had ourselves been struck 
With the like planet, had our loves, like his, 
Been ravish'd from us by injurious death, 
Aiid in the height and heat of our best days, 
It would have crack'd our sinews, shrunk our 

veins. 
And made our very heart-strings jar, like his. 
Come, let's go take him forth, and prove if mirth 
Or company will but abate his passion. 

Tib, Content, and I implore the gods it may. 

\^Exeunt. 

ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Albius's House. 

Enter Aleius and CiiiSFixus. 

Alb. Master Crispinus, you are welcome : pray 
use a stool, sir. Your cousin Cytheris will come 
down presently. We are so busy for the re- 
ceiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce 
be a minute with myself, for thinking of them ; 
Pray you sit, sir ; pray you sit, sir. 

Crisp. I. am very well, sir. Never trust me, 
but you are most delicately seated here, full of 
sweet delight and blandishment ! an excellent 
air, an excellent air ! 

Alb. Ay, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtier.": 
run in my mind still ; I must look out. For Ju 



THE POETASTER. 



20'J 



piter's sal\ e, sit, sir ; or please you walk into the 
garden ? There's a garden on th^ back-side. 

Crisp. I am most strenuously -well, I thank 
yoi., sir. 

Alb. Much good do yoi,, sir. 

Eater Chloe, toith two Maids. 

Chloc. Come, bring those perfumes forAvard a 
little, and strew some roses and violets here : 
Fie ! here be rooms savor the most pitifully rank 
that ever I felt. I cry the gods mercy, [sees 
Altuus,] my husband's in the wind of us ! 

Alb. Why, this is good, excellent, excellent ! 
well said, my sweet Chloe ; trim up j^our house 
most obsequiously. 

Chloe. For Vulcan's sake, breathe somewhere 
else : in troth, you overcome ou.r perfumes ex- 
ceedingly ; you are too predominant. 

Alb. Ilear but my opinion, sweet wife. 

Chloe. A pin for your pinion ! In sincerity, 
if you be thus fulsome to me in every thing, I'll 
be divorced. Gods my body ! you know what 
you were before I married you ; I was a gentle- 
woman born, I ; I lost all my friends to be a citi- 
zen's wifc,because I heard, indeed, they kept their 
wives as fine as ladies ; and that we might rule 
our husbands like ladies, and do what we listed ; 
do you think I would have married you else ? 

Alb, I acknowledge, sweet wife : — she speaks 
the best of any woman in Italy, and moves as 
mightily ; which makes me, I had rather she 
should make bumps on my head, as big as my 
two fingers, than I vi'ould offend her. — But, 
sweet wife 

Chloe- Yet again ! Is it not grace enough for 
5'ou, that I call you husband, and you call mo 
wife ; but you must still be poking me, against 
Ttiy will, to things ? 

Alb. But you know, wife, here are the great- 
est ladies, and gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to 
be entertained in our hoiise now ; and I would 
fain advise thee to entertain them in the best 
sort, i'faith, wife. 

Chloe. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man 
talk so idly ? You would seem to be master ! you. 
would have your sjjoke in my cart ! you would 
advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen ! 
Because you can marshal your pack-needles, 
horse-combs, hobby-horses, and wall-candle- 
sticks in your warehouse better than I, tliere- 
fore you can tell how to entertain ladies and 
gentlefolks better than I ? 

Alb. O, my sweet Avifc, upbraid me not with 
that ; gain savors sweetly from any thing ; he 
that respects to get, must relish all commodities 
alike, and admit no difference between oade and 
frankincense, or the most precious balsamum and 
a tar-barrel. 

Chloe. Marry, foh ! you sell snuffers too, if you 
be rcmembcr'd ; but I pray you let m.e buy them 
out of your hand ; for, I tell you true, I take it 
highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentle- 
folks of you, at these years, i'faith. Alas, man, 
there was not a gentleman came to your house in 
your t'other wife's time, I hope ! nor a lady, nor 
music, nor masques ! Nor you nor your house 
were so much as spoken of, before I disbased my- 
self, from my hood and my farthingal, to these 
num-rowls and your whale-bone bodice. 
14 



Alb. Look here, my sweet wSe ; I am miim, my 
dear mummia, my balsamum, my spermaceti; 

and my very city of She has the most best, 

true, feminine wit in Rome ! 

Cris. I have heard so, sir ; and do most ve- 
hemently desire to participate the knowledge of 
her fair features. 

Alb. Ah, peace ; you shall hear more anon : 
be not seen yet, I pray you ; not yet : observe. 

[ Exit^ 

Chloe. 'Sbody ! give husbands the head a little 
more, and they'll be nothing but head shortly : 
What's he there ? 

1 Maid. I know not, forsooth. 

2 Maid. Who would you speak Avith, sir .' 
Cris. I would speak with my cousin Cy- 

theris. 

2 Maid. He is one, forsooth, would speak with 
his cousin Cytheris. 

Chloe. Is she your cousin, sir r 

Cris. [coming forioard.'] Y'es, in truth, for- 
sooth, for fault of a bettei-. 

Chloe. She is a gentlewoman. 

Cris. Or else she should not be my cousin, I 
assure you. 

Chloa. Are you a gentleman born ? 

Cris. That I am, lady ; you shall see mine 
arms, if it please you. 

Chloe. No, your legs do sufficiently shew you 
are a gentleman born, sir ; for a man borne upon 
little legs, is always a gentleman born. 

Cris. Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of 
my arras, mistress ; for I bear them about me, tu 
have them seen : ]My name is Crispiiius, or Cris- 
pinas indeed; which is well expressed in my 
arms ; a face crj'ing in chief; and beneath it a 
bloody toe, between three thorns pitnr/ent. 

Chloe. Then you are welcome, .sir : now you 
are a gentleman born, I can find in my heart to 
welcome you ; for I am a gentlewoman born too, 
and will bear my head high enough, though 
'twere my fortune to marry a tradesman. 

Cris. No doubt of that, sweet feature ; your 
carriage shews it in any man's eye, that is carried 
upon you with judgment. 

Re-enter Albius. 

Alb. Dear wufe, be not angry. 

CItloe. Gods my passion ! 

Alb. Hearme but one thing ; let not your maids 
set cushions in the parlor windows, nor in the 
dining-chamber windows ; nor upon stools, in 
either of them, in any case ; for 'tis tavern-like : 
but lay them one upon another, in some out- 
room or corner of the dining-cb.amber. 

Chloe. Go, go ; meddle with your bed-cham- 
ber only ; or rather with your bed in your 
chamber only ; or rather with your wife in your 
bed only ; or on my faith I'll not be pleased 
with you only. 

Alb. Look here, my dear wife, entertain that 
gentleman kindly, I prithee mum. [Exit. 

Chloe. Go, I need your instructions indeed I 
anger me no more, I advise you. Citi-sui, 
quotha ! she's a wise gentlewoman, i'faith, will 
marry herself to the sin of the city. 

Alb. [re-enterin</.] But this time, and no more, 
by heav'n, wife : hang no pictures in the hall, 
nor in the dining-chamber, in any case, biit ir 



310 



THE POETASTER. 



the gallery only ; for 'tis not courtly else, o' mj'- 
word, -wife. 

Chloo. 'Spreciovis, never have done ! 

Alb. Wife [Exit. 

Chloc Do I not hear a reasonable corrigible 
nand over him, Crispinus ? 

Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most 
sweet hand over him. 

Alb. [re-cjiteriuf/.] And then, for the great 

gilt andirons 

* Chloe. Again ! Would the andirons were in 
your great guts for mo ! 

Alb. I do vanish, wife. {E.tit. 

Chloe. How shall I do, master Crisj^inus ? 
here will be all the bravest ladies in court pres- 
ently to see your cousin Cytheris : O the gods ! 
how might I behave myself now, as to enter- 
tain them most courtly ? 

Oris, Marry, lady, if" you will entertain them 
most courtly, you must do thus : as soon as 
ever your maid or your man brings you word 
they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em ! 
what do they here ? And yet, when they come, 
speak them as fair, and give theiA the kindest 
■welcome in Avords that can be. 

Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Cris- 
pinus ? 

Cris. I assure you it is, lady ; I have ob- 
served it. 

Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on ; 
but it is not so easy to speak fair after, methinks. 

Alb. {re-entering.] wife, the coaches are 
come, on my word ; a number of coaches and 
courtiers. 

Chloe. A 2iox on them ! ichat do they here ? 

Alb. How now, -wife ! would'st thou not have 
them come ? 

Chloe. Come ! come, you are a fool, you. — 
He knows not the trick on't. Call Cytheris, I 
pray you : and, good master Crispinus, you can 
observe, you say ; let me entreat you for all the 
ladies' behaviors, jewels, jests, and attires, that 
j'ou marking, as well as I, we may put both our 
marks together, when they are gone, and confer 
of them. 

Cris. I wan-ant you, sweet lady ; let me alone 
to observe till I turn myself to nothing but ob- 
servation. — 

Enter Cythehis. 

Good morrow, cousin Cytheris. 

Cyth. Welcome, kind cousin. What ! are 
they come ? 

Alb. Ay, your friend Cornelius Gallus, Ovid, 
Tibullus, Propertius, with Julia, the emperor's 
daughter, and the lady Plautia, are 'liglited at 
the door ; and with them Hei-mogenes Tigellius, 
the excellent musician. 

Cyth. Come, let us go meet them, Chloe. 

Chloc. Observe, Crispinus. 

Crisp. At a hair's breadth, lady, I warrant 
you. 

As they are poiny out, enter Cornelius Gallus, 
Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius, Hermogenes, 
Julia, and Plautia. 

Gal. Health to the lovely Chloe ! you must 
pardon me, mistress, that I prefer this fair gen- 
tlewoman. 



Cyth'. I pardon and praise you for it, sir ; and 
I beseech your excellence, receive her beauties 
into your knowledge and favor. 

Jul. Cytheris, she hath favor and behavior, 
that commands as much of me : and, sweet 
Chloe, know I do exceedingly love you, and 
that I will approve in any grace my father the 
emperor may shew you. Is this j'our husband ? 

Alb. For fault of a better, if it please yo.li 
highness. 

Chloe. Gods my life, how he shames mo ! 

Cyth. Not a whit, Chloe, they all think you 
politic and witty ; wise women choose not hus- 
bands for the eye, merit, or birth, but wealth 
and sovereignty. 

Ovid. Sir, we all come to gratulate, for the 
good report of you. 

Tib. And would be glad to deserve your 
love, sir. 

Alb. ily wife will answer you all, gentlemen ; 
I'll come to you presently. [Exit. 

riau. You have chosen you a most fair com- 
panion here, Cytheris, and a very fair house. 

Cyth. To both which, you and all my friends 
are very welcome, Plautia. 

Chloe. With all my heart, I assure youi 
ladyship. 

riau. Thanks, sweet mistress Chloe. 

Jul. You must needs come to court, lady, 
i'faith, and there be sure your welcome shaU be 
as great to us. 

Ovid. She will deserve it, madam ; I see, even 
in her looks, gentry, and general worthiness; 

Tib. I have not seen a more certain character 
of an excellent disposition. 

Alb. [re-enteriny.] V/ife ! 

Chloe. O, they do so commend me hero, the 
courtiers ! what's the matter now ? 

Alb. For the banquet, sweet wife. 

Chloe. Yes ; and I must needs come to court, 
and be welcome, the princess says. 

[Exit loith Albius„ 

Gal. Ovid and Tibullus, you may be bold to 
welcome your mistress here. 

Ovid. AVe find it so, sir. 

Tib. And thank Cornelius Gallus. 

Ovid. Nay, my sweet Sextus, in faith thou 
art not sociable. [not. 

Prop. In faith I am not, Publius ; nor I can- 
Sick minds are like sick men that burn with 
fevers, [taste. 

Who -^vhen they drink, please hut a present 
And after bear a more impatient fit. 
Pray let me leave you ; I offend you all. 
And myself most. 

Gal. Stay, sweet Propertius. [and fate 

. Tib. You yield too much unto your griefs 

Which never hurts, but when we say it hurts us. 

Prop. O peace, Tibullus ; your philosophy 
Lends you too rough a hand to search "my 
wounds. [!,'rieve": 

Speak they of griefs, that know to sigh and 
The free and unconstrained spirit feels 
No weight of my oppression. [ Exit. 

Ovid. Worthy Roman ! 
Mcthmks I taste his misery, and could 
Sit down, and chide at his malignant stars. 

Jul. INIethinks I love him, that he loves so 
truly. 



THE POETASTER. 



211 



Cyth. This is the perfect'st love, lives after 

death. 
Gal. Such is the constant ground of virtue still. 
Plau. It puts on an inseparable face. 

Re-enter Chloe. 

Chloe. Have you inark'd every thing, Cris- 
pinus ? 

Oris. Every thing, I warrant you. 

Chloe, What gentlemen are tliese ? do you 
know them ? 

Cris. Ay, they are poets, lady. 

Chloe. Poets ! they did not talk of me since I 
went, did they ? 

Cris. O yes, and extolled your perfections to 
the heavens. 

Chloe. Now in sincerity they be the finest 
kind of men that ever I knew : Poets ! Could 
not one get the emperor to make my husband a 
poet, think you ? 

Cris. No, lady, 'tis love and beauty make 
poets : and since you like poets so well, your 
love and beauties shall make me a poet. 

Chloe. What ! shall they ? and such a one as 
these ? 

Cris, Ay, and a better than these : I would 
be sorry else. 

Chloe. And shall your looks change, and your 
hair change, and all, like these ? 

Cris. Wiry, a man may be a poet, and yet 
not change his hair, lady. 

Chloe. Well, we shall see your cunning : yet, 
if you can change your hair, I pray do. 

Re-enter Albius. 

Alb. Ladies, and lordlings, there's a slight 
banquet stays within for you ; please you draw 
near, and accost it. 

Jul. We thank you, good Albius : but when 
shall Avc see those excellent jewels you are com- 
mended to have ? 

Alb. At your ladyship's service, — I got that 
Bpeech by seeing a play last day, and it did me 
some grace now : I see, 'tis good to collect 
sometimes ; I'll frequent these plays more than 
I have done, now I come to bo familiar with 
courtiers. \_Aside. 

Gal. Why, how now, Hermogenes ? what 
ailcst thou, trow ? 

Ilcr. A little melancholy ; let me alone,prithee. 

Gal. Melancholy I how so ? 

Her. With riding : a plague on all coaches 
for me ! 

Chloe. Is that hard-favor'd gentleman a poet 
too, Cythcris ? 

Cyth. No, this is Hermogenes : as humorous 
as a poet, though : he is a musician. 

Chloe. A musician ! then he can sing. 

Cyth. That he can, excellently ; did you never 
hear him r 

Chloe. O no : will he be entreated, think you ? 

Cyth. I know not. — Friend, mistress Chloe 
would fain hear Hermogenes sing : are you in- 
terested in him ? 

Gal, No doubt, Ms own humanity Mali com- 
mand him so far, tt5 the satisfaction of so fair a 
beauty ;. \yc\ rather chair fail, we'll all be suitors 
Co him. 

J{'^r. Cannot sins. 



Gal. Prithee, Hermogenes. 

Her. Cannot sing. 

Gal. For honor of this gentlewoman, to -whose 
house I know thou mayest be ever welcome. 

Chloe. That he sliall, in truth, sir, if he can sing 

Ooid. What's that ? 

Gal. This gentlewoman is wooing Hermogenes 
for a song. 

Ovid. A song ! come, he shall not deny her 
Hermogenes ! 

Her. Cannot sing. 

Gal. No, the ladies must do it ; he strays bui 
to have their thanks acknowledged as a debt to 
his cunning. 

Jul. That shall not want ; ourself will be the 
first shall promise to pay liim more than thanks, 
upon a favor so worthily vouchsafed. 

Her. Thank you, madam ; but will not sing. 

Til). Tut, the only waj' to win him, is to ab 
stain from entreating him. 

Cris. Do you love singing, lady ? 

Chloe. O, passingly. 

Cris. Entreat the ladies to entreat me to sni^^ 
then, I beseech you. 

Chloe. I beseech your grace, entreat this gen- 
tleman to sing. 

Jul. That we will, Chloe ; can he sing excel- 
lently ? 

Chloe. I think so, madam ; for he entreatea 
me to entreat you to entreat him to sing. 

Cris. Heaven and earth ! would you tell that ? 

Jul. Good, sir, let's entreat you to use your 
voice. 

Cris, Alas, madam, I cannot, in truth. 

Pla. The gentleman is modest : I warran* 
you he sings excellently. 

Ovid. Hermogenes, clear your throat : I see 
by him, here's a gentleman Avill worthily chal- 
lenge you. 

Cris. Not I, sir, I'll challenge no man. 

Tib. Tliat's your modesty, sir ; but we, out 
of an assurance of your excellency, challenge 
him in your behalf. 

Cris. I thank you, gentlemen, I'll do my best. 

Her. Let that "best be good, sir, you were best. 

Gal. O, this contention is excellent ! What 
is't you sing, sir ? 

Cris. If I freely may discover, B\v; I'll sing that. 

Ovid. "One of your own compositions, Hermo- 
genes. He offers you vantage enough. 

Cris. Nay, truly, gentlemen, I'll challenge no 
man. — I can sing but one staff of the ditty, 
neither. 

Gal. The better : Hermogenes himself A'iU 
be entreated to sing the other. 

Crispinus sings. 

If I freely may discover 
Wliat would please me in my lover, 
I would have lier fair and witty, 
Savoring more of court than city ; 
A little proud, but full of pity : 
Light and humorous in lier toying, 
Oft building hopes, and soon destroying, 
Long, but sweet in the enjoying ; 
Neither too easy nor too liard : 
All extremes I would have barr'd. 

Gal. Eelieve me, sir, you sing most excellently. 
Ovid. If there were a praise above excellence, 
the gentleman highly deserves it 



£12 



THE POETASTER. 



Her. Sir, all this doth not yet make me envy 
jou ; for I know I sing better than you. 
Tih. Attend Hcrmogenes, now. 

Hermogenes, accompanied. 

She should be allow'd her passions, 
So they were but used as fashions ; 
Sometimes froward, and then frowning, 
Sometimes sickish and then swowning. 
Every fit with change still crowning. 
Purely jealous I would have her, 
Then only constant when I crave her : 
'Tis a virtue should not save her. 
Tlius, nor Iter delicates would cloy me, 
Neither lier peevishness annoy me. 

Jul. Nay, Hermogenes, your merit hath long 
since been both known and admired of us. 

Her. You shall hear me sing another. Now 
Avill I begin. 

Gal. We shall do this gentleman's banquet 
too much wrong, that stays for us, ladies. 

Jul. 'Tis true ; and wcil thought on, Corneli- 
us Gallus. 

Her. Why, 'tis but a short air, 'twill be done 
presently, pray stay : strike, music. 

Ovid. No, good Hcrmogenes ; Ave'U end this 
difference within. 

Jul. 'Tis the common disease of all your mu- 
fcicians, that they know no mean, to be entreated 
either to begin or end. 

Alb. Please you lead the way, gentles. 

All. Th-unks, good Albius. 

[Exeunt all but Albius. 

Alb. O, -what a charm of thanks was here put 
upon me ! O Jove, what a setting forth it is to 
a man to have many courtiers come to his house ! 
Sweetly was it said of a good old housekeeper, 
/ had rather want meat, than want guests ; espe- 
cially, if they be courtly guests. For, never 
trust mCj if one of their good legs made in a 
house be not worth all the good cheer a man 
can make them. He that would have fine guests, 
let him have a fine wife ! he that would have a 
fine wife, let him come to me. 

Ee-enter Ciuspixus. 

Oris. Ey j'our kind leave, master Albius. 

Alb. What, you are not gone, master Crispi- 
nus ? 

Oris. Yes, faith, I have a design draws mo 
hence : pray, sir, fashion me an excuse to the 
ladies. 

Alb. Will you not stay and see the jewels, 
sir ? I pray you stay. 

Oris. Not for a million, sir, now. Let it suf- 
fice, I must relinquish ; and so, in a word, 
please you to expiate this compliment. 

Alb. Mum. " [Exit. 

Oris. I'll presently go and enghle some bro- 
ker for a poet's gown, and bespeak a garland : 
and then, jeweller, look to your best jewel, 
i'faith. [Exit. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Via Sacra (or Holy Street). 

Enter HoiiACE, Crispinus following. 
Hor. Umf h ! yes, I will begin an ode so ; and 
it shall be to Mecaenas. 



Cris. 'Slid, yonder's Horace ! they say he' 
an excellent poet : Mecaenas loves him. I'll 
fall into his acquaintance, if I can ; I think he 
be composing as he goes in the street ! ha ! ' Lis 
a good humor, if he be ; I'll compose too. 

Hor. Swell me a boiol with lusty tcine, 
Till I may see the 2>lump Lyceus sicim 

Above the brim : 
I drink as I woidd lorite, 
Injloioing measure fill' d icith flame and sprite. 

Cris. Sweet Horace, Minerva and the Muses 
stand auspicious to thy designs ! Hoav farest 
thou, sweet man ? frolic ? rich ? gallant ? ha ! 

Hor. Not greatly gallant, sir ; like my for- 
tunes, well : I am bold to take my leave, sir ; 
you'll nought else, sir, would you ? 

Cris. Troth, no, but I could wish thou didst 
know us, Horace ; we are a scholar, I assure thee. 

Hor. A scholar, sir ! I shall be covetous of 
your fair kiiowledge. 

Cris. Gramcrcy, good Horace. Nay, we are 
new turn'd poet too, which is more ; and a sat- 
irist too, which is more than that : I write just 
in thy vein, I. I am for your odes, or your ser- 
mons, or any thing indeed ; we are a gentleman 
besides ; our name is Ilufus Laberius Crispinus ; 
we are a pretty Stoic too. 

Ilor. To the proportion of your beard, I think 
it, sir. 

Cris. By Phoebus, here's a most neat, fine 
street, is't not ? I protest to thee, I am enam- 
oured of this street now, more than of half tne 
streets of Rome again ; 'tis so polite and terse ! 
there's the front of a building now ! I study ar- 
chitecture too: if ever I should build, I'd have 
a house just of that prospective. 

Hor. Doubtless, this gallant's tongue has a 
good turn, when he sleeps. [Aside. 

Cris. I do make verses, Avhen I come in such 
a street as this : 0, your city ladies, you shall 
have them sit in every shop like the Muses — 
off'ering you the Castalian dews, and the Thes 
plan liquors, to as many as have but the sweei 

grace and audacity to sip of their lips. Did 

you never hear any of my verses .' 

Hor. No, sir ; — but I am in some fear I must 
now. [Aside. 

Cris. I'll tell thee som.e, if I can but recover 
them, I comj)osed even now of a dressing I saw 
a jeweller's wife wear, who indeed was a jewel 
herself: I prefer that kind of tire now ; what's 
thy opinion, Horace ? 

Hor. With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir. 

Cris. I cannot tell ; but it stirs me more than 
all your court-curls, or your spangles, or your 
tricks : I affect not these high gable-ends, these 
Tuscan tops, nor your coronets, nor your arches, 
nor your pyramids ; give me a fine, sweet — lit- 
tle delicate dressing with a bodkin, as you say ; 
and a muslu-oom for all your other ornatures ! 

Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from 
him .' [Aside, 

Cris. I have remitted my verses all this while ,• 
I think I have forgot ther^. 

Hor. Here's he could wish you had else. 

[Audi-,, 

Cris. Pray Jove I can entreat them of my 
memory ! 



bl3ENE I. 



THE POETASTER. 



'^Vd 



Mor. You put 3-our moraorj' to too much, 
trouble, sir. 

Cris. No, sweet Horace, wo must not have 
thee think so. 

Hor. I cry you mercy ; then they are my ears 
That must be tortured : well, you must have 
patience, ears. 

Cris. Pray thee, Horace, observe. 

Hor. Yes, sir ; your satin sleeve begins to 
fret at the rug that is underneath it, I do ob- 
Borve : and your ample velvet bases are not 
without evident stains of a hot disposition nat- 
urally. 

Cris. O Pll dye them into another color, 

at pleasure : How many j'ards of velvet dost 
thou think they contain ? 

Hor. 'Heart ! I have put him now in a fresh way 
To vex me more : — faith, sir, your mercer's book 
Will tell j'ou with more patience than I can : — 
For I am crost, and so's not that, I think. 

Cris. 'Slight, these verses have lost me again ! 
I shall not invite them to mind, now. 

Hor. Hack not your thoughts, good sir ; rath- 
er defer it 
To a new time : I'll meet you at your lodging. 
Or where you please : 'till then, Jove keep you, 
sir ! 

Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay ; I have it now. 

Hor. Yes, sir. Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter, 
Look down upon me ! [Aside. 

Cris. 

Rick teas thy hap, siocet dainty cap. 
There to be placed ; 

Where thy smooth black, sleek ichite may smack, 
And both be graced. 
White is there usurp' d for her brow ; her fore- 
head : and then sleek, as the parallel to smooth, 
that went before. A kind of paranomasie, or 
agnomination : do you conceive, sir ? 

Hor. Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, 
and leave you. 

Cris. Wh)"-, what haste hast thou ? prithee, 
stay a little ; thou shalt not go yet, by Phoebus. 

Hor. I shall not ! what remedy ? tie, how I 
sweat with suffering ! 

Cris. And then 

Hor. Prav, sir, give me leave to wipe my face 
A little. 

Cris. Yes, do, good Horace. 
■ Hor. Thank you, sir. 

Death ! I must crave his leave to p — anon ; 
Or that I may go hence with half my teeth : 
I am in some such fear. This tyranny 
Is strange, to take mine ears up by commission, 
(Whether I will or no,) and make them stalls 
To his lewd solecisms, and worded trash. 
Happy thou, bold Bolanxis, now I say ; 
Whose freedom, and impatience of this fcUov.-, 
Would, long ere this, have call'd him fool, and 

fool. 
And rank and tedious fool ! and have flung jests 
As hard as stones, till thou hadst pelted him 
Out of the place ; whilst my tamo modesty 
Suffers m)' wit be made a solemn ass. 
To bear his fopperies — [Aside. 

Cris. Horace, thou art miserably affected to 
be gone, I see. But — prithee let's prove to 
onjoy thee a while. Thou hast no business, I 
>ssuve me. Whither is thy journey directed, ha ? 



Hor. Sir, I am going to visit a friend that'a 
sick. 

■ Cris. A friend ! what is he ; do not I know 
him ? 

Hor. No, sir, you do not know him ; and 'tis 
not the worse for him. 

Cris. What's his name r where is he lodged ? 

Hor, Where I shall be fearful to draw you out 
of your way, sir ; a great way hence ; pray, sir, 
let's part. 

Cris. Nay, but where is't ? I prithee say. 

Hor. On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by 
Caesar's gardens. 

Cris. O, that's my course directly ; I am for 
you. Come, go ; why stand'st thou ? 

Hor. Yes, sir : marry, the plague is in that 
part of the city ; I had almost forgot to tell 
you, sir. 

Cris. Foh ! it is no matter, I fear no pesti- 
lence ; I have not offended Phoebus. 

Hor. 1 have, it seems, or else this heavy scourge 
Could ne'er have lighted on me. 

Cris. Come along. 

Hor. I am to go down some half mile this 
way, sir, first, to speak with his physician ; and 
from thence to his apothecary, where I shall 
stay the mixing of divers drugs. 

Cris. Why, it's all one, I have nothing to do, 
and I love not to be idle ; I'U. bear thee com- 
pany. How call'st thou the apothecary ? 

lior. O that I knew a name would fright him 
now ! — 
Sir, Rhadamanthus, Rhadamanthus, sir. 
There's one so called, is a just judge in hell. 
And doth inflict strange vengeance on all those 
That here on earth torment poor patient spirits. 

Cris. He dwells at the Three Furies, by Ja- 
nus' s temple. 

Hor. Your pothecary does, sir. 

Cris. Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, 
and he has laid to arrest me, I hear : but 

Hor. Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I 
will never bail any man. 

Cris. AVell then, I'll swear, and speak him 
fair, if the worst come. But his name is Minos, 
not Rhadamanthus, Horace. 

Hor. That may be, sir, I but guessed at his 
name by his sign. But your Minos is a judge 
too, sir. 

Cris. I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste 
me once,) if I do know myself, and mine own 
virtues truly, thou wilt not make that esteem of 
Varius, or Virgil, or TibuUus, or any of 'em in- 
deed, as now in thy ignorance thou dost ; which 
I am content to forgive : I would fain see which 
of these could pen more verses in a day, or with 
more facility, than I ; or that could court his 
mistress, kiss her hand, make better sport of her 
fan or her dog 

Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir. 

Cris. Or that could move his body more grace- 
fully, or dance better ; you should see me, were 
it not in the street 

Hor. Nor yet. 

Cris. Why, I have been a reveller, and at my 
cloth of silver suit, and my long stocking, in 
my time, and will be again 

Hor. If you may be trusted, sii. 

Cris. Aiid then, for my singing, Hermcgenes 



214 



THE POETASTER. 



. ACT III. 



himself envies me, that is your only master of 
music you have in Rome. 

Jlor. Is your mother living, sir ? 

Cris. Au ! convert thy thoughts to somewhat 
else, I pray thee. 

Hor. You have much of the mother in you, 
sir : YovLX father is dead ? 

Cris. Ay, I thank Jove, and my grandfather 
too, and all my kinsfolks, and well composed in 
their urns. 

Hor. The more their happiness, that rest in 
peace. 
Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue : 
Would I were with them too ! 

Cris. AVliat's that, Horace ? 

Ilcy. I now remember me, sir, of a sad fate 
A cunning woman, one Sabella, sung. 
When in her urn she cast my destiny, 
I being but a child. 

Cris. What was it, I pray thee ? 

Hor. She told me I should surely never perish 
By famine, poison, or the enemy's sword ; 
The hectic fever, cough, or pleiirisy, 
Should never hurt me, nor the tardy gout : 
But in my time, I should be once surprised 
By a strong tedious talker, that should vex 
And almost bring me to consumption : 
Therefore, if I were wise, she warn'd me shun 
All such long-winded monsters as my bane ; 
For if I could but 'scape that one discourser, 
I might no doubt prove an old aged man. — 
By your leave, sir. [Going. 

Cris. Tut, tut ; abandon this idle humor, 'tis 
nothing but melancholy. 'Fore Jove, now I 
think on't, I am to appear in court here, to an- 
swer to one that has me in suit : sweet Horace, 
go with me, this is my hour ; if I neglect it, the 
law proceeds against me. Thou art familiar 
Avith these things ; prithee, if thou lov'st me, go. 

Hor. Now, let me die, sir, if I know your laws, 
Or have the power to stand still half so long 
In their loud courts, as while a case is argued. 
Besides, you know, sir, where I am to go. 
And the necessity 

Cris. 'Tis true. 

Hor. I hope the hour of my release be come : 
he will, iipon this consideration, discharge me, 
sure. 

Cris. Troth, I am doubtful what I may best 
tlo, whether to leave thee or my affairs, Horace. 

Hor. Jupiter ! me, sir, me, by any means ; 
I beseech you, me, sir. 

Cris. No, faith, I'll venture those now ; thou 
shalt see I love thee — come, Horace. 

Hor. Nay, then I am desperate : I follow you, 
sir. 'Tis hard contending with a man that 
overcomes thus. 

Cris. And how deals Mecsenas with thee r 
liberally, ha ? is he oi^en-handed ? bountiful ? 

Hor. He's still himself, sir. 

Cris. Troth, Horace, thou art exceeding hap- 
py in thy friends and acquaintance ; they are 
all most choice spirits, and of the first rank of 
Romans : I do not know that poet, I protest, 
has used his fortune more prosperously than 
thori hast. If thou wouldst bring me known 
to MecEenas, I should second thy desert well ; 
thou shouldst find a good sure assistant of me, 
one that v/ould speak all good of thee in thy 



absence, and be content with the next place, 
not envying thy reputation with thy patron. 
Let me not hve, but I think thou and I, in & 
small time, should lift them all out of favor, 
both Virgil, Varius, and the best of them, and 
enjoy him wholly to ourselves. 

Hor. Gods, you do know it, I can hold nc 
longer ; [silkness 

This brize has prick'd my patience. Su', your 
Clearly mistakes Meceenas and his house, 
To think there breathes a ppirit beneath his roof. 
Subject unto those poor affections 
Of undermining envy and detraction. 
Moods only proper to base grovelling minds. 
That place is not in Rome, 1 dare affirm. 
More pure or free from such low common evils. 
There's no man gricv'd, that this is thought 

more rich, 
Or this more learned ; each man hath his place, 
And to his merit his reward of grace. 
Which, Avith a mutual love, they all embrace. 

Cris. You report a wonder : 'tis scarce cred 
ible, this. 

Hor. I am no torturer to enforce you to bp ■ 
lieve it ; but it is so. 

Cris. Why, this inflames me with a more 
ardent desire to be his, than before ; but I 
doubt I shall find the entrance to his familiarity 
somewhat more than difficult, Horace. 

Hor. Tut, you'll conquer him, as you have 
done me ; there's no standing out against you, 
sir, I see that : cither your importunity, or thu 
intimation of your good parts, or 

Cris. Nay, I'll bribe his porter, and the 
grooms of his chamber ; make his doors open 
to me that Avay hrst, and then I'll observe my 
times. Saj' he shoiild extrude me his house 
to-day, shall I therefore desist, or let fall my 
suit to-morrow ? No ; I'll attend him, follow 
him, meet him in the street, the highways, run 
by his coach, never leave him. What ! man 
hath nothing given him in this life without 
much labor — 

Hor. And impudence. 
Archer of heaven, Phoebus, take thy bow, 
And Avith a full- drawn shaft nail to the earth 
This Python, that I may yet run hence and 

live : 
Or, braAA'ny Hercules, do thou come doAvn, 
And, though thou mak'st it up thy thirteentli 

labor. 
Rescue me from this hydra of discourse liore. 

Enter Fuscus Abisthjs. 
Ari. Horace, well met, 
Hor. O Avelcome, my reliever ; 
Aristius, as thou lov'st me, ransom me. 
Ari. What ail'st thou, man ? 
Hor. 'Death, I am seized on here 
By a land remora ; I cannot stir. 
Nor move, but as he pleases. 
Cris. Wilt thou go, Horace ? 
Hor. Heart ! he cleaves to me like Alcides 
shirt, 
Tearing my flesh and sincAVS : 0, I've been 

vex'd 
And tortured with him beyond forty fevers. 
For JoA'e's sake, find some means to tal^e niQ 
from him. 



THE POETASTER. 



216 



Ari. Yes, I -will ; — but I'll go first and tell 
Mecaenas. [Aside. 

Oris. Come, shall ^\e go ? 

Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. 

[Aside. 

Ilor. Nay, Aristius ! 

Ari, Farewell, Horace. [Going. 

Hor. 'Death ! will he leave me ? Fusciis 
Aiistius ! do you hear ? Gods of liome ! You 
said you had somewhat to saj' to me in pri- 
vate. 

Ari. Ay, but I see you are now employed 
•with that gentleman ; 'tweiie offence to trouble 
you ; I'll take some fitter opportunity : farewell. 

[Exit. 

Ilor. Mischief and torment ! O my soul and 
heart, 
How are you cramp' d with anguish ! Death itself 
Brings not the like convulsions. O, this day ! 
That ever I should view thy tedious face. — — 

Oris. Horace, what passion, what humor is 
this ? 

Hor. Aw'ay, good prodigy, afflict me not. — 
A friend, and mock me thus ! Never was man 
So loft under the axe. 

Enter ^Iixos with two Lictors. 
How now ? 

Min. That's he in the embroidered hat, there, 
with the ash-color'd feather : his name is Labe- 
rius Crispinus. 

Lict. Laberius Crispinus, I arrest you in the 
emperor's name. 

Oris. Me, sir ! do j'ou arrest me ? 

Lict. Ay, sir, at the suit of master Minos the 
apothecary. 

Hor. Thanks, great Apollo, I will not slip thy 
favor offered rae in my escape, for my fortunes. 

[Exit hastily. 

Cris. Master Minos ! I know no master Minos. 
Where's Horace ? Horace ! Horace ! 

]\Iin. Sir, do not j-ou know me ? 

Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos ; cry 
you mercy. But Horace ? God's me, is he gone ? 

Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew 
how. — Ollieer, look to him. 

Cris- Do you hear, master Minos ? pray let 
us be used like a man of our own fashion. By 
Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you 
next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse 
my reputation thus vv^lgarly. 

3Ii/i. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you ; you 
know I have forborne you long. 

Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I be- 
seech you, gentlemen, do not exhale me thus, 
l-emembe-r 'tis but for sweetmeats 

Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. 
Come along. 

Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to 
eternal disgrace, if you do not commiserate. 
Good officer, be not so officious. 

Enter TuccA and Pyrgi. 

Tiic. Wliy, how now, my good brace of 
blcodhounds, whither do you drag the gentle- 
man ? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs ! 
we are captain Tucca that talk to you, you in- 
human pilch crs. 

Mill. Sir, he is their prisoner. 



Tuc. Their pestilence ! What are you, sir ? 

3Iin. A citizen of Rome, sir. 

Tuc. Then you are not far distant from 8 
fool, sir. 

Min. A jjothecary, sir. 

Tuc, I knew thou wast not a physician : foh ! 
out of my nostrils, thou stink'st of lotiura and 
the syringe ; away, quack-salvor ! — Follower, 
my sword. 

1 Pijr. Here, noble leader ; you'll do no harm 
with it, I'll trust you. [Aside. 

Tuc. Do you hear, you goodman, slave ? 
Hook, ram, rogue, catchpole, loose the gentle- 
man, or by my velvet arms 

Lict. What will you do, sir : 

[Stri/ces vp his heels, and seizes his sioord. 

Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honorable active var- 
let, and embrace thee thus. 

1 Pt/r. O patient m.etamorphosis ! 
Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal. 

Lict. Nay, soft, sir ; some wiser than some. 

Tuc. What ! and a wit too ? By Pluto, tliou 
must be cherish'd, slave ; here's three drachms 
for thee ; hold. 

2 Pi/r. There's half his landings gone. 
Tuc. Give me. 

Lict. No, sir, your fii'st word shall stand ; I'll 
hold all. 

Tuc. Nay, but rogue 

Lict. You would make a rescue of our pris- 
oner, sir, you. 

Tuc. I a rescue ! Away, inhuman varlet. 
Come, come, I never relish above one jest at 
most ; do not disgust me, sirrah ; do »iiot, 
rogue ! I tell thee, rogue, do not. 

Lict. How, sir ! rogue ? 

Tuc. Aj-; why, thou art not angry, rascal, 
art thou ? 

Lict. I cannot tell, sir ; I am little better upon 
these terms. 

Tuc. Ha, gods and fiends ! why, dost hear, 
rogue, thou ? give me thy hand ; I say unto 
thee, thy hand, rogue. What, dost not thou 
know me ? not me, rogue ? not cajitain Tucca, 
rogue ? 

Min. Come, pray surrender the gentleman 
his sword, officer ; we'll have no fighting here. 

Tuc. What's thy name ? 

Min. Minos, an't j^lease you. 

Tuc. Minos ! Come hither, Minos ; thou art 
a wise fellow, it seems ; let me talk with 
thee. 

Cris. Vv'as ever wretch so wretched as unfor- 
tunate I ! 

Tuc. Thou art one of the centumviri, old boy, 
art not ? 

Min. No indeed, master captain. 

Tuc. Go to, thou shalt be then; I'll have thee 
one, Minos. Take my sword from these rascals, 
dost thou see ! go, do it ; I cannot attempt 
with patience. What docs this gentleman ovi'o 
thee, little Minos ? 

Min. Fourscore sesterties, sir. 

Tuc. What, no more ! Come, thou shalt re- 
lease him, J^linos : what, I'll be his bail, thou 
shalt take my word, old boy, and cashier these 
furies : thou shalt do't, I say, thou shalt, little 
Minos, thou shalt. 

Cris. Yes ; and as I am a gentleman and a 



216 



THE POETASTER. 



reveller, I'll make a piece of poetry, and absolve 
all, within these five days. 

Tuc. Come, Minos is not to learn how to use 
a gentleman of quality, I know. — My sword : 
If he paj^ thee not, I will, and I must, old boj'. 
Thou shalt be my pothecary too. Hast good 
eringos, !Minos ? 

Mill. The best in Rome, sir. 

Tuc. Go to, then Vermin, know the 

liouse. 

1 Py): I warrant you, colonel. 

Tuc. For this gentleman, Minos — 

Min. I'll take your word, captain. 

Tuc. ThCu hast it. My sword. 

Mill. Yes, sir : But you must discharge the 
arrest, master Crisjjinus. 

Tuc. How, Minos ! Look in the gentleman's 
face, and but read his silence. Pay, pay ; 'tis 
honor, Minos. 

Oris. By Jove, sweet captain, you do most 
infinitely endear and oblige mo to you. 

Tnc. Tut, I cannot compliment, by Mars ; but, 
■'upiter love me, as I love good words and good 
clothes, and there's an end. Thou shalt give 
my boy that girdle and hangers, when thou hast 
worn them a little more. 

Cris. O Jupiter ! captain, he shall have them 
.low, presently : — Please you to be acceptive, 
young gentleman. 

1 Pyr. Yes, sir, fear not ; I shall accept ; I 
have a pretty foolish humor of taking, if you 
knew all. [Aside. 

Tuc. Not now, you shall not take, boy. 

Q-is. By my truth and earnest, but he shall, 
captain, by your leave. 

Tuc. Naj-, an he swear by his truth and ear- 
nest, take it, boy : do not make a gentleman 
forsworn. 

Lict. Well, sir, there's your sword ; but thank 
master Minos ; you had not carried it as you do 
else. 

Tuc. Minos is just, and you arc knaves, and — 

Lict What say you, sir ? 

Tuc. Pass on, my good scoundrel, pass on, I 
honor thee : [Exeunt Lictors.] But that I hate to 
have action with such base rogues as these, you 
should have seen me unrip their noses now, and 
have sent them to the next barber's to stitching ; 

for do you see 1 am a man of humor, and I 

do love the varlets, the honest varlcts, they have 
wit and valor, and are indeed good prohtable, 

errant rogues, as any live in an empire. 

Dost thou hear, poetaster? [To Ckispinus.] sec- 
ond me. Stand up, Minos, close, gather, yet, 
BO ! Sir, (thou shalt have a quarter-share, be 
resolute) you shall, at my request, take Minos 
by the hand here, little Minos, I will have it so ; 
ail friends, and a health ; be not inexorable. 
A-ud thou shalt impart the wine, old boy, thou 
shalt do it, little ]Minos, thou shalt ; makte us 
pay it in our physic. What ! we must live, and 
nonor the gods sometimes ; now Bacchus, now 
Comus, now Priapus ; every god a little. | His- 
TRio passes by.] What's he that stalks by there, 
boy, Pj'rgus ? You were best let him pass, sir- 
rah ; do, ferret, let him pass, do 

2 Pyr. 'Tis a player, su". 

Tuc. A player ! call him, call the lousy slave 
hither ; what, will he sail by, and not once strike, 



or V ail to a man of war ? ha ! — Do you hear 
you player, rogue, stalker, come back here ! — 

Enter Hisxuio. 
No respect to men of worship, you slave ! •w'h.it. 
you are j^roud, you rascal, are you proud, ha ! 
you grow rich, do you, and purchase, you two- 
penny tear-mouth ? you have Fortune, and the 
good year on yoiu- side, you stinkard, you have, 
you have ! 

Hist. Nay, sweet captain, bo confined to some 
reason ; I protest I saw you not, sir. 

Tuc. You did not? where was your sight, 
CEdipus ? you walk A^ith hare's eyes, do you ? 
I'll have them glazed, rogue ; an you say the 
word, they shall be glazed for you : come, we 
must have you turn fiddler again, slave, get a 
base viol at your back, and march in a tawny 
coat, with one sleeve, to Goose-fair ; then you'll 
know us, you'll see us then, you Avill, gulch, 
you will. Then, Wili't please your ivorship to 
have any music, captain ? 

Hist. Nay, good captain. 

Tuc. Wliat, do you laugh, Howleglas ! death, 
you persteraptuous varlet, I am none of your 
fellows ; I have commanded a hundred and fifty 
such rogues, I. 

2 Pyr. Ay, and most of that hundred and fifty 
have been leaders of a legion. [Aside. 

Hist. If I liave exhibited wrong, I'll tender 
satisfaction, captain. 

Tuc. Say'st thou so, honest vermin ! Give me 
thy hand ; thou shalt make us a supper one of 
these nights. 

Hist. When you please, by Jove, captain, most 
Avillingly. 

Tuc. Dost thou swear ! To-morrow then ; say 
and hold, slave. Tbere are some of you players 
honest gentlemen-like scoundrels, and suspected 
to have some wit, as well as your poets, both at 
drinking and breaking of jests, and are com- 
panions for gallants. A man may skelder ye, 
now and then, of half a dozen shillings, or so. 
Dost thou not know that Pantalabus there ? 

Hist. No, I assure you, captain. 

Tuc. Go ; and be acquainted with him then ; 
he is a gentleman, parcel poet, you slave ; his 
father was a man of worship, I tell thee. Go, 
he pens high, lofty, in a new stalking strain, 
bigger than half the rhymers in the town again ; 
he was born to fill thy mouth, Minotaurus, he 
was, he will teach thee to tear and rand. Rascal, 
to him, cherish his muse, go ; thou hast forty — 
forty shillings, I mean, stmkard ; give him in 
earnest, do, he shall write for thee, slave ! If 
he pen for thee once, thou shalt not need to 
travel Avith thy pumps full of gravel any more, 
after a blind jade and a hamper, and stalk upon 
boards and barrel heads to an old crack'd 
trumpet. 

Hist. Troth, I think I have not so much about 
me, captain. 

Tuc. It's no matter ; give him what thou hast, 
stift-toe, I'll give my word for the rest ; though 
it lack a shilling or two, it skills not : go, thoy 
art an honest shifter -, I'll have the statute re- 
pealed for thee. — Minos, I must tell thee, MinoS) 
thou hast dejected yon gentleman's spirit exceed- 
ingly ; dost observe, dost note, little Minos ? 



THE POETASTER. 



217 



Miii- Yes, sir. 

Ttic. Go to then, raise, recover, do ; suffer him 
not to droop in prospect of a player, a rogue, a 
stager : put t'.rcnty into his hand — twenty ses- 
terces I mean, — and let nobody see ; go, do it 
■ — the -work shall commend itself 5 be Minos, 
I'll pay. 

Mill. Yes, forsooth, captain. 

2 P>/r. Do not we serve a notable shark ? 

[Aside. 

Tiic. And Avhat new matters have you now 
afoot, sirrah, ha ? I would fain come with my 
cockatrice one day, and sec a play, if I knew 
wlien there were a good bawdy one ; but they 
say you have nothing but Humous, Revels, and 
Satiues, that gird and f — t at the time, you slave. 

Hist. No, I assure 3-0U, captain, not we. They 
are on the other side of Tyber : we have as much 
ribaldry in our plays as can be, as you Avould 
wish, captain : all the sinners in the suburbs 
come and applaud our action daily. 

Tuc. I hear you'll bring me o'the stage there ; 
you'll plaj' me, they say ; I shall be presented 
by a sort of copper-laced scoundrels of you : life 
of Pluto ! an you stage me, stinkard, yovir man- 
sions shall sweat for't, your tabernacles, varlets, 
your Globes, and your Triumphs. 

Hist. Not we, by Phoebus, cajitain ; do not do 
us imputation without desert. 

Tuc. I will not, my good twopenny rascal ; 
roach me thy neuf. Dost hear ? what wilt thou 
give me a week for my brace of beagles here, my 
little point-trusscrs ? you shall have them act 
among ye. — Sirrah, you, pronounce. — Thou 
shalt hear him speak in King Darius' doleful 
strain. 

1 Pyr. O doleful days ! O direful deadhj dump ! 
O tvicked world, and worldlij icickediiess ! 
How can I hold nuj fist from crying, thump, 
In rue of this right rascal wretchedness ! 

Tuc. In an amorous vein now, sirrah : peace ! 

1 Pj'r. O, she is toilder, and more hard, withal, 
Than beast, or bird, or tree, or stony loall. 

Yet might she love ipe, to iqirear her state : 
■\y, but perhaps she hopes some nobler mate. 
Yet might she love me, to content her fire : 
Ay, but her reason masters her desire. 
Yet might she love me as her beauty's thrall : 
Ay, but I fear she cannot love at all. 

Tuc. Now, the horrible, fierce soldier, you, 
Birrah. 

2 PjT. What! loill I brave thee? ay, and beard 

thee too ; 
A Bonian spirit scorns to bear a brain 
So full of base pusillanimity. 

Hist. Excellent ! 

Tuc. Nay, thou shalt see that shall ravish thee 
anon ; prick up thine ears stinkard. — The 
ghost, bo3''s ! 

1 Pyr. Vindicta! 

2 Pyr. Timoria ! 

1 Pyr. Vindicta! 

2 Pyr. Timoria! 

1 Pyr. Veni! 

2 Pyr. Veni ! 

Tuc. Now thunder, sirrah, you, the rumbhng 
player. 

2 Pyr. Ay, but somebody must cry. Murder! 
•Jien, in a small voice. 



Tuc. Your fellow-sharer there shall do't : Cry, 
sirrah, cry. 

1 Pyr. Murder, murder! 

2 Pyr. Who calls out murder f lady, loas it you f 
Hist. O, admirable good, I protest. 

Tiio. Sirrah, boy, brace your drum a little 
straiter, and do the t'other fellow there, he in tha 
what sha' call him and yet stay too. 

2 Pyr. Nay, an thou dalliest, then I am thy foe, 
And fear shall force vdiat friendship cannot loin; 
Thy death shall bury what thy life conceals. 
Villain ! thou diestfor more respecting kcr 

1 Pyr. O stay, my lord. 

2 Pyr. Than me : 

Yet speali the truth, ar.d I will guerdon thee ; 
But if thou dally once again, thou diost. 

Tuc. Enough of this, boy. , 

2 Pyr. Why, then lament therefore: d—n'd bo 
thy guts 
Unto king Pluto's Hell, and princely Erebus ; 
For sparrows 7nust have food 

Hist. Pray, sweet captain, let one of them dcr ^ 
a little of a lady. 

Tuc. O ! he will make thee eternally enamour'a 
of him, there : do, sirrah, do ; 'twill allay your 
fellow's fury a little. 

1 Pyr. Master, moch on; the scorn thou givesi 
Pray Jove some lady may return on thee. [nie, 

2 Pyr. Now you shall see me do the Moor : 
master, lend me your scarf a little. 

Tuc. Here, 'tis at thy service, boy. 

2 Pyr. You, master Minos, hark hither a lit- 
tle. [Ej:it with Minos, to make himself ready. 

Tuc. How dost like him ? art not rapt, art not 
tickled now ? dost not applaud, rascal ? dost not 
applaud ? 

Hist. Yes : v.'hat will you ask for them a 
week, captain ? 

Tuc. No, you mang.onizing slave, I will not 
part from thenr ; j'ou'U sell them for cnghles, 
you : let's have good cheer to-morrow night at 
supper, staDcer, and then we'll talk ; good capon 
and plover, do you hear, sirrah ? and do not 
bring ycnir eating player with you there ; I caia- 
not away with him : he will eat a leg of mutton 
while I am in my porridge, the lean Poluphagus, 
his belly is like Earathrum ; he looks like a 
midwife in man's apparel, the slave : nor the 
villanou5 out-of-tune fiddler, ^ISnobarbus, bring 
not him. "What hast thou there ? six and 
thirty, ha ? 

Hist. No, here's all I have, captain, some five 
and twenty : pray, sir, will you present and ac- 
commodate it unto the gentleman ? for mine own 
part, I am a mere stranger to his humor ; besides, 
I have some business invites me hence, with 
master Asinius Lupus, the tribune. 

Tuc. Well, go thy ways, pursue thy projects, 
let me alone with this design; my Poetaster 
shall make thee a play, and thou shalt be a man 
of good parts in it. But stay, lot me see ; do 
not bring your iEsop, your politician, unless you 
can ram up his mouth with cloves ; the slave 
smells ranker than some sixteen dunghills, and 
is seventeen times more rotten. Marry, you may 
bring Frisker, my zany ; he's a good skipping 
swaggerer ; and your fat fool there, my mango, 
bring him too ; but let him not beg rapiers nor 
scarfs, in his over-familiar playing fact ^aoi roar 



21b- 



THE POETASTER. 



out his tirrcn bold jests with a tormenting 
laughter, between drunk and dry. Do you hear, 
stiff-toe ? give him -warning, admonition, to for- 
sake his saucy glavering grace, and his goggle 
eye ; it does not become him, sirrah ; tell him 
so. I have stood up and defended you, I, to 
gentlemen, when you have been said to pray 
upon puisnes, and honest citizens, for socks or 
buskins ; or when they have call'd you usurers 
or brokers, or said you were able to heli^ to a 

piece of flesh I have sworn, I did not think 

60, nor that you v.'ere the common retreats for 
punks decayed in their practice ; I cannot be- 
lieve it of you. 

Hist. Thank you, captain. Jupiter and the 
rest of the gods confine your modern delights 
without disgust. 

Tuc. Stay, thou shalt see the Moor ere thou 
goest. 

Elder Demetrius at a distance. 
^^"VVhat's lie with the half arras there, that salutes 
us out of his cloak, like a motion, ha ? 

Hist. O, sir, his doublet's a httlc decayed ; he 
is otherwise a very simple honest fellow, sir, one 
Demetrius, a dresser of plays about the town 
here ; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and 
bring him in, in a play, Avith all his gallants, as 
libuUus, Mecocnas, Cornelius Gallus, and the 
cost. 

Tue. And why so, stinkard ? 

Hist. O, it will get us a huge deal of money, 
captain, and we have need on't ; for this winter 
has made us all poorer than so many starved 
snakes : nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, 
nor a 

Tuc. But you know nothing by him, do you, 
to make a play of? 

Hist. Faith, not much, captain ; but our author 
will devise that that shall serve in some sort. 

Tuc. Wh}^, my Parnassus here shall help him, 
if thou wilt. Can thy author do it impudently 
enough ? 

Hist. O, I warrant you, captain, and spitefully 
enough too ; he has one of the most overflowing 
rank wits in liome ; he will slander any man that 
breathes, if ho disgust him. 

Tuc. I'll know the poor, egregious, nitty ras- 
cal ; an he have these commendable qualities, I'll 
cherish him — stay, here comes the Tartar — I'll 
make a gathering for him, I, a purse, and put the 
poor slave in fresh rags ; tell him so to comfort 
him. — [Demetrius comes forward. 

Re-enter Minos, ivith 2 Pj-rgus on Ids shoulders, 
and stalks backward and forward, as the hoy 
. * acts. 

Well said, boy. 

2 Pyr. Where art thou, boy? lohere is Calipolis? 
Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth, 
And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades ; 
Some foul contagion of the infected heavens 
Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops 
The dismal night raven and tragic oiol 
Breed and become forerunners of my fall! 

'Tuc. Well, now fare thee well, my honest 
penny-bitor : commend me to seven shares and 
ti half, and remember to-morrow. — If you lack 



a service, you shall play in my name, rascals ; but 
you shall buy your own cloth, and I'll have twc 
shares for my countenance. Let thy author stay 
Avith mc. [Exit Histrio. 

Dcm. Yes, sir. 

Tuc- 'Twas well done, little Minos, thou didst 
stalk well : forgive me that I said thou stunk'st,. 
Minos ; 'twas the savor of a poet I met sweating 
in tlie street, hangs j-et in my nostrils. 

Cris. Who, Horace ? 

Tuc. Ay, he ; dost thou know him ? 

Cris. 0, he forsook mc most barbarously, I 
protest. 

2\ic. Hang him, fusty satyr, he smells all goat , 
he carries a ram under his arm-holes, the slave . 
I am the worse when I see him. — Did not Minos 
impart ? [Aside to Ckispinus. 

Cris. Yes, here are twenty drachms he did 
convey. 

Tuc. Well said, keep them, v/c'll share anon ; 
come, little Minos. 

Cris. Faith, captain, I'll be bold to show you 
a mistress of mine, a jeweller's wife, a gallant, as 
we go along. 

Tuc. There spoke my genius. Minos, some ">{ 
thy eringos, little Minos ; send. Come hither, 
Parnassus, I must have thee familiar with my 
little locust hero ; 'tis a good vermin, they say. 
[Horace and Treeatius ^wss over the stage.]- 
See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great 
lawyer, in his company ; let's avoid him noAV, ho 
is too well seconded. [Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Aleius's house. 

Enter Chloe, Cttheris, and Attendants. 

Chloc. But, sweet lady, say ; am I v/ell enough 
attired for the court, in sadness ? 

Cyth. Well enough ! excellent w'cll, sweet mis- 
tress Chloe ; this strait-bodied city attire, I can 
tell you, will stir a courtier's blood, more than 
the finest loose sacks the ladies use to be put in ; 
and then you are as well jewell'd as any of them ; 
your rufl' and linen about you is much more pure 
than theirs ; and for your beauty, I can tell you, 
there's many of them would defy the painter, if 
they could change with you. Marry, the Avorst 
is, you must look to be envied, and endure a few 
court-frumps for it. 

Chloc. O Jove, madam, I shall buy them too 
cheap ! — Give me my muff, and my dog there. — 
And will the ladies be any thing familiar with 
me, think you ? 

Cyth. O Juno ! why you shall see them flock 
about you with .their puff- wings, and ask you 
where you bought your lawn, and what you paid 
for it ? who starches you ? and entreat you to help 
'em to some pure laundresses out of the city. 

Chloe. O Cupid ! — Give me my fan, ftnd m\ 
mask too. — And will the lords, and the poets 
there, use one well too, lady ? 

Cyth. Doubt not of that ; you shall have kissc3 
from them, go pit-pat, pit-pat, pit-pat, upon your 
lips, as thick as stones out of slings at the assault 
of a city. And then your ears will be so furr'd 



THE POETASTER. 



211) 



vdth. the breath of their compliments, that you 
cannot catch cold of your head, if you would, in 
three winters after. 

Chloe. Thank j-ou, sweet lady. heaven! and 
how must one behave herself amongst 'em ? You 
know all. 

Ci/th. Faith, impudently enough, mistress 
Chloe, and well enough. Carry not too much 
under thought betwixt yourself and them ; nor 
your city-mannerly Avord, /c/?-sooi!/*, use it not too 
often in any case ; but plain, Ai/, madam, and no, 
madam : nor never say, your lordship, nor your 
honor ; but, you, and you, my lord, and 7ny lady : 
the other they count too simple and minsitive. 
And though they desire to kiss heaven with their 
titles, yet they will count them fools that give 
them too humbly. 

Chloe. O intolerable, Jupiter ! by mj^ troth, 
ladj% I would not for a world but you had lain in 
my house ; and, i'faith, you ^shall not pay a far- 
thing for your board, nor your chambers. 

Cyth. O, sweet mistress Chloe ! 

Chloe. I'faith you shall not, lady ; nay, good 
lady, do not ofi'er it. 

Enter Gallus and Tibullus. 

Gal. Come, Avhere be these ladies ? By your 
leave, bright stars, this gentleman and I are come 
to man you to court ; where your late kind en- 
tertainment is now to be requited with a heav- 
enly banquet. 

Cyth. A heavenly banquet, Gallus ! 

Gal, No less, my dear Cytheris. 

'I'ib. That Avere not strange, lady, if the epi- 
thet Avere only giA'en for the company invited 
thither ; yourself, and this fair gcntle-\voman, 

Chloe. Are Ave invited to court, sir ? 

Tib. You are, lady, by the great princess Ju- 
lia ; who longs to greet you Avith any favors that 
maj' worthily make you an often courtier. 

Chloe. In sincerity, I thank her, sir. You have 
a coach, haA'e you not ? 

Tib. The princess hath sent her OAvn, lady. 

Chloe. O Venus ! that's avcII : I do long to 
ride in a coach most vehemently. 

Cyth. But, sAveet Gallus, pray you resolve me 
why A'ou give that heavenly praise to this earthly 
banquet ? 

Gal. Because, Cytheris, it must be celebrated 
by the lieaA^enly poAvers : all the gods and god- 
desses Avill be there ; to tAvo of Avhich you two 
must be exalted. 

Chloe. A pretty fiction, in truth. 

Cyth. A fiction, indeed, Chloe, and fit for the 
fit of a poet. 

Gal. Why, Cytheris, may not poets (from 
whose divine spirits all the honors of the gods 
have been deduced) entreat so much honor of 
the gods, to have their divine presence at a 
poetical banquet ? 

Cyth. Suppose that no fiction ; yet, AA'here are 
your liabilities to make us two goddesses at your 
veast ? 

Gal. Who knoAvs not, Cytheris, that the sacred 
breath of a true poet can bloAV any virtuous 
humanity up to deity ? 

Tib. To tell you the female truth, which is the 
Bunpie truth, ladies ; and to shew that poets, in 
Bpite of the Avorld, arc able to deify themselves ; 



at this banquet, to Avhich a'OU are invited, we in- 
tend to assume the figures of the gods ; and to 
give our several Ioa'cs the forms of goddesses. 
Ovid Avill be Jupiter ; the princess Julia, Juno ; 
Gallus here, Apollo ; you, Cytheris, Pallas ; I 
Avill be Bacchus ; and my loA'e Plautia, Ceres : 
and to install you and your husband, fair Chloe, 
in honors equal Avith ours, you shall be a goddess, 
and your husband a god. 

Chloe. A god ! — O my gods ! 

Tib. A god, but a lame god, lady ; for he shall 
be Vulcan, and you Venus : and this Avill make 
our banquet no less than heavenly. 

Chloe. In sincerity, it will be sugared. Good 
Jove, Avhat a pretty foolish thing it is to be a 
poet ! but, hark you, sweet Cytheris, could they 
not possibly leave out my husband ? methinks 
a body's husband does not so Avell at court ; a 
body's friend, or so — but, husband ! 'tis like 
your clog to your marmoset, for all the Avorld, 
and the heaA'ens. 

Cyth. Tut, never fear, Chloe ! your luisband 
will be left without in the lobb}', or the great 
chamber, Avhen you shall be put in, i'the closet, 
by this lord, and by that lady. 

Chloe. Nay, then I am certified ; he shall fio 

Enter Horace. 

Gal. Horace ! Avelcome. 

Hor. Gentlemen, hear you the ncAvs ? 

Tib. What ncAvs, my Quintus ! 

Hor. Our melancholic friend, Propertius, 
Hath closed himself up in his Cynthia's tomb; 
And Avill by no entreaties be drawn thence. 

Enter AjjBivs, introducing Crispixxjs and Deme- 
trius, folloiccd by Tucca. 

Alb. Nay, good JIaster Crispinus, pray you 
bring near the gentleman. 

Hor. Crispinus ! Hide me, good Gallus; 1*1- 
bullus, shelter me. [Goiiiy. 

Cris. Make yoiu' approach, SAvect ca^jtain. 

Tib. What means this, Horace ? 

Hor. I am surprised again j farCAVcU. 

Gal. Stay, Horace. 

Hor. AVhat, and be tired on by yond' vulture ! 
No: 
Phoebus defend me ! [Exit hastily - 

Tib. 'Slight, I hold my life 
This same is he met him in Holy-street. 

Gal. Troth, 'tis lOce enough. — This act of 
Propertius relisheth very strange Avith me. 

Tue. By thy leave, my neat scoundrel : Avhat, 
is this the mad boy you talk'd on ? 

Cris. Ay, this is master Albius, captain. 

Tuc. Give me thy hand, Agamemnon ; avo 
hear abroad thou art the Hector of citizens; 
What sayest thou ? are Ave Avelcome to thee,- 
noble Neoptolemus ? 

Alb. Welcome, captain, by Jove and all the 
gods in the Capitol 

Tuc. No more, Ave conceiA'C thee. Which of 
these is thy wedlock, Menelaus ? thy Helen, thy 
Lucrece ? that Ave may do her honor, mad boy. 

Cris. She in the little fine dressing, sir, is mt 
mistress. 

Alb. For fault of a better, sir. 

Tuc, A better ! profane rascal : I cry theo 
mercy, my good scroyle, Avas't thou ? 



220 



THE POETASTER. 



Alb. No harm, captain. 

Tuc. She is a Venus, a Vesta, a Melpomene : 
come hitler, Penelope ; what's thy name, Iris ? 

Chloe. My name is Chloe, sir ; I am a gentle- 
woman. 

Tuc. Thou art in merit to be an empress, 
Chloe, for an eye and a Xif ; thou hast an em- 
peror's nose ; kiss me again : 'tis a virtuous 
punk ; so ! Before Jove, the gods were a sort 
of goslings, when they suffered so sweet a breath 
to perfume the bed of a stinkard : thou hadst 
ill fortune, Thisbe ; the Fates were infatuate, 
thej' were, punk, they were. 

Chloe. That's sure, sir : let me crave your 
name, I pray j'ou, sir. 

Tm. I am known by the name of captain Tuc- 
ca, punk ; the noble Roman, punk : a gentleman, 
and a commander, punk. 

Chloe. In good time : a gentleman, and a com- 
mander ! that's as good as a poet, methinks. 

[Walks aside. 

Cris. A pretty instrument ! It's my cousin 
Cytheris' viol this, is it not ? 

Cyth. Nay, play, cousin ; it wants but such a 
voice and hand to grace it, as yours is. 

Cris. Alas, cousin, j^ou are merrily inspired. 

Cyth. Pray you play, if you love me. 

Cris. Yes, cousin ; you know I do not hate j'ou. 

Tib. A most subtile wench ! how she hath 
baited him with a viol yonder, for a song ! 

Cris. Cousin, 'pray you call mistress Chloe ! 
she shall hear an essay of my poetry. 

Tuc. I'll call her. — Come hither, cockatrice : 
here's one ■will set thee up, my sweet punk, set 
thee up. 

Chloe. Are you a poet so soon, sir ? 

Alh "Wife, mum. » 

CmspiNUs plays and sings. 
Love is blind, and a wanton ; 
In tlie whole world, llioio is scant one 

— Such another : 

No, not his mother. 
He hath pluck'd her doves and sparrows, 
' 7'o featlicr his sharp arrows, 

And alone prevaileth, 

While sick Venus waileth. 
But if Cypris once recover 
The wag ; it shall behove her 

To look better to him : 

Or she will undo him. 

Alb. O, m>«t odoriferous music ! 

Tuc. Aha, stinkard ! Another Orpheus, you 
slave, another Orpheus ! an Arion riding on the 
back of a dolphin, rascal ! 

Gal. Have you a copy of this ditty, sir ? 

Cris. Master Albius has. 

Alb. Aj, but in truth they are my -v^ife's 
verses ; I must not shew them. 

Tuc. Shew them, bankrupt, shew them ; they 
have salt in them, and Avill brook the air, stinkard. 

Gal. How! To his bright mistress Canidia? 

Cris. Ay, sir, that's but a borrowed name ; as 
Ovid's Corinna, or Propertius his Cynthia, or 
your Nemesis, or Delia, TibuUus. 

Gal. It's the name of Horace his witch, as I 
remember. 

Tib. Why, the ditty's all borrowed ; 'tis Hor- 
ace's : hang him, plagiary ! 

Tuc. How ! he borrow of Horace ? he shall 
pawr himself to ten brokers first. Do you hear, 



Poetasters ? I know you to be men of worship 

He shall write with Horace, for a talent ! 

and let Mecaenas and his whole college of crit- 
ics take his part : thou shalt do't, young Phce • 
bus ; thou shalt. Phaeton, thou shalt. 

Dew. Alas, sir, Horace ! he is a mere sponge , 
nothing but Humors and observation ; he goes 
up and down sucking from every society, and 
when he comes home squeezes himself dry 
again. I know him, I. 

Tuc. Thou say'st true, my poor poetical fury, 
he will pen all he knows. A sharp thorny- 
tooth'd satirical rascal, fly him ; he carries hay 
in his horn : he will sooner lose his best friend, 
than his least jest. What he once drops upon 
paper, against a man, lives eternally to upbraid 
him in the mouth of every slave, tankard-bear- 
er, or waterman ; not a bawd, or a boy that 
comes from the bake-house, but shall point at 
him : 'tis all dog, and scorpion ; he carries poi- 
son in his teeth, and a sting in his tail. Fough ! 
body of Jove ! I'll have the slave whipt one of 
these days for his Satires and his Humors, by 
one cashicr'd clerk or another. 

Cris. We'll undertake him, captain. 

De?n. Ay, and tickle him i'faith, for his arro- 
gancy and his imjjudence, in commending his 
own things ; and for his translating, I can trace 
him, i'faith. O, he is the most open fellow liv- 
ing ; I had as lievc as a new suit I were at it. 

Tuc. Say no more then, but do it ; 'tis the 
only way to get thee a new suit ; sting him, my 
little neufts ; I'll give you instructions : I'll be 
your intelligencer ; we'll all join, and hang 
upon him like so many horsc-lcechcs,the players 
and all. We shall sup together, soon ; and then 
we'll conspire, i'faith. 

Gal. O that Horace had stayed still here ! 

Tib. So would not I ; for both these wouM 
have turn'd Pythagoreans then. 

Gal. What, mute ? 

Tib. Ay, as fishes, i'faith : come, ladies, si all 
■n c go ? 

Cyth. We wait you, sir. But mistress Chloe 
asks, if you have not a god to spare for this 
gentleman. 

Gal. Who, captain Tucca ? 

Cyth. Ay, he. 

Gal. Yes, if we can invite him along, he shall 
be Mars. 

Chloe. Has Mars any thing to do witli Venus ? 

Tib. O, most of all, lady. 

Chloe. Nay,, then I pray let him be invited : 
And what shall Crispinus bo ? 

2'ib. Mercury, mistress Chloe. 

Chloe. Mercury ! that's a poet, is it ? 

Gal. No, lad}', but "feomcwhat inclining that 
way ; he is a herald at arms. 

Chloe. A herald at arms ! good ; and Mercury ! 
pretty ; he has to do with Venus too ? 

Tib. A little with her face, lady ; or so. 

Chloe. 'Tis very well ; pray let us go, I long 
to be at it. 

Cyth. Gentlemen, shall we pray your compa- 
nies along ? 

Cris. You shall not only pray, but prevail, lady: 

— Come, sweet captain. 

Tuc. Yes, I follow : but thou must not talli 
of this now, my little bankrupt. 



THE POETASTER. 



221 



Alb. Captain, look here, mum. 
Dem. I'll go ■write, sir. 

Tuc Do, do : stay, there's a drachm to pur- 
cliass ginger-bread for thy muse. [Exeunt. 

8CENE II. — A Room in Lupus's House. 

Fnter Lupus, Histrio, and Lictors. 

Liip- Come, let us talk here ; hero -we may 
be priTats ; shut the door, lictor. You are a 
player, you say. 

His. Ay, an't please your worship. 

Litp- Good ; and how are you able to give 
this intelligeixe ? 

Hist. ^larry, sir, they directed a letter to me 
and my fellow- sharers. 

Liqi. Speak lower, you are not now in your 
theatre, stager : --my sword, knave. They di- 
rected a letter to you, and your fellow-sharers : 
forward. 

Hist. Yes, sir, to hire some of our properties ; 
as a sceptre and crown for Jove ; and a caduceus 
for Mercury ; and a petasus 

Lup. Caduceus and petasus ! let me see yoxir 
letter. This is a conjuration; a conspiracj'', this. 
Quickly, on with my buskins: I'll act a tragedy, 
i' faith. Will nothing but our gods serve these 
j;-oets to profane ? dispatch ! Player, I thank 
thee. The emperor shall take knowledge of thy 
good service. [.4 knocking irit/iin.] Who's there 
jiow ? Look, knaye. [Exit Lictor.] A crown and 
a sceptre ! this is good rebellion, now. 

He-enter Lictor. 

Lie. 'Tis your j^othecary, sir, master Minos. 

Ltcp. What teirst thou me of pothecaries, 
knave ! Tell him, I have affairs of state in hand ; 
I can talk to no apothecaries now. Heart of 
me ! Stay the pothecary there. [Walks in a 
musinfj posture.] Y''ou shall sec, I have fish' d* out 
a cunning piece of plot now : they have had 
Bome intelligence, that their project is discovcr'd, 
and now have they dealt with my pothocarj', 
to poison me ; 'tis so ; knowing that I meant to 
take physic to-day : as sure as death, 'tis there. 
Jupiter, I thank thee, that thou hast yet made 
me so much of a politician. 

Enter Minos. 
You are welcome, sir ; take the potion from him 
there ; I have an antidote more than you wot 
of, sir ; throw it on the ground there : so ! Now 
fetch in the dog ; and yet Ave cannot tarry to 
try experiments now : arrest him ; you shall go 
with me, sir ; I'll tickle you, pothecary ; I'll 
, give you a glister, i'l'aith. Have I the letter ? 
ay, 'tis here. — Come, yoiu- fasces, lictors : the 
half pikes and the halberds, take them doAvn 
from the Lares there. Player, assist me. 

As they are going out, enter MECiENAS and Horace. 

Mec. AVhither now, Asinius Liipus, with this 
armory ? 

Litp. I cannot talk now ; I charge you assist 
me : treason ! treason ! 

Hor. How ! treason ? 

Lup. Ay : if you love the emperor, and the 
state, follow me. - [^Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Palace. 

Enter Ovid, Julia, Gallus, Cytheris, Tibul- 
Lus, Plautia, Albius, Chloe, Tucca, Cbis- 
PINUS, Hermogenes, Pyrgus, characteristically 
habited, as gods and goddesses. 

Ovid. Gods and goddesses, take your several 
seats. Now, Mercury, move your caduceus, 
and, in Jupiter's name, command silence. 

Oris. In the name of Jui:)iter, silence. 

Her. The crier of the court hath too clarified 
a voice. 

Gal. Peace, Momus. 

Ovid. Oh, he is the god of reprehension ; let 
him alone : 'tis his office. Mercury, go foi-ward, 
and proclaim, after Phoebus, our high pleasure, 
to all the deities that shall partake this high 
banquet. 

Oris. Yes, sir. 

Gal. The great god, Jupiter, [Here, and at 

every break in the line, Crispinus repeats aloud 
the words of Gallus.] Of his licentious good- 
ness, Willing to make this feast no fast 

From any manner of pleasure ; Nor to bind 

any god or goddess To be any thing the ?nore 

god or goddess, for their names : He gives them 

all free licence To speak 710 wiser than persons 

of baser titles ; And to be Clothing bettor, than 

common men, or women. And therefore no god 

Shall need to keep himself more strictly to his 

goddess Than any man does to his wife : 

Nor any goddess Shall need to keep lierself 

more strictly to her god Than any leoman doei 

to her husband. But, since it is no part of tois- 

dom, In these days, to come into bonds ; 

It shall bo lawful for every lover To break 

loving oaths, To change their lovers, and make 

love to others, As the heat of every one's blood, 

And the spirit of our nectar, shall inspire, 

And Jujnter save Juinter ! 

Tib. So ; now we may play the fools by au- 
thority. 

Her. To play the fool by authority is wisdom. 

Jul. Away with your mattery sentences, Mo- 
mus ; they are too grave and wise for this meet- 
ing. 

Ovid. Mercury, give our jester a stool, let him 
sit by ; and reach him one of our cates. 

Tue. Dost hear, mad Jupiter ? we'll have it 
enacted, he that speaks the first wise word, shall 
be made cuckold. What say'st thou ? Is it not 
a good motion ? 

Ovid. Deities, are you all agreed .' 

All. Agreed, great Jupiter. 

Alb. I have read in a book, that to flay the 
fool wisely, is high wisdom. 

Gal. How now, Vulcan ! will you be the first 
wizard r 

Ovid. Take his wife. Mars, and make him 
cuckold quickly. 

Tuc. Come, cockatrice. 

Chloe. No, let me alone with him, Jupiter : 
I'LL make you take heed, sir, while you live 
again ; if there be twelve in a company, tha 
you be not the wisest of 'em. 

Alb. No m.ore ; I will not indeed, wife, here- 
after ; I'll be here : mum. 



222 



THE POETASTER. 



Ovid. Fill xis a bowl of nectar, Ganymede : 
we Avill drink to onr daughter Venus. 

Gal. Look to your wife, Yulcan : Jupiter be- 
gins to court her. 

Tib. Nay, lot ^Mars look to it : Vulcan must 
d.0 as Venus does, bear. 

Tuc. Sirrah, boy ; catamite : Look you play 
Ganymede well now, you slave. Do not spill 
your nectar ; carry your cup even : so ! You 
should have rubbed your face Avith whites of 
eggs, you rascal ; till your brows had shone 
like our sooty brother's here, as sleek as a horn- 
book : or have steept your lips in Avine, till you 
made them so plump, that Juno might have 
been jealous of them. Punk, kiss me, punk. 
Ovid. Here, daughter Venus, I drink to thee. 
Chloe. Thank you, good father Jupiter. 
Tuc. Wlij-, mother Juno ! gods and fiends ! 
what, wilt thou suffer this ocular temptation ? 
Tib. Mars is enraged, ho looks big, and be- 
gins to stut for anger. 

Her. Well played, captain Mars. 
Tuc. Well said, minstrel Momus : I must put 
you in, must I ? when will you be in good fool- 
ing of yourself, fidler, never ? 

Her. O, 'tis our fashion to be silent, when 
there is a better fool in place ever. 
Tuc. Thank you, rascal. 

Ovid. Fill to our daughter Venus, Ganymede, 
w;io fills her father Avith aff'ection. 

Jul. Wilt thou be ranging, Jupiter, before my 
face? 

Ovid. Why not, Juno ? why should Jupiter 
stand in awe of thy face, Juno ? 

Jul. Because it is thy wife's face, Jupiter. 
Ovid. What, shall a husband be afraid of his 
wife's face ? will she paint it so horribly ? we 
are a king, cotquean ; and we will reign in ovir 
pleasures ; and we will cudgel thee to death, if 
thou find fault with us. 

Jul. I will find fault with thee, king cuckold- 
maker : What, shall the king of gods turn the 
king of good-fellows, and have no fellow in 
wickedness ? This makes our poets, that know 
our profaneness, live as profane as we : By my 
godhead. Jupiter, I will join with all the other 
gods here, bind thee hand and foot, throw thee 
down into the earth, and make a poor poet of 
thee, if thou abuse me thus. 

Gal. A good smart-tongued goddess, a right 
Juno! 

Ovid. Juno, we will ciidgel thee, Juno : we 
told thee so yesterday, when thou wert jealous 
of us for Thetis. 

Pyr, Nay, to-day she had me in inquisition 
too. 

Tuc. Well said, my fine Phrygian fry ; in- 
form, inform. Give me some A^ine, king of 
heralds, I may drink to my cockatrice. 

Ovid. No more, Ganymede ; Ave Avill cudgel 
thee, Juno ; by Styx we A\'ill. 

Jul. Ay, 'tis Avell ; gods may groAV impudent 

in iniquity, and they must not be told of it 

Ovid. Yea, Ave Avill knock our chin against 
our breast, and shake thee out of Olympus into 
an oyster-boat, for thy scolding. 

Jul. Icour nose is not long enough to do it, 
Jupiter, if all thy strumpets thou hast among 
tie stars took thy part. And there is never a 



star in thy forehead but shall be a horn, if tlion 
persist to abuse me. 

Cris. A good jest, i'faith. 
Ovid. We tell thee thou angerest us, cot« 
quean ; and Ave Avill thunder thee in pieces fol 
thy cotqueanity. 

Cris. Another good jest. 

Alb. O, my hammers and my Cyclops ! This 
boy fills not Avine enough to make us kind 
enough to one another. 

Tuc. Nor thou hast not collicd thy faco 
enough, stinkard. 

Alb. I'll ply the table Avith nectar, and make 
them friends. 

Her. Heaven is like to have but a lame 
skinker, then. 

Alb. Wine and good livers make true lovers : 
I'll sentence them together. Here, father, here, 
mother, for shame, drink yourselves drunk, and 
forget this dissension ; you tAVO should cling 
together before our faces, and give us example 
of unity. 

Gal. O, excellently spoken, Vulcan, on the 
sudden ! 

Tib. Jupiter may do avcU to prefer his tongue 
to some office for his eloquence. 

Tuc. His tongue shall be gentleman-usher to 
his wit, and still go before it. 

Alb. An excellent fit office ! 

Cris. Ay, and an excellent good jest besides. 

Her. What, have you hired Mercury to crj 
your jests you make ? 

Ovid. Momus, you are envious. 

2'uc. "Wliy, ay, you Avhoreson blockhead, 'tis 
your only block of AA'it in fashion nOAA'-a-days, 
to ajjplaud other folks' jests. 

Her. True ; Avith those that are not artificers 
themselves^^, Vulcan, you nod, and the mirth 
of the jest droops. 

Pijr. He has filled nectar so long, till his brain 
SA\'im« in it. 

Gal. What, do Ave nod, fellow-gods ! Sound 
music, and let us startle our spirits with a song. 

Tuc. Do, Apollo, thou art a good musician. 

Gal. What says Jupiter '' 

Ovid. Ha ! ha ! 

Gal. A song. 

Ovid. Why, do, do, sing. 

Pla. Bacchus, Avhat say a'ou ? 

Tib. Ceres? 

Pla. But, to this song ? 

Tib. Sing, for my part. 

Jul. Your belly Aveighs doAvn j-our head, Bac- 
chus ; here's a song toAvard. 

Tib. Begin, Vulcan. 

Alb. What else, AA-hat else ? 

Tuc. Say, Jupiter 

Ovid. Mercury 

Cris. Ay, say, say. [Mus'tO, 

Alb. WaJce ! our mirth begins to die ; 

QuicJcen it loith tunes and toine. 
Raise your notes ; you're out ; fie, fie I 
This droicsiness is an ill sign. 
We baiiish him the quire of gods, 
That droops agen : 
Then all are men. 
For here's not one but nods. 

Ovid. I like not this sudden and general 



THE POETASTER. 



223 



heaviness amongst our godheads ; 'tis some- 
what ominous. Apollo, command tis louder 
music, and let Mercury and Momus contend to 
please and revive our senses. [Music. 



Herm. 

Cris. 

A.mbo. 

Herm. 
Cris. 
Herm. 
Cris. 

Ambo. 



T/ien, in a free and hfty strain. 

Our broken tunes tee thus re2Mir ; 
And ice answer them again, 
Jhtnning division on the panting air 
To celebrate this feast of sense. 
As free from scandal as offence. 
Here is beauty for the eye ; 
For the ear sweet melody ; 
Ambrosiac odors, for the smell ; 
Delicious nectar, for the taste ; 
For the touch, a lady's waist ; 
Which doth all the rest excel. 



Ovid. Ay, this has waked us. ^lercury, our 
herald ; go from ourself, the great god Jupiter, 
to the great emperor Augustus Caesar, and 
command him from us, of whose bounty he hath 
received the sirname of Augustus, that, for a 
thank-offering to our beneficence, he presently 
sacrifice, as a dish to this banquet, his beautiful 
and wanton daughter Julia : she's a curst quean, 
toll him, and plays the scold behind his back ; 
therefore let her be sacrificed. Command him 
this. Mercury, in our high name of Jupiter Al- 
titonans. 

Jul. Stay, feather-footed Mercury, and tell 
Augustus, from us, the great Juno Saturnia ; if 
he think it hard to do as Jupiter hath com- 
manded him, and sacrifice his daughter, that he 
had better do so ten times, than suffer her to 
love the well-nosed poet, Ovid ; whom he shall 
do well to whip, or cause to be whipped, about 
the capitol, for soothing her in her follies. 

Enter Augustus Cjesae, Memjxas, Horace, 
Lurus, HisTRio, !Minus, and Lictors. 

C(Bs. What sight is this ? Mecfcnas ! Plor- 
ace ! say ? 
Have we our senses ? do we hear and see ? 
Or are those but imaginary objects 
Drawn by our phantasy ! Why speak you not ? 
Let us do sacrifice. Are they the gods ? 

[Ovid and the rest kneel. 
Reverence, amaze, and fury fight in me. 
What, do they kneel ! Naj', then I see 'tis true 
I thought impossible : O, impious sight ! 
Let me divert mine eyes ; the very thought 
Everts my soul with passion : Look not, man, 
There is a panther, whose unnatural eyes 
Will strike thee dead : turn, then, and die on 

her 
With her own death. [Offers to kill his daughter. 

Mec. Ilor. What means imperial Csesar ? 

Cces. What, would you have me let the strum- 
pet live 
That, for this pageant, earns so many deaths? 

Tuc. Boy, slink, boy. 

Pyr. Pray Jupiter we be not followed by the 
Eccnt, master, [Exeunt TuccA and Pyuqus. 

Ctes. Say, sir, what are you ? 

Alb. I play Vulcan, sir. 

C(ss. But what are you, sir ? 

Alb. Your citizen and jeweller, sir. 

C'lPs. And what are you, dame ? 

Chbe. I play Venus, forsooth. 



Ca;s. I ask not what you play, but what 
you are. 

Chloa. Your citizen and jeweller's wife, sir. 

Ccps. And you, good sir ? 

Cris. Your gentleman parcel-poet, sir. [Exit- 

Ccps. O, that profaned name ! — 
And are these seemly company for thee, 

[To Julia. 
Degenerate monster ? All the rest I know. 
And hate all knowledge for their hateful sakes. 
Are, you, that first the deities insi^ired [ers, 

With skill of their high natures and their pow- 
Thc first abusers of their useful light ; 
Profaning thus their dignities in their forms. 
And making them, like you, but counterfeits ? 
O, who shall follow Virt-ue and embrace her, 
^Vhen her false bosom is found nought but air 
And yet of those embraces centaurs spring. 
That war Avith human peace, and poison men. — 
Who shall with greater comforts comprehend 
Her unseen being and her excellence ; 
When you, that teach, and should eternize her, 
Live as she were no law unto your lives. 
Nor lived herself, but Avith your idle breaths ? 
If you think gods but feign'd,and virtue painted. 
KnoAV Ave sustain an actual residence, 
And Avith the title of an emperor. 
Retain his spirit and imjierial poAver ; 
By Avhich, in imposition too remiss. 
Licentious Naso, for thy violent Avrong, 
In soothing the declined affections 
Of our base daughter, Ave exile thy feet 
From all approach to our imi")erial court. 
On pain of death ; and thy misgotten love 
Commit to patronage of iron doors ; 
Since her soft-hearted sire cannot contain her. 

Mec. O, good my lord, forgive ! be like the god3. 

Hor. Let royal bounty, Csesar, mediate. 

Cces. There is no bounty to be shew'd to sucl 
As haA'C no real goodness : bounty is 
A spice of virtue ; and Avhat virtuous act 
Can take effect on them, that haA'O no poAver 
Of equal habitude to apprehend it. 
But liA^e in AA'orship of that idol, A'ice, 
As if there Avere no virtue, but in shade 
Of strong imagination, merely enforced ? 
This shcAvs their knoAvledgc is mere ignorance, 
Their far-fetch'd dignity of soul a fanc}% 
And all their square pretext of gravity 
A mere vain- glory ; hence, aAvay Avith them ! 
I AA'ill prefer for knowledge, none but such 
As rule their lives by it, and can becalm 
All sea of Humor Avith the marble trident 
Of their strong spirits : others fight below 
With gnats and shadows ; others nothing knoAA'- 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE Y.— A. Street before the Palace. 

Enter TuccA, Crispinus, and Patrgus. 

Tuc. What's become of my little punk, Venus, 
and the poult-foot stinkard, her husband, ha ? 

Cris. O, they are rid home in the coach, as 
fast as the Avheels can run. 

Tuc. God Jupiter is banished, I hear, and his 
cockatrice Juno lock'd up. Heart, an all the 
poetry in Parnassus get me to be a player again, 
I'll sell 'em my share for a sesterce. But this is 
H'lmors, Horace, that goat-footed envious slave • 



224 



THE POETASTER. 



he's turn'd fawn now ; an infonner, the rogue ! 
'tis he has betray' cl us all. Did you not see 
him with the emperor crouching .' 

Cris. Yes. 

Tuc. Well, follow me. Thou shalt libel, and 
I'll cudgel the rascal. Boy, provide me a trun- 
cheon. Revenge shall gratulate him, tarn Marti, 
quayn Mcrcwio. 

Pijr. Ay, but master, take heed how you 
give this out ; Horace is a man of the sword. 

Cris. 'Tis true, in troth ; they say he's valiant. 

Tuc. Valiant ? so is mine a — . Gods and 
fiends ! I'll blow him into air when I meet him 
next ; he dares not fight with a puck-fist. 

[Horace j)asses over the stage. 

Pi/r. Master, he comes ! 

Tuc. Where ? Jupiter save thee, my good 
poet, my noble prophet, my little fat Horace. — 
I scorn to beat the rogue in the court ; and I 
saluted him thus fair, because he should suspect 
nothing, the rascal. Come, we'll go see how 
far forward our journeyman is toward the 
untrussing of him. 

Cris. Do you hear, captain ? I'll write noth- 
ing in it but innocence, because I may swear I 
am innocent. [Exeunt, 

SCENE VI. 

Enter Houace, Mecenas, Lupus, Histeio, atul 
Lictors. 

Ilor. Nay, why pursue j'ou not the emperor 
for your reward now. Lupus ? 

Mec. Stay, Asinius ; 
You and your stager, and your band of lictors : 
I hope your service merits more respect, 
1'han thus, without a thanks, to be sent hence. 

Ilis. Well, well, jest on, jest on. 

Hor. Thou base, unworthy groom ! 

Lu}}' Ay, ay, 'tis good. [plot, 

Ror, Was this the treason, this the dangerous 
riiy clamorous tongue so bellow'd through the 

court ? 
Hadst thou no other project to cncrease 
Thj' grace with Cassar, but this wolfish train. 
To prey upon the life of innocent mirth 
And harmless pleasures, bred of noble wit ? 
Away ! I loath thy presence ; such as thou. 
They are the moths and scarabs of a state, 
The bane of empires, and the dregs of courts ; 
Who, to endear themselves to an employment. 
Care not whose feme they blast, whose life they 

endanger ; 
And, under a disguised and cobweb mask 
Of love unto their sovereign, vomit forth 
Their own prodigious malice ; and pretending 
To be the props and columns of their safety, 
The guards unto his person and his peace. 
Disturb it most, with their false, lapwing-cries. 

Lu]}. Good ! Cajsar shall know of this, be- 
lieve it. 

Mec. Ceesar doth know it, wolf, and to his 
knowledge. 
He will, I hope, reward your base endeavors. 
Princes that will but hear, or give access 
To such officious spies, can ne'er be safe : 
They take in poison with an open ear, 
A.nd, free from danger, become slaves to fear. 

[Exeicnt, 



SCENE VII. — An open Space before the Palace. 

Enter OviB. 
Banish'd the court ! Let me be banish'd life, 
Since the chief end ri life is there concluded : 
Within the court is all the kingdom bounded. 
And as her sacred s^^hcre doth comprehend 
Ten thousand times so much, as so much i^lac:' 
In any part of all the empire else ; 
So every body, moving in her sphere, 
Contains ten thousand times as much in him. 
As any other her choice orb excludes. 
As in a circle, a magician then 
Is safe against the spirit he excites ; 
But, oui of it, is subject to his rage, 
And loseth all the virtue of his art : 
So I, exiled the circle of the court, 
Lose all the good gifts that in it I 'joy'd. 
No virtue current is, but with her stamp. 
And no vice vicious, blanch'd with her white 

hand. 
The court's the abstract of all Rome's desert. 
And my dear Julia the abstract of the court. 
Methinks, now I come near her, I respire 
Some air of that late comfort I received ; 
And while the CA'cning, with her modest veil, 
Gives leave to such poor shadows as m}-self 
To steal abroad, I, like a heartless ghost, 
Without the living body of my love. 
Will here Avalk and attend her : for I know 
Not far from hence she is imprisoned, 
And hopes, of her strict guardian, to bribe 
So much admittance, as to speak to me. 
And cheer my fainting spirits with hor breath. 

Julia, [appears above at her chamber window.'^ 
Ovid ? my love ? 

Ovid. Here, heavenly Julia. [doth play 

Jul. Here ! and not here ! O, how that word 
With both our fortvmcs, diff"ering, like ourselves, 
Both one ; and yet divided, as opposed ! 
I high, thou low : O, this our plight of place 
Doubly presents the two lets of our love, 
Local and ceremonial height, and lowness : 
Both ways, I am too high, and thou too low. 
Our minds are even yet ; O, why should our 

bodies. 
That are their slaves, be so without their rule ? 
I'll cast myself down to thee ; if I die, 
I'll ever live with thee : no height of birth, 
Of place, of duty, or of cruel power, 
Shall keep me from thee; should my father locP 
This body wp within a tomb of brass. 
Yet I'll be Avith thee. If the forms I hold 
Now in my soul, be made one substance with it ; 
That soul immortal, and the same 'tis now ; 
Death cannot raze the aff"ccts she now retaineth 
And then, may she be any where she will. 
The souls of parents rule not childien's souls. 
When death sets both in their disaclv'd estates ; 
Then is no child nor father ; then eternity 
Frees all from any temporal respect. 
I come, my 0\\A ; take ne in thine arms. 
And let me breathe ni> soul into thy breast. 
Ovid. O stay, my love ; the hopes thou dost 

conceive 
Of thy quick death, and of thy future life. 
Are not authentical. Thou choosest death, 
So thou might'st 'joy thy love in the other life 



THE POETASTER. 



225 



But know, my princely love, when tliou art 
Thou only must survive in jicrfect soiil ; [dead, 
And in the soul are no affections. 
Wc pour out our affections with our blood, 
And, with our blood's aff'cetions, fade our loves. 
No life hath love in such sAvcot state as this ; 
No essence is so dear to moody sense 
As flesh and blood, whose quintessence is sense. 
Beaut)% composed of blood and flesh, moves more, 
And is more plausible to blood and flesh, 
Than spiritual beauty can be to the spirit. 
Such apprehension as we have in dreams, 
When sleep, the bond of senses, locks them up, 
Such shall we have, when death destroys them 

quite. 
If love be then thy object, change not life ; 
Live high and happy still : I still below. 
Close with my fortunes, in thy height shall joy. 
Jul. Ay me, that virtue, whose brave eagle's 
"wings, ^y^ 

With every stroke blow stars in burning heaven, 
Should, like a swalloAV, preying towards storms, 
Fly close to earth, and with an eager plume. 
Pursue those objects which none else can see, 
But seem to all the world the empty air ! 
Thus thou, poor Ovid, and all virtuous men, 
Must prey, like swallows, on invisible food. 
Pursuing flies, or nothing : and thus love, 
And every worldly fancy, is transposed 
By worldly tyranny to what plight it list. 

fothcr, since thou gav'st me not my mind. 
Strive not to rule it ; take but what thou gav'st 
To thy disposure : thy aff"ections 

Rule not in me ; I must bear all my griefs, 
Let me use all my pleasures ; virtuous love 
Was never scandal to a goddess' state. — 
But he's inflexible ! and, my dear love, 
Thy life may chance be shorten'd by the length 
Of my unwilling speeches to depart. 
Farewell, sweet life ; though thou be yet exiled 
The officious court, enjoy me amply still : 
My soul, in this my breath, enters "thine ears. 
And on this turret's floor will I lie dead. 
Till we may meet again : Li this proud height, 

1 kneel beneath thee in my prostrate love. 
And kiss the happy sands that kiss thy feet. 
Great Jove submits a sceptre to a cell. 
And lovers, ere they part, Mill meet in hell. 

Ooid. Farewell all company', and, if I could. 
All light with thee ! hell's shade should hide 

my brows, 
Till thy dear beauty's beams redeem'd my vows. 

[Going. 

Jul. Ovid, my love ; alas ! may we not stay 
A little longer, think'st thou, undiscern'd ? 

Ovid. For thine own good, fair goddess, do not 
Who would engage a firmament of fires [stay. 
Shining in thee, for me, a falling star ? 
Be gone, sweet life-blood ; if I should discern 
Thyself but touch'd for my sake, I should die. 

Jul. I will begone, then ; and not heaven itself 



Shall draw me back. 

Ooid. Yet, Julia, if thou wilt, 
A httle longer stay. 

Jul. I am content. 

Ovid. O, mighty Ovid ! what the 
Could not retire, my breath hath turned back. 

Jul. Who r.hall go first, my love ? mj' passionate 
Will not endure to see thee turn from me. [eyes 
15 



\_Goinrj. 



[heaven 
sway of 



Ovid. If thou go first, mj'- soul will follow thoo, 

Jul. Then Ave must stay. 

Ovid. Ay me, there is no stay 
In amorous pleasures ; if both stay, both die. 
I hear thy father ; hence, my deity. 

[JuLi.v retires from the window, 
Fear forgeth sounds in my deluded ears ; 
I did not hear him ; I am mad Avith love. 
There is no spirit under heaven, that Avorks 
With such illusion ; yet such witchcraft kill me.. 
Ere a sound mind, Avithout it, save my life ! 
Here, on my knees, I Avorship the blest place 
That held my goddess ; and the losing air, 
That closed her body in his silken arms. 
Vain OAid ! kneel not to the place, nor air ; 
She's in thy heart ; rise then, and AVorship there 
The truest Avisdom silly men can have, 
Is dotaa-e on the follies of their flesh. \Exii 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace- 
Enter C^SAR, MEC.1S.VA.S, Gallus, Tieui.lus, 
HoiiACE, and Equites Romani. 
Cces. We, that have conquer'd still, to saA'e the 

conquer' d. 
And loved to make inflictions fear'd, not felt; 
Grieved to reprove, and joyful to reward ; 
More proud of reconcilement than revenge ; 
Resume into the late state of our love. 
Worthy Cornelius Gallus, and Tibullus : 
You both are gentlemen : and you, Cornelius, 
A soldier of renoAvn, and the first provost 
That ever let our Roman eagles fly 
On SAvarthy ^^gypt, quarried Avith her spoils. 
Yet (not to bear cold forms, nor men's out-term;i, 
Without the iuAvard fires, and lives of men) 
You both haA'e virtues, shining through your 

shapes ; 
To shcAA', your titles are not AA'rit on posts. 
Or hollow statues AA'hich the best men are. 
Without Promethean stuffings reach'd from 

heaven ! [try : 

SAA-eet poesy's sacred garlands croAvn your gen- 
Which is, of all the faculties on earth, 
The most abstract and perfect ; if she be 
True-born, and nursed Avith all the sciences. 
She can so mould Rome, and her monuments.- 
W^ithin the liquid marble of her lines, 
That they shall stand fresh and miraculous, 
Even Avhsn they mix Avith innoA'ating dust ; 
In her sAveet streams shall our brave Romai. 

spirits 
Chase, and SAvim after death, Avith their choice 

deeds 
Shining on their AAdrite shoulders ; and tliertin 
Shall Tyber, and our famous rivers fall 
With such attraction, that the ambitious lino 
Of the round Avorld shall to her centre shrink, 
To hear their music : and, for these high part^ 
Caesar shall reverence the Pierian arts. 

Mec. Y^our majesty's high grace to poesy, 
Shall stand 'gainst all the dull detractions 
Of leaden souls ; Avho, for the A'ain assumings 
Of some, quite Avorthless of her sovereign 

Avreaths, 
Contain her Avorthiest prophets in coiatempt . 



220 



THE POETASTER. 



Gal. Happy is Rome of all earth's other states, 
To have so true and great a president, 
For her inferior spirits to imitate, 
As Coesar is ; who addeth to the sun 
Influence and lustre ; in increasing thus 
His inspirations, kindling fire in us. [shrine, 

Hor. Phccbus himself shall kneel at Cesar's 
And deck it with bay garlands dew'd with wine, 
To quit the worship Cnesar does to him : 
Where other princes, hoisted to their thrones 
By Fortune's passionate and disorder'd power, 
Sit in their height, like clouds before the sun, 
Hindering his comforts ; and, by their excess 
Of cold in virtue, and cross heat in vice, 
Thunder and tempest on those learned heads, 
Whom Cassar with such honor doth advance. 

Tib. All human business fortune doth com- 
mand 
Without all order ; and with her blind hand. 
She, blind, bestows blind gifts, that still have 

nurst. 
They see not who, nor how, but still, the worst. 

Cees. Cffisar, for his rule, and for so much stuff 
As Fortune puts in his hand, shall dispose it, 
As if his hand had eyes and soul in it, [gifts 
With worth and judgment. Hands, that part with 
Or will restrain their use, without desert, 
Or with a misery numb'd to virtue's right. 
Work as thej'^ had no soul to govern them. 
And quite reject her ; severing their estates 
From human order. Whosoever can, 
And will not cherish virtue, is no man. 

Enter some of the Equestrian Order. 
Eques. Virgil is now at hand, imperial Coesar. 
C(cs. Rome's honor is at hand then. Fetch a 
chair, 
And set it on our right hand, where 'tis fit 
Rome's honor and our own should ever sit. 
Now he is come out of Campania, 
I doubt not he hath finish' d all his ^-Eneids, 
Which, like another soul, I long to enjoy. 
What think you three of Virgil, gentlemen, 
That are of his profession, though rank'd higher ; 
Or, Horace, what say'st thou, that art the poor- 
And likeliest to envy, or to detract ? [est, 

Ilor. Ctesar speaks after common men in this, 
To make a difference of me for my poorness ; 
As if the filth of poverty sunk as deep 
Into a knowing spirit, as the bane 
Of riches doth into an ignorant soul. 
No, Caesar, thej' be i^athless, moorish minds, 
That being once made rotten with the dung 
Of damned riches, ever after sink 
Beneath the steps of any villainy. 
.But knowledge is the nectar that keeps sweet 
A perfect soul, even in this grave of sin ; 
And for ray soul, it is as free as Caesar's, 
For what I know is due I'll give to all. 
He that detracts or envies virtuous merit, 
Is still the covetous and the ignorant spirit. 
Cces. Thanks, Horace, for thy free and whole- 
some sharpness. 
Which pleaseth Caesar more than servile fawns. 
A flattered prince soon turns the prince of fools. 
And for thy sake, we'll put no difference more 
Between the great and good for being poor. 
Say then, loved Horace, thv true thought of 
Virgil. 



Hor, I judge him of a rectified spirit, 
Bv many revolutions of discourse, 
(In his bright reason's influence.) refined 
From all the tartarous moods of common men 
Bearing the nature and similitude 
Of a right heavenly body ; most severe 
In fashion and collection of himself; 
And, then, as clear and confident as Jove. 

Gal. And yet so chaste and tender is his ear 
In suffering any syllable to pass. 
That he thinks may become the honor'd name 
Of issue to his so examined self. 
That all the lasting fruits of his full merit, 
In his own poems, he doth still distate ; 
As if his mind's piece, which he strove to paint, 
Could not with fleshly pencils have her right. 

Tib. But to approve his works of aovereigu 
Avorth, 
This observation, methinks, more than serves, 
And is not vulgar. That which he hath writ 
Is with svich judgment labor'd, and distill'd 
Through all the needful uses of our lives, 
That could a man remember but his lines, 
He should not touch at any serious point. 
But he might breathe his spirit out of him. 

C'fps. You mean, he might repeat part of his 
As fit for any conference he can use ? [works, 

Tib. True, roj^al Caesar. 

C(Bs. Worthily observed ; 
And a most worthy A'irtue in his works. 
What thinks material Horace of his learning ? 

Hor. His learning savors not the school-like 
gloss. 
That most consists in echoing words and terms 
And soonest wins a man an empty name ; 
Nor any long or far-fetch'd circumstance 
Wrapp'd in the curious generalities of arts ; 
But a direct and analytic sum 
Of all the Avorth and first cftects of arts. 
And for his poesy, 'tis so ramm'd with life. 
That it shall gather strength of life, Avith being, 
And live hereafter more admired Uian now. 

C'(Ps. This one consent in all your dooms of him. 
And mutual loves of all j^our several merits, 
Argues a truth of merit in 3'ou all. — 

Enter Virgil. 
Sec, here comes Virgil ; Ave Avill rise and greet 

him. " 
Welcome to Casar, Virgil ! Caesar and Virgil 
Shall differ but in sound ; to Caesar, Virgil, 
Of his expressed greatness, shall be made 
A second sirname, and to Virgil, Caesar. 
Where are thy famous yEneids ? do us grace 
To let us see, and surfeit on their sight. 

Virg. Worthless they are of Caesar's gracious 
eyes, [wants. 

If they Avere perfect much more with theii 
Which are yet more than my time could supply 
And, could great Ca?sar's expectation 
Be satisfied Avith any other serA'ice, 
I Avould not shcAV them. 

C(ps. Virgil is too modest ; 
Or seeks, in vain, to make our longings more : 
Shew them, sweet Virgil. 

Virff. Then, in such due fear 
As fits presenters of great works to ('aesar, 
I humbly sheAv them. 

Cces. Let us now behold 



THE POETASTER. 



227 



A human soul made visible in life ; 
And more refulgent in a senseless paper 
Than in the sensiial complement of kings. 
Read, read thyself, dear Yirgil ;' let not me 
Profane one accent with an untuned tongue ; 
Best matter, badly shown, shews worse than bad. 
See then this chair, of purpose set for thee 
To read thy poem in ; refuse it not. 
Virtue, without presumption, place may take 
Above best kings, whom only she should make. 

Virg. It Avill be thought a thing ridiculous 
To present ej-es, and to all future times 
A gross untruth, that any poet, void 
Of birth, or wealth, or temporal dignity, 
Should, with decorum, transcend Cassar's chair. 
Poor virtue raised, high birth and wealth set 

under, [wonder. 

Crosseth heaven's courses, and makes worldlings 

Cces. The course of heaven, and fate itself, in 

this, [custom. 

Will Caesar cross ; much more all worldly 

Hor. Custom, in course of honor, ever errs ; 
And they are best whom fortune least prefers. 
C<es. Horace hath but more strictly spoke our 

thoughts. 
The vast rude swing of general confluence 
Is, in particular ends, exempt from sense : 
And therefore reason (which in right should be 
The special rector of all harmony) 
Shall shew we are a man distinct by it, 
From those, whom custom rapteth in her press. 
Ascend then, Virgil ; and where first by chance 
We here have turn'd thy book, do thou first read. 
Virg. Great Caesar hath his will ; I will ascend. 
Twere simple injury to his free hand, 
That sweeps the cobwebs from unused virtue, 
And makes her shine proportion' d to her worth. 
To be more nice to entertain his grace, 
Than, he is choice, and liberal to afford it. 
C(Es. Gentlemen of our chamber, guard the 

doors. 
And let none enter ; [Exeimt Equites.] peace. 

Begin, good Virgil. 
Virg. Meanwhile the sides 'gan thunder, and in 

tail 
Of that , fell pouring storms of sleet and hail : 
The Tyrian lords and Trojan youth, each where 
With Venus' Dardane nephexo, noxo, in fear. 
Seek out for several shelter through the plain, 
Whilst floods come rolling from the hills amain, 
Dido a cave, the Trojan prince the satne 
Lighted xipon. There earth and heaven's great dame, 
That hath the charge of marriage, first gave sign 
Unto his contract ; fire and air did shine, 
As guilty of the match; and from the hill 
Thi nymphs loith shriekings do the region fill. 
Here first began their bane ; this day was ground 
Of all their ills ; for noio, nor rumor's sound. 
Nor nice respect of state, tnoves Dido ought ; 
Her love no longer now by stealth is sought : 
She calls this wedlock, and loith that fair name 
Covers her fault. Forthwith the bruit and fame, 
Through a'll the greatest Lybian towns is gone ; 
Fame, a fleet evil, than xohich is swifter none. 
That moving grows, and flying gathers strength ; 
Little atfi.rst, and fearful ; but at length 
She dares attempt the skies, and stalking proud 
With feet on ground, her head doth pierce a cloud ! 
This child, our parent earth, stirr'd up with spite 



Of all the gods, brought forth ; and, as some lorite. 

She was last sister of that giant race [pace, 

That thought to scale Jove's court ; right sicift of 

And swifter far of wing ; a monster vast. 

And dreadful. Look, how many plumes are ^iaad 

On her huge corps, so many leaking eyes 

Stick underneath ; and, ichich may stranger rise 

In the report, as many tongues she bears, 

As many mouths, as many listening ears. 

Nightly, in midst of all the heaven, she flies. 

And through the earth's dark shadow shrieking 

cries ; 
Nor do her eyes once bend to taste sweet sleep ; 
By day on tops of houses she doth keep. 
Or on high towers ; and doth thence affright 
Cities and toions of most conspicuous site : 
As covetous she is of tales and lies. 

As prodigal of truth : this monster 

Lup. [within.'] Come, follow me, assist me, 
second me ! Where's the emperor ? 

1 Eques. [within.'] Sir, you must pardon us. 

2 Eques. [icithin.] Caesar is private now ; you 
m.ay not enter. 

Tuc. [loitJiin.'] Not enter ! Charge them upon 
their allegiance, cropshin. 

1 Eques. [icithin.\ We have a charge to the 
contrary, sir. 

Lup. [within.] I pronounce you all traitoi's, 
horrible traitors : What ! do you know my af- 
fairs ? I have matter of danger and state to impart 
to Cffisar. 

C(Bs. What noise is there r who's that names 
Caesar ? 

Lup. [within.] A friend to Cassar. [Caesar, 
One that, for Caesar's good, would speak with 

C(es. AVho is it ? look, Cornelius. 

1 Eques. [tcithin.] Asinius Lupus. 

C(cs. O, bid the turbulent informer hence ; 
We have no vacant ear now, to receive 
The unscason'd fruits of his ofiicious tongue. 

3Iec. You must avoid him there. 

Lup. [within.'] I conjure thee, as thou ai> 
Caesar, or resi^ectest thine own safety, or the 
safety of the state, Caesar, hear me, speak with 
me, Caesar ; 'tis no common business I come 
about, but such, as being neglected, may concern 
the life of Caesar. 

Ca-s. The life of Caesar ! Let him enter. Vir- 
gil, keep thy seat. 

Equites. [within.] Bear back, there : whither 
will you ? keep back ! 

Enter Lupus, Tucca, and Lictors. 

Tuc. By thy leave, goodman usher : mend thy 
peruke ; so. 

Lup. Lay hold on Horace there ; ai/d on Me- 
caenas, lictors. Romans, offer no rescue, upon 
your allegiance : read,' royal Caesar. [Gives a 
paper.] I'll tickle you. Satyr. 

Tuc. He will, Ilumors, he will ; he will 
oc^ixeeze you, poet puck-fist. 

Lup. I'll lop you off for an unprofitable branch, 
you satirical varlet. 

Tuc. Ay, and Epaminondas your patron here, 
with his flagon chain ; come, resign : [takes off 
Mec-^^nas' chain,] though 'twere your great 
grandfather's, the law has mac e it mine now, 
sir. Look to him, my party-colored rascals: 
look to him. 



228 



THE POETASTER. 



CcBs. ^V'hat is this- Asinius Lupus ? I uiidcr- 
Btand it not. 

Liq). Not understand it ! A libel, Caesar ; a 
dangerous, seditious libel ; a libel in picture. 

C(Bs. A libel ! 

Lii}7. Ay, I found it in this Horace his study, 
in Mecsenas his house, here ; I challenge the 
penalty of the laws against them. 

Tuc. Ay, and remember to beg their land be- 
times ; before some of these hungry court- 
hounds scent it out. 

Cm. Shew it to Horace : ask him if he know it. 

Lup. Know it ! his hand is at it, Csesar. 

C(Bs. Then 'tis no libel. 

Ilor. It is the imperfect body of an emblem, 
Caesar, I began for Mecsenas. 

Lup. An emblem ! right : that's Greek for a 
libel. Do but mark how confident he is. 

Hor. A just man cannot fear, thou foolish 
tribune ; 
Not, though the malice of traducing tongues, 
The Q-pcw vastness of a tyrant's ear. 
The senseless rigor of the wrested laws, 
Or the red eyes of strain'd authority. 
Should, in a point, meet all to take his life : 
His innocence is armor 'gainst all these. 

Lup. Innocence ! O impudence ! lei me see, 
let me see ! Is not here an eagle ! and is not that 
eagle meant by Caesar, ha ? Does not Caesar give 
the eagle ? answer'me ; what sayest thou ? 

Tuc. Hast thou any evasion, stinkard ? 

Liip. Now he's turn'd dumb. I'll tickle you. 
Satyr. 

Hor. Pish : ha, ha ! 

Lup. Dost thou pish me ? Give me my long 
sword. 

Hor. With reverence to great Caesar, worthy 
Romans, 
Observe but this ridiculous commenter ; 
T)ie soul to my device was in this distich : 

Thus oft, the base and ravenous multitude 
Survive, to share the spoils of fortitude. 

^Vhich in this body I liave figured here, . 
A vulture 

Lup. A vulture ! Ay, now, 'tis a vulture. O 
abominable ! monstrous ! monstrous ! has not 
your vulture a beak ? has it not legs, and talons, 
and wings, and feathers ? 

Tuc. Touch him, old buskins. 

Hor. And therefore must it be an eagle ? 

Mec. Respect him not, good Horace : say your 
device. 

Hor. A vulture and a wolf 

Lup. A wolf! good: that's I ; I am the wolf: 
my name's Lupus ; I am meant by the wolf. 
On, on ; a vulture and a wolf 

Hor. Preying upon the' carcass of an ass 

Lup. An ass ! good still : that's I too ; I am 
the ass. You mean me by the ass. • 

Mec. Prithee, leave braying then. 

Hor. If you will needs take it, I cannot with 
modesty give it from you. 

Mec. But, by that beast, the old Egyptians 
Were wont to figure, in their hieroglyphics, 
patience, frugality, and fortitude ; 
For none of which we can suspect you, tribune. 

C<es. Who vas it, Lupus, that inform'd you 
first, 



This should be meant by us ? Or was't youi 
comment ? 

Lup. No, Caesar ; a player gave me the first 
light of it indeecl. 

Tuc. Ay, an honest sycophant-like slave, and 
a poHtician besides. 

Cces. Where is that player ? 

Tuc. He is without here. 

C(es. Call him in. 

Tuc. Call in the player there : master ,^sop, 
call liim. 

Equites. [loithin.'] Player ! where is the player ? 
bear back : none but the player enter. 

Enter ^sop, folloioed by CmsptNus and Deme- 

TKIUS. 

Tuc. Yes, this gentleman and his Achates 
must. 

Cris. Pray you, master usher : — we'll stand 
close, here. 

Tuc. 'Tis a gentleman of quality, this ; though 
he be somewhat out of clothes, I tell ye. — Come, 
iEsop, hast a bay-leaf in thy mouth ? Well 
said ; be not out, stinkard. Thou shalt have a 
monopoly of playing confirm'd to thee and thy 
covey, under the emperor's broad seal, for thia 
service. 

CcBs. Is this he ? 

Lup. Ay, Caesar, this is he. 

Cas. Let him be whipped. Lictors, go take 
him hence. 
And, Lupus, for your fierce credulity, 
One fit him Avith a pair of larger ears : 
'Tis Caesar's doom, and must not be revoked. 
We hate to have our court and peace disturb'd 
With these quotidian clamors. See it done. 

Lup. Caesar ! 
[Exeunt some of the Lictors, with Lupus and ^sop, 

Cces. Gag him, [that] Ave may have his silence 

Vircf. Ctesar hath clone like Caesar. Fair and 
just 
Is his award against these brainless creatures. 
'Tis not the wholesome sharp morality. 
Or modest anger of a satiric spirit. 
That hurts or Avounds the body of the state ; 
But the sinister application 
Of the malicious, ignorant, and base 
Interpreter ; Avho Avill distort, and strain 
The general scope and purpose of an author 
To his particular and private spleen. 

Cces. We knoAV it, our dear Virgil, and esteem it 
A most dishonest practice in that man. 
Will seem too Avitty in another's work. 
What would Cornelius Gallus, and Tibullus ? 

[ They ichisjier CiESAR. 

Tuc. [to Mecjenas.] Nay, but as thou art a 
man, dost hear ! a man of Avorship and honor- 
able : hold, here, take thy chain again. Resume, 
mad Mecaenas. What ! dost thou think I meant 
to have kept it, old boy ? no : I did it but to 
fright thee, I, to try hoAV thou AA"0uld'st take it. 
What ! Avill I turn shark upon my friends, or 
my friends' friends ? I scorn it Avith my three 
souls. Come, I love bully Horace as well as 
thou dost, I : 'tis an honest hieroglyphic. Give 
me thy Avrist, Helicon. Dost thou think I'll 
second e'er a rhinoceros of them all, against thee, 
ha ? or thy noble Hippocrene, here ? I'll turn 
stager first, and be Avhipt too : dost thou see, bully ' 



THE POETASTER. 



229 



Cas. You have j-our -will of Ca?sar ; use it, 
Romans. 
Virs;il shall bo your prretor : and ourself 
Will here sit by, spectator of your sports ; 
And think it no impeach of royalty. 
Our ear is now too much profaned, grave Maro, 
With these distastes, to take thy sacred lines : 
Put up thy book, till both the time and we 
Be fitted with more hallowed circumstance 
For the receiving so divine a Avork. 
Proceed with your design. 

Mec. Gal. Tib. Thanks to great Caesar. 

Gal. Tibullus, draw you the indictment then, 
whilst Horace arrests them on the statute of 
Calumny. Mectenas and I will take our places 
here. Lictors, assist him. 

Ilor. I am the worst accuser under heaven. 

Gal. Tut, you must do it ; 'twill be noble 
mirth. 

Hor. I take no knowledge that they do ma- 
lign me. 

Tib. Ay, but the world takes knowledge. 

Jlor. Would the world knew 
How heartily I wish a fool should hate me ! 

Tuc. Body of Jupiter ! Avhat ! will they arraign 
my brisk Poetaster and his poor journeyman, 
ha ? AVould I were abroad skeldering for a 
drachm, so I were out of this labyrinth again ! 
I do feel myself turned stinkard already : but I 
must set the best face I have upon't now. 
[Aside.'] — Well said, my divine, deft Horace, 
bring the whoreson detracting slaves to the bar, 
do ; make them hold up their spread goUs : I'll 
give in evidence for thee, if thou wilt. Take 
courage, Crispinus ; would thy man had a clean 
band ! 

Cris. What must we do, captain ? 

Tuc. Thou shalt see anon : do not make divis- 
ion with thy legs so. 

C<Ts. What's he, Horace ? 

Hor. I only know him for a motion, Cajsar. 

Tuc. I am one of thy commanders, Caesar ; a 
man of service and action; my name is Pantilius 
Tucca ; I have served in thy wars against Mark 
Antonj% I. 

Ores. Do you know him, Cornelius ? 

Gal. He's one that hath had the mustering, or 
convoy of a company now and then : I never 
noted him by any other employment. 

C(es. We will observe him better. 

Tib. Lictor, proclaim silence m the court. 

Lict. In the name of Caesar, silence ! 

Tib. Let the parties, the accuser and the ac- 
cused, present themselves. 

Lict. The accuser and the accused, present 
yourselves in court. 

Cris. Devi. Here. 

Virg. Read the indictment. 

Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Demetrius 
Famiiiis, hold up your hands. You are, before this 
time, jointly and severally indicted, and here jo^'es- 
cnthj to be arraigned tqmn the statute of calumny, 
or Lex Reramia, the one by the name of Rufus 
Laberius Crispinus, alias Cri- Spinas, jMetctster and 
plagiary ; the other by the name of Demetrius Fan- 
nitis, play-dresser and plagiary. That you (not 
having the fear of Phoebus, or his shafts, before 
your eyes) contrary to the 2}cace of our liege lord, 
Augmtus Ciesar, his crown and dignity, and against 



the form of a statute, in that case made and pro» 
vided, have most ignorantly, foolishly, and, more 
like yourselves, maliciously, gone about to deprave, 
and calumniate the person and writings of Quintus 
Horatius Flaccus, here present, poet, and priest to 
the Biases ; and to that end have mutually co7ispired 
and plotted, at sundry times, as by several means, 
and in sundry places, for the better accomplishing 
your base and envious purjjose ; taxing him falsely 
of self-love, arrogancy, impudence, 7-ailing, filching 
by translation, S^c. Of all which calumnies, and 
every of them, in maimer and form aforesaid i 
what answer you ? Are you guilty, or not guilty ? 

Tuc, Not guilty, s^y. 

Cris. Dem. Not guilty. 

Tib. How will you be tried ? 

Tuc. By the Roman Gods, and the noblest 
Romans. [Aside to Crispinus. 

Cris. Dem. By the Roman gods, and the no- 
blest Romans. 

Virg. Here sits !Mecsenas, and Cornelius Cal- 
lus, are you contented to be tried by these ? 

Tuc. Ay, so the noble captain may be joined 
with them in commission, say. [Aside. 

Cris, Dem. Ay, so the noble captain may be 
joined with them in commission. 

Virg, What says the plaintiff ? 

Hor, I am content. 

Virg. Captain, then take your place. 

Tuc, Alas, my worshipful praetor ! 'tis more 
of thy gentleness than of my deserving.'I wusse. 
But since it hath pleased the court to make 
choice of my wisdom and gravity, come, my 
calumnious varlets ; let's hear you talk for your- 
selves, now, an hour or two. What can you say ? 
Make a noise. Act, act ! 

Virg, Stay, turn, and take an oath first. You 
shall swear, 
By thunder-darting Jove, the king of gods. 
And by the genius of Augustus Cresar ; 
By your oimi white and uncorrupted souls, 
And the deejy reverence of our Roman justice ; 
To judge this case, with truth and equity : 
As bound by your religion, and your laics. 
Now read the evidence : but first demand 
Of either prisoner, if that writ be theirs. 

[Gives him two papers. 

Tib, Shew this unto Crispinus. Is it yours .■' 

Tuc, Say, ay. [Aside.] — What ! dost thou 
stand upon it, pimp ? Do not deny thine own 
Minerva, thy Pallas, the issue of thy brain. 

Cris. Yes, it is mine. 

Tib. Shew that unto Demetrius. Is it yours : 

Dem, It is. 

Tuc. There's a father will not deny liis owa 
bastard now, I warrant thee. 

Virg. Read them aloud. 

Tib. Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde ; 
But boldly nominate a sjrncle a spade. 
What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse 
Live, as she were defunct, like punk in steios '. 

Tuc, Excellent! 
Alas ! that were no modern consequence, 
To have cothurnal buskins frighted hence. 
No, teach thy Incubus to p)oeti~e ; 
And throw abroad thy spurious snotteries. 
Upon that puft-up lump of balmy froth. 

Tuc, Ah, Ah ! 
Or clumsy chilblain d judgment ; that with oath 



230 



THE POETASTER. 



Maffiiificafes his merit ; and besjJawls 

The conscious time, xoith humorous foam and braids, 

As if his orffanons of setise would crack 

The sinews of my patience- Break his back, 

poets all and some ! for noio loe list 
Of strenuous vengeance to clutch thejist. 

Crispinus. 

Tuc. Ay, marry, this -was written like a Her- 
cules in poetry, now. 

Cms. Excellently well threaten'd ! 

Virg. And as strangely worded, Cajsar. 

Cces. We observe it. 

Yirg. The other now. 

Tuc. This is a fellow of a good prodigal tongue 
too, this will do Avell. 

Tib. Our Muse is in mind for ih' untrussing a 

1 slip hij his name, for 7nost men do know it : \_poet ; 
A critic, that all the loorld bescumbers 

With satirical humors and lyrical numbers : 

Tuc. Art thou there, boy ? 
And for the most part, himself doth advance 
^ With much self-love, and more arrogance. 
Tuc. Good again ! 
And, but that I would not be thought a prater, 
I could tell you he were a translator. 
I know the authors from lohence he has stole, 
And could trace him too, but that I understand them 

not full and whole. 
Tuc. That line is broke loose from all his 
fellows : chain him up shorter, do. 
The best note I can give you to knoio him by, 
Is, that he keejis gallants^ company ; 
Whom I could wisJi, in time should him fear, 
Lest after they buy repentance too dear. 

Deme. FaivXius. 
Tuc. Well said ! This carries palm with it. 
Hor. And why, thou motley gull, why should 

they fear ? 
When hast thou known us wrong or tax a friend ? 
I dare thy malice to betray it. Speak. 
Nov>' thou curl'st up, thou poor and nasty snake, 
And shrink'st thy poisonous head into thy 

bosom : 
Out, viper! thou that eat'st thy parents, hence ! 
Rather, such speckled creatures, as thyself. 
Should be eschew'd, and shunn'd ; such as will 

bite . [fame ; 

And gnaw their absent friends, not cure their 
Catch at the loosest laughters, and affect 
To be thought jesters ; such as can devise 
Things never seen, or heard, t'impair men's 

names, 
And gratify their credulous adversaries ; 
Will carry tales, do basest offices, 
Cherish divided fires, and still cncrease 
New flames, out of old embers ; will reveal 
Each secret that's committed to their trust : 
These be black slaves ; Romans, take heed of 

these. 
Tuc. Thou twang' st right, little Horace : they 
i>e indeed a couple of chap-fall'n curs. Come, 
>ve of the bench, let's rise to the urn, and con- 
demn them quickly. 

Virg. Before you go together, Avortliy Romans, 
We are to tender our opinion ; 
And give you those instructions, that may add 
Unto your even judgment in the cause : 
"vVhich thus we do commence. First, you must 

know, 



That where there is a true and perfect merit, 
There can be no dejection ; and the scorn 
Of humble baseness, oftentimes so works 
Ift a high soul, upon the grosser spii-it, 
That to his bleared and offended sense. 
There seems a hideous fault blazed in the object ; 
When only the disease is in his ej'es. [tax'd 
Here-hence it comes our Horace now stands 
Of impudence, self-love, and arrogance, 
By those who share no merit in themselves ; 
And therefore think his portion is as small. 
For they, from their own guilt, assure their souls, 
If they should confidently praise their works, 
In them it would appear inflation : 
Which, in a full and well-digested man, 
Cannot receive that foid abusive name, 
But the fair title of erection. 
And, for his true use of translating men, 
It still hath been a work of as much palm, 
In clearest judgments, as to invent or make. 
His sharpness, — that is most excusable ; 
As being forced out of a suffering virtue, 
Oppressed with the license of the time : 
And howsoever fools or jerking pedants, 
Plaj'ers, or such lilce buffoon barking wits. 
May with their beggarly and barren trash 
Tickle base vulgar ears, in their despite ; [trol, 
This, like Jove's thunder, shall their pride con- 
"The honest satire hath the happiest soul." 
Now, Romans, you have heard our thoughts ; 
withdraw when you please. 

Tib. Remove the accused from the bar. 

Tuc. Who holds the urn to us, ha ? Fear 
nothing, I'll quit you, mine honest pitiful 
stinkards ; I'll do't. 

Cris. Captain, you shall eternally girt me tc 
you, as I am generous. 

Tuc. Go to. 

C(ps. TibuUus, let there be a case of vizards 
privately provided ; we have formd a subject. to 
bestow them on. 

Tib. It shall be done, Caesar . 

Cas. Here be Avords, Horace, able to basti» 
nado a man's ears. 

Hor. Ay. 
Please it, great Csesar, I have pills about me, 
IMixt with the whitest kind of hellebore, 
Would give him a light vomit, that should purge 
His brain and stomach of those tumorous heats : 
Might I have leave to minister unto him. 

Cces. O, be Ms iEsculapius, gentle Horace ! | 
You shall have leave, and he shall be youx I 
Virgil, [patient. 

Use your authority, command him forth. 

Virg. Csesar is careful of your health, Crispi- 
And hath himself chose a physician [nus; 

To minister unto you : take his pills. 

Hor. They are somewhat bitter, sir, but very 

wholesome. anon. 

Take yet another ; so : stand by, they'l" work 

Tib. Romans, return to your several seats : 
lictors, bring forward the urn ; and set the ac- 
cused to the bar. 

Tuc. Quickly, you whoreson egregious var- 
Icts ; come forward. What ! shall we sit all 
day upon you ? You make no more haste now, 
than a beggar upon pattens ; or a physician to ft 
patient that has no money, you pilchers. 

Tib. Rufas Laberius Cris^nnus, and Demetriiki 



THE POETASTER. 



231 



% 



Fannius, hold up your Ac nds. You have, accord- 
ing to the Roman custom, put yourselves xqoon trial 
to the urn, for divers and s\.mdry cahmmies, \ohereof 
you have, before this time, been indicted, and are 
noio prescnibj arraigned : prepare yourselves to 
hearken to the verdict of your tryers. Cuius Cil- 
nius Mec(cnas pronounceth you, by this hand- 
writing, guilty. Cornelius Callus, guilty. Pan- 
tillius Tucca 

Tuc. Parcel-guilty, I. [deed 

Dem. He means himself; for it was he in- 
Suborn'd us to the calumny. 

Tuc. I, you whoreson cantharides ! was it I .' 

Dem. I appeal to your conscience, captain. 

Tib. Then you confess it now ? 

Dem. I do, and crave the mercy of the court. 

Tib. What saith Crispinus ? 

Cris. O, the captain, the captain 

Ilor, My physic begins to work with my 
patient, I see. 

Virg. Captain, stand forth and answer. 

Tuc. Hold thy peace, poet praetor : I appeal 
from thee to Cajsar, I. Do me right, royal 
Cscsar. 

CcBs. Marry, and I will, sir. — Lictors, gag 
him ; do. 
And put a case of vizards o'er his head, 
That he may look bifronted, as he speaks. 

Tuc. Gods and fiends ! CcPsar ! thou wilt not, 
Cscsar, Avilt thou ? Away, you whoreson vul- 
tures ; awa}'. You think I am a dead corps 
now, because Ceesar is disposed to jest with a 
man of mark, or so. Hold your hook'd talons 
out of my flesh, you inhuman harpies. Go to, 
do't. What ! will the royal Aiigustus cast 
a^^•ay a gentleman of worship, a captain and a 
commander, for a couple of condemn'd caitiff ca- 
lumnious cargos ? 

C(Bs. Dispatch, lictors. 

Tuc. Cassar ! [ The vizards are 2}ut upon him 

Ca>s. Forward, TibuUus. 

Virg. Demand what cause they had to malign 
Horace. 

Dem. In troth, no great cause, not I, I must 
confess ; but that he kept better company, for 
the most part, than I ; and tliat better men 
loved him than loved mo ; and that his writings 
thrived better than mine, and were better liked 
and graced : nothing else. 

Virg. Thus envious souls repine at others 
good. 

Ilor. If this be all, faith, I forgive thee freely. 
Envy me still, so long as Virgil loves mo, 
Gallus, TibuUus, and the best-best Ca;sar, 
My dear Mecaenas ; while these, with many more. 
Whose names I wisely slip, shall think me 
Their honor' d and adored society, [worthy 

And read and love, prove and applaud my 
poems ; [them. 

I would not wish but such as vou should spite 

Cris. O ! 

Tib. How now, Crispinus ? 

Cris. O, I am sick ! 

Hor. A bason, a bason, quickly ; our physic 
works. Faint not, man. 

Cris. O retrograde — recijJrocal — incubus. 

Cas. What's that, Horace ? 

Hor. Retrograde, ro.iprocal, and incubus, are 
come up. 



Gal. Thanks be to Jupiter ! 

Cris. O glibbery — lubrical — defunct — 



Hor. Well said ; here's some store. 

Virg. What are they ? 

Hor. Glibbery, lubrical, and defunct. 

Gal. O, they came up easy. 

Cris. O O ! 

Tib. What's that ? 

Hor. Nothing yet. 

Cris. Magnijicate 

Mec. Magnificate ! That came up somewhat 
hard. 

Hor. Ay. What cheer, Crisj^inus ? 

Cris. O ! I shall cast up my — spurious — 
snotteries — 

Hor. Good. Again. 

Cris. Chilblain' d clumsie 

Hor. That clumsie stuck terribly. 

Mec. What's all that, Horace ? 

Hor. Spurious, snotteries, chilblain d, clumsie. 

Tib. O Jupiter I 

Gal. Who would have thought there should 
have been such a deal of filth in a poet ? 

Cris. O balmy froth 

Cas. \\niat's that ? 

Cris. — Puffie — inflate — turgidous — ventosity. 

Hor. Barmy froth, puffie, inflate, turgidous, 
and ventosity are come up. 

Tib. O terrible windy words. 

Gal. A sign of a windy brain. 

Cris. O oblatrant furibun'd fat- 

uate strenuous 

Hor. Here's a deal ; oblatrant, furibund, fat- 
uate, strenuous. 

Cces. Now all's come up, I trow. ^Vhat a 
tumult he had in liis belly ! 

Hor. No, there's the often conscious damp be- 
hind still. 

Cris. O conscious damp>. 

Hor. It is come iip, thanks to Apollo and ^s- 
culapius : yet there's another ; you were best 
take a pill more. 

Cris. O, no ; O O O O O ! 

Hor. Force yourself then a little with your 
finger. 

Cris. O O prorumjied. 

Tib. Prorumpedi What a noise it made ! as 
if his spirit would have prorumpt with it. 

Cris. O O O ! 

Virg. Help him, it sticks strangely, whatever 
it is. 

Cris. O clutcht. 

Hor. Now it is come ; clutcht. 

Cces. Clutcht ! it is Avell that's come up ; ij 
had but a narrow passage. 

Cris. O ! 

Virg. Again ! hold him, ho]d his head thevo 

Cris. Snarling gusts — ■ — quaking custard. 

Hor. How now, Crispinus ? 

Cris. O obstupefael. 

Tib. Nay, that are all we, I assure you. 

Hor. How do you feel yourself ? 

Cris. Pretty and well, I thank you. 

Virg. These pills can but restore him for a 
Not cure him quite of such a malady, [time, 
Caught by so many surfeits, which h^ve fill'd 
His blood and brain thus full of crudities ; 
'Tis necessary therefore he observe 



232 



THE POETASTER. 



A. strict and wholesome diet. Look you take 
Each morning of old Cato's principles [upon, 
A p-ood dravight next your heart ; that walk 
Tilf it be well digested : then come home, 
And taste a piece of Terence, suck his phrase 
Instead of liquorice ; and, at any hand. 
Shun Plautus and old Ennius : they are meats 
Too harsh for a weak stomach. Use to read 
(But not without a tutor) the best Greeks, 
As Orpheus, Musfeus, Pindarus, 
Hesiocl, Callimachus, and Theocritc, 
Hioh Homer ; but beware of Lycophron, 
He is too dark and dangerous a dish. 
You must not hunt for wild outlandish terms, 
To stuff out a peculiar dialect ; 
But let your matter run before 5'our Avords. 
A.nd if at any time j'ou chance to meet 
Some Gallo-Belgic phrase, you shall not straight 
Hack your poor verse to give it entertainment, 
But let it pass ; and do not think yourself 
Much damnified, if you do leave it out, 
When nor your understanding, nor the sense 
Could well receive it. This fair abstinence. 
In time, will render you more sound and clear : 
And this have I prescribed to you, in place 
Of a strict sentence ; which till he perform, 
Attire him in that robe. And henceforth learn 
To bear yourself more humbly ; not to swell. 
Or breathe your insolent and idle spite 
On him whose laughter can your worst affright. 
Tib. Take him away. 

Oris. Jupiter guard Caesar ! [up 

Virg. And for a week or two see him lock'd 
In some dark place, removed from company ; 
He will talk idly else after his physic, [of law 
■ Now to you, sir. [to Demetrius.] The extremity 
Awards you to be branded in the front, 
For this calumny : but since it pleascth 
Horace, the party wrong'd, t' intreat of Ccesar 
A mitigation of that juster doom, [sentence. 
With Cffisar's tongue thus we pronounce your 
Demetrius Fannius, thou shalt here put on 
That coat and cap, and henceforth think thyself 
No other than they make thee; vow to wear them 
In every fair and generous assembly, [edge 

Till the best sort of minds shall take to knowl- 
As well thy satisfaction, as thy wrongs. 

Ilor. Only, grave prtetor, here, in open court, 
I crave the oath for good behavior 
May be administer' d unto them both. 

i'lrg. Horace, it shall : Tibullus, give it them. 
Tib. Rufus Laberius Crispinus, and Denietrius 
Fannius, lay your hands on your hearts. You 
shall here solemnly attest and swear, that never, 
i/ter this instant, either at boohsellers' stalls, in 
taverns, ttoo-penny rooms, tyring-houses, noble- 
men's butteries, piuisnis chambers, (the best and 
farthest places tchcre you are admitted to come,) 
you shall once offer or dare (thereby to endear 
yourself the more to any player, enghle, or guilty 
gull in your company) to malign, traduce, or de- 
tract the person or loritings of Quintus lloratius 
Flaccus, or any other eminent man, transcending 
yoH in merit, ichom, your envy shall fnd cause to 
work upon, either for that, or for keejnng himself 
in better acquaintance, or enjoying better friends ; 
or if, transported by a7iy sudden and desperate reso- 
lution, you do, that then you shall not under the 
batoo9i, or in the next presence, being an honorable 



assembly of his favorers, be brought as voluntary 
gentlemen to xmdortake the forsioearing of it 
Neither shall you, at any time, ambitiously affect- 
ing the title of the Untrussers or Whippeis of the 
age, suffer the itch ofioriting to over-run your per- 
formance in libel, upon pain of being taken up for 
lepers in icit, and, losing both your time and your 
papers, be irrecoverably forfeited to the hospital of 
fools. So help you our Roman gods and the 
Genius of great Casar. 

Virg. So ! now dissolve the court. 

llor. Tib. Gal. Mee. And thanks to Cffisar, 
That thus hath exercised his patience. 

C(es. We have, indeed, you worthiest friends 
of Ctesar. 
It is the bane and torment of our cars. 
To hear the discords of those jangling r-hymers. 
That with their bad and scandalous practices 
Bring all true arts and learning in contempt. 
But let not your high thoughts descend so low 
As these despised objects ; let them fall, [selves ; 
With their flat groveling souls : be you your 
And as with our best favors you stand crown' d 
So let your mutual loves be still renown'd. 
Envy will dwell where there is want of meiit, 
Though the deserving man should crack his 
spirit. 

Blush, folly, blush ; here's none that fears 

The waggnig of an ass's eai"s, 

Although a wolfish case he wears. 

Detraction is but baseness' varlet ; 

And apes arc apes, though clothed in scarlet. 

[Excunl 



Rumpatur, quisqrtis rumpitur invidii\. 

"Here, reader, in place of the epilogue, was meant to 
thee an apology from the author, with his reasons for the 
publishing of this book : but, since he is no less restrained, 
than thou deprived of it by authority, he prays thee tc 
think charitably of what thou hast read, till thou mayesj 
hear him speak what he hath written." 



HORACE AND TREBATIUS. 

A DIALOGUE. 

Sat. 1. Lib. 2. 

Ilor. There are to whom I seem excessive sour. 
And past a satire's law t' extend my power : 
Others, that think whatever I have writ 
Wants pith and matter to eternize it ; 
And that they could, in one day's light, disclose 
A thousand veraes, such as I compose. 
AVhat shall I do, Trebatius ? say. 

Treb. Surcease. [crease ? 

Hor. And shall my muse admit no more in- 

Treb. So I advise. 

Hor- An ill death let me die. 
If 'twere not best ; but slecj) avoids mine eye, 
And I use these, lest nights should tedious seem, 

Treb. Rather, contend to sleep, and live lilie 
them. 
That holding golden sleep in special price, 
Rubb'd with sweet oils, swim silver Tyber thrice, 
And every even with neat wine steeped be : 
Or, if such love of writing ravish thee. 
Then dare to sing unconquer'd Caesar's deeds ; 
Who cheerj -uch actions v ith abundant meeda 



THE POETASTER. 



Hor. That, father, I desire ; but, when I try, 
I feel defects in every faculty : 
Nor is't a labor fit for every pen. 
To paint the horrid troops of -armed men, 
The lances burst, in Gallia's slaughtcr'd forces ; 
Or wounded Parthians, tumbled from their 

horses ; 
Great Caesar's wars cannot be fought with words. 
Treb. Yet, what his virtue in his peace affords, 
His fortitude and justice thou canst show 
As ^vise Lucilius honor'd Scipio. [lect, 

Ilor. Of that, my powers shall suffer no neg- 
When such slight labors may aspire respect : 
But, if I vi'atch not a most chosen time, 
The humble Avords of Flaccus cannot climb 
Til' attentive ear of C'ccsar ; nor must I 
With less observance shun gross flattery : 
For he, reposed safe in his own merit, 
Spurns back the gloses ,)f a fawning spirit. 
Treb. But how mucJi better would such ac- 
cents sound 
Than with a sad and serious verse to wound 
Pantolabus, railing in his saucy jests. 
Or Noraentanus spent in riotous feasts ? 
Tn satires, each man, though untouch' d, com- 
plains 
\s he were hurt ; and hates such bitinij strains. 
Ror. What shall I do ? Milonius shakes his 
heels 
In ceaseless dances, when his brain once feels 
The stirring fervor of the wine ascend ; 
And that his eyes false numbers apprehend. 
Castor his horse, Pollux loves handy-fights ; 
A thousand heads, a thousand choice delights. 
My pleasure is in feet my words to close. 
As, both our better, old Lucilius does : 
He, as his trusty friends, his books did trust 
With all his secrets ; nor, in things unjust. 
Or actions lawful, ran to other men : 
So that the old man's life described, was seen 
As in a votive table in his lines : 
And to his steps my genius inclines ; 
Lucanian, or Apulian, I know not whether, 
For the Venusian colony jjloughs either ; 
Sent thither, when the Sabines were forced 

thence. 
As old Fame sings, to give the place defence 
'Gainst such as, seeing it empty, might make road 
Upon the empire ; or there Qx abode : 
Whether the Apulian borderer it were. 
Or the Lucanian violence they fear. — 
But th's my style no living man shall touch. 
If iirst I be not forced by base reproach ;, 
But like a sheathed sword it shall defend 
Isly innocent life ; for Avhy should I contend 
To draw it out, Avhen no malicious thief 
Robs my good name, the treasure of my life ? 
O Jupiter, let it with rust be eaten, 
Before it touch, or insolently threaten 
The life of any with the least disease ; 
So nuich I love, and woo a general peace. 
But, he that wrongs me, better, I proclaim. 
He never had assay' d to touch my fame. 
For he shall weep, and walk Avith every tongue 
Throughout the city, infamously sung. 
Scrvius the praetor threats the laws, and urn, 
If any at his deeds repine or spurn ; 
the witch Canidia, that Albutius got, 
Denounceth witchcraft, Avhere she loveth not : 



Thurius the judge, doth thunder Avorlds of ill, 
To such as strive with his judicial will. 
All men affright their foes in Avhat they may, 
Nature commands it, and men must obey. 

Observe with me : The wolf his tooth doth use, 
The bull his horn ; and who doth this infuse, 
But nature ? Tliere's luxurious Scseva ; trust 
His long-lived mother with him ; his so just 
And scrupulous right-hand no mischief will ; 
No more than with his heel a Avolf Avill kill, 
Or ox Avith jaw : marry, let him alone 
With temper'd poison to remove the croan. 
But briefly, if to age I destined be. 
Or that quick death's black Avings environ me ; 
If rich, or poor ; at Rome ; or fate command 
I shall be banished to some other land ; 
What hue soever my Avhole state shall bear, 
I Avill Avrite satires still, in spite of fear. 

Treb. Horace, I fear thou draw'st no lasting 
breath ; [death 

And that some great man's friend Avill be thy 
Hor. What ! Avhen the man that first did sat- 
irize 
Durst pull the skin over the cars of vice, 
And make Avho stood in outAvard fashion clear. 
Give place, as foul Avithin ; shall I forbear ? 
Did Laslius, or the man so great Avith fame, 
That from sack'd Carthage fetch'd his Avorthy 

name, 
Storm that Lucilius did Metellus pierce, 
Or burj'' Lupus quick in famous A'erse ?. 
Rulers and subjects, by Avhole tribes he eheckt. 
But A'irtue and her friends did still protect : 
And Avhcn from sight, or from the judgment-seat, 
Tlae virtuous Scipio and Aviso Lrelius met, 
TJubraced, Avith him in all light sports they 

shared. 
Till their most fi-ugal suppers Avere prepared. 
Whate'er I am, though both for Avealth and Avi" 
Beneath Lucilius I am pleased to sit ; 
Yet Envy, spite of her empoison'd breast, 
Shall say, I lived in grace here Avith the best ; 
And seeking in Aveak trash to make her Avovmd, 
Shall find me solid, and her teeth unsound : 
'Less learn'd Trebatius'. censure disagree. 

Trel). No, Horace, I of force must yield to thee ; 
Only take heed, as being advised by me, 
Lest thou incur some danger : better pause, 
Than rue thy ignorance of the sacred laAvs ; 
There's justice, and great action may be sued 
'Gainst such as Avrong men's fames with verses 
IcAvd. 
Ilor. Ay, Avith leAvd verses, such as libels be, 
And aim'd at persons of good quality : 
I rcA'crence and adore that just decree. 
But if they shall be sharp, yet modest rhymes. 
That spare men's persons, and but tax their 

crimes. 
Such shall in open court find current pass, 
Were Csesar judge, andAAith the maker's grace. 
Treb. Nay, I'll add more ; if thou thyself, be- 
Shall tax in person a man fit to bear "ing clear. 
Shame and reproach, his suit sliall quicldy be 
Dissolved in laughter, and thou thence set free 

TO THE HEADER. 

If, by looking on what is past, thou hast deserved thai 
name, I am wiliiiig thou shouId'.st yet know more, by thai 
which follows, an Apologetical Dialogubj whith wa» 



22i 



THE POETASTER. 



only once spoken upon tlie stage, and all tlio answer I ever 
gave to sundry impotent libels then cast out (and some yet 
remaining) ajrainst ine, and this play. Wherein I take no 
pleasure to revive tlie times ; but that posterity may make 
a differenco between their manners that provoked me tlien, 
and mine that noKlected them ever. For, in these strifes, 
and on such persons, were as wretclied to affect a victory, 
as it is unliappy to bo committed witli them. 

Non annorum canities est laudanda, sed morum. 
SCENE, The Author's Lodgings. 

Enter Nasuxus and Polyposus. 

Nas. I pray you, let's go see him, hoio he looks 
After tJicse libels. 

Pol. O vcxd, vcx'd, I warrant you. 

Nas. Do you think so ? I should be sorry for him, 
if I found that. 

Pol. 0, they are such bitter things, 
He cannot choose. 

Nas. But, is he guilty of them f 

Pol. Fuh ! that's no matter. 

Nas. No! 

Pol. No. Hare's his lodging. 
We'll steal upon him : or let's listen ; stay. 
He has a humor oft to talk t' himself. 

Nas. They are your manners lead me, not mine own. 
[They come forward ; the scene opens, and dis- 
covers the Author m his study. 

Aut. The fates have not spun him the coarsest 
That (free from knots of jyerturbation) [thread, 
Doth yet so live, although but to himself, 
lis he can safely scorn the tongues of slaves. 
And neglect fortune, more than, she can him. 
It is the happiest thing this, not to be 
Within the reach of malice ; it provides 
A man so well., to laugh off injuries ; 
And never sends him farther for his vengeance. 
Than the vcx'd bosom of his enemy. 
I, now, but think how poor their spite sets off, 
Who, after all their waste of sulphurous terms. 
And burst-out thunder of their charged mouths. 
Have nothing left but the unsavory smoke 
Of their blaek vomit, to tqjbraid themselves : 
Whilst I, at whom they shot, sit here shot free, 
And as unhurt of envy, as unhif. 

[Pol. and Nas. discover themselves. 

Pol. Ay, but the multitude they think not so, sir ; 
They think you hit, and hurt ; and dare give out. 
Your silence argues it in not rejoining 
To this or that late libel. 

Aut. 'Las, good rout ! 
I can afford them leave to err so still ; 
And like the barking students of Bears-college, 
To swallow %ip the garbage of the time 
With greedy gullets, tohilst myself sit by, 
Pleased, and yet tortured, with their beastly feeding. 
Tis a sweet madness 7'uns along with them. 
To think, all that are aim'd at still are struck : 
Then, where the shaft still lights, make that the mark : 
And so each fear or fever-shaken fool 
May challenge Teucer's hand in archery. 
Good troth, if I kneio any man so vile. 
To act the crimes these fVhippers rej^rehend. 
Or what their servile a^jes gesticulate, 
[should not then much muse their shreds icere Weed ; 
Since ill men have a lust t' hear others sins. 
And good men have a zeal to hear sin shamed. 
But when it is all excrement they vent. 
Base fi]iJi and offal ; or theft i notable 



As oeean-2nracies, or hightoay -stands ; 

And not a crime there tax'd, but is t/ieir oion. 

Or what their own foul thoughts suggested to them, 

And that, in all their heat of taxing others. 

Not one of them but lives himself, if known, 

Improbior satiram scribente cincedo, [der . 

What shotdd I say more, than turn stone toith won- 

Nas. / never saw this play bred all this tumult . 
What teas tJiere in it could so dcepily offend, 
And stir so many hornets ? 

Aut. Shall I tell you ? 

Nas. Yes, and ingenuously. 

Aut. Then, by the hope 
Which 1 2)refer unto all other objects, 
I can profess, I never writ that piece 
More innocent or empty of offence 
Some salt it had, but neither tooth nor gall. 
Nor teas there in it any circumstance 
Which, in the setting doton, I could suspect 
Might be perverted by an enemy's tongue ; 
Only it had the fault to be call'd mine ; 
That was the crime. 

Pol. No ! why, they say you tax'd 
The law and lawyers, captains and the pilayers, 
By their j^articular names. 

Avit. It is not so. 
I used no name. ' My books have still been taught 
To spare the persons, and to speak the vices. 
These are mere slanders, and enforced by mch 
As have no safer toays to men's disgraces, 
But their oivn lies and loss of honesty : 
Fellows of practised and most laxative tongues, 
^^7lose e)n2)ty and eager bellies, in the yea); 
Comjicl their brains to many desperate shifts, 
(I spare to name theni, .for their loretcliedness 
Fury itself loould pardon. ) These, or such, 
IVJiether of malice, or of ignorance. 
Or itch t' have me their adversary, I know not. 
Or all these mixt ; but sure I am, three years 
They did 2:>rovoke me with their petulant styles 
On every stage : and I at last umoiUing, 
But weary, I confess, of so much trouble. 
Thought I would try if shame could toin iqoon 'em 
And therefore chose Augustus Ccesar's times, 
Wlicn wit and arts were at their height in Rome, 
To shew that Virgil, Horace, and the rest 
Of those great master-sjnrits, did not want 
Detractors then, or praeticers against them : 
And by this line, although no 2}arallel, 
I hopted at last they tcould sit down and blush ; 
But nothing I could find more contrary. 
And tliough the impudence of flies be great. 
Yet this hath so provok'd the angry was2^s. 
Or, as you said, of the next nest, the hornets. 
That tJiey fly buzzing, mad, about my nostrils. 
And, like so many screaming grass^i02)pers 
Held by the wings, Jill every ear loith noise. 
And whdtl tJiose former calumnies you mention'd^ 
First, of the law : indeed I brought in Ovid 
Chid by his angry father for neglecting 
The study of their laivs for 2'>oetry : 
And I am warranted by his own zoords : 

Saepe pater dixit, studium quid inutile tentas 
Mseonides nullas ipse rcliquit opes. 

And in far harsher terms elsewhere, as these : 

Non me verbosas leges edisccre. non me 
Ingrato voces prostituisse foro. 



THE POETASTER. 



235 



Bui hoio this should relate unto our laios, 
Or the just ministers, with least abuse, 
T reverence hath too much to understand ! 

Tlien, for the captain, I will only speak 
An epiffrain I here have made : it is 
Unto true Soldiers. That's the lemma : marh it. 
Strength of my coimtry, whilst I bring to view 
Such as are mis-call'd captains, and wrong you, 
And ycur high names ; I do desire, that thence, 
Be nor put ou you, nor j^ou take offence : 
I swear by your true friend, my muse, I love 
Your great profession which I once did prove ; 
And did not shame it with my actions then. 
No more than I dare now do with my pen. 
He that not trusts me, having vow'd thus much, 
But's angry for the captain, still : is such. 

Now for the players, it is true, I tax'd them, 
And yet but some ; and tlwse so sparingly. 
As all the rest might have sat still unquestion' d, 
Had they but had the toit or conscience 
To think loell of themselves. But imp/otent, they 
Thought each man's vice belong' d to their lohole tribe ; 
And much good do't the?n ! What they have done 

'gainst me, 
I am not moved loith : if it gave them meat, 
Or got them clothes, 'tis well ; that was their end. 
Only amongst them, I am sorry for 
Some better natures, by the rest so drawn, 
To run in that vile line. 

Pol. And is this all ! 
'Will you not ansioer then the libels? 

Aut. No, 

Pol. Nor the TJntrussers ? 

Aut. Neither. 

Pol. Y'are undone then. 

Aut. With tvhom ? 

Pol. The world. 

Aut. The baivd! 

Pol. It icill be taken 
To be stupidity or lameness in you. 

Aut. But they that have incensed me, can in soul 
Acquit me of that guilt. They knoio I dare 
To spurn or baffle them, or squirt their eyes 
With ink or urine ; or I could do worse, 
Arm'd ivith Archilochus' fury, ivrite Iambics, 
Should make the desperate lashers hang themselves ; 
Ehime them to death, as they do Irish rats 
In drumming tunes. Or, living, I could stamp 
Their foreheads with those deep and piublio brands. 
That the whole company of barber-surgeons 
Should not take off, loith all their art and plasters. 
And these my pirints should last, still to be read 
In their })ale fronts ; xohen, whatthey ivrite 'gainst me 
Shall, like a figure drawn in water, fieet. 
And the poor wretched papers be employed 
To clothe tobacco, or so>ne cheaper Curug : 
This I could do and make them infamous. 
But, to lohat end ? when their own deeds have 

mark'd 'em; 
And that I knoio, loithin his guilty breast 
Each slanderer bears a lohip that shall torment him 
Worse than a million of these tomp)oral plagues : 
Which to pursue, toere but a feminine humor, 
• And far beneath the dignity of man. 

Nas. ' Tis true ; for to revenge their injuries, 



Were to confess you felt them. Let them go, 
And use the treasure of the fool, their tongues, 
Who makes his gain, by spect,king tcorst of best. 

Pol. 0, but they lay particular imputations > 

Aut. As whcct ? 

Pol. That all your zoriting is mere railing. 

Aut. Ha? 
If all the salt in the old comedy 
Shoidd be so censured, or the sharper toit 
Of the bold satire termed scolding rage, 
Ifliat age could then compare icith those for buffoons 
Mliat should be said of Aristophanes^ 
Persius, or Juvenal, lohose names ice now 
So glorify in schools, at least p)retend it ? — 
Have they no other 1 

Pol. Yes ; they say you are sloio, 
And scarce bring forth a2)lay « year. 

Aut. ' Tis true. 
I toould they could not say that I did that ! 
There's all the joy that I take in their trade, 
Unless such scribes as these might be pjroscribed 
Th' abused theatres. They would think it strange,')iou\ 
A man should take but coltsfoot for one day. 
And, between lohiles, spit out a better p)oeni 
Than e'er the master of art, or giver of wit. 
Their belly, made. Yet, this is 2}ossible, 
If a free mind had but the p)atience. 
To think so much together and so vile. _ 
But that these base and beggarly conceits 
Shoidd carry it, by the multitude of voices. 
Against the most abstracted work, opposed 
To the stuff' d nostrils of the drunken rout! 

0, this would make a learn' d and liberal soul 
To rive his stained quill up to the back. 
And damn his long-watch' d labors to the fire ; 
Things that were born when none but the still nighi 
And his dumb candle, saw his piinching throes ; 
Were not his own free merit a more crown 

Unto his travails than their reeling claps. 

This 'tis that strikes me silent, seals my lips, 

And apts me rather' to sleep out my time. 

Than I would waste it in contemned strifes 

With these vile Ibides, these unccan birds. 

That make their mout/is their clys'.ers, and still picrifi 

From their hot entrails. But I leave the monsters 

To their own fate. And, since the Comio Muse 

Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try 

If Tragedy have a more kind aspict ; 

Her favors in my next I ivill ^xirsue, 

mere, i^f I prove the pleasure but of one. 

So he judicious be, he shall be alone 

A theatre unto me; Once Til say 

To strike the ear of time in those fresh strains, 

As shall, beside the cunning of their ground, 
Give cause to some of loonder, some despite. 

And more despair, to imitate their sound. 

1, that spend half my nights, and all my days. 
Here in a cell, to- get a dark pale face. 

To come forth worth the ivy or the bays, 

And in this age can hope no other grace — 
Leave me ! There's something come into my thoughly 
That must and shall be sung high and aloof. 
Safe from the wolf's blackjaw, and the dull ass's hoof, 
Nas. I reverence these raptures, and obey them. 
[The scene clbses. 



SEJANUS: HIS FALL. 

TO THE NO LESS NOBLE BY VIRTUE THAN BLOOD, 

ESME LORD AUBIGNY. 

5Iif Lotj>, If ever any ruin were so great as to survive, I think this be one I send you, The Fall of Sejanus. It H 

a poem, that, if I well remember, in your lordship's sight, suffered no less violence from our people here, than the subjccj 
of it did from the rape of the people of Rome ; but with a different fate, as, I hope, merit: for this hatli outlived theil 
malice, and begot itself a greater favor tlian he lost, the love of good men. Amongst whom, if I make your lordsljip the 
first it thanks, it is not without a just confession of the bond your benefits have, and ever shall hold upon me. 

Your lordship's most faithful honorer, Gen Jonson. 

TO THE READERS. 

The following and voluntary labors of my friends, prefixed to my book, have relieved mo in much whereat, without 
them, I sliould necessarily have touched. Now I will only use three or four short and needful nptes, and so rest. 

First, if it be olyected, tliat what I publish is no true poem, in the strict laws of time, 1 confess it: as also in the want 
of a proper chorus ; whose habit and moods are such and so difficult, as not any, whom I have seen, since the ancients, 
no, not they who have most presently affected laws, have yet come in the way of. Nor is it needful, or almost possible 
in these our times, and to such auditors as commonly things are presented, to observe the old state and splendor of drar 
Riatic poems, with preservation of any popular delight. But of this I shall take more seasonable cause to speak, in my 
observations upon Horace his Art of I'oetry, which, with the text translated, I intend shortly to publish. In the mean 
time, if in truth of argument, dignity of persons, gravity and height of elocution, fulness and frequency of sentence, I 
flave discharged the other offices of a tragic writer, let not the absence of these forms be imputed to me, wherein I shall 
give you occasion hereafter, and without my boast, to think I could better prescribe, than omit tlie due use for want of a 
convenient knowledge. 

The next is,iest in some nice nostril the quotations might savor affected, I do let you know, that I abhor nothing more ; 
and I have only done it to sliew my integrity in the story, and save myself in those common torturers tliat bring all wit tc 
tiie rack ; whose noses are ever like s'wine, spoiling and rooting up the Muses' gardens ; and their whole bodies like moles, 
as blindly working under earth, to cast any, the least, hills upon virtue. 

Whereas they are in Latin, and the work in English, it was presupposed none but the learned would take the pains to 
confer them: the authors themselves being all in the learned tongues, save one, with whose English side I have had 
little to do. To which it may be required, since I have quoted the page, to name what editions I followed : Tacit. Lips, in 
quarto, Antwerp, edit. KiOO ; Dio. folio, Hen. Steph. 159;:3. For the rest, as Sueton. Seneca, &c. the chapter doth suffl- 
cjently direct, or the edition is not varied. 

Lastly, I wouldjnform you, that this book, in all numbers, is not the same with that which was acted on the public 
Btage ; wherein a second pen had gftod share : in place of which, I have rather chosen to put weaker, and, no doubt, lesa 
pleasing, of mine own, than to defraud so happy a genius of his right by my loathed usurpation. 

Fare you well, and if you read farther of me, and like, I shall not be afraid of it, though you praise me out. 

Neque enim inihi coniea fibra est. 

But that I should plant my felicity in your general saying, good, or well, &.c. were a weakness which the better sort of 
you might worthily contemn, if not absolutely hate ine for. Ben Johnsox ; 

and no such, 
Quem 
Palrna negata macrum, donata reducit opimum. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



.^Liua Sejanu3, son to Seius Strabo, a gentleman of 
Rome, and born at Vulsinium ; after his long service in 
court, first under Augustus ; afterward, Tiberius ; grew 
.'nto that favor with the latter, and won him by those arts, 
Ds there wanted nothing but the name to make him a co- 
partner of the empire. Which gieatness of his, Drusus,lhe 
emperor's son, not brooking ; after many smothered dis- 
likes, it one day breaking out, the prince struck him pub- 
licly on the face. To revcngo'which disgrace, Livia, the 
wife of Drusus (bsing before corrupted by him to her dis- 
honor, and the discovery of her husband's counsels) Sejanus 
practiscth with, together with her physiiian called Eudc- 
mus, and one Lygdiis an eunuch, to poison Drusus. This 
their inhuman act having successful and unsuspected pas- 
Bago} it emboldeneth Sejanus to further and more insolent 
projects, even the ambition of the empire ; where finding 
the lets he must encounter to be many and hard, in respect 
cf the issue of Germanicus, who were next in hope for the 
succession, ho devisoth to make Tiberius' self his means, 
and instils into his ears many doubts and suspicions, both 



against the princes, and their mother Agrippina ; whicli 
Caesar jealously hearkening to, as covetously consenteth tc 
their ruin, and their friends. In this time, the better t« 
mature and strengthen his design, Sejanus labors to marrj 
Livia, and worketh with all his ingine, to remove Tiberius 
from the knowledge of public business, with allurements 
of a quiet and retired life; the latter of which, Tiberius, 
out of a proneness to lust, and a desire to hide those unnat- 
ural pleasures which ho could not so publicly practise, em- 
braceth : the former enkindlcth his fears, and there gives 
him first cause of doubt or suspect towards Sejanus: against 
whom ho raiseth in private a new instrument, one Serto- 
rius Macro, and by him underworketh, discovers the other's 
counsels, his means, his ends, sounds the affections of the 
senators, divides, distracts them : at last, when Sejanus 
least looketh, and is most secure ; with pretext of doing 
him an unwonted honor in the senate, he tra' s him from 
his guards, and with a long doubtful letter, in Orie day hath 
him suseepted, accused, condemned, and torn in p:e:;ea by 
the rage of the people. . • 

236 



SEJANUS. 



237 



TiBEIlIUS. 
DRUSUS SliNIOK. 

Nero. 

Drusus junior. 
Caligula. 
Lucius Arruntius. 
Caiu.s Silius. 
TiTius Sabinus. 
Marcus Lepidus. 
Ceemutius C'ordus 
AsiNius Galljs. 
Regulus. 
Terentius. 
Grac(nus Laco. 

EUUEMUS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

RUFUS. 

Sejanus. 
Latiaris. 
Varro. 
Sertorius Macro. 

COTTA. 
DOMITIUS Afee. 

Haterius. 
Sanquinius. 
pomponius. 
Julius Posthumus. 
FuLciNius Trio. 

MlNUTIU«. 

Satrius Secundus. 

PiNNARIUS NATTA. 

SCENE, — Rome. 



Opsius 

Tribuni. 

Prmcones, 

Flamen. 

Tabicines. 

JVmitius. 

Lictores. 

Ministri. 

Tibioinrs. 

Servi, See 

Agrippina 
Livia. 

SOSIA. 



ACT I. 

SCENE l. — A State .Room in the Palace. 

Bnter Sabinus and SihivSyfcUoioed by Laturls. 

Sab. Hail, Caius » Silius ! 

Sil. Titius Sabiniis,2 hail ! 
You're rarely met in court. 

Sab. Therefore, well met. [sphere. 

Sil. 'Tis true : indeed, this place is not our 

Sab. No, Silius, we are no good inginers. 
We Avant their fine arts, and Iheir thriving use 
Should make lis graced, or favor'd of the times : 
We have no shift of fiices, no cleft tongues. 
No soft and glutinous bodies, that can stick, 
Like snails on painted walls ; or, on our breasts, 
Creep up, to fall from that proud height, to which 
We did by slavery,'' not by service climb. 
We are no guilty men, and then no great ; 
We have no place in court, office in state, 
That we can say,' we owe unto our crime.3 : 
We burn with no black secrets,^ which can make 
Us dear to the pale authors ; or live fcar'd 
Of their still waking jealousies, to raise 
Ourselves a fortune, by subverting theirs. 
We stand not in the lines, that do advance 
To that so courted point. 

Enter Satrius and Natta, at a distance. 

Sil. But yonder lean 
A pair that do. 

Sab, [salutt's Latiaris.] Good cousin Latia- 
ris, "^ 

Sil. Satrius Secundus,^ and Pinnarius Natta,^ 
The great Sejanus' clients : there be two, 
Know more than honest counsels ; whose close 

breasts, 
Were they ripp'd up to light, it would be found 
A poor and idle sin, to which their trunks 
Had not been made lit organs. These can lie. 
Flatter, and swear, forswear, de^n-ave,^ inform. 
Smile, and betray ; make guilty men ; then beg 

- 1 De Caio Silio, vid. Tacit. Lips. edit, quarto ; Ann. Lib. 
j. p. 11, I-ib. ii. p. 28 et 33. 

2 De Titio Sahino, vid. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 2. 

* Juv. Sat. i. V. 75. 

6 Jiv. Sat. iii. v. 49, &c. 

lie Latiari, cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 9!, ct Dion. 
Btep. edit. fnl. Lib. Iviii. p. 711. 

' De Satrio Secando, et 

8 Pinnario Natta, leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. Et de 
Patrio cons. Senec. Consol. ad Maiciam. 

* Vid. Sci, do Benef. Lib. iii. cap. 20. 



The forfeit lives, to get their livings ; cut 
Men's throats with whisperings ; sell to gapinjj 

suitors 
The empty smoke, that flies about the palace ; 
Laugh when their patron laughs ; sweat when 

he sweats ; 
Be hot and cold with him ; change every mood, 
Habit, and garb, as often as he varies ; 
Observe him, as his watch observes his clock ; 
And, true, as turquoise in the dear lord's ringi 
Look Avell or ill with him : '" ready to praise 
His lordship, if he spit, or but p — fair. 
Have an indifferent stool, or break wind well, 
Nqthing can 'scape their catch. 

Sab. Alas ! these things 
Deserve no note, confcrr'd with other vile 
And filthier flatteries," that corrupt the times ; 
When, not alone our gentries chief are fain 
To make their safety from such sordid acts ; 
But all our consuls,'- and no little part 
Of such as have been prajtors, yea, the mosc 
Of senators,'^ that else not use their voices, 
Start up in public senate and there strive 
Who shall i^ropound most abject things, and base. 
So much, as oft Tiberius hath been heard, 
Leaving the court, to cry,'^ O race of men, 
Prepared for servitude ! — which shew'd that he, 
Who least the public liberty could like. 
As lothly brook' d their flat ser-vality. 

Sil. Well, all is worthy of us, were it more, 
Who with our riots, pride, and civil hate, 
Have so provok'd the justice of the gods : 
We, that, within these fourscore years,were born 
Free, equal lords of the triumphed world, 
And knew no masters, but affections ; 
To which betraying first our liberties, 
We since became the slaves to one man's lusts , 
And now to many : '•• every minst'ring spy 
That will accuse and swear, is lord of you, 
Of me, of all our fortunes and our lives. 
Our looks are call'd to question,'^ and our -« ards, 
How innocent soever, are made crimes ; 
We shall not shortly dare to tell our dreams, 
Or think, but 'twill be treason. 

10 Juv. Sat. iii. ver. 10.5, &c. 
n Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lil). i. p. 3. 

12 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 09. 

13 Pedarii. 

1* Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. G9. 

15 Lege Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 24. de Romano, Hispano, ol 
caeteris, ibid, et Lib. iii. Ann. p. 61 et 62. Juv. Sat. x. v. 87 
Suet. Tib. cap. Gl. 

10 Vid. Tacit. Ann. i. p. 4, et Lib. iii. p. 62. Suet. Tib 
cap. CI. Senec. de Benef. Lib. iii. cap. 26. 



238 



SEJANUS. 



Sab. Tyrants arts 
Are to give flatterers grace ; accusers, power ; 
That those may seem to kill whom they devour. 

Enter Cordus and Arruntius. 
■Now, good Cremutius Cordus. ^ 

Cor. [salutes Sabikus.] Hail to your lord- 
ship ! 

Nat. [whispers Latiams.] Who's that salutes 
your cousin ? 

Lai- 'Tis one Cordus,' 
A gentleman of Home : one that has wi'it 
Annals of late, they say, and very well. 

Nat. Annals ! of what times ? 

Lat. I think of Pompey's,^ 
And Cains Caesar's ; and so down to these. 

Nat. How stands he affected to the present 
state ? 
Is he or Drusian,^ or Germanican, 
Or ours, or neutral ? 

Lat. I know him not so far. 

Nat. Those times are somewhat queasy to be 
touch'd. 
Have you or seen, or heard part of his work ? 

Lat. Not I; he means they shall be public 
shortly. 

Nat. O, Cordus do you call him ? 

Lat. Ay. [Exeunt Natta and Satrius. 

Sab, But these our times 
Are not the same, Arruntius.* 

Arr. Times ! the men, 
The men are not the same : 'tis wo are base, 
Poor, and degenerate from the exalted strain 
Of our great "fathers. Where is now the soul 
Of god-like Cato ? he, that durst be good, 
When Cffisar durst be evil ; and had power, 
As not to live his slave, to die his master ? 
Or Where's the constant Brutus, that being proof 
Against all charm of benefits, did strike 
So brave a blow into the monster's heart 
That sought unkindly to captive his country ? 
O, they are fled the light ! Those mighty spirits 
Lie raked up with their ashes in their iirns, 
And not a spark of their eternal fire 
Glows in a present bosom. All's but blaze, 
Flashes and smoke, wherewith ^\c labor so, 
There's nothing Iloman in us ; nothing good, 
Gallant, or great : 'tis true that Cordus says, 
" Brave Cassius Avas the last of all that race." 

Drusus passes over the stage, attended btj PIate- 
iiius, (Sfc. 

Sab. Stand by ! lord Drusus.* 

Hat. The emperor's son ! give place. 

Sil. I like the prince well. 

Arr. A riotous youth ; " 
There's little hope of him. 

.S^6. That fault his age 
Will, as it grows, correct. Methinks he bears 
Himself each day more nobly than other ; 
And wins no less on men's affections, 

1 Do Crem. Cordo, vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83, 84. 
Kenec. Cons, ad Marciam. Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 710. Suet. Aug. 
c. 35. Tib. c. Gl. Cal. c. 16. 

2 Suet. Auff. cap. 35. 

3 Vid. de faction. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 39. et Lib. iv. p. 79. 
* l)e Lu. Arnin. isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 6. et Lib. 

Jii. p. 60. ot Dion. Rom. Hist. Lib. ."^8. 

5 Lego de Diiiso Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 9. Suet. Tib. c. 
© Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 699. 
Tacit, Ann. Lib. iii. p. 69. 



Than doth his father lose. Believe me, I love him ; 
And chiefly for opposing to Sejanus.'' 

Sil. And I, for gracing his young kinsmen so,^ 
The sons ' of prince Germanic us : '" it shews 
A o-allant clearness in him, a straight mind, 
That envies not, in them, their father's name. 

Arr. His name was, while he lived, above all 
envy ; 
And, being dead, without it. O, that man ! 
If there were seeds of the old virtue left, 
They lived in him. 

Sil. He had the fruits, Arruntius, 
More than the seeds : " Sabinus, and mj^self 
Had means to know him within ; and can report 

him. 
We were his followers, he would call us friends ; 
Ho was a man most like to virtue ; in all. 
And every action, nearer to the gods. 
Than men, in nature ; of a body as fair 
As was his mind ; and no less reverend 
In face, than fame : ''-^ he could so use his state, 
Tempering his greatness with his gravity. 
As it avoided all self-love in him, 
And spite in others. What his funerals lack'd 
In images and pomp, they had supplied . 
With honorable sorrow, soldiers' sadness, 
A kind of silent mourning, such, as men. 
Who know no tears, but from their captives, use 
To shew in so great losses. 

Cor. I thought once. 
Considering their forms, age, manner of deaths, 
The nearness of the places where they fell. 
To have paralleled him with great Alexander : 
For both were of best feature, of higii race, 
Year'd but to thirty, and, in foreign lands, 
By their own people alike made away. 

Sab. I know not, for his death, how you might 
wrest it : 
But, for his life, it did as much disdain 
Comparison, with that voluptuous, rash, 
Giddy, and drunken Macedon's, as mine 
Doth with my bondman's. All the good in him^ 
His valor and his fortune, he made his ; 
But he had other touches of late Romans, 
That more did speak him : '^ Pompey's dignity, 
The innocence of Cato, Ceesar's spirit, 
Wise Brutus' temperance ; and every virtue. 
Which, parted unto others, gave them name, 
Flow'd mix'd in him. Ho was the soul of good- 
ness ; 
And all our praises of him are like streams 
Drawn from a spring, that still rise full, and leave 
The part remaining greatest. 

Arr. I am sure 
He was too great for us,'* and that they knew 
Who did remove him hence. 

Sab. When men grow fast 
Honor'd and loved, there is a trick in state, 

" Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. 
8 Ann. Lib. iv. p. 7.5, 76. 

5 Nero, Drusus, Caius, qui in castris genitus, et Caligula 
noniinatus. Tacit. Ann. Lib. 1. 

10 De Gcrmanico Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 14. et Dion 
Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 694. 

11 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

12 Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 47, et Dion. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii 
p. 705. 

13 Vid. apud. Veil. Paterc lips. 4to p 35-47, istorunj 
honiinum characteres. 

" Vid. Tacit. Lib. ii. Ann p. S8 et p. 34. Dio. Rom. Hist 
Lib. Ivii. p. 705. 



SEJANUS. 



235 



Which jealous princes never fail to nse, 
How to decline that growth, with fair pretext, 
And honorable colors of emploj'raent, 
Either by embassy, the war, or such, 
To shift them forth into another air, 
Where they may purge and lessen ; so was he : ' 
And had his seconds there, sent by Tiberius, 
And his more subtile dam, to discontent him ; 
To breed and cherish mutinies ; detract 
His greatest actions ; give audacious check 
To his commands ; and work to put him out 
In open net of treason. All which snares 
When his wise cares prevented,^ a fine poison 
Was thought on, to mature their practices. 

E^nier Sejanus, talking to Terentius, foUoived hij 
Satrius, Natta, c^-c. 

Cor. Here comes Sejanus.^ 

Sil. Now observe the stoops, 
i"he bendings, and the falls. 

Arr. Most creeping base ! 

Sej. [/o Natta.] I note them well : no more. 
Say you ? 

Sat. My lordy 
There is a gentleman of Rome would buy 

Sej. How call you him you talk'd with ? 

Sat. Please your lordship, 
It is Eudemus,* the physician 
To Livia, Drusus' wife. 

Sej. On with your suit. 
Would buy, you said 

Sat. A tribune's place, my lord. 

Sej. What will he give ? 

Sat. Fifty sestertia.* 

Sej. Livia's physician, say you, is that fellow ? 

Sat. It is, my lord : Your lordship's answer. 

Sej. To Avhat ? 

Sat. The place, my lord. 'Tis for a gentleman 
Your lordship will well like of, when you see him; 
And one, that 3'ou may make yours, by the grant. 

Sej. Well, let him bring his money, and his 
name. 

Sat. 'Thank your lordship. He shall, my lord. 

Sej. Come hither. 
Know you this same Eudemus ? is he Icarn'd ? 

Sat. Reputed so, nry lord, and of deep practice. 

Sej. Bring him in, to mo, in the gallery ; 
And take you cause to leave us there together : 

I would confer with him, about a grief 

On. [Exeunt Sejaxus, Satrius, Terentius, S<c. 

Arr. So ! yet another .' yet ? O desperate state 
Of groveling honor ! seest thou this, O sun, 
And do we see thee after ? Methinks, day 
Should lose his light, when men do lose their 

shames. 
And for the empty circumstance of life. 
Betray their cause of living. 

Sil. Nothing so.® 

1 Con. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 39. rle occultis mandatis 
Pisoni, et postea p. 42, 43, 48. Oral. D. Celeiis. Est Tibi 
Au£;ustie conscientia, est Caesaris favor, sed in occulto, &c. 
Leg. Suet. Tib. c. 59. Dio. p. 706. 

2 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 46, 47. Lib. iii. p. 54. et Suet. 
Cal. c. 1 et 2. 

3 De Sejano vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 9. Lib. iv. princip. 
tt per tot. Suet. Tib. Dio. Lib. Ivii. Iviii. ct Plin. et Senec. 

* De Eudenio isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv p. 74. 

5 MonetiB nostrce 375 lib. vid. Budseuni de asse, Lib. iL 
p. 64. 

8 De ingenio, morihus, ct potentia Sejani, \e%. Tacit. Ann 
Lib. iv p. 74, Dio. Rom. Hist. Lili Ivii. p. 708. 



Sejanus can repair, if Jove should ruin. 
He is now the court god ; and well appliecj 
With sacrifice of knees, of crooks, and cringes 
He will do more than all the house of heaven 
Can, for a thousand hecatombs. 'Tis he 
^Makes us our day, or night ; hell, and elysium 
Are in his look : we talk of Rhadamanth, 
Furies, and firebrands ; but it is his frown 
That is all these ; where, on the adverse part, 
His smile is more, than e'er jet poets feign'd 
Of bliss, and shades, nectar 

Arr. A serving boy ! 
I knew him, at Caius' trencher,^ Avhcn for hire 
He prostituted his abused body 
To that great gormond, fat Apicius ; 
And was the noted pathic of the time. 

Sab. And, now,** the second face of the whole 
world ! 
The partner of the empire, hath his image 
Reai-'d equal with Tiberius, born in ensigns ; 
Commands, disposes every dignity, 
Centurions, tribunes, heads of provinces, 
Praetors and consuls ; all that heretofore 
Rome's general suffrage gave, is now his sale. 
The gain, or rather spoil of all the earth. 
One, and his house, receives. 

Sil. He hath of late 
Made him a strength too, strangelj-, by reducing 
All the praetorian bands into one camp, [diers, 
Which he commands : pretending that the 3ol- 
By living loose and scatter'd, feU to riot ; 
And that if any sudden cnterjirize 
Should be attempted, their united strength 
Would be far more than sever' d ; and their life 
:More strict, if from the city more removed. 

Sab. Where, now, he builds what kind of 
forts he please, 
Is heard to court the soldier by his name, 
Woos, feasts the chiefest men of action. 
Whose wants, not loves, compel them to be his. 
And though ho ne'er were liberal by kind. 
Yet to his own dark ends, he's most profuse, 
Lavish, and lotting fly, he cares not what 
To his ambition. 

Arr. Yet, hath he ambition ? 
Is there that step in state can make him higlier, 
Or more, or anything he is, but less ? 

Sil. Nothing but emperor. 

Arr. The name Tiberius, 
I hope, will keep, howe'er he hath foregone 
The dignity and power. 

Sil. Sure, while he lives. 

Arr. And dead, it comes to Drusus. Should 
he fail. 
To the brave issue of Germanicus ; 
And they are three : ^ too many — ha ? for him 
To have a plot upon ! 

Sab. I do not know 
The heart of his designs ; but, sure, their face 
Looks farther than the present. 

Arr. By the gods, 
If I could guess he had but such a thought. 
My sword should cleave him down from head 
to heart, 

7 Caius divi Augusti nepos. Cons Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 
74, et Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 70G. 

8 Juv. Sat. X. V. 63, &c. Tacii. ibid, flion ibid, ct sie 
passim. 

Nero, Drusus, et Caligula. — Tacit, ibil. 



240 



SEJANUS. 



But I would find it out : and with, my hand 
I'd hurl liis panting brain about the air 
In mit'cs, as small as atonii, to undo 
The knotted bed 

Sab. You are obscrv'd, Arruntius. 

An: [turns to Natta, Tekentius, i5)C.] Death ! 
I dare tell him so ; and all his spies : 
You, sir, I would, do you look ? and you. 

Sab. Forbear. 

SCENE II. 

(The former Scene continued.) 

A Gallenj discovered opening into the State Room. 

Enter Satbius tcitk Eudemus. 
Sat. Here he will instant be : let's walk a turn ; 
You're in a muse, Eudemus. 

Eud. Not I, sir. 
I wonder he should mark me out so ! well, 
•Jove and Apollo form it for the best. [Aside, 
Sat. Your' fortune's made unto you now, Eu- 
demus, 
[f you can but lay hold upon the means ; 
Do but observe his huiuor, and — believe it — 
He is the noblest Roman, where he takes — 

Enter Sejanus. 
Here comes his lordship. 

SeJ. Now, good Satrius. 

Sat. This is the gentleman, my lord. 

SeJ. Is this ? [quaintOvl. 

Give me your hand — we must be more ac- 
Report, sir, hath spoke out your art and learn- 
And I am glad I have so needful cause, [ing : 
However in itself painful and hard, 
To make mc known to so great virtue. — Look, 
Who is that, Satrius ? [Exit Sat.] — I have a 
, grief, sir, [mus ? 

That will desire your help. Y''our name's Eude- 

Eud. Y^es. 

SeJ. Sir? 

Eud. It is, my lord. 

SeJ. I hear you are 
Physician to Livia,- the princess. 

Eud. I minister unto her, my good lord. 

SeJ. Y''ou minister to a royal lady, then. 

Eud. She is, my lord, and fair. 

SeJ. That's understood 
Of all their sex, who are or would be so ; 
And those that would be, physic soon can make 

them : 
For those that are, their beauties fear no colors. 

Eud. Y'our lordship is conceited. 

SeJ. Sir, you know it, 
And can, if need be, read a learned lecture 
On this, and other secrets. 'Pray you, tell me, 
What more of ladies besides Livia, 
Have you your patients ? 

End. Manj% my good lord. 
The great Augusta,^ Urgulania,* 
Mutilia Prisca,* and Plancina ; * divers — 

- Lege Tercntii defensionem Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p, 102. 

2 Genrianici soror, uxor Drusi. Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. 
p. 74. 

2 Mater Tibcril. vid. Tacit. Ann. 1, 2, 3, 4, racntur 5. 
Suet. Till. Dio. Rom. Hist. .57, 58. 

■* Delitiuiu Aii{;iists. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. et iv. 

6 Adultcra Julii Posthinni. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 

Pi.sonis u.xor. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. iii. iv. 



SeJ. And all these tell you t.:e particular.'- 
Of every several grief? ho^^• first it grew, 
And then increased ; what action caused thai 
What passion that : and answer to each point 
That you will put them ? 

Eud. Else, my lord, we know not 
How to prescribe the remedies. 

SeJ. Go to, 
Y''ou are a subtile nation, you physicians ! 
And grown the only cabinets in court,'' 
To ladies' privacies. Faith, which of these 
Is the most pleasant lady in her physic ? 
Come, you are modest now. 

Eud. 'Tis fit, my lord. 

SeJ. Why, sir, I do not ask you of their urines, 
Whose smell's most violet, or whose siege is best, 
Or who makes hardest faces on her stool ? 
Which lady sleeps with her own face a nights ? 
Which puts her teeth off, with her clothes, in 

court ? 
Or, which her hair, which her complexion, 
And, in which box slae puts it ; These were 

questions. 
That might, perhaps, have put your gravity 
To some defence of blush. Eut, I enquired, 
Which was the wittiest, merriest, wantonest ? 

Harmless intergatories, but conceits. 

Methinks Augusta should be most perverse, 
And froward in her fit. 

Eud. She's so, my lord. 

SeJ. I knew it : and Mutilia the most jocund 

Eud. 'Tis very true, my lord. 

SeJ. And why would you [Livia ? 

Conceal this from me, now ? Come, what is 
I know she's quick and quaintly spirited. 
And will have strange thoughts, when she is at 
She tells them all to you. [leisure j 

E'.id. My noblest lord. 
He breathes not in the empire, or on earth. 
Whom I ^yonld be ambitious to serve 
In any act, thct may preserve mine honor. 
Before your lordship. 

SeJ. Sir, you can lose no honor, 
By trusting aught to mo. The coarsest act 
Done to my service, I can so requite, 
As all the world shall style it honorable : 
Y^our idle, virtuous definitions. 
Keep honor poor, and are as scorn' d as vain : 
Vhose deeds breathe honor that do suck in gain. 

Eud. But, good my lord, if I should thus be- 
tray 
The counsels of my patient, and a lady's 
Oi her high place and ^\■orth ; what might your 

lordship. 
Who presently are to trust mc with your own, 
Judge of my faith ? 

Sej, Only the best, I swear. 
Say now that I should utter you my grief, 
And with it the true cause ; that it were love, 
And lovL io Livia ; ' you shovild tell her this : 
Should sV.e suspect your faith; I would you 

couU 
Tell me as m.ich from her ; see if my brain 
Could be turn'd Jealous. 

Eud. Happily, uiy lord, 
I could in time teil you as much and more , 

^ Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. Iv. p. 74. ct I'lin. Nat. Hijt. Li»J 
xxix. c. 1. 
8 Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74 



SEJA>fUS. 



211 



So I might Siiiely promisa but the first 
lo her from yori. 

Sej. As safely, my Eudemus, 
I now dare call thee so, as I have put 
The secret into thee. 

End. j\Iy lord — — 

SfJ. Protest not. 
Thy looks are vows to me ; use only apc.r', 
.A.nd but affect her with Sejanus' love,' 
Thou art a man, made to make consuls. Go. 

End. My lord, I'll promise you f. private 
meeting 
This day together. 

Sej. Canst thou ? 

E'ud. Yes. 

SeJ. The place ? 

Eud. My gardens, whither I shall fetch your 
lordship. 

SeJ. Let me adore my .^sculapius. 
Why, this indeed is physic ! and outspeaks 
riie knowledge of cheap drugs, or any use 
Can be made out of it ! more comforting 
I'han all your opiates, juleps, apozems, 

!\Iagistral syrups, or Be gone, my friend, 

Not barely stjded, but created so ; 
Expect things greater than thy largest hopes, 
To overtake thee : Fortune shall be taught 
To know how ill she hath descrv'd thus long, 
To come behind thy wishes. Go, and speed. 

[Exit Eudemus. 
Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need. 
These fellows," by the favor of their art, 
Have still the means to tempt; oft-times the 
If Livia will be now corrupted, then [power. 
Thou hast the way, Sejanus, to work out 
His secrets, who, thou know'st, endures thee not, 
Her husband, Drusus : and to work against 

them. 
Prosper it, Pallas, thou that bettcr'st wit ; 
For Venus hath the smallest share in it. 

Enter TiEEEius and Drusus, attended. 

rib. [to Haterius, who kneels to him.] We not 
endure these fiatteric;s ; let him stand ; 
Our empire, ensigns, axes, rods and state 
Take not away our human nature from us : 
Look up on us, and fall before the gods. 

SeJ. How like a god speaks Csesar ! 

An: There, observe ! 
He can endure that second, that's no flattery. 
O, Avhat is it, proud slime will not believe 
Of his own worth, to hear it ec[ual praised 
Thus with the gods ! 

Cor. He did not hear it, sir. 

An: He did not ! Tut, he must not, we think 
meanly. 
'Tis your most courtly knovv'n confederacy. 
To have your private parasite redeem 
What he, in public, subtilelj^ will lose. 
To making him a name. 

Hat. Kight mighty lord [Gives him letters. 

Tib. We must make up our ears 'gainst these 
assaults 



> 'I'acit. Ann. Lib iv. p. 74. 

2 End. specie artis frequens secretin. Tacit, ibid. Vid. 
fWn. Nat. Hist. Lib. xxix. c. 1. in ciiminat. incdicoruni. 

s I>3 initio Tiberii piincipatus vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 
23, Lib. iv. p. 75. et Suet. Tib. c. 27. De Haterio vid. Tacit. 
Ann. Lib. i. p. G. 

16 



' Of charming tongues ;* we pi ay you use no more 
These contumelies to us ; style not us 
Or lord, or mighty, who profess ourself 
The servant of the senate, and are proud 
T' enjoy them our good, just, and favoring lords. 

Cor. E-arely ^ dissembled ! 

Arr. Prince-like to the life. 

Sab. When poAver that may command, so 
much descends, 
Their bondage, whom it stoops to, it intends. 

Tib, Whence are these letters ? 

Ilat. From the senate. 

Tib. So. [Lat. gives him letters. 

Whence these ? 

Lat. From thence too. 

Tib. Are they sitting now ? 

Lat. They stay thy answer, Ca;sar. 

Sil. If this man 
Had but a mind allied unto his words. 
How blest a fate were it to us and Piome ! 
We could not think that state for which to 

change. 
Although the aim were our old liberty : 
The ghosts ^ of those that feU for that, would 

grieve 
Their bodies lived not, now, again to serve. 
Men are deceived, who think there can be thrall 
Beneath a virtuous prince : Wish'd liberty 
Ne'er lovelier looks, than under such a crown. 
But, when his grace ' is merely but lip-good. 
And that, no longer than he airs hims'elf 
Abroad iu public, there, to seem to shun 
The strokes and stripes of flatterers, which 
Are lechery unto him, and so feed [within 

His brutish sense with the?ir afflicting sound, 
As, dead to virtue, he permits himself 
Be carried like a pitcher by the ears, 
To every act of vice : tliis is a case 
Deserves our fear, and doth presage the nigh 
And close approach of blood and tyranny. 
Flattery is midwife ^ unto prince's rage : 
And nothing sooner doth helij forth a tyrant, 
Than that and whisperers' grace, who have the 

time. 
The place, the power, to make all men offenders. 

An: He should be told this ; and be bid dis- 
semble [evil, 
With fools and blind men : we that know the 
Should hunt the palace-rats,^ or give them bane ; 
Fright hence these worse than ravens, that de- 
vour 
The quick, where they but prey upon the dead ; 
He shall be told it. 

Sab. Staj"-, Arruntius, 
We must abide our opportunity ; 
And practise what is fit, as what is needful. 
It is not safe t' enforce a sovereign's ear : 
Princes hear Avell, if they at all will hear. 

i Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. ii. p. 50. ct Suet. Tib. c. ',11 et 29. 

5 Nullam reque Tiberius ex virtutibus suis quain diasirau- 
lationem diligehat. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 95. 

6 Bmti, Cassii, Catonis, &c. 

7 Vid. Dio. Hist. Lib. Ivii. de moribus Tiberii. 

8 Tyrannis fere oritur ex niuiia prucerum aduiatione In 
principeni. Arist. Pol. Lib. v. c. 10, IL et delatorum auctori 
tate. Leg. Tacit. Dio. Suet. Tib. per totuni. Sub quo do 
creta accusatoribus prcecipua prajniia. Vid. Suet. Tib. c. 61, 
et Sen. Bcnef. Lib. iii. c. 6. 

8 Tineas soricesque Palatii vocat istos Sex. Aurel. Vict 
et Tacit. Hist. Lib. i. p. 233, qui secretis crimin.it. infaman 
ignarum, et quo incautior deciperetur, palaiii laudatum, tf 



242 



SEJANUS. 



Arr. Ha, say you so ? -well ! In the mean 
time, Jove, 
(Say not, but I do call upon thee now,) 
Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant : 
And of all tame, a flatterer. 

Sll. 'Tis well pray'd. 

Tib. [havitig read the letters.] Return the lords 

this voice, We are their creature, 

And it is fit a good and honest prince, 
Whom they, out of their bounty, have in- 
structed ' 
With so dilate and absolute a power, 
Shoiild owe the office of it to their service. 
And good of all and every citizen. 
Nor shall it e'er repent us to have wish'd 
The senate just, and favoring lords unto us. 
Since their free loves clo yield no less defence 
To a prince's state, than his own innocence. 
Say then, there can be nothing in their thought 
Shall want to please us, that hath pleased them : 
Our suffrage rather shall prevent than stay 
Behind their Avills : 'tis empire to obey, [mine. 
■ Where such, so great, so grave, so good deter- 
Yet, for the suit of Spain,'' to erect a temple 
In honor of our mother and our self. 
We must, with pardon of the senate, not 
Assent thereto. Their lordships may object 
Our not denying the same late request 
Unto the Asian cities : ^^•e desire 
That our defence for suffering that be known 
In these brief reasons, with our after purpose. 
Since deified Augustus hindered not 
A temple to be built at Pcrgamum, 
In honor of liimself and sacred Home ; 
Wo, that have all his deeds -^ and words observed 
Ever, in place of laws, the rather foUow'd 
That pleasing precedent, because with ours. 
The senate's reverence, also, there was join'd. 
But as, t' have once received it, may deserve 
The gain of pardon ; so, to be adored 
With the continued style, and note of gods, 
Through all the provinces, were wild ambition, 
And no less pride : yea, even Augustus' name 
Would early vanish, should it be profaned 
AVith such promiscuous flatteries. For our part, 
We here protest it, and are covetous 
Posterity should know it, we are mortal ; 
And can but deeds of men : 'twere glory enough. 
Could we be truly a prince. And, they shall add 
Abotrnding grace unto our memory, 
That shall report us worthj' our forefathers. 
Careful of your affairs, constant in dangers. 
And not afraid of any private frown 
For public good. These things shall be to us 
Temples and statues, reared in your minds. 
The fairest, and most during imagery : 
For those of stone or brass, if they become 
Odious in judgmer t of posterity, 
Are more contemn d as dying sepulchres. 
Than ta'en for living monuments. We then 
Make here our suit, alike to gods and men ; 
The one, until the period of our race, 
To inspire us with a free and quiet mind, 
Discerning both divine and human laws ; 
The other, to vouchsafe us after death, 
A.n honorable mention, and fair praise, 

1 Vid. Siiet. Tib. c. 20. et Dio. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. G96. 
a Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 84 et 85. 
« Cons. Strab Lib. vi de Tib. 



To accompany our actions and our name: 
The rest of greatness princes may command, 
And, therefore, may neglect ; only, a long, 
A lasting, high, and happy memory 
They should, without being satisfied, pursue ; 
Contempt of fame begets contempt of virtue, 

Nat. Rare ! 

Sat. INIost divine ! 

SeJ. The oracles are ceased. 
That only CcBsar, with their tongue, might speak. 

Arr. Let me be gone : most felt and open thisJ 

Cor. Stay. 

Arr. What ! to hear more cunning and fine 

words, [meant \ 

With their sound flatter'd ere their sense be 

Tib. Their choice of Antium,'* there to place 
the gift 
Vow'd to the goddess ^ for our mother's health. 
We will the senate know, wg fairly like , 
As also of their grant ^ to Lepidus, 
For his repairing the iEmilian place, 
And restoration of those monuments : 
Their grace ' too in confining of Silanus 
To the other isle Cithera, at the suit 
Of his religious " sister, much commends 
Their policy, so temper'd with their mercy. 
But for the honors which they have decreed 
To our Sejanus,^ to advance his statue 
In Pompey's theatre, (whose ruining fire 
His vigilance and labor kept restrain' d 
In that one loss,) they have therein out-gone 
Their own great wisdoms, by their skilful choicej 
And placing of their bounties on a man, 
Whose merit more adorns the dignity. 
Than that can him ; and gives a benefit, 
In taking, greater than it can receive. 
Blush not, Scjanus,'" thou great aid of Rome, 
Associate of our labors, our chief helper ; 
Let us not force thy simple modesty 
With offering at thy praise, for more we cannot. 
Since there's no voice can take it. No man here 
Receive our speeches as hyperboles : 
For we arc far from flattering our friend. 
Let envy know, as ^rom the need to flatter. 
Nor let them ask the causes of our praise : 
Princes have still their grounds rear'd with 

themselves, 
Above the poor low flats of common men ; 
And who will search the reasons of their acts, 
Must stand on equal bases. Lead, away : 
Our loves vmto the senate 
[ExeuntHiB. Sejan. Natta, Hat. Lat. Officers, ^c. 

Arr. Ca;sar ! 

Sab. Peace. [ruin'd 

Cor. Great Pompey's theatre" was never 
Till now, that proud Sejanus hath a statue 
Rear'd on his ashes. 

Arr. Place the shame of soldiers, 
Above the best of generals ? crack the world 
And bruise the name of Romans into dust, 
Ere wo behold it ! 



* Tacir. Lib. iii. p. 7L 

5 Fortiina cquestiis, ibid. 

6 Tacit, ibid. 

^ Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 170. 

8 Torqiiata virgo vestalls, cujas meinoriam sciva tnarmo 
Roniae. vid. Lips, comment, in Taci« 
' 'J'acit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. 71. 

10 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74-76. 

11 Vid. Sen. Cons. ad. Marc. c. 22. 



SEJANUS. 



243 



Sil. Check your passion ; 
Lord Drusus tarries. 

Dru. Is my father mad,' ' 

Weary of life, and rule, lords ? thus to heave 
An idol up with praise ! make him his mate, 
His rival in the empire ! 

Arr. O, good prince. 

Dru. Allow him statues,' titles, honors, such 
As he himself refuseth ! 

Arr. Brave, brave Drusiis ! 

Dru. The first ascents to sovereignty are hard ; 
But, entered once, there never wants or means, 
Or ministers, to help the aspirer on. 

Arr. True, gallant Drusus. 

Dru. Wo must shortly pray 
To Modesty, that he will rest contented — 

An: Ay, where he is, and not write emperor. 

Re-enter Sejanus, Sateius, Latiaris, Clients, ^c. 
SeJ, There is your bill, and yours ; bring you 
your man. [Tb Satrius.] 
I have moved for you, too, Latiaris. 

Dru. What ! 
Is your vast greatness grown so blindly bold. 
That you will over us ? 
Se). Why then give way. 
Dru. Give way. Colossus ! do you lift ? ad- 
Tance you ? 
Take that ! ' [SfriJces him. 

Arr. Good ! brave ! excellent, brave j^rince ! 
Dru. Nay, come, approach. [Dratos his sword. 
What, stand you off? at gaze ? 
It looks too full of death for thy cold spirits. 
Avoid mine eye, dull camel, or my sword 
Shall make thy bravery fitter for a grave, 
Than for a triumph. I'll advance a statue 
O' your own bulk ; but 't shall be on the cross ; * 
Where I will nail your pride at breadth and 
length, [stretch' d 

And crack those sinews, which arc yet but 
With your swoln fortune's rage. 
Arr. A noble prince ! 
All. A Castor,* a Castor, a Castor, a Castor ! 

[Exeunt all but Sejanus. 
SeJ. He that, with such wrong moved, can 
bear it through 
With patience, and an even mind, knows how 
To turn it back. Wrath cover' d carries fate : 
Revenge is lost, if I profess my hate. 
What was my practice late, I'll now pursue, 
As my fell justice : this hath styled it new. 

[Exit. 

ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — The Garden of Eudemus. 

Enter Sejanus, Livia, and Eudemus. 

Sej. Physician, thou art Avorthy of a province. 
For the great favors done imto our loves ; 
And, but that greatest Livia bears a part 
Cn the requital of thy services. 



1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76. 

2 Tacit, ibid. 

3 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74-76. 
Tacit, ibidem. 

Tacit, seriuimur Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74, quanqiiam apud 
Oionom et Zonaram aliter legi". i . 



I should alone despair of aught, like means. 
To give them Avorthy satisfaction. 

Liv. Eudemus, I will see it, shall receive 

A fit and full reward for his large merit. • 

But for this potion" we intend to Drusus, 

No more our husband now, whom shall we 

choose 
As the most apt and able instrument. 
To minister it to him ? 

Eud. I say, Lygdus.'' 

SeJ. Lygdus ? what's he ? 

Liv. An eunuch D'-usus loves. 

Eud. Ay, and his cup-bearer. 

SeJ. Name not a second. 
If Drusus love him, and he have that place, 
We cannot think a fitter. 

Eud. True, my lord. 
For free access and trust are two main aids. 

SeJ. Skilful phj'sician ! 

Lie. But he must be wrought 
To the undertaking, with some labor'd art- 

SeJ. Is he ambitious ? 

Liv. No. 

SeJ. Or covetous ? 

Liv. Neither. 

Eud. Yet, gold is a good general charm. 

SeJ. What IS he, then ? 

Liv. Faith, only wanton, light. 

SeJ. How ! is he young and fair ? 

Eud. A delicate youth. 

S(J. Send him to me,^ I'll work hirti. — Royal 
lady. 
Though I have loved you long, and with that 

height 
Of zeal and duty, like the fire, which more 
It mounts it trembles, thinking nought could add 
Unto the fervor which your eye had kindled ; 
Yet, now I see your wisdom, judgment, strength, 
Quickness, and will, to apprehend the means 
To your own good and greatness, I protest 
Myself through rarified, and turn'd all flame 
In your affection : such a spu-it as yours, 
Was not created for the idle second 
To a poor flash, as Drusus ; but to shine 
Bright as the moon among the lesser lights, 
And share the sov'reignty of all the world. 
Then Livia triumphs in her proper sphere, 
When she and her Sejanus shall divide 
The name of Caesar, and Aiigusta's star 
Be dimm'd with glory of a brighter beam ; 
When Agrippina's^ fires are quite extinct. 
And the scarce-seen Tiberius borrows all 
His little light from us, whose folded arms 
Shall make one perfect orb. [Knocking ivithin.] 

Who's that ? Eudemus, 
Look. [Exit EuDEJius.] 'Tis not Drusus, lady, 
do not fear. 

Liv. Not I, my lord : my fear and love of him 
Left me at once. 

SeJ. Illustrious lady, stay 

Eud. [within.] I'll tell his lordship. 

Servile, apud Romanos, et ignominiosissimum mortis 
genus erat supplicium crucis, ut ex Liv. ipso. Tacit. Die. et 
omnibus fere antiquis, pra;seitim historicis constet. vid, 
Plaut. in Mil. Aniph. Aulii. Hor. Lib. i. Ser. 3. et Juv. Sat. 
vi. Pone crucem servo, &c. 

^ Sic Drusus ob violentiam cognominatus, vid. Dion. Rom 
Hist Lib. Ivii. p. 701. 

* Spadonis animum stupro devinxit. Tacit, ibid. 

Gormanici vidua. 



244 



SEJANUS. 



Re-enter Eudemus. 
Sej. Wlio is it, Eudomus ? 

Eud. One of your lordship's servants brings 
you word 
The emperOi hath sent for you. 

Sej. O ! -where is he ? 
With your fair leave, dear princess, I'll but ask 
A question and return. [Exit; 

Eud. Fortunate princess ! 
How are you blest in the fruition 
Of this unequall'd man, the soul of Rome, 
The empire's life, and voice of Cassar's world ! 

Liv. So blessed, my Eudemus, as to know 
The bliss I have, with what I ought to owe 
The means that wrought it. How do I look to- 
day ? 

End. Excellent clear, believe it. This same 
Was well laid on. [fucus 

Liv. Methinks 'tis here not Avhite. 

Eud. Lend me your scarlet, lady. 'Tis the sun, 
Hath giv'n some little taint unto the ceruse : ' 
You should have used of the white oil I gave you. 
Sejanus, for your love ! his very name 

Commandeth above Cupid or his shafts 

[Paints her cheelis. 

Liv. Nay, now you've made it worse. 

Eud. I'll help it straight • 

And but pronounced, is a sufficient charm 
Against all rumor ; and of absolute power 
To satisfy for any lady's honor. 

Liv. What do you now, Eudemus ? 

Eud. Make a light fucus. 
To touch you o'er withal. — Honor'd Sejanus ! 
What act, though ne'er so strange and insolent, 
But that addition will at least bear out, 
If't do not expiate ? 

Liv. Here, good physician. 

Eud. I like this study to jireserve the love 
Of such a man, that comes not every hoiir 
To greet the world. — 'Tis now well, lady, you 

should 
Use of the dentifrice I prescribed you too, 
To clear your teeth, and the prepared pomatum. 
To smooth the skin : — A lady cannot be 
Too curious of her form, that still would hold 
The heart of such a person, made her captive, 
As you have his : who, to endear him more 
In your clear eye, hath put away his Avife,- 
The trouble of his bed, and your delights. 
Fair Apicata, and made spacious room 
To your new pleasures. 

Liv. Have not we return' d 
That with our hate to Drusus, and discovery ^ 
Of all his counsels ? 

Eud. Yes, and wisely, lady. 
The ages that succeed, and stand far off 
To gaze at your high prudence, shall admire, 
And reckon it an act without your sex : 
It hath that rare appearance. Some will think 
Your fortune could not yield a deeper sound, 

1 Cerussa (apiid Eomanos) inter fictitiores coloros erat et 
^niE solem ob calorem timebat. vid. Mart. Lib. ii. Epig. 41. 

CluDB cretata timet Fabulla nimbum, 
Cerussata timet Sabella solem. 

Ex qua tres liborns genucrat, iie pellici suspectaretur. 
Jacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. 
8 Leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 76. 



Than mix'd with Drusus ; but, when thty shal 
That, and the thunder of Sejanus meet, [heai 
Sejanus, whose high name doth strike the stars, 
And rings about the concave ; great Sejanus. 
Whose glories, style, and titles are himself. 
The often iterating of Sejanus : 
Tliey then Avill lose their thoughts, and be 

ashamed 
To take acquaintance of them. 

Re-enter Sejanus. 

Sej. I must make 
A rude departure, lady : Cresar sends 
With all his haste both of command and prayer. 
Be resolute in our plot ; you have my soul. 
As certain yours as it is my body's. 
And, wise physician,'* so prepare the poison, 
As you may lay the subtile operation 
Upon some natural descase of his : 
Your eunuch send to me. I kiss your hands, 
Glory of ladies, and commend my love 
To your best faith and memory. 

Liv. My lord, 
I shall but change your words. Farewell. Yet, 

this 
Remember for your heed, he loves you not j 
You know what I have told you : his designs 
Are full of grudge and danger ; we must use 
More than a common speed. 

Sej. Excellent lady, 
How you do fire my blood ! 

Liv. Well, you must go ? 
The thoughts be best, are least set forth to show. 

\E.xit Sejanub. 

Eud. When will you take some physic, lady ? 

Liv. When 
I shall, Eudemus : but let Drusus' drug 
Be first prepared. . 

Eud. Were Lygdus made, that's done ; 
I have it ready. And to-morrow morning 
I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve 
And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath 
To cleanse and clear the cutis ; against when 
I'll have an excellent new fucus made. 
Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain, or wind. 
Which you shall lay on with a breath, or oil, 
As you best like, and last some fourteen hours. 
This change came timely, lady, for your health, 
And the restoring your comiilexion. 
Which Drusus' choler had almost burnt up ! 
Wherein your fortune hath prescribed you 
Than art could do. [better 

Liv, Thanks, good physician, 
I'll use my fortune, you shall see, with ley* 
Is my coach ready ? [erence. 

Eud. It attends your highness. \Exeurd, 

SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace. 

Enter Sejanus. 

Sej. If this be not revenge, when I have done 
And made it perfect, let Egyptian slaves,* 
Parthians, and bare-foot Hebrews brand mj"- face, 
And print my body full of injuries. 

* Tacit. il)id. et Dion. Rom. Hist. Lili. Ivii. p. 703. 
6 Hi apud Romanes barbari et vilissiin' ipstiniab. JuT 
Wart £tr,. 



SE JANUS. 



246 



Thou lost thj'sclf, child Drusus, ■v\'hen thou 
thoughtst [stand 

Ttiou couldst outskip my vengeance ; or out- 
The power I had to crush thee into air. 
Thy follies now shall taste what kind of man 
They have provoked, and this thy father's house 
Crack in the flame of my incensed rage, 
Whose fury shall admit no shame or mean. — 
Adultery ! it is the lightest ill 
I will commit. A race of wicked acts 
Shall flow out of my anger, and o'erspread 
The world's wide face, which no posterity 
Shall e'er approve, nor yet keep silent : things 
That for their cunning, close, and cruel mark, 
Thj' father would wish his : and shall, perhaps, 
Carry the empty name, but avc the prize. 
On, then, my soiil, and start not in thy course ; 
Though heaven drop sulphur, and hell belch out 

fire, 
Laugh at the idle terrors ; tell proud Jove, 
Between his power and thine there is no odds : 
Twas only fear first in the world made gods.' 

Enter TiBERirs, attended. 

Tib. Is 5'et Sejanus come ! 

Sej. He's here, dread Csesar. 

Tib. Let all depart that chamber, and the next. 
[Exeunt Attendants. 
Sit down, my comfort.* When the master prince 
Of all the w6rld, Sejanus, saith he fears, 
Is it not fatal ? 

Sej. Yes, to those are fear'd. 

Tib. And not to him ? 

Sej. Not, if he wisely turn 
That part of fate he holdeth, first on them. 

Tib. That nature, blood, and laws of kind 

Sej. Do policy and state forbid it ? [forbid. 

Tib. No. 

Sej. The rest of poor respects, then, let go by ; 
State is enough to make the act just, them 

Tib. Long hate pursues such acts. [guiltj\ 

Sej. Whom hatred frights. 
Let him not dream of sovereignty. 

Tib. Are rites 
Of faith, love, piety, to be trod do^^Ti, 
Forgotten, and made vain ? 

Sej. All for a crown. 
The prince who shames a tyrant's name to bear, 
Shall never dare do anything, but fear ; 
All the command of sceptres quite doth perish, 
If it begin religious thoughts to cherish : 
Whole empires fall, sway'd by those nice re- 
It is the license of dark deeds protects [spects ; 
Ev'n states most hated, when no laws resist 
The sword, but that it acteth what it list. 

Tib. Yet so, we may do all things cruelly, 
Not safely. 

Sej. Yes, and do them thoroughly. 

Tib. Knows yet Sejanus whom we poi\it at ? 
- Sej. Ay, 

3r else my thought, my sense, or both do err : 
•Tis Agrippina.-' 

Tib. See, anu her proud race. [apace 

iS^'. Proud ! dangerous,* Caesar : for in them 



1 Idem, et Petio. Arbiter, Sat. et Statins, Lib. iii. 

2 De liac consultatione, vid. Suet. Tib. c. 55. 

3 De Agi-ip. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 69. 

* De Sejaiii consil. in Af rip. leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 93, 
Lib. IV. p. 77-79. de Tib! j'lsn Lib. iii. p. 52. 



The father's spirit shoots up. Gcrmanicus* 
Lives in their looks, their gait, their form, t' up- 
braid us 
With his close death, if not revenge the same. 

Tib. The act's not known. 

Sej. Not proved : but whispering Fame 
Knowledge and proof doth to the jealous give, 
Who, than to fail, would their own thought be- 
lieve. 
It is not safe, the children draw long breatii.. 
That are provoked by a parent's death. 

Tib. It is as dangerous to make them hence. 
If nothing but their birth be their off"ence. 

Sej. Stay, till they strike at Cajsar; then their 
Will be enough ; but late and out of time [crime 
For him to punish. 

Tib. Do they purpose it ? 

Sej. You know, sir, thunder speaks not till it 
Be not secure ; none swiftlier are opprcst, [hit. 
Than they whom confidence betrays to rest. 
Let not your daring make your danger such : 
All power is to bo fear'd, Avhcre 'tis too much. 
The j^oUths are of themselves hot, violent. 
Full of great thought ; and that male-spirited 

dame,® 
Their mother, slacks no means to put them on, 
By large allowance, popixlar prescntings. 
Increase of train and state, suing for titles ; 
Hath them commended with like prayers,' like 

vows, 
To the same gods, with Ctesar : days and nightu 
She spends in banquets and ambitious feasts 
For the nobility ; where Cains Silius, 
Titius Sabinus, old Arruntius, 
Asinius G alius, Furnius, Kegulus, 
And others of that discontented list. 
Are the prime guests. There, and to these, she 
tells [whose wife. 

"Whose niece she was,^ whose daughter, and 
And then must they compare her with Augusta, 
Ay, and prefer her too ; commend her form, 
Extol her ^ fruitfulness ; at which a shower 
Falls for the memory of Germanicus, [praise, 
Which they blow over straight with windy 
And puffing hopes of her aspiring sons ; [pleased, 
Who, with these hourly ticklings, grow so 
And wantonly conceited of themselves. 
As now, they stick not to believe they're such 
As these do give them out ; and would be 

thought 
More than competitors, immediate heirs. 
Whilst to their thirst of rule, they win the rout 
(That's still the friend of novelty)'" with hope 
Of future freedom, which on every change 
That greedily, though emptily expects. 
Cccsar, 'tis age in all things breeds neglects. 



5 Gnaris omnibus Istam Tiberio Germanici mortem male 
dissimulari. Tacit. Lib. iii. ibid. Hue confer Tacit, narrat. 
de morte Pisonis. p. 55. et Lib. iv. p. 74. Germanici mortem 
inter prospera ducebat. 

De anini. virili Agrip. cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 12 et 
22. Lib. ii. p. 47. 

^ Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

8 Erat enim neptis August!, Agri|)pK et Julia; filia, Ger- 
manici uxor. Suet. Aug. c. G4. 

9 De foecund. ejus. vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib^ii. p. 39. et Lib, 
iv. p. 77. 

w Displicere regnant.bus civilia filiorum ingenia: nequp 
ob aliud iiiterceptos quam quia Pop. Rom. squo jure com' 
plecti, reddita libertate, agitaverint. Nat. Tacit. Lib. ii. Aan 
p. 49. 



246 



SEJANUS. 



And princes that will keep old dignity 
Must not admit too youthful heirs stand by ; 
Not their own issue : but so darkly set 
As shadows are in picture, to give height 
And lustre to themselves. 

Tib. "NVe will command ' 
Theii- rank thoughts down, and with a stricter 

hand 
Than wc have yet put forth ; their trains must 
Their titles, feasts, and factions. [bate, 

SeJ. Or your state. 
But how, sir, will you Avork ? 

Tib. Confine them. 

Sej. No. 
They are too great, and that too faint a blow 
To give them noAV ; it would have scrv'd at first. 
When -v^-ith the weakest touch their knot had 

burst. 
But, now, your care must be, not to detect 
The smallest cord, or line of your suspect ; 
For such, Avho know the weight of prince's fear. 
Will, Avhen they find themselves discover'd, rear 
Their forces, like seen snakes, that else would lie 
Roll'd in their circles, close : nought is more 

high, 
Daring, or desperate, than offenders found ; 
Where guilt is, rage and courage both abound. 
The course must be, to let them still swell up, 
Riot, and surfeit on blind fortune's cup ; 
Give them more place, more dignities, more style, 
Call them to court, to senate ; in the while, 
Take from their strength some one or twain, or 

more, 
Of the main fautors, (it will fright the store,) 
And, by some by-occasion. Thus,' with slight 
You shall disarm them first ; and they, in night 
Of their ambition, not perceive the train. 
Till in the engine they are caught and slain. 

Tib. We would not kiU, if we knew how to 
save ; 
Yet, than a throne, 'tis cheaper give a grave. 
Is there no way to bind tliem by deserts ? 

SeJ. Sir, wolves do change their hair, but not 
their hearts. 
While thus your thought unto a mean is tied, 
You neither dare enough, nor do provide. 
All modesty is fond : and chiefly where 
The subject is no less compell'd to bear, 
Than praise his sovereign's acts. 

Tib. We can no longer ^ 
Keep on our mask to thee, our dear Sej anus ; 
Thy thoughts are ours, in all, and Ave but proved 
Their voice, in our designs, Avhich by assenting 
Hath more confirm'd us, than if heart'ning Jove 
Had, from his hundred statues, bid us strike. 
And at the stroke click'd all his marble thumbs.' 
But AA'ho shall first be struck ? 

ScJ. First Caius Silius ; 
He is the most of mark, and most of danger : 
In poAver and reputation equal strong, 

1 Vid. Suet. Tib. c. 54. 

- Tiberium variis artibus devinxit adeo Sejanus, ut ob- 
Bcurum adversuni alios, sibi iini incautuni, intectiimquo cfii- 
eeret. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 74. Vid. Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. 
Ivii. p. 707. 

3 Preniere pollicem, apud Roraanos, maximi favoris erat 
Bignum. Horat. Epist. ad Lollium. Faiitor utroqiie horum 
laudabit pollice liidum. Et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. xxviii. cap. 
S. Pollices, cum faveamus, premeie etiam proverbio jiifae- 
mur. Ue interp. loci, vid. Ang. Pol. Miscell. cap. xlii. et 
Turn. Adver. Lib. xi. cap. vi. 



Having commanded'' an imperial array 
Seven years together, A-anquish'd Sacrovir 
In Germany, and thence obtain'd to Avear 
The ornaments triumphal. His steep fall, 
I3y hoAV much it doth give the Aveightier crack, 
Will send more Avounding terror to the rest, 
Command them stand aloof, and give more waj 
To our surprising of the principal. 

Tib. But Avhat,'^ Sabinus ? 

SeJ. Let liim groAV a Avhile, 
His fate is not yet ripe : Ave must not pluck 
At all together, lest Ave catch ourselves. 
And there's Arruntius too, he only talks. 
But Sosia,^ Silius' Avife, Avotild be Avound in 
NoAv, for she hath a fury lit her breast, 
INIore than hell ever knew ; and Avould be sent 
Thither in time. Then is there one Cremutius' 
Cordus, a Avriting felloAV, they have got 
To gather notes of the precedent times. 
And make them into AnnaLs ; a most tart 
And bitter spirit, I hear ; Avho, under color 
Of praising those, doth tax the present state, 
Censures the men, the actions, leaves no trick, 
No practise txnexamined, parallels 
The times, the governments ; a profcst champion 
For the old liberty 

Tib. A perishing Avretch ! 
As if there Avere that chaos bred in things. 
That laAvs and liberty Avould not rather choose 
To be quite broken, and ta'en hence? by us, 
Than have the stain to be preserved by such. 
Have Ave the means to make these guilty first ? 

SeJ. Trust that to me : let Cissar, by his poAver 
But cause a formal meeting of the senate, 
I Avill have matter and accusers ready. 

Tib. But hoAv ? let us consult. 

SeJ. We shall mispend 
The time of action. Counsels are unfit 
In business, Avhere all rest is more pernicious 
Than rashness can be. Acts of this close kind 
Thrive more by execution than advice. 
There is no lingering in that Avork begun, 
WHiich cannot praised be, until through done. 

Tib. Our edicts shall forthwith command a 
court.^ 
While I can live, I Avill prevent earth's fury : 
'Euov -davuiTog yaht i.tiy_9i\Tu) nvo'i.^ [Exit. 

Enter Julius Posthumus. 

Pos. ]\Iy lord Sejanus 

SeJ. Julius '" Posthumus ! [pina's • 

Come Avith my Avish ! What ncAvs from Agrip* 

Pos. Faith, none. They all lock up them- 
selves a'late, 
Or talk in character ; I have not seen 
A company so changed. Except they had 
Intelligence by augury of our practice — 

SeJ. ^\''hen were you there ? 

Pos. Last night. 

SiJ. And Avhat guests found you ? 

4 Tacit. Lib. Ann. iii. p. 63. et Lib. iv. p. 79. 

5 Tacit, ibid. 
Tacit, ibid. 

7 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib 
Ivii. p. 710, et Sen. Cons, ad Marc. cap. 1. et fusiua 
cap. 2-3. 

8 Edicto ut plurinium Sonatorcs m cuviam vocitos con 
Stat. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 3. 

9 Vulgaris quidiin versus, quern sxpe Tiber, recitasac 
memoratur. Dion. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 799. 

10 De Julio Postumo, vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77 



SEJANUS. 



24'' 



Pos. Sabinu?, Silius, the old list, A /runtius, 
f urnius, and Gallus. 

Sej. Would not these tallt ? 

Pos. Little: 
And yet we offer'd choice of arguvjont, 
Satrius was with me. 

Sej. Well : 'tis guilt enough 
Their often meeting. You foiT';'. to extol - 
The hospitable lady ? 

Pos. No ; that trick 
Was well put home, and hf.d f^aci eeded too, 
But that Sabinus cough'd a caution out; 
For she began to swell. 

Sej. And may she burf,t ! 
Julius, I would have yoii fro instantly 
Unto the palace of the gi'eat Augusta, 
And, by your ^ kinde.'Jt &iend, get swift access ; 
Acquaint her with these meetings : tell the 

words ■'* 
You brought me the other day, of Silius, 
Add somewhat to them. Make her understand 
The danger of Sabinus, and the times, 
Out of his closeness. Give Arruntius* words 
Of malice against Cnesar ; so, to Gallus : 
But, above all, to Agrippina. Say, 
As you may truly, that her infinite pride,'* 
Propt with the hopes of her too fruitful womb, 
With popular studies gapes tor sovereignty. 
And threatens Caesar. Pray Aagusta then. 
That for her own, great Caesar's, and the pub- 
Lic safety, she be pleased to urge these dangers. 
Caesar is too secure, ho must be told, 
And best he'll take it from a mother's tongue. 
Alas ! what is't for liS to sound, to explore. 
To watch, oppose, jrlot, practice, or prevent. 
If he, for Avhom it is so strongly labor'd. 
Shall, out of greatness and free spirit, be 
Supinely negligent ? our city's now * 
Divided as i:i time o' the civil war. 
And men foibear not to declare themselves 
Of Agrippina's party. Every day 
The faction multiplies ; and Avill do more. 
If not resisted : you can best enlarge it. 
As you find audience. Noble Posthumus, 
Commend me to your Prisca : and pray her, 
She will solicit this great business. 
To earnest and most present execution. 
With all her utmost credit with Augusta. 

Pos. I shall not fail in my instructions. YEx'U. 

Sej. This second, from his mother, will well 
urge 
Our late design, and spur on Csesar's rage ; 
Which else might grow remiss. The way to put 
A prince in blood, is to present the shapes 
Of dangers, greater than they are, like late, 
Or early shadows ; and, sometimes, to feign 
Where there are none, only to make him fear ! 
His fear will make him cruel : and once enter' d. 
He doth not easily learn to stop, or spare 
Where he may doubt. This have I made my rule. 
To thrust Tiberius into tyranny. 
And make Mm toil, to turn aside those blocks, 

1 Proximi Agrip. inliciebantiir pravis sermonibus tumidos 
jpiritus peistim'ilare. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 

2 Mutilia Prisca, quaj in animum Augusta; valida. Tac. 
bid. 

* Verba Silii immodice jactala, vid. apud Tac. Ann. Lib. 
;v. p. 79. 
■1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 
5 Use apud Tacit, leg. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 



Which I alone could not remove with safety, 
Drusus once gone, Germanicus' three sons ** 
Would clog my way ; whose guards have toe 

much faith 
To be corrupted : and their mother kno^vm 
Of too, too unreproved a chastity. 
To be attempted, as light Livia was. 
Work then, my art, on Caesar's fears, as they 
On those they fear, 'till all my lets be clear'd. 
And he in ruins of his house, and hate 
Of all his subjects, bury his own state ; 
Wlien with my peace and safety, I will rise, 
By making him the public sacrifice. [Exit 

SCENE ni. — A Room in Agrippina's Bouse. 

Enter Satrius aud Natta. 
Sat. They're grown exceeding circumspect, 

and wary. 
Nat. They have us in the wind : and yet Ar ■ 
Cannot contain himself. [runtiuE 

Sat. Tut, he's not yet 
Look'd after ; there are others more desired,^ 
That are more silent. 

Nat. Here he comes. Away. [Exeunt 

Enter Sabixus, Arruntius, and Cordus. 

Sab. How is it, that these beagles haunt the 
Of Agrippina ? [house 

Arr. O, they hunt,s they hunt ! 
There is some game here lodged, which they 
To make the great ones sport. [must rouse. 

Cor. Did you observe 
How they inveigh' d 'gainst Csesar ? 

Arr. Ay, baits, baits, 
For us to bite at : would I have my flesh 
Torn by the public hook, these qualified hang- 
Should be my company. [meu 

Cor. Here comes another. 

[DoM. Afer iiasses over the Stage. 

Arr. Ay, there's a man,^ Afer the orator ! 
One that "hath phrases, figures, and fine flowers. 
To strew his rhetoric with,'" and doth make 
To get him note, or name, by any offer [haste, 
Where blood or gain be objects ; steeps his words. 
When he would kill, in artificial tears : 
The crocodile of Tyber ! him I love. 
That man is mine ; he hath my heart and voice 
\Vh.en I would curse ! he, he. 

Sab. Contemn the slaves. 
Their present lives will be their future graves. 

[Exeu7it, 

SCENE IV. — Another Apartment in the same. 

Enter Silius, Agrippina, Nero, and SosiA. 
Sil. May't please your highness not forget 
yourself; 

6 Quorum non dubia successio, neque spargi vencnum in 
tres poterat, &c. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 77. 

7 Silius, Sabinus, de quibus supra. 

8 Tib. tempor. delatores genus hominura publico exitio 
repertuni, et pcenis quidem nunquam satis coercituin, pet 
prsniia eliciebantiir. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 82. 

9 De Domit. Af. vid. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89-93. 

10 Quoquo facinore properus clarescere. Tacit, ibid. Et 
infra, prosperiore eloqvientis quam inorum fanii fuit. Et 
p. 93. diu egens, et parto nuper prsemio male us is, plura a* 
flagitia accingeretur. 



2t8 



SE JANUS. 



I dare not, with ivy manners, to attempt 
Your trouble farther. 

Ar/r. Farewell, noble Silius ! 

Sil. Most royal princess, 

Af/r. Sosia stays with us ? [grace 

Sil. She is your servant, and doth owe your 
An honest, but unprofitable love, [but virtue's ? 

A(/r. How can that be, when there's no gain 

Sil. You take the moral, not the politic sense. 
I meant, as she is bold, and free of speech. 
Earnest ' to utter Avhat her zealoiis thought 
Travails withal, in honor of your house ; 
Which act, as it is simply bom in her, 
Partakes of love and honesty ; but may, 
By the ovcr-oftcn, and unscason'd use, 
Turn to your loss and danger : '^ for yoiir state 
Is waited on by envies, as by eyes ; 
And every second guest j'our tables take 
Is a fee'd spy, to observe who goes, who comes ; 
What conference you have, with Avhom, where, 
when, [thoughts 

What the discourse is, Avhat the looks, the 
Of every person there, they do extract, 
And make into a substance. 

Agr. Hear me, Silius. 
Were all Tiberius' body stuck with eyes, 
And every wall and hanging in my house 
Transparent, as this lawn I wear, or atir ; 
Yea, had Sejanus both his cars as long 
As to my inmost closet, I would hate 
To whisper any thought, or change an act, 
To be made Juno's rival. Virtue's forces 
Show ever noblest in conspicuous courses. 

Sil. 'Tis great, and bravely spoken, like the 
spirit 
Of Agrippina : yet, your highness knows, 
There is nor loss nor shame in providence ; 
Few can, what all should do, beware enough. 
You may perceive ^ with what officious face, 
Satrius, and Natta, Afor, and the rest 
Visit your house, of late, to enquire the secrets ; 
And with Avhat bold and privileged art, they rail 
Against Augusta, j-ea, and at Tiberius ; 
Tell tricks of Livia, and Sejanus ; all 
To excite, and call your indignation on. 
That they might hear it at more libert}^ 

Agr. You're too suspicious, Silius. 

Sil. Pray the gods, 
I be so, Agrippina ; but I fear 
Some subtile practice.'' They that durst to strike 
At so exampless, and unblamed a life. 
As that of the renowned Germanicus, 
Will not sit down Avith that exploit alone : 
He threatens many that hath injured one. 

Vera. 'Twere best rip forth their tongues, sear 
out their eyes, 
When next they come. 

Sos. A fit reward for spies. 

Enter Duusus, jun. 
Dru. jun. Hear you the rumor ? 
Agr.' What ^ 

Dru. jun. Drusus is dying.* 
Agr. Dying ! 



1 Vid. Tar. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

2 Ibid. p. 77. 

3 Tacit, ibid, et pp. 90 et 93. 

: Suet. Tib. c. 2. Dion. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 705. 
Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 74, 75, 7C, 77. 



Nero. That's strange ! 

Agr. You were with him yesternight. 

Dru. Jun. One met Eudemus the physician. 
Sent for, but now ; who thinks he cannot live. 

Sil. Thinks ! if it be arrived at that, he knows, 
Or none. 

Agr. 'Tis quick ! what should be his disease f 

Sil. Poison, poison 

Agr. How, Silius ! 

Nero. What's that ? [blow 

Sil. Nay, nothing. Tlicre was late a certain 
Given o' the face. 

Nero. Ay, to Sejanus. 

Sil. True. 

Dru. jun. And what of that ? 

Sil. I'm glad I gave it not. 

Vera. But there is somewhat else ? 

Sil. Yes, private meetings. 
With a great lady [sir], at a physician's, 
And a wife turn'd away. 

Vera. Ha ! 

Sil. Toys, mere toys : 
What wisdom's now in the streets, in the comi- 
mon mouth ? [I know not what : 

Dru. jun. Fears, whisperings, tumults, noise. 
They say the Senate sit."* 

sil. I'll thither straight ; 
And see what's in the iforgo. 

Agr. Good SiHus do ; 
Sosia and I will in. 

Sil. Haste you, my lords. 
To visit the sick prince ; tender your loves, 
And sorrows to the people. This Sejanus, 
Trust my divining soul, hath plots on all : 
No tree, that stops his prospect, but must fall. 

[Exetmi. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — T/ie Senate-House. 

Enter Prsecones, Lictorcs, Sejanus, Varro, LiT- 
lARIS, COTTA, a7id Afer. 

Sej. 'Tis only'' you must urge against him. 
Nor I nor CiBsar may appear therein, [Varro ; 
Except in your defence, who are the consul ; 
And, under color of late enmity 
Between your father and his, may better do it, 
As free from all suspicion of a practice, [read ■ 
Here be your notes, what points to touch at; 
Be cunning in them. Afer has them too. 

Var. But is he summoned ? 

Sej. No. It was debated 
By Csesar, and concluded as most fit 
To take him imprepared. 

Afer. And prosecute 
All under name of treason. '^ 

Var. I conceive. 

Enter Sabinus, Gallus, Lepidus, and Arruntius 
Sab. Drusus being dead, Caesar will not be 

here. 
Gal. What should the business of this senate 

be? 



6 Vid. Tac. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 7G. 

7 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Scd cuncta qujsstione roSr 
jestatis exercita. 



SEJANUS. 



243 



Arr. That can my subtle whisperers tell you : 
That are the good-dull-noble lookers on, [Ave 
Are only call'd to keep the marble warm. 
What should we do with those deep mysteries, 
Proper to these fine heads ? let them alone. 
Our ignorance may, perchance, help us be saved 
From whips and furies. 

Gal. Sec, see, see their action ! 

Arr. Ay, now their heads do travail, now they 
work ; 
Their faces run like shittles ; they are weaving 
Some curious cobweb to catch flics. 

Sab. Observe, 
They take their places. 

Arr. What,* so low ! 

Gal. O yes, 
They m.ust be seen to flatter Ccesar's grief, 
Though but in sitting. 

Var. Bid us silence. 

Prts. Silence ! 

Var. Fathers conscript,^ may this our present 
meeting 
Tnni fair, and fortunate to the common-xoealth ! 

Enter Silius, and other Senators. 

Sej. See, Silius enters. 

fUl. Hail, grave fathers ! 

Lie. Stand. 
Silius, forbear thy place. 

Sen. How ! 

Free. Silius, stand forth. 
The consul hath to charge thee. 

Lie. Room for Cjesar. 

Arr. Is he come too ! nay then expect a trick. 

Sab. Silius accused ! sure he will answer nobly. 

Enter Tiberius, attended. 
Tib. We stand amazed, fathers, to beliold 
This general dejection. \VlTierefore sit 
Reme's consiils thus dissolved,' as they had lost 
All the remembrance both of style and plact; ? 
It not becomes. No woes are of fit weight, 
To make the honor of the empire stoop : 
Though I, in my peculiar self, may meet 
Just reprehension, that so suddenly. 
And, in so fresh a grief, would greet the senate, 
AVhen private tongues, of kinsmen and allies. 
Inspired with comforts, lothly are endured. 
The face of men not seen, and scarce the day, 
To thousands that communicate our loss. 
Nor can I argue these of weakness ; since 
They take but natural Avays ; yet I must seek 
For stronger aids, and those fair helps draAV out 
From Avarin embraces of the common-wealth. 
Our mother, great Augusta, 's struck Avith time, 
Our self imprest Avith aged characters, 
Drusus is gone, his children 3'oung and babes ; 
Our aims must noAv reflect on those that may 
GIa'C timely succor to these present ills. 
And are our only glad-siu-viving hopes. 
The noble issue of Germanicus, 
Nero and Drusus : might it please the consul 
Honor them in, they both attend without. 
1 would present them to the senate's care, 

1 Tacit, eod. Lib. iv. p. 76. Consulesque sede vulgari per 
jpeciem nioestitiae sedentes. 

2 Piffifatio soletinis Consukim Rom. vid. Bar. Briss. de for. 
Lib. ii. 

8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv p. 70. 



And raise those siins of joy that should drink ur: 
These floods of sorroAV in your drowned eyea 

Arr. By Jove, I am not ffipidus enough 
To understand this Sphynx. 

Sab. The princes come. 

Enter Nero, and Drusus, junior. 

Tib. Approach you, noble Nero, noble Drusus, 
These princes, fathers, when their parent died, 
I gave unto their uncle, Avith this prayer, 
That though he had proper issue of his OAvn, 
He would no less bring up, and foster these. 
Than that self-blood ; and by that act confirm 
Their Avorths to him, and to posterity. 
Drusus ta'en hence, I turn my prayers to you. 
And 'fore our country, and our gods, beseech 
You take, and rule Augustus' nephcAv's sons 
Sprung of the noblest ancestors ; and so 
Accomplish both my duty, and your OAvn. 
Nero, and Drusus, these shall be to you 
In place of parents, these your fathers, these ; 
And not unfitly : for you are so born. 
As all your good, or ill's the common-Avealth's 
RecoiA'c them, you strong guardians ; and ble.=' 

gods, _ 
Make all their actions ansAver to their bloods . 
Let their great titles find increase by them, 
Not they by titles. Set them as in place, 
So in example, above all the Romans : 
And may they knoAv no rivals but themselves. 
Let Fortune giA'e them nothing ; but, attend 
Upon their A'irtue : and that still come forth 
Greater than hope, and better than their fame. 
Relieve me, fathers, Avith your general voice. 

Senators. May all the gods consent to Ccesar'd 
wish, 
And add to any honors that may croion 
The hopieful issue of Germanicus ! 

Tib. We thank you, reverend fathers, in theii 
right. [the space 

Arr. If this Avere true now ! but the space, 
BetAveen the breast and lips — Tiberius' heart 
Lies a thought further than another man's. 

[AsidCh 

Tib. ]My comforts are so flowing in my joys, 
As, in them, all my streams of grief are lost. 
No less than are land-Avaters in the sea. 
Or shoAvers iu rivers ; though their cause wai 

such, 
As might have sprinkled ev'n the gods with 

tears : 
Yet, since the greater doth embrace the less. 
We coA^etously obey. 

Arr. Well acted, Csesar. [Aside, 

Tib. And noAv I am the happy Avitncss 2nade 
Of your so much desired affections 
To this great issue, I could aa-IsIi, the Fates 
Would here set peaceful period to my days ; 
HoAvever to my labors, I entreat, 
And beg it of this senate, some fit ease. 

Arr. Laugh, fathers, laugh,'' have you no 
spleens about you ? {AsiiU, 

Tib. The burden is too heavy I sustain 
On my unAvilling shoulders ; and I pray 
It may be taken off, and reconferred 



< Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 76. Ad vana et toties inrisa revoluius 
do leddenda Rep. utquo consiiles, seu Cjuis alius regimsr 
susciperent 



260 



SEJANUS. 



Upon the consuls, or some other Roman, 
More able, and more -worthy. 

Arr. Laugh on still. [shida. 

Sab. Why this cloth render all the rest sus- 

Gal. It poisons all. [pected ! 

An: O, do you taste it then ? 

Sab. It takes away my faith to any thing 
fie shall hereafter speak. 

An: Ay, to pray that. 
Which would be to his head as hot as thunder, 
Gainst which he wears that charm ' should but 
Receive him at his v.-ord. [the court 

Gal. Hear ! 

Tib. For myself 
I know my weakness, and so little covet, 
I,ike some gone past, the weight that will op- 
press me, 
As my ambition is the counter-point. 

An: Finely maintained ; good still ! 

SeJ. But Rome, whose blood, [relies 

Whose nerves, whose life, whose very frame 
On Ccesar's strength, no less than heaven on 
Cannot admit it but with general ruin. [Atlas, 

Arr. Ah ! are you there to bring him off ? 

[Aside, 

SeJ. Let Cajsar 
No more then urge a point so contrary 
To Csesar's greatness, the grieved senate's vows, 
Or Rome's necessity. 

Gal. He comes about — 

An: More nimbly than Yertumnus. 

Tib. For the publick, 
I may be drawn to shew I can neglect 
All private aims, though I affect my rest ; 
But if the senate still command me serve, 
I must be glad to practice my obedience.'-' 

Arr. You must and v,-ill, sir. We do know it. 

[Aside. 

Senators. Cccsar, 
Live long and happ]/, great and royal Casar ; 
The gods jireserve thee and thy modesty, 
Thy toisdom and thy innocence ! 

Arr. AVhere is't ? 
The praj'cr is made before the subject. [Aside. 

Senators. Guard 
His meekness, Jove ; his piety, his care. 
His bounty 

An: And his subtility, I'll put in : 
Yet he'll keep that himself, without the gods. 
All prayers arc vain for him. [Aside. 

Tib. We will not hold 
Your patience, fathers, -with long answer ; but 
Shall still contend to be what you desire, 
And work to satisfy so great a hope. 
Proceed to yoxir affairs. 

Arr. Now, Silius, guard thee ; 
The curtain's drawing. Afer advani eth. [Aside. 

Prw. Silence ! 

Afer. Cite ' Caius Silius. 

Pr(B. Caius Silius ! 

Sil. Here. 

1 ^Oainst which he wears a charm.] Tonitrua prater 
moduin expavescebat ; et tnrbatioro coelo iniiiqiiain tion 
-oronam lauream capite gestavit, quod fiilmino afflari 
icgetiir id genus frondis. Suet. Tib. c. C9. Plin. Nat. 
Hist. Lib. XV. c. 20. 

2 Samper pjrplexa et oliscura crat. Tib. vid. Tacit. Ann. 
Lib. i. p. 5. 

3 Citabafut reus e tribunali voce praconis. vid. Bar. 
iJiisson. Lib. 5 do form. 



Afer. The triumph that thou hadst in Ger- 
For thy late victory on Sacrovir, [many 

Thou hast cnjoy'd so freely, Caius Silius, 
As no man it envied thee ; nor woirld Csesar, 
Or Rome admit, that thou wert then defrauded 
Of any honors thy deserts could ci'aim, 
In the fair service of the commonwealth : 
But now, if, after all their loves and graces, 
(Tliy actions, and their courses being discover'd) 
It shall appear to Csesar and this senate. 
Thou hast defiled those glories witli thy crimes— 

.S'(7. Crimes ! 

Afer. Patience, Silius. 

Sil. Tell thy mule of patience ; [them. 

I am a Roman. What are my crimes ? proclaim 
Am I too rich, too honest for the times ? 
Have I or treasure, jewels, land, or houses 
That some informer gapes for ? is my strength 
Too much to be admitted, or my knowledge ? 
These now are crimes.'* 

Afer. Nay, Silius, if the name 
Of crime so touch thee, with what impotence 
Wilt thou endure the matter to be search'd ? 

Sil. I tell thee, Afer, with more scorn than 
Employ your mercenary tongue and art, [fear 
Where's my accuser ? 

Var. Here. 

Arr. Varro, the consul ! 
Is he thrust in ? [Aside 

Var. 'Tis I accuse thee, Silius. 
Against the majesty of Rome, and Csosar, 
I do pronounce thee here a guilty cause. 
First of begii-ming ^ and occasioning. 
Next, drawing out the -war in ^ Gallia, [long 
For which thou late triumph'st ; dissembling 
Tliat Sacrovir to be an enemy. 
Only to make thy entertainment more. [ince : 
Whilst thou, and thy wife Sosia, poll'd the prov- 
Wherein, -with sordid, base desire of gain, 
Thou hast discredited thy actions' worth, 
And been a traitor to the state. 

Sil. Thou licst. [often. 

Arr. I thank thee, Silius, speak so still and 
I'ar. If I not prove it, Csesar,' but unjustly 
Have call'd him into trial ; here I bind 
IMyself to suffer, what I claim against him ; 
And yield to have what I have spoke, confirm' (J 
By judgment of the court, and all good men. 

Sil. Caesar, I crave to have my cause deferr'd; 
Till this man's consulship be out. 

Tib. We cannot, 
Nor maj"- we grant it. 

Sil. Why ? shall he design 
My day of trial ? Is he my accuser, 
And must he be my judge ? 

Tib. It hath been usual, 
And is a right that ciistom hath allow'd 
The magistrate," to call forth private men ; 
And to apjioint their day : which privilege 
We may not in the consul see infringed, 

4 Vid. Suet. Tib. Tacit. Dio. Senec. 

5 Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. Conscientii belli, Sacrovir diu 
dissimiil.'itus, victoria per avaritiain foedata, et uxor Sosia 
ai-^'iioli:uitiir. 

1 Belluui Sacrovirianum in Gall. erat. Triumph, in Germ. 

vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. C3. 
7 Vid. accusaiidi formulam apnd Brisson. Lib. v. de form 
3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Adversatus est CiEsar, soli 

turn quippe magistratibus diem privatis dicere, nee inOrin 

gendura Consulis jus, cujus vigiliis, Sec. 



SEJANUS. 



25J 



By whc'se deep watches, and industrious care 
It is so labor' d, as the common-wealth 
Receive no loss, by any oblique course. 

Sil. Csesar, thy fraud is worse than violence. 

Tib. Silius, mistake us not, we dare not use 
The credit of the consul to th)' Avrong ; 
But only do preserve his place and power, 
So far as it concerns the dignity 
And honor of the state. 

Arr. Believe him, Silius. 

Cot, Why, so he may, Arruntius. 

Arr. I say so. 
And he may choose too. 

Tib. By the Capitol, 
And all our gods, but that the dear republic. 
Our sacred laws, and just authority 
Are interess'd therein, I should be silent. 

Afcr. 'Please Caesar to give way unto his trial. 
He shall have justice. 

Sil. Nay, I shall have law ; 
Shall I not, Afer ? speak. 

Afer. Would you have more ? 

Sil. No, my well-spoken man, I would no 
more ; 
Nor less : might I enjoy it natural, 
Not taught to speak unto your present ends. 
Free from thine, his, and all your unkind han- 
dling, 
Furious enforcing, most unjust presuming. 
Malicious, and manifold applying, 
Foul wrestling, and impossible construction. 

Afcr. He raves, he raves. 

Sil. Thou durst not teU me so, 
Hadst thou not Caesar's warrant. I can see 
Wliose power condemns me. 

Var. This betrays his spirit : 
This doth enough declare him what he is. 

Sil. What am I ? speak. 

Var. An enemy to the state. 

Sil. Because I am an enemy to thee, 
And such corrupted ministers o' the state. 
That here art made a present instrument 
To ' gratify it with thine own disgrace. 

SrJ- This, to the consul, is most insolent. 
And impious ! 

Sil. Ay, take part. Reveal yourselves, 
Alas ! I scent not your confederacies. 
Your plots, and combinations ! I not know 
Minion Scjanus hates me ; and that all, 
This boast of law, and law, is but a form, 
A net of Vulcan's filing, a mere ingine, 
To take that life by a pretext of justice, 
Which yoii pursue in malice ! I want brain, 
Or nostril to persuade me, that your ends. 
And purposes arc made to what they are, 
Before my answer ! O, you equal gods, 
Whose justice not a world of wolf- turn' d men 
Shall make me to accuse, howe'er provoked ; 
Have I for this so oft engaged myself? 
Stood in the heat and fefvor of a fight. 
When Phoebus sooner hath forsook the day 
Than I the field, against the blue-eyed Gauls, 
And crisped Germans ? when our Roman eagles 
Kavefann'd the fire, with their laboring wings, 
And no blow dealt, that left not death behind it ? 
When I have charged, alone, into the troops 

1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. Immissusque Varro consul 
'jui paternas inimicitius obtondens, odiis Sejaui per dedecus 
rua'ii pratilicabatui'. 



Of curl'd Sicambrians,^ routed them, and came 
Not off, -ndth backward ensigns of a slave ; 
But forward marks, wounds on my breast and 

face, 
Were meant to thee, O Csesar, and thy Rome ? 
And have I this return ! did I, for this, 
Perform so noble and so brave defeat 
On Sacrovir ! O Jove, let it become me [cern, 
To boast my deeds, when he whom they con- 
Shall thus forget them. 

Afer. Silius, Silius, 
These are the common customs of thy blood. 
When it is high with wine, as now Avith rage : 
This well agrees with that intemperate vaunt, 
Thou lately mad'st ^ at Agrippina's table, 
That, when all other of the troops were prone 
To fall into rebellion, only thine 
Remain' d in their obedience. Thou wert he 
That saved the empire, which had then been 

lost 
Had but thy legions, there, rebell'd.or mutined ; 
Thy virtue met, and fronted every peril. 
Thou gav'st to Csesar, and to Rome their surety ; 
Their name, their strength, their spii-it, and their 
Their being was a donative from thee. [state, 

Arr. Well worded, and most like an orator. 

Tib. Is this true, Silius ? 

Sil. Save thy question, Ccesar ; 
Thy spy of famous credit hath afHrm'd it 

An: Excellent Roman ! 

Sab. He doth answer stoutly. 

SeJ. If this be so, there needs no farthei 
Of crime against him. _ [cause 

T'^n;)-. What can more impeach 
The royal dignity and state of Ca?sar, 
Than to be urged with a benefit 
He cannot pay ? 

Cot. In this, all Caesar's fortune 
Is made unequal to the courtesy. 

Lat. His means are clean destroyed that 
should requite. 

Gal. Nothing is great enough for Silius' merit. 

Ar>: Gallus on that side too ! [Aside. 

Sil. Come, do not hunt. 
And labor so about for circumstance. 
To make him guilty whom you have foredoom'd* 
Take shorter ways, I'll meet your purposes. 
The words were mine, and more I now wUl say : 
Since I have done thee that great service, Caesar, 
Thou still hast fear'd me; and in place of 

grace. 
Return' d me hatred : so soon all best turns, 
With doubtful princes, turn deep injuries 
In estimation, when they greater rise 
Than can be answer'd. Benefits, with you, 
Are of no longer pleasure, than you can 
With ease restore them ; that transcended once. 
Your studies are not how to thank, but kill. 
It is your nature, to have all men slaves 
To you, but you acknowledging to none, [come 
The means that make your greatness, must not 
In mention of it ; if it do, it takes 
So much away, you think : and that which 
help'd, 

a Popiili Germ, liodio Geldri in Belgica sunt inter M'Para 
et Rlienum, quos celebrat Alart. Spec. 3. 

Crinibus in nodum tortis venere Sicambri. 

3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 79. 



252 



SEJANITS. 



Shall soonest perish, if it stand in eye, 
Where it may front, or but upbraid the high. 

Cot. Suffer him speak no more. 

Var, Note but liis spirit. 

Afer. This shews him in the rest. 

Lat. Let him be censured. 

Sej. He hath spoke enough to prove hin 
Ccesar's foe. 

Cot. His thoughts look through his words. 

Sej. A censure. 

Sil. Stay, 
Stay, most officious senate, I shall straight 
Delude thy fmy. Silius hath not placed 
His guards -within him, against fortune's spite, 
So weakly, but he can escape yoiir gripe 
That are but hands of fortune : she herself, 
When virtue doth oppose, must lose her threats. 
All that can happen in humanity. 
The frown of Ca?sar, proud Sej anus' hatred, 
Base Varro's spleen, and Afer's bloodying tongue, 
The senate's servile flattery, and these 
Muster'd to kill, I'm fortified against ; 
And can look down upon : they are beneath me. 
It is not life whereof I stand enamoiir'd ; 
Nor shall my end make mo accuse my fate. 
The coward and the valiant man must fall, 
Only the cause and manner how, discerns them : 
Which then are gladdest, when tlicy cost ns 
Romans, if any here be in this senate, [dearest. 
Would know to mock Tiberius' tyranny, 
TiOck upon Silius, and so learn to die. 

\Stahs himself. 

Var. O desperate act ! 

Arr. An honorable hand ! 

'Fib. Look, is he dead ? 

Sab. 'Twas nobly struck, and home. 

Arr. My thought did prompt him to it. Fare- 
well, Silius, 
Be famous ever for thy great example. 

Tib. We are not pleased in this sad accident, 
That thus hath stalled, and abused our racrcy. 
Intended to preserve thee, noble lioman. 
And to prevent thy hopes. 

Arr. Excellent wolf ! 
Now he is full life howls. \Aside. 

ScJ. Ca3sar doth wrong 
His dignity and safety thus to mourn 
The deserv'd end of so profest a traitor, 
And doth, by this his lenity, instruct 
Others as factious to the like offence. 

Tib. The confiscation merely of his state 
Had been enovigh. 

Arr. O, that was gaped for then ? [Aside. 

Var. Remove the body. 

Sej. Let citation 
Go out for Sosia. 

Gal. Let her be proscribed : 
And for the goods^ I think it fit that half 
Go to the treasure, half imto the children. 

Le23. With leave of Caesar, I would think that 
fourth, 
The which the law doth cast on the informers. 
Should be enough ; the rest go to the children. 
Wherein the prince shall shew humanity, 
And bounty ; not to force them by their want. 
Which in their parents' trespass they deserv'd, 
To take ill courses. 

Tib. It shall please us 

An'. Ay, 



Out of necessity. This ' Lepidus 

Is grave and honest, and I have observed 

A moderation still in all his censures. 

Sab. And bending to the better Stay, 

who's this ? 

Enter Satrius a7id Naita, loith Cremutius Cok- 

DUS guarded. 
Cremutius Cordus ! What ! is he brought in ? 

Arr. More blood into the banquet ! Noble 
Cordus,' 
I wish thee good : be as thy writings, free, 
And honest. 

Tib. What is he ? 

Sej. For the Annals, Cresar. 

Prce. Cremutius Cordus ! 

Cor. Here. 

Free. Satrius Secundus, 
Pinnarius Natta, you are his accusers. 

Arr. Two of Sej anus' blood-hounds, Avhoni 
he breeds 
With human flesh, to bay at citizens. 

Afor. Stand forth before the senate, and con- 
front liim. 

Sat. I do accuse thee here, Cremutius Cordus 
To be a man factious and dangerous, 
A sower of sedition in the state, 
A turbulent and discontented spirit, [here, 

Which I will prove from thine own writings, 
The Annals thou hast publish'd ; where thou 

bit'st 
The present age, and Avith a viper's tooth, 
Being a member of it, dar'st that ill 
Which never 5'ct degenerous bastard did 
Upon his parent. 

Nat. To this, I subscribe ; 
And, forth a world of more particulars, 
Instance in only one : comparing men. 
And times, thou praisest Brutus, and affirm'st 
That Cassius was the last of all the Romans. 

Cot. How ! what are we tlien ? 

Var. What is Ca?sar ? nothing ^ 

Afer. My lords, this strikes at every Roman'fi 
private. 
In whom reigns gentry, and estate of spirit, 
To have a Brutus brought in parallel, 
A parricide, an enemy of his country, 
Rank'd, and prefcrr'd to any real worth 
That Rome now holds. This is most strangely 

invective, 
!Most full of spite, and insolent upbraiding. 
Nor is't the time alone is hero disprised, 
But the whole man of time, yea, Ctesar's self 
Brought in disvalue ; and he aimed at most, 
By oblique glance of his licentious pen. 
Ca3sar, if Cassius were the last of Romans, 
Thou hast no name. 

Tib. Let's hear him rnswer. Silence ! 

Cor. So innocent I am of fact, my lords. 
As but my words are argued : yet those word.'j 
Not reaching either prince or prince's parent : 
The which your law of treason comprehends. 
Brutus and Cassius I am charged to have 

praised ; 
Whose deeds, when man}'' more, besides myself. 



1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 85. 

2 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pr. 83, 84 Dio. Hist. Rom. Ljb 
Ivii. p. 710 



SEJANUft. 



253 



Have writ, not one have mention'd -without 

honor, 
(jreat Titus Livius, great for eloquence, 
And faith amongst us, in his history, 
With so great praises Pompey did extol, 
As oft Augustus called him a Pompeian : 
Yet this not hurt their friendship. In his book 
He often names Scipio, Afranius, 
Yea, the same Cassius, and this Brutus too. 
As worthiest men ; not thieves and parricides, 
Which notes upon their fames are now imposed. 
Asinius Pollio's writings quite throughout 
Give them a noble memory ; so ' Messala 
Renown'd h?s general Cassius : yet both these 
Lived with Augustus, full of wealth and honors. 
To Cicero's book, where Cato was heav'd up 
Equal with Heaven, what else did Caesar an-. 

swer. 
Being then dictator, but with a penn'd oration, 
As if before the judges ? Do but see 
Antonius' letters ; read but Brutus' pleadings : 
What vile reproach they hold against Augustus, 
False I confess, but with much bitterness. 
The epigrams of Bibaculus and Catullus 
Are read, full stufft with spite of both the 

Cscsars ;• 
Yet deified Julius, and no less Augustus, 
Both bore them, and contemn'd them : I not 

know, 
Promptly to speak it, whether done with more 
Temper, or wisdom ; for such obloquies 
If they despised be, they die sixpprest ; 
But if with rage acknowledg'd, they are confest. 
The Greeks I slip, Avhose license not alone. 
But also lust did scape unpunished: 
Oi where some one, by chance, exception took, 
Hu words with words revenged. But, in my 

Avork, 
What could be aim'd more free, or farther off 
From the times scandal, than to write of those. 
Whom death from grace or hatred had exempted ? 
Did I, with Brutus and with Cassius, 
Arm'd, and possess'd of the Philippi fields. 
Incense the people in the civil cause, [slain 

With dangerous speeches ? Or do they, being 
Seventy years since, as by their images. 
Which not the conqueror hath defaced, appears. 
Retain that guilty memory with writers ? 
Posterity pays every man his honor : 
Nor shall there want, though I condemned am. 
That will not only Cassius well approve. 
And of great Brutus' honor niindful be. 
But that will also mention make of me. 
Arr. Freely and nobly spoken ! 
Sab. With good temper ; 
I like him, that he is not moved with passion. 
Arr. He puts thena to their whisper. 
Tib. Take him hence ; ^ 
Wo shall determine of him at next sitting. 

[Ejceunt Officers with Cordus. 

Coi. Mean time, give order, that his books be 

To the sediles. [burnt, 

St'J. You have well advised. 

Afer. It fits not such licentious things should 

1' upbraid the age. [live 

1 Septem dec. lib. Hist, scripsit. vul. SuiJ. Suet. 
'2 Egressus dein sonata vilam abstinentia finivit. Tacit, 
ibid. Generosam ejus iiiortem vid. apud Sen. Cons, ad 
i'arc. cap. 23. 



Arr. If the age were good, they might. 

Lat. Let them be burnt. * 

Gal. All sought, and burnt to-day. 

Pra. The court is up ; lictors, rpgume the 
fasces. 
[Exeunt all bid Arruntius, Sabinus, and LEPiors. 

Arr. Let them be burnt ! O, how ridiculous 
Appears the senate's brainless diligence. 
Who think they can, Avith present poAVcr, ex- 
tinguish 
The memory of all succeeding times ! 

Sab. 'Tis true ; Avhen, contrary, the punish- 
ment 
Of AA'it, doth make the authority increase. 
Nor do they aught, that use this cruelty 
Of interdiction, and this rage of burning. 
But purchase to themselves rebuke and shame, 
And to the Avriters^ an eternal name. 

Lep. It is an argument the times are sore, 
When virtue cannot safely be advanced ; 
Nor A'ice reproved. 

Arr. Ay, noble Lepidus ; 
Augustus Avell foresaw Avhat we should suffer 
Under Tiberius, when he did pronounce [live 
The Roman race most Avretched,* that should 
BetAveen so sIoav jaws, and so long a bruising. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE II. — A Room in the Palace. 

Enter Tiberius and Sejaxus* 

Tib. This business hath succeeded Avell, Se- 
janus ; 
And quite removed all jealousy of practice 
'Gainst Agrippina, and our nephcAvs. Noav, 
We must bethink us hoAv to plant our ingine, 
For th' other pair, Sabinus and Arruntius, 
And "' Gallus too : hoAve'er he flatter us, 
His heart avc knoAV. 

Sej. Give it some respite, Caesar. 
Time shall mature, and bring to perfect crown, 
What Ave, Avith so good vultures have begun: 
Sabinus shall be next. 

Tib. Rather Arruntius. 

Sej. By any means, preserve him. His frank 
tongue 
Being let the reins, Avould take away all thought 
Of malice, in your "course against the rest : 
We must keep him to stalk Avith. 

Tib. Dearest head, 
To thy most fortunate design I yield it. 

Sej. Sir,^ — I have been so long train'd up in 
grace, 
First Avith your father, great Augustus; sine?. 
With your most happy bounties S'O familiar 
As I not sooner would commit my hopes 
Or Avishes to the gods, than to your ears. 
Nor have I ever, yet, been covetous 
Of over-bright and dazzling honors ; rather 
To watch and travail in great Caesar's safety. 
With the most common soldier. 

Tib. 'Tis confest. 



3 Manserunt ejus libri oct iltati et editi. Tacit, ibid 
Scripserat his Cremut. bella c.^ilia, et res Aug. e.xtantqio 
fragmenta in Suasoria 8exta Senec. 

4 Vid. Suet. Tib. c. Ql. 

s Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. G. Lib. ii. p. 8a 
9 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 85. 



25<l 



SEJANUS. 



.Sty. Tlx<; only gain, and which I count naost 
Of all mx fortunes, is, that mig-hty Qacsar [fair 
Has thoun-ht me worthy his • alliance. Hence 
Berlin my hopes. 

Tib. itmph ! 

SeJ. I have heard, Augustus, 
In the bestoAving of his daughter, thought 
But even of gentlemen of Rome : if so, — 
I know not how to hope so great a favor — 
But if a husband should be sought for Livia, 
And I be had in mind, as Cnesar's friend, 
I would but use the glory of the kindred : 
It should not make mo slothful, or less caring 
For Cresar's state : it were enough to me 
It did confirm and strengthen my weak house, 
Against the now unequal opposition 
Of Agripi^ina ; and for dear regard 
Unto Tiiy children, this I wish : myself 
Have no ambition farther than to end 
My da}'s in service of so dear a master. 

Tib. We cannot but commend thy piety ; 
Most loved Scjanus, in acknowledging [ber — 
Those bounties ; Avhich Ave, faintly, such remem- 
But to thy suit. The rest of mortal men, 
In all their drifts and counsels, pursue profit ; 
Princes alone are of a different sort. 
Directing their main actions still to fame : 
We therefore Avill take time to think and ansAvcr. 
For Livia she can best, herself, resolve 
If she Avill marry, after Drusus, or 
Continue in the family ; besides, 
.She hath a mother, and a grandam yet. 
Whose nearer counsels she may guide her hy ; 
But I Avill simjily deal. That enmity 
Thou fear'st in Agrippina, would burn more, 
If LiA'ia's marriage should, as 'twere in parts, 
Divide the imperial house ; an emulation 
BctAveen the Avomen might break forth ; and 

discord 
Unin the sons and nepheAvs on both hands. 
What if it cause some present difference ? 
Thou art not safe, Sejanus, if thou prove it. 
Canst thou believe, that Livia, first the Avife 
To Caius Ca}sar,* then my Drusus, noAV 
Will be contented to grow old Anth thee, 
Born but a private gentleman of Rome, 
And raise thee Avith her loss, if not her shame r 
Or say that I should Avish it, canst thou think 
The senate, or the people (Who have seen 
Her brother, father, and our ancestors. 
In highest place of empire) Avill endure it ? 
The state thou hold'st already, is in talk ; 
Jlen murmur at thy greatness ; and the nobles 
Stick not, in public, to upbraid thy climbing 
Above our lather's favors, or thy scale : 
And dare accuse me, from their hate to thee. 
Be Avise, dear friend. We Avould not hide these 

things. 
For friendship's dear respect : Nor will we stand 
AdA'crse to thine, or Livia's designments. 
What Ave have purposed to thee, in our thought, 
And Avith Avhat near degrees of love to bind thee. 
And make thee equal to us ; for the present. 
We Avill forbear to speak. Only thus much 
Believe, our loved Sejanus, Ave not knoAV 
That height in blood or honor, Avhich thy A'irtue 

> Filia ej'js Claudii filio desponsa. 
Auf;rs*. nepoti et M. Vapsanii / ^lipps filio ci Julia. 



And mind to us, may not aspire with merit. 
And this Ave'll publish on all Avatch'd occasion 
The senate or the people shall present. 

SpJ. I am i-estored, and to my sense again, 
Which I had lost in this so blinding suit. 
CsBsar hath taught me better to refuse. 
Than I knew hoAV to ask. How pleaseth ' Cassar 
T' embrace my late adA-ice for leaAing Rome ? 

Tib. We are resolved. 

SeJ. Here are some motiA'es more, 

[Gives him a Paper. 
Which I have thought on since, may more con- 
firm, [them : 

Tib. Careful Scjanus ! Ave Avill ^raight peruse 
Go forward in our main design, and prosper. 

[Exit. 

ScJ. If those but take, I shall. Dull, heavy 
Caisar ! [crimes, 

Wouldst thou tell me, thy favors Avere made 
And that my fortunes Avere esteem'd thy faults, 
That thou for me Avert hated, and not think 
I Avould AA-ith Avinged haste prevent that change, 
When thou might'st Avin all to thyself again. 
By forfeiture of me ! Did those fond Avords 
Fly swifter from thy lips, than this my brain. 
This sparkling forge, created me an armor 
T' encounter chance and thee .'' Well, read my 

charms. 
And may they lay that hold upon thy senses. 
As thou hadst snuft up hemlock, or ta'en doAvn 
The juice of poppy and of mandrakes. Sleep, 
Voluptuous Ctesai-, and security 
Seize on thy stuind poAvers, and leaA'e them der d 
To public cares ; aAvake but to thy lusts. 
The strength of AAhich makes thy libidinous soul 
Itch to leave Rome ! and I haA-e thrust it on ; 
AVith blaming of the city business. 
The multitude of suits, the confluence 
Of suitors ; then their importunacies, 
The manifold distractions he must suffer, 
Besides ill-rumors, envies and reproaches. 
All AA'hich a quiet and retired life. 
Larded AA'ith ease and pleasure,^ did aA'oid : 
And yet for any AA'eighty and great affair. 
The fittest place to give the soundest counsels- 
By this I shall remove him both from thought 
And knoAvledgc of his OA\'n most dear affairs ; 
Draw all dispatches through ray private hands : 
KnoAV his designments, and pursue mine own : 
ISIake mine OAvn strengths by giving suits and 
Conferring dignities and offices ; [places. 

And these that hate me noAv, Avanting access 
To him, Avill make their envy none, or less ; 
For Avhen they see me arbiter of all, 
They must observe ; or else, with Caesar fall. 

[Exii. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Tiberius. 
Tib. To marry Livia ! Avill no less, Sejaiiu?.- 
Content thj^ aims ? no loAver object ? Avell ! 
Thou knoAv'st hoAV thou art wrought into oui 

trust ; 
Woven in our design ; and think'st we must 
NoAV use thee, AA'hatsoe'er thy projects are : 



3 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 85, Oio Lib-Iwiii. 
i Tacit ibid. 



SEJANUS. 



2,5o 



Tis true. But yet Avith caution and fit care. 

And, now we better think who's there 

within ? 

Enter an Officer. 
Of. Cirsar ! 

Tib. To leave our journey off, were sin 
'Gainst our decreed delights ; and would appear 
Doubt ; or, what less becomes a i^rincc, low fear. 
Yet doubt hath law, and fears have their excuse. 
Where princes' states plead necessary use ; 
As ours doth now : more in Sejanus' pride, 
Than all fell Agrippina's hates beside. 
Those arc the dreadful enemies we raise 
With favors, and make dangerous Avith praise ; 
The injured by us may haA^e Avill alike, 
But 'tis the fa\;orite hath the power to strike ; 
And fury CA'cr boils more high and strong, 
Heat Avith ambition, than rcA'enge of wrong. 
'Tis then a part of supremo skill, to grace 
No man too much ; but hold a certain space 
BetAveen the ascender's rise, and thine OAvn fiat, 
Lest, Avhen all rounds be reach'd, his aim be that. 
'Tis thought. [.4siV/e.] — Is ' Macro in the pal- 
ace ? see : [He 
If not, go seek him, to come to us. [Exit Offi.] — 
Must be the organ avo must Avork by noAV ; 
Though none less apt for trust : need doth alloAV 
What choice Avould not. I haA^e heard that 

aconite. 
Being timely taken, hath a healing might 
Against the scorpion's stroke : the proof we'll 

give : 
That, Avhile two poisons Avrestle, Ave may live. 
He hath a spirit too Avorking to be used 
But to the encounter of his like ; excused 
Are Aviser sov'reigns then, that raise one ill 
Against another, and both safely kill : 
The prince that feeds great natures, they aa'HI 

sway him ; 
Who nourisheth a lion must obey him. — 

lie-enter Officer, icith M.vcno. 
Macro, Ave sent for you. 

Mac. I heard so, Caesar. 

Tib. Leave iis a Avhile. [Exit Officer.] — When 
you shall know, good Macro, 
The causes of our sending, and the ends. 
You Avill then hearken nearer ; and be pleas'd 
You stand so high both in our choice and trust. 

Mae. The humblest place in Coesar's choice or 
trust, 
May make glad Macro proud ; without ambition, 
Save to do Caesar service. 

Tib. LeaA'e your courtings. 
We are in purpose, Macro,^ to depart 
The city for a time, and see Campania ; 
Not for our pleasures, but to dedicate 
A pair of temples, one to Jupiter 
At Capua ; th' other at " Nola, to Augustus : 
In Avhich great Avork, perhaps our stay will be 
Beyond our Avill produced. Noav since Ave are 
Not ignorant Avhat danger may be born 
Out of our shortest absence in a state 
So subject unto envy, and embroil' d 
With hate and faction ; A\'e have thought on thee, 

1 De Macrone isto, vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Hi. p 718, 
it Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 109, &c. 

2 Suet. Til), c. 4. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 71K 
Suet. Tib. c. 43. Tacit. Ann. Lib iv. p. 91. 



Amongst a field of Romans, worthiest Macro 

To be our eye and ear : to keep strict watcl' 

On Agrippina, Nero, Drusus ; aA', 

And on Sejanus : not that Ave distrust 

His loyalty, or do repent one grace 

Of all that heap we haA'c conferred on him ; 

For that Avcre to disparage our election. 

And call that judgment now in doubt, Avhich then 

Scem'd as unquestion'd as an oracle — 

But, greatness hath his cankers. WormH ejid 

moths 
Breed out of too much humor, in the things 
Which after they consume, transferring quite 
The substance of their makers into themselves. 
Macro is sharp, and apprehends : besides, 
I know him subtle, close, Avise, and Avell-road 
In man, and his large nature ; he hath studied 
Aff"ections, passions, knoAvs their springs, their 

ends, [proof 

Which way, and Avhcther they Avill work : 'ti" 
Enough of his great merit, that Ave trust ^ m. 
Then to a point, because our conference 

Cannot be long Avithout suspicion 

Here Macro, Ave assign thee, both to spy, 
Inform, and chastise ; think, and use thy means, 
Thy ministers, Avhat, Avhcre, on whom thou Avilt ; 
Explore, plot, practise : all thou dost in this 
Shall bo, as if the senate, or the laws 
Had given it privilege, and thou thence styled 
The savior both of Caesar and of Home. 
Wc Avill not take thy ansAver but in act : 
Whereto, as thou procced'st, Ave hope to hear 
By trusted messengers. If 't be inquired. 
Wherefore we call'd you, say you have in charge 

To see our chariots ready, and our horse. 

Be still our loved and, shortly, honor'd Macro. 

[Exit 
Mac. I Avill not ask, Avhy Cresar bids do this ; 
But joy that he bids mc* It is the bliss 
Of courts to be employ'd, no matter how ; 
A prince's power makes all his actions A'irtue. 
We, Avhom he works by, are dumb instruments, 
To do, but not inquire : his great intents 
Are to be serA'ed, not search'd. Yet, as that bow 
Is most in hand, Avhose OAvner best doth know 
To aff"ect his aims ; so let that statesman hope 
Most use, most price, can hit his prince's scope. 
Nor must he look at Avhat, or Avhom to strike, 
But loose at all ; each mark must be alike. 
Were it to plot against the fame, the life 
Of one Avith Avhom I twinn'd ; remove a Avife 
From my Avarm side, as loved as is the air ; 
Practise aAvay each parent ; draAv mine heir 
In compass, though but one ; Avork all my kin 
To SAvift perdition ; leaA'e no untrain'd cngin, 
For friendship, or for innocence ; nay, make 
The Gods all guilty ; I Avould undertake 
This, being imposed me, both Avith gain aird ease : 
The Avay to rise is to obey and please. 
He that will thrive in state, he must neglect 
The trodden paths that truth and right respect 
And prove neAV, Avilder Avays : for virtue there 
Is not that narroAv thing, she is elsewhere ; 
Men's fortune there is virtue ; reason their Avill ; 
Their license, law ; and their observance, skill- 
Occasion is their foil ; conscience their stain ; 



■4 De Macrone et ingenio ejus, conis. Tacit, Ann. LiU vi 
pp. U4, 115. 



25« 



SEJANUS. 



Profit their lustre ; and what else is, vain. 
If then it be the lust of Ctesar's power,' 
To have raised Sejanus up, and in an hour 
O'erturn him, tumbling down, from height of all ; 
"We are his ready engine : and his fall 
May bo our rise. It is no uncouth thing 
To see fresh buildings from old ruins spring. 

[ExU, 



SCENE I. 



ACT IV. 

An Apartment in Aguippina's 
House. 



Enter Gallus and Agrippixa. 

Oal. You must have patience,' royal Agrip- 
pina. 

Affr. I must have vengeance, first ; and that 
were nectar 
Unto my famish'd spirits. 0, my fortune, 
Let it be sudden thou ^\ repar'st against me ; 
Strike all my powers of understanding blind. 
And ignorant of destiny to come ! 
Letyme not fear that cannot hope. 

Gal. Dear princess. 
These tyrannies on yourself, are worse than 
Ca?sar's. 

Afjr. Is this the happiness of being born great ? 
Still to be aim'd at ? still to be suspected ? 
To live the subject of all jealousies ? 
At least the color made, if not the ground 
To every painted danger ? who would not 
Choose once to fall, than thus to hang for ever ? 

Gal. You might be safe if you would 

A(/r. What, my Gallus ! 
Be lewd Sejanus' strumpet, or the bawd 
To Caesar's lusts, he noAV is gone to practise ? 
Not these are safe, where nothing is. Yourself, 
While thus you stand but by me, arc not safe. 
Was Silius safe ? or the good Sosia safe ? 
Or was my niece, dear ^ Claudia Pulchra, safe. 
Or innocent Furnius ? they that latest have 
(By being made guilty) added reputation * 
To Afer's eloquence ? 0, foolish friends, 
Could not so fresh example Avarn your loves. 
But you must buy my favors with that loss 
Unto yourselves ; and when you might perceive 
That Cffisar's cause of raging must forsake him, 
Before his will ! Away, good Gallus, leave me. 
Here to be seen, is danger ; to speak, treason : 
To do me least observance, is call'd faction. 
You are unhappy in me, and I in all. 
Where are my sons, Nero and Drusus ? We 
Are they be shot at ; let us fall apart ; 
Not in our ruins, sepulchre our friends. 
Or shall we do some action like offence, 
To mock their studies that would make us faulty. 
And frustrate practice by preventing it ? 
The danger's like : for what they can contrive. 
They will make good. No innocence is safe. 
When power contests : nor can they trespass 
Whose only being was all crime before, [more, 

- Vide Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718, &c. 

- Agrippina semper atrox, turn et periculo propinquo 
iccensa. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89. 

3 Pulchra ct Fnniiiis damnat. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 89. 
* Afer primorihiis oratorum additus, diviilgato ingenio, 
&c. Tacit, '^nn. Lib. iv. p. 89. 



Enter Nero, Drusus, and Calhula 

Ner. You hear Sejanus is come back fron 

Gal. No. How ? disgraced ? [Cccsar r 

Dru. More graced now than ever. 

Gal- By what mischance ? 

Cal. A fortune like enough 
Once to be bad. 

Dru. But turn'd too good to both. 

Gal. What was't ? 

AW. Tiberius ^ sitting at his meat, 
In a farm-house they call ^ Spelunca, sited 
By the sea-side, among the Fundane hills, 
Within a natural cave ; part of the grot, 
About the entry, fell, and overwhelm'd 
Some of the waiters ; others ran away : 
Only Sejanus M'ith his knees, hands, face, 
O'erhanging CiEsar, did oijpose himself 
To the remaining ruins, and was found 
In that so laboring posture by the soldiers [ture, 
That came to succor him With which adven- 
He hath '' so fix'd himself in Cesar's trust, 
As thunder cannot move him, and is come 
With all the height of Ctesar's praise to Rome. 

Afjr. And power, to tiirn those ruins all on us • 
And bury whole posterities beneath them. 
Nero, and Drusus, and Caligula, 
Your places are the next, and therefore most 
In their offence. Think on your birth an'J 

blood. 
Awake your spirits, meet their violence ; 
'Tis princely Avhen a tyrant doth oppose, 
And is a fortune sent to exercise 
Your virtue, as the wind doth try strong trees, 
Who by vexation grow more sound and firm. 
After your father's fall, and uncle's fate. 
What can you hope, but all the change of 
stroke [right ; 

That force or sleight can give ? then stand up- 
And though you do not act, yet suffer nobly : 
Be worthy of my womb, and take strong chear ; 
What we do know will come, we should not 
fear. . [Exeunt. 

' SCENE II. — The Street. 

Enter Macro. 
Mac. Ilcturn'd so soon ! renew'd in trust a,nd 

grace ! 
Is Ca3sar then so weak, or hath the place 
But wrought this alteration with the air ; 
And he, on next remove, will all repair ? 
Macro, thou art engaged : and what before 
Was public ; now, must be thy private, more. 
The weal of Ca;sar, fitness did imply ; 
But thine own fate confers necessity [nearest 
On thy employments ; and the thoughts born 
Unto ourselves, move swiftest still, and dearest 
If he recover, thou art lost ; yea, all 
The weight of preparation to his fall [strike 
Will turn on thee, and crush thee : therefore 
Before he settle, to j^revent the like 
Upon thyself. He doth his vantage know. 
That makes it home, and gives the foremost 

blow. [Exit. 

6 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. 

6 PrKtoriiiin Suet, appellat. Tib. c. 39. 

7 Prisbiiitipie ipsi inateriem cur ainicit£e constanticBque 
Sejani magis fideret. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. 



SEJANUS. 



25" 



SCENE III. — An upper Room of AoiiiprixA's 
House, 

F.ntcr Latiaris, Rufus, and Opsius. 

Lat. It is a service ' lord Sejanus will 
See well requited, and accept of nobly. [ing ; 
Here place 7/oursclf between the roof and ceil- 
And when I bring him to his words of danger, 
Reveal yourselves, and take him. 

Iluf. Is he come ? 

Lat. I'll now go fetch him. [Exit. 

Ops. With good speed. — I long 
To merit from the state in such an action. 

Ruf. I hope, it will obtain the consulship 
For one of us. 

Ops. We cannot think of less, 
To bring in one so dangerous as Sabinus. 

Ruf. He was a follower of Germanicus, 
And still is an ol^server of his wife 
And children,- though they be declined in grace; 
A daily visitant, keeps them company 
In private and in public, and is noted 
To be the only client of the house : 
Pray Jove, he will be free to Latiaris. [well. 

Ops. He's allied to him, and doth trust him 

Ruf. And he'll requite his trust ! 

Ops. To do an office 
So grateful to the state, I know no man 
But would strain nearer bands, than kindred 

Rif. List! 
I hear them come. 

Ops. Shift to our holes ^ with silence. 

[^They retire. 

Re-enter Latiauis and Sabinus. 

Lat. It is a noble constancy you shew 
To this afflicted house ; that not like others. 
The friends of season, you do follow fortune, 
And, in the winter of their fate, forsake [just. 
The place whose glories warm'd you. You are 
And worthy such a princely patron's love. 
As was the world's renown'd Germanicus : 
Whose ample merit when I call to thouglit. 
And see his wife and issue, objects made 
To so much envy, jealousy, and hate ; 
It makes me ready to accuse the gods 
Of negligence, as men of tyranny. 

Sab. They must be patient, so must we. 

Lat. O Jove, 
What will become of us or of the times, 
AVhen, to be high or noble, are made crimes, 
W^hen land and treasure are most dangerous 
faults ? 

Sah. Nay, when our table, yea our bed,* as- 
saults 
Our peace and safety ? when our writings are, 
Ey any envious instruments, that dare 
Apply them to the guilty, made to speak 

1 Sabinum affgrediuntur cupidine consulatus, ad quem 
jion nisi per Sojanum aditiis, ncque Sejarii voluntas nisi 
scelere qiia;rel)atur. Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 94. Dio. Hist. Eoin. 
Lib. Iviii. p. 711. 

2 Eoqiie ap\id honos laudatus, ct gravis iniquis. Tacit. 
Lib. iv. p. 94. 

3 Hand 11) inns turpi latebrS. quam detcstanda fraude, sese 
abstrudunt ; foiaininibus et rimis aurcm adinovent. Tacit. 
Ann. Lib. iv. c. C9. 

* Ne nox quidem secura, cum uxor (Nerouis) vigilias, 
sniiinos, suspiria niatri Livis, atque ilia Sejano patefacereti 
Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 92. 

17 



What they will have to fit their tyraimous 
Wlien ignorance is scarcely innocence ; [wreak ? 
And knowledge made a capital offence ? 
When not so much, but the bare empty shade 
Of liberty is reft us ; and we nrade 
The prey to greedy vultures and vile spies. 
That first transfix us with their mu.rdcring eyes. 

Lat. ilethinks the genius of the Roman race 
Slrould not be so extinct, but that bright flame 
Of liberty might be revived again, 
(Which no good man but with his life should 

lose) 
And we not sit like spent and patient fools, 
Still puffing in the dark at one poor coal. 
Held on by hope till the last spark is out. 
The cause is public, and the honor, name, 
The immortality of every soul. 
That is not bastard or a slave in Rome, [change 
Therein concern'd : whereto, if men would 
The wearied arm, and for the weighty shield 
So long sustain'd, employ the facile sword. 
We might soon have assurance of our vows. 
This ass's fortitude doth tire us all : 
It must be active valor must redeem 
Our loss, or none. The rock and our hard steel 
Should meet to enforce those glorious hres again, 
Whose splendor cheer'd the world, and heat 
No less than doth the sun's. [gave life. 

Sab. 'Twcre better stay 
In lasting darkness, and despair of day. 
No ill should force the subject undertfike 
Against the sovereign, more than hell should 
make [must 

The gods do wrong. A good man should and 
Sit rather down with loss, than rise unjust. 
Though, when the Romans first did yield them- 
selves [lives, 
To one man's powei', they did not mean their 
Their fortunes and their liberties, should be 
His absolute spoil, as purchased by the sword. 

Lat. Why Ave are worse, if to bo slaves, and 
bond 
To Caesar's slave be such, the proud Sejanus ! 
He that is all, does all, gives Ccesar leave 
To hide his * ulcerous and anointed face. 
With his bald crown at ^ Rhodes, while he here 

stalks 
Upon the heads of Romans, and their princes, 
Familiarly to emi3ire. 

Sab. Now you touch 
A point indeed, wherein he shews his ar- . 
As Avell as power. 

Lat, And A'illainy in both. 
Do you observe Avhere Livia lodges ? how 
Drusus came dead ? what men have been cut off? 

Sab. Yes, those are things removed : I nearer 
Into his later practice, where he stands [look'd 
Declared a master in his mystery. 
First, ere Tiberius Avent, he Avrought his fear 
To think that Agrippina sought his death. 
Then put those doubts in her ; sent her oft word. 
Under the shoAV of friendship, to bcAvare 
Of Caesar, for he laid to ^ poison her : 
Drave tliem to froAvns, to mutual jealousies. 



5 Facies ulcerosa ac plerumqiie mndicaminibug intei 
stincta. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. 

Tacit, ibid. Et Riiodi secreto, vitare ccctus, recondcr" 
A'oluptates insuerat. 

' Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 90. 



268 



SEJANUS. 



ACT 17 



Which, now, in visible hatred are burst out. 
Since, lie hath had his hired instruments 
To -work ' on Nero, and to heave him up ; 
To tell him Ctesar's old, that all the people, 
Yea, all the army have their eyes on him ; 
That both do long to have him undertake 
Something of worth, to give the world a hope ; 
Bids him to court their grace : the easy youth 
Perhaps gives ear, which straight he writes to 

Cresar ; 
And with this comment : See yon dangerous hoy ; 
Note but the practice of tlie mother, there ; 
She's tying him for jourposes at hand, 
With men of sword. Here's Cresar put in fright 
'Gainst son and mother. Yet, he leaves not thus. 
The second brother, Drusus, a fierce nature, 
And fitter for his snares, because ambitious 
And full of envy, him '■' he clasps and hugs, 
Poisons with jjraise, tells him what hearts he 

wears, 
How bright he stands in popular expectance ; 
That Rome doth suffer with him in the wrong 
His mother does him, by preferring Nero : 
Thus sets he them asunder, each 'gainst other, 
Projects the course that servos him to condemn, 
Keeps in opinion of a friend to all, 
And all drives on to ruin. 

Laf. Cajsar sleeps, 
And nods at this. 

Sab. Would he might over sleep, 
Bogg'd in his filthy lusts ! 

[Opsius and Rufus rusli in. 

Ops. Treason to Cnesar ! 

Ruf. Lay hands upon the traitor, Latiaris, 
Or take the name thj'sclf. 

Lat. I am for Ca?sar. 

Sab. Am I then catch' d ? 

Bif. How think you, sir ? you are. [years ! 

Sa.b. Spies of this head, so white, so full of 
Well, my most reverend monsters, you may live 
To see yourselves thus snared. 

0;w. A-\vay with him ! 

Lat. Hale him away. 

Ituf. To be a spy for traitors, 
Is honorable vigilance. 

Sab. You do well,^ 
My most officious instruments of state ; 
Men of all uses : drag me hence, away. 
The year is well begun, and I fall fit 
To be an off'ering to Sejanus. Go ! [face. 

Ops. Cover him with his garments, hide his 

Sab. It shall not need. Forbear your rude 
assault. 
The fault's not shameful, villainy makes a fault. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — The Street before AamrriNA's 
House. 

Enter Macro and Caligula. 
Mac. Sir, but observe how thick j-our dangers 
meet [brothers. 

In his clear drifts ! your ■* mother and your 
Now cited to the senate ; their friend ^ Gall us, 

1 Tacit. Lib. eod. pp. 91. 92. 

2 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 91. 92. 
8 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv pp. 94. 95. 
* Tacit. Ann. Lib. v. p. 98. 

5 Asiniiim Gal. codcin die et convivam Tiberii fnisse et 
00 siibornante domnatu'a narrat Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 713. 



Feasted to-day bj' Ctesar, since committed ! 
Sabinus here we met, hurried to fetters : 
The senators all strook with fear and silence, 
Save those whose hopes depend not on goc^ 

means. 
But force their private prey from public spoil. 
And 3'ou must know, if here you stay, your istate 
Is sure to be the subject of his hate, 
As now the object. 

Cat. What would jnii advise me ? 

Mac. To go for Caprere presentlj- ; and there 
Give up yourself entirely to your uncle. 
Tell Caesar (since your ® mother is accused 
To fly for succors to Augxistus' statue, 
And to the army with yoirr brethren) you 
Have rather chose to place your aids in him, 
Than live suspected ; or in hourly fear 
To be thrust out, by bold Sejanus' plots : 
Which, you shall confidently urge to be 
Most full of peril to the state, and Cffisar, 
As being laid to his peculiar ends. 
And not to be let run with common safety. 
All Avhich, upon the second, I'll make plain, 
So both shall love and trust with CiEsar gain. 

Cat. Away then, let's prepare us for oui 
joiirney. [Exeunt. 

SCENE Y. — Another Fart of the Street. 

Enter Arritntius. 
Arr. Still dost thou suffer, heaven ! will no 
flame. 
No heat of sin, make thy just wrath to boil 
In thy distemper'd bosom, and o'crflow 
The pitchy blazes of impiety, [sleep, 

Kindled beneath thy throne ! Still canst thou 
Patient, while vice doth make an antick face 
At thy dread power, and blow dust and smoke 
Lito thy nostrils ! Jovo ! will nothing wake 
Must vile Sejanus pull thee by the beard, [thee r 
Ere thou wilt open thy black-lidded eye, 
And look him dead ? Well ! snore on, dreaming 
And let this last of that proud giant-race [gods ; 
Heave mountain upon mountain, 'gainst your 

state — 
Be good unto me. Fortune and you powers, 
Whom I, expostulating, have profaned ; 
I see what's eqiial Avith a prodigy, 
A great, a noble Roman, and an honest, 
Live an old man ! — 

Enter Lepidus. 
O Marcus ^ Lepidus. 
When is our turn to bleed ? Thyself and I, 
Without our boast, are almost all the few 
Left to be honest in these impious times. 
Lep. What we arc left to be, we M'ill be 
Lucius ; 
Though tyranny did stare as wide as death, 
To fright us from it. 

Air. 'T hath so on Sabinus. 'nies, 

Lep. I saw him now drawn from the ^ Gemo- 

6 Vid. Tacit. Lib. v. p. 94. Suet. Tib. c, 53. 

" De Lepido isto vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. G. Lib. iii. pp. 
60, C<5, of Lib. iv. p. 81. 

8 ScalK Genionias fiienint in Aventino, prope templtirn 
Junnnis icgina; a Caniillo captis Veiis dicatiini ; a planctu 
et Roniitu dictas vult Rhodig. In qiias conttimelicB causS 
cadavera piojccta ; aliquando a camifice unco trahebantur 
Vid. Tac. Suet. Dio. Senec. Juvenaf. 



SEJANUS. 



259 



And, -what increased tlae dircness of the fact, 
His faithful ' dog, upbraiding all us Iloaians, 
Never forsook the corps, but, seeing it thrown 
Into the stream, leap'd in, and drown'd with it. 

Arr. O act, to be envied him of us men ! 
We are the next the hook lays hold on, ^larcus : 
What are thy arts, good patriot, teach them me, 
That have preserved thy hairs to this white dye, 
And kept so reverend and so dear a head 
Safe on his comely shoulders ? 

Lep. Arts, Arruntius ! 
None,^ but the plain and passive fortitude, 
To suffer and be silent ; never stretch 
These arms against the torrent ; live at home. 
With my own thoughts, and innocence about me, 
Not tempting the wolves' jaws : these are my 
arts. 

Arr. I would begin to study 'em, if I thought 
They would secure me. May I pray to Jove 
In secret and be safe ? ay, or aloud. 
With open wishes, so I do not mention 
Tiberius or Sejanus? yes, I must. 
If I speak out. 'Tis hard that. May I think. 
And not be rack'd ? What danger is't to dream. 
Talk in one's sleep, or cough ? Who knows the 

law ? 
May I shake my head Avithout a comment ? say 
It rains, or it holds up, and not be thrown 
Upon the Gemonies ? These now arc things, 
Whereon men's fortune, yea, their faith depends. 
Nothing hath privilege 'gainst the violent ear. 
No place, no day, no hour, we see, is free, 
Not our reUgious and most sacred times, 
From some one kind of cruelty : all matter, 
Nay, all occasion pleaseth. Madmen's rage, 
The idleness of drunkards, women's nothing. 
Jester's simplicity, all, all is good 
That can be catcht at. Nor is now the event 
Of any person, or for any crime. 
To be expected ; for 'tis always one : 
Death, with some little difference of place, [ed ! 
Or time What's this ? Prince Nero, guard- 

Enter Laco ' and Nero, inith Guards. 

Lac. On, lictors, keep your waj% My lords, 
forbear. 
On pain of Caesar's wrath, no man attempt 
Speech with the prisoner. 

Nero. Noble friends, be safe ; [hazard. 

To lose yourselves for Avords, were as vain 
As unto me small comfort : fare you well. 
Would all Rome's sufferings in my fate did 

Lac. Lictors. away. [dwell ! 

Lc}). Where goes he, Laco ? 

Lac. Sir, 
He's banish'd into'' Pontia by the senate. 

Arr. Do I see, hear, and feel ? May I trust 
Or doth my phant'sie form it ? [sense, 

Lep. Where's his brother ? 

Lac. Drusus* is prisoner in the palace. 

Arr. Ha! 

smell it now : 'tis rank. Where's Agripplna ? 

Lac. The princess is confined to ^ Pandataria. 

1 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719. Et Tacit. Ann. Lib. 
Jir p. 9-t. 

2 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 80. 

3 De Lacon. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 

4 Suet. Tib. c. 54 
s Suet, ibid 

6 Suet. ibid. 



Arr. I3olts, Vulcan ; bolts fo» Jove ! Phoebus, 
thy bow ; 
Stern Mars, thy sword : and, bl ae-ey'd maid, thy 
Thy club, Alcides : all the armory [spear : 

Of heaven is too Httle ! — Ha ! — to guard 
The gods, I meant. Pine, rare dispatch ! this 
same [ished ? 

Was swiftly born ! Confined, imprison'd, ban- 
Most tripartite ! the cause, sir? 

Lac. Treason. 

Arr. O! 
The '' complement of all accusings ! that 
Will hit, when all else fails. 

Lep. This turn is strange ! 
P>ut yesterday the people would not hear. 
Par less objected, but cried ^ Csesar's letters 
Were false and forged ; that all these plots were 

malice ; 
And that the ruin of the prince's house 
Was practised 'gainst his knowledge. Where 

are now 
Their voices, now, that they behold his heirs 
Lock'd up, disgraced, led into exile ? 

Arr. Hush'd, 
Drown'd in their bellies. Wild Sejanus' breatii 
Hath, like a whirlwind, scatter'd that poor dust, 
With this rude blast. — We'll talk no treason, 
sir, [ Turns to Laco and the rest. 

If that be it you stand for. Pare you well. 
We have no need of horse-leeches. Good spy, 
Now you arc spied, be gone. 

[Exeunt Laco, Neiio, and Guards. 

Lep. I fear j'ou wrong him : 
He has the voice to be an honest Roman. 

Arr. And trusted to this office ! Lepidus, 
I'd sooner trust Greek Sinon, than a man 
Our state employs. He's gone : and being gone, 
I dare tell you, whom I dare better trust. 
That our night-eyed ^ Tiberius doth not see 
His minion's drifts ; or, if he do, he's not 
So arrant subtile, as we fools do take him ; 
To breed a mungrel up, in his own house, 
AVithhis own blood, and, if the good gods please, 
At his own throat, flesh him, to take a leap. 
I do not beg it, heaven ; but if the fates 
Grant it these eyes, they must not wink. 

Lep. They must 
Not see it, Lucius. 

Arr. "Wlio should let them ? 

Lep. Zeal, 
And duty : with the thought he is our prince. 

Arr. He is our monster : forfeited to vice 
So far, as no rack'd virtue can redeem him. 
His loathed person '" fouler than all crimes : 
An emperor, only in his lusts. Retired, 
From all regard of his own fame, or Rome's, 
Into an ' ' obscure island ; where he live? 
Acting his tragedies Avith a comic face. 
Amidst his route of Chaldees :'- spending hours 
Days, weeks, and months, in the unkind abus« 
Of 'grave astrology, to the bane of men, 

1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iii. p. C2. 

8 Tacit. Lib. v. p. 98. 

9 Tiberius in tenebris videret ; testibus Dio. Hist. Rom 
Lib. Ivii. p. 691. Et Plin. Nat. Hist. Lib. ii. c. 37. 

10 Cons. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 91. (Juv. Sat. 4.) 

n Vid. Suet. Tib. de secessu Caprensi,c.43. Dio. p. 715 
Juv. Sat. 10. 

1-' Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. lOG. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii 
p. 706. Suet. Tib. c. C2, &c. 44. 



260 



SEJANUS. 



Clasting the scope of men's nativities, [tune, 
And having found aught -worthy in their for- 
Kill, or precipitate them in the sea, 
And boast, he can mock fate. Nay, muse not : 

these 
Are far from ends of evil, scarce degrees. 
He hath his slaughter-house at Capreee ; 
Where he doth study murder, as an art ; 
And they are dearest in his grace, that can 
Devise the deepest tortures. Thither, too, 
He hath his boys, and beauteous girls ta'en up 
Out of our noblest houses, the best form'd, 
Best nurtured, and most modest ; -what's their 

good. 
Serves to provoke his bad. Some are * allured, 
Some threaten'd ; others, by their friends 

detained. 
Are ravish'd hence, like captives, and, in sight 
Of their most grieved parents, dealt away 
Unto his spintries, sellaries, and slaves. 
Masters of strange and new commented lusts, 
For which wise nature hath not left a name. 
To this (-what most strikes us, and bleeding 

Rome) 
He is, with all his craft, become ^ the ward 
To his own vassal, a stale catamite : 
"WTiom he, upon our low and suffering necks. 
Hath raised from excrement to side the gods. 
And have his proper sacrifice in Rome : 
Which Jove beholds, and yet will sooner rive 
A senseless oak with thunder than his trunk ! — 

Re-enter JjXCO,^ 2Cji!/i Pomponius and Minutius. 

Lac. These ■• letters make men doubtful wh-at 
Whether liis coming, or his death. [f expect, 

Pom. Troth, both : 
And -which comes soonest, thank the gods for. 

Arr. List ! 
Their talk is Caesar ; I would hear all voices. 

[Arrunt. and TiBFIDVs stand aside, 

Min. One day, * he's -well ; and will return to 
Rome ; 
The next day, sick ; and knows not -when to 
hope it. 

Lac. True ; and to-day, one of Sejaniis' friends 
Honored by special writ ; and on the morrow 
Another punished 

Po)n. By more special writ. 

Min. Tills man ® receives his praises of Sejanus, 
A second but sUght mention, a third none, 
A fourth rebukes : and thus he leaves the senate 
Divided and suspended, all uncertain. 

Lac. These forked tricks, I understand them 
not : 
Would he would tell us whom he loves or hates, 
That wo might follow, without fear or doubt. 

Arr. Good Heliotrope ! Is this j'our honest 
man ? 
Let him be yours so still ; he is my knave. 

Pom. I cannot tell, Sejanus still goes on. 
And mounts, we see ; ' new statues are advanced, 
Fresh leaves of titles, large inscriptions read. 



1 Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 100. Suet. Tib. c. 43. 

2 Leg. Dio. Roin. Hist. Lib. Ivji. p. 714. 

3 De Pomponio et Minutio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. 
* Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 716. 

5 Dio. ibid. 
» Dio. ibid. 
Leg. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. Do. 



His fortune sworn by,^ himself new gone out 
Cffisars' ^ colleague in the fifth consulship ; 
More altars smoke to him than all the gods : 
What would we more ? 

An: That the dear smoke would choke him, 
That would I more. 

Lep. Peace, good Arruntius. 

Lat. But there are '" letters come, they say,ev'n 
Which do forbid that last. [no-w, 

Min. Do you hear so ? 

Lac. Yes. 

Po)n. By Castor, that's the worst. 

An: By Pollux, best, 

Min. I did not like the sign," when Regulus, 
Whom all Ave know no friend unto Sejanus 
Did, by Tiberius' so precise command, 
Succeed a fellow in the consulship : 
It boded somewhat. 

Pom. Xot a mote. His '* partner, 
Fulcinius Trio, is his o-wn, and sure. — 
Here comes Tercntius. 

Enter Terextius. 

He can give us more. 
[ Theij whisper with Terextius. 
Lep. I'll ne'er believe, but Caesar hath some 

scent 
Of bold Sejanus' footing.'^ These cross points 
Of varying letters, and opposing consuls, 
IMingling his honors and his pvmishments. 
Feigning now ill, now well,'* raising Sejanus 
And then depressing him, as now of late 
In all reports we have it, cannot be 
Empty of practise : 'tis Tiberius' art. 
For having found his favorite gi-own too great, 
And with his greatness '^ strong ; that all the 

soldiers 
Are, with their leaders, made at his devotion ; 
That almost all the senate are his creatures. 
Or hold on him t'ncir main dependencies. 
Either for benefit, or hope, or fear ; 
And that himself hath lost much of his o-wn, 
By parting iinto him ; and, by th' increase 
Of his rank lusts and rages, quite disarm'd 
Himself of love, or other public means, 
To dare an open contestation ; 
His subtilty hath chose this doubling line, 
To hold him even in : not so to fear him. 
As wholly put him out, and yet give check 
Unto his farther boldness. In mean time, 
By his emplojTnents, makes him odious 
Unto the staggering rout, whose aid, in fine. 
He hopes to use, as sure, who, when they sway, 
Bear down, o'erturn all objects in their way. 

Arr. You may be a L^-nceus, Lcpidus : yet I 
See no such cause, but that a politic tyrant. 
Who can so well disguise it, should have ta'en 
A nearer way : feign'd honest, and come home 
To cut his throat, by law. 

Lep. Ay, but his "fear 
Would ne'er be mask'd, allbe his -vices -were. 

8 Adiilationis ptenionines ejus Fortunam jiirabant. Dii 
Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 714. 

9 Dio. p. 714. Suet. Tib. c. 65. 
w Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 

n De Regulo cons. Dio. ibid. 

12 Dio. ibid. 

13 Suet. Tib. c. 65. 
1* Dio. p. 72G. 

13 Dio. p. 714. 



SEJANUS. 



2G1 



Pom. His lordship then is still in grace ? 
Ter. Assure you, 
Never in more, either of grace or power. 

Fo7n. The gods are -wise and just. 

An: The fiends they are, 
To suffer thee belie 'em. 

Ter. I have here 
His last and present letters, where he writes 

him. 
The partner of his cares, and his Sejaims. — 

Lac. But is that true,' it is prohibited 
To sacrifice tinto him ? 

Ter. Some such thing 
Caesar makes scruple of, but forbids it not ; 
No more than to liimseK : saj-s he could wish 
It were forborn to all. 

Lac. Is it no other ? 

Ter. No other, on my trust. For your more 
Here is that letter too. [surety, 

Arr. How easily 
Do wretched men believe, what they would 
Looks this like plot ? [have ! 

Lep. Noble Arruntius, stay. 

Lac. He names him here ' without his titles. 

Lep. Note ! 

Arr. Yes, and come off a'ou notable fool. I 
will. 

Lac. No other than Sejanus. 

Potn. That's but haste 
In him that writes : here he gives large amends. 

Mar. And with his own hand written ? 

Po?n. Yes. 

Lac. Indeed? 

Ter. Believe it, gentlemen, Sejanus breast 
Never received more fuU contentments in, 
Than at this present. 

Pom.. Takes he well ^ the escape 
Of young Caligula, with Macro ? 

Ter. Faith, 
At the first air it somewhat troubled him. 

Lep. Observe you ? 

Arr. Nothing ; riddles. Till I see 
Sejanus struck, no sound thereof strikes me. 

[Exeunt Aurux. and Lepidus. 

Pom. 1 like it not. I muse he woiild not at- 
tempt 
>omev\iiat against him in the * consulship, 
Seeing the people 'gin to favor him. 

Ter. He doth repent it now ; but he has em- 
ploy' d 
Pagonianus after him : ' and he holds 
That correspondence there, with all that are 
Near about Caisar, as no thought can pass [him. 
Without his knowledge, thence in act to front 

Po?n. I gratulate the news. 

Lac. But how conies Macro 
So in trust and favor %\ith Caligula ? 

Pom. O, sir, he has a wife ; ® and the young 
prince 
An appetite : he can look up, and spy 
Flies in the roof, when there are fleas i' the bed ; 
And hath a learned nose to assure his sleeps. 
Who to be favor'd of the rising sun, 

1 Dlo. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 
B Dio. ibid. 
3 Dio. p. 717. 
* Dio. ibid. 

6 De Pagoniano, vid. Tacit. Ann Lib. vi. p. 101. alibi 
Pacoiiiano. 
6 Tacit, cons, Ann. Lib. vi. p. 114. 



Would not lend little of his waning moon ? 
It is the saf st ambition. Noble Terentius ! 
Ter. The night grows fast upon us. At your 
service. [Ezetint. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in Sejaxts's House. 

Enter Sejanus. 
SeJ. Swell, swell, my joys ; and faint not U 

declare 
Yourselves as ample as your causes are. 
I did not live till now ; this my first hour ; 
Wherein I see my thoughts reach' d by my power. 
But this, and gripe my wishes.^ Great and high. 
The world knows only two, that's Rome and I. 
My roof receives me not ; 'tis air I tread ; 
And, at each step, I feel my advanced head 
Knock out a star in heaven ! rear'd to this heightj 
All my dcsii-es seem modest, poor, and slight: 
That did before sound impudent : 'tis place. 
Not blood, discerns the noble and the base. 
Is there not something more than to be Caesar r 
Must we rest there ? it irks t' have come so far, 
To be so near a stay. Caligula, 
Would thou stood' st stiff, and many in our way ! 
Winds lose their strength, when thev do emptv 

fly, 
Unmet of woods or buildings ; great fires die, 
That want their matter to withstand them : so, 
It is our grief, and will be our loss, to know 
Our power shall want opposites ; unless 
The gods, by mixing in the cause, would bless 
Our fortune with their conquest. That were 

worth 
Sejanus' strife ; durst fates but bring it forth. 

Enter Terextiu^. 

Ter. Safety to great Sejanus ! 

Sej, Now, Terentius ? 

Ter. Hears not my lord the wonder r 

SeJ. Speak it, no. 

Ter. I meet it violent in the people's mouths, 
Who run in routs to Pompey's theatre, [forth 
To view your statue,^ which, they saj-, sond.s 
A smoke, as from a fui-nace, black and dreadful. 

Sej. Some traitor hath put fire in : you, go 
And let the head be taken off, to look [see. 

What 'tis. [E.i:it Tekextius.] Some slave 

hath practised an inposture. 
To stir the people. — How now ! why return you : 

Re-enter TEKEXTirs, with Satrics and Natta. 

Sat. The head,^ my lord, already is ta'en off, 
I saw it ; and, at opening, there leapt out 
A great and monstrous serpent. 

Sej. Monstrous ! whj- r 
Had it a beard, and horns ? no heart r a toi guo 
Forked as flattery ? look'd it of the hue, 
To such as live in great men's bosoms ? wj 9 
The spirit of it Macro's r 

Xat. May it please 
The most clivine Sejanus, in my days, 
(And by his sacred fortune, I affirm it,) ' 

1 De fastu Sejani leg. Dio. Hist. Rem. Lib. Iviii. f, 715 
et Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 96. 
8 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. 
3 Dio. ibid. 



262 



&EJANUS. 



I have not seen a more extended, grown, 
Foul, spotted, venomous, ugly 

Sej. O, the fates ! 
What a wild muster's here of attributes, 
T' express a worm, a snake ! 

Tcr. But how that should 
Come there, my lord ! 

SoJ. What, and you too, Tercntius ! 
I think you mean to make't a prodigy 
In your reporting. 

Ter. Can the wise Sej anus 
Tliink heaven hath meant it less ? 

Sej. O, superstition ! 
Why, then the 'falling of our bed, that brake 
This morning, burden'd with the populous 

weight, 
Of our expecting clients, to salute us ; 
Or running " of the cat betwixt our legs. 
As wc set forth unto the Capitol, 
Were prodigies. 

Ter. I think them ominous. 
And would they had not happened ! As, to-day. 
The fate of some your ^servants: who, de- 
clining 
Their way, not able, for the throng, to follow, 
Slipt down the Gemonies, and brake their necks ! 
Besides, in taldng your last * augury, [ravens 
No prosperous bird appear'd ; but croaking 
Flagg'd up and down, and from the sacrifice 
Flew to the prison, where they sat all night, 
Beating the air with their obstreperous beaks ! 
I dare not counsel, but I could entreat. 
That great Sej anus would attempt the gods 
Once more with sacrifice. 

Sej. What excellent fools 
Religion makes of men ! Believes Tcrentius, 
If these were dangers, as I shame to think them. 
The gods could change the certain course of 

fate ? 
Or, if they could they would, now in a moment. 
For a beeve's fat, or less, be bribed to invert 
Those long decrees ? Then think the gods, like 
Are to be taken with the steam of flesh, [flies. 
Or blood, diffused about their altars : think 

Their jjower as cheap as I esteem it small. 

Of all the throng that fill th' Olympian hall, 

And, without pity, lade poor Atlas' back, 

I know not that one deity, but Fortune, 

To whom I would throw up, in begging smoke. 

One * grain of incense ; or whose ear I'd buy 

With thus much oil. Her I, indeed, adore ; 

And keep her grateful ''"image in my house. 

Sometime belonging to a Roman king. 

But now call'd mine, as by the better style : 

To her I care not, if, for satisfying 

Your scrupulous pliant' sies, I go offer. Bid 

Our i^riest prepare us ^ honey, milli, and po^Dpy, 

His masculine odors, and night-vestments : say, 

Our rites are instant ; which perform'd, you'll 

see 
How vain, and worthy laughter, your fears be. 

[Exeunt. 

1 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 715. 

2 Dio. ibid. p. 716. 
8 Dio. ibid. 

* Did. ibid. 

6 Grani turis. Plaut. Pienu. A. I. Sc. 1. et Ovid. Fast. 
Lib. iv. 

Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. 

T De sacris FoitiiniE, vid. Lil. Gie. Gyr. Synt. 17. et 
Bluch. lib. de Sacrif Gent. p. 48. 



SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Cotta mid Pomponius. 

Cot. Pomponius, wliither in such speed ? 

Pom. I go 
To give my lord Sejanus notice 

Cot. What? 

Pom. Of Macro. 

Cot. Is he come ? 

Po>n. Enter'd but noAv 
The house of Regulus.^ 

Cot. The opposite consul ! 

Pom. Some half hour since. 

Cot. And by night too ! Stay, sir ; 
I'll bear you company. 

Pom. Along then — — [Extnmf, 

SCENE III. — A Room in Regulus's House. 

Enter M.\ciio, Regulus, and Attendant. 

Mac. 'Tis Caesar's will to have a frequent 
senate ; 
And therefore must your ' edict lay deep mulct 
On such as shall be absent. 

Reg. So it doth. 
Bear it my fellow consul to adscribe. 

Mac. And tell him it must early be proclaim'd : 
The place '"Apollo's temple. [Exit Attendant. 

Reg, That's remember'd. 

Mac. And at what hour ? 

Reg. Yes. 

Mac. You do " forget 
To send one for the provost of the watcli, 

Reg. I have not : here he comes. 

Enter Laco. 

Mac. Gracinus Laco, 
Y''ovi are a friend most welcome : by and by, 
I'll speak with you. — You must procure this list 
Of the prsctorian cohorts, with the names 
Of the centurians, and their tribunes. 

Reg. Ay. 

Mac. I bring you '-letters, and a health from 

Lac. Sir, both come well. [Caesar — 

Mac. And hear you ? with your note. 
Which are the eminent men, and most of action. 

Reg. That shall be done you too. 

Mac. Most worthy Laco, 
Caesar salutes you. [Exit Regulus.] — Consul ! 

death and furies ! 
Gone now ! — The argument will please you, sir. 
Ho ! Regulus ! the anger of the gods 
Follow your diligent legs, and overtake 'em, 
In likeness of the gout ! — 

Re-enter Regulus. 

O, my good lord, 
We lack'd you present ; I would pray you send 
Another to Fulcinius Trio, straight. 
To tell him you will come, and speak with him ' 
The matter Ave'U devise, to stay him there, 

8 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 

5 Edicto ut plurimum senatores in curiam vocatos con 
Stat, ex Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. et Liv. Lib. ii. Fest. Pon. Lio 
XV. vid. 15ar. Briss. de Form. Lib. i. et Lips. Sat. Mcnip. 

10 Dio. Kora. Hi.st. Lib. Ivii. p. 718. 

" Dio. i!)id. 

13 Dio. Roin. Hist. Lib. Iviii p. 718 



SEJANUS. 



263 



While I -with Laco do survey the watch. 

[Exii Regulus. 
What are your strengths, Gracinus ? 

Lac. ' Seven cohorts. 

Mac. You sec what Caesar writes ; and 

Gone again ! 
H' has sure a vein of mercury in his feet. — 
Know you what store of the prsetorian soldiers 
Sejanus holds about him, for his guard ? 

Lac. I cannot the just number; but, I think, 
Three centuries. 

Mac. Three ! good. 

Lac. At most not four. 

Mac. And who be those centurions ? 

Lac. That the consul 
Can best deliver you. 

Mac. When he's away ! 
Spite on his nimble industry — Gracinus, 
You find what place you hold, there, in the trust 
Of royal Ctcsar ? 

Lac. Ay, and I am 

Mac. Sir, 
The honors there proposed are but beginnings 
Of his great favors. 

Lac. They are more 

Mac. I heard him 
When he did study what to add. 

Lac. My life, 
And all I hold 

Mac. You were his own first choice : 
Which dotli confirm as much as you can speak ; 

And will, if wc succeed, make more Your 

Are seven cohorts, you say ? [guards 

Lac. Yes. 

3Iac. Those we must 
Hold still in '-^ readiness and undischarged. 

Lac. I understand so much. But how it can — 

Mac. Be done without suspicion, you'll object ? 

Ec-enter Regulus. 

Reg. What's that ? 

Lac. The keeping of the Avatch in arms, 
When morning comes. 

Mac. The senate shall be met, and set 
So early in the temple, as all mark 
Of that shall be avoided. 

Reg. If we need. 
We have commission to "' possess the palace, 
Enlarge Prince Drusus, and make him our chief 

Mac. That secret M'ould have burnt his rev- 
erend mouth. 
Had he not spit it out now : by the gods, 

You carry things too Let me borrow a man 

Or two, to bear these That of freeing Drusus, 

Caesar projected as the last and utmost ; 
Not else to be remembered. 

Enter Servants. 
Reg. Here are servants. 
Mac. These to Arruntius, these to Lepidus ; 
This bear to Cotta, this to Latiaris. 
If they demand you of me, say I have ta'en 
Fresh horse, and am departed. [Exeunt Servants. 

You, my lord, 
To your colleague, and be you sure to hold him 

1 De prefcctn vigilum vid. Ros. Antiq. Rom. Lib. vii. et 
Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iv. 
3 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 
Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. p. 107. et Suet. Tib. c. 65. 



With long narration of the new fresh favors, 
Meant to Sejanus, his great patron ; I, 
With trusted Laco, here, are for the guards : 
Then to divide. For, night hath many eyes. 
Whereof, though most do sleep, yet some arc 
spies. [Exeunt 

SCENE IV. — A Sacellum (or Chapel) in 
Sejanus' s House. 

Enter Prsecones,'' Flamen, * Tubicines, Tibicines, 
Ministri, Sejanus, Teuentius, Satiuus, Nat- 

TA, &C. 

Pra;. ^Be all profane far hence ; fly, fly far off . 
Be absent far ; far hence he all prof ane / 
[Tub. and Tib. ''sound ichile the Flamen washoth. 

Fla. We have been faulty, but repent us now, 
And bring pure ® hands, pure vestments, and 

1 Min. Pure vessels. [pure minds. 

2 Min. And piue offerings. 

3 Min. Garlands j^ure. 

Fla. Bestow your ' garlands : and, with rev- 
The vervin on the altar. [erence, place 

Pra. '° Favor your tongues, 
[ While they sound again, ^ ' the Flamen takes of the 
honey %oith his finger, and tastes, then ministers 
to all the rest ; so of the ^~milk, in «?» earthen 
vessel, he deals about ; which done, he sprinlcleth 
upon the altar, milk ; then imposeth the honey, 
and kindleth his gums, and after censing about 
the altar, placeth his censer thereon, into ichich 
they put several '^ branches of pioppiy, and the 
music ceasing, piroceeds. 

Fla. Great '^ mother Fortune, queen of human 
Redress of action, arbitrcss of fate, [state, 

To whom all sway, all p)oxcer, all empire bows. 
Be present, and jirojntious to our voics ! 
Pra. Favor ^" it with your tongues. 

4 Prrecones, Flamen, hi omnibus sacrificiis interesse 
solebant. Ros. Ant. Rom. Lib. iii. Stuch. de Sac. p. 79. 

5 Ex lis, qui Flamines Cuoales diceientur, vid. Lil. 
Greg. Gyr. Sj-nt. 17. et Onup. Panvin. Rep. Rom. Com- 
ment. 2. 

s Moris antiqui erat, Prsecones prEECedere, et sacris arcere 
profanos. Cons. Briss. Ross. Stuch. Lil. Gyr. &c. 

7 Observatum antiquis invcnimus, ut qui rem divinam 
facturns erat, lautus, ac mandus accederet, et ad suaa 
levandas culpas, se imprimis reum dicere solitum, et noxse 
pcenituisse. Lil. Gyr. Synt 17. 

a In sacris puras manus, puris vestes, pura vasa, &c. 
antiqui desiderabunt ; ut ex Virg. Plaut. Tibul. Ovid. &c. 
plurihus locis constat. 

9 Alius ritus sertis aras coronare, et verbenas imponere. 

10 Hujusmodi verbis silenfium imperatum fuisse constat. 
Vid. Sen. in lib. de beata vita. Serv. et Don. ad e.im ver- 
sum, Lib. v. ^neid. 

Ore favete omnes, et cingite tempora ramis. 

u Vocabatur hie ritus Libatio. Lege Rosin. Ant. liib. iii. 
Bar. Brisson. de form. Lib. i. Stuchium de Sacrif. et Lil. 
Synt. 17. 

13 111 sacris Fortuna; lacte non vino libabant. iisdcm test. 
Talia sacriticia doiva el vtifaXia dicta. Hoc est sobria, el 
vino carentia. 

1'' Hoc reddere erat et litare, id est propitiare, et votum 
impetrare ; secundum Nonium Marcelhun. Litare enirn 
Mac. Lib. iii. c. 5. explicat, sacrificio facto placare numen 
In quo sens. leg. apud Plaut. Senec. Suet. &c. 

14 His solemnibus projfationibus in sacris utebantur. 

15 Quibus, in clausu, populus vel ccetus a pr^conilKK, 
favere jiibeljatur ; id est, bona verba fari. Talis cninr. 
altera hujus forma; interpretatio apud Briss. Lib. i. extat 
Ovid. Lib. i. Fast. Lingiiis animisque favete. Et Metam 
Lib. XV. 

— pininque 

^neadEE piEstant et raente, et voce favorem. 



264 



SEJANUS. 



Mill. Be present and propitious to our vows ! 

Omnes. Accept our ' offering and be pleased, 
great goddess. 

Ter. See, see, the image stirs ! 

Sat. And turns away ! 

Nat. Fortune - averts her face. 

Fla. Avert, you gods, 
The prodigy. Still ! still, some pious rite 
We have neglected. Yet, lieaven be appeased. 
And be all tokens false and void, that speak 
Thy present wrath ! 

Sej. Be thou dumb, scrupulous priest : 
And gather up thyself, with these thy wares 
Which I, in spite of thy blind mistress, or 
Thy juggling mj-stery, religion, throw 
Thus scorned on the earth. 

[Ooerturns the statue and the altar. 
Nay, hold thy look 
Averted till I woo thee turn again ; 
And thou shalt stand to all posterity, 
The eternal game and laughter, with thy neck 
Writhed to thy tail, like a ridiculous cat. 
Avoid these fumes, these superstitious lights, 
And all these cozening ceremonies : you, 
Your pure and spiced conscience ! 

[Exeunt all hut Sejanus, Terent. Satri. and 
Natta. 

I, the slave 
And mock of fools, scom on my Avorthy head ! 
That have been ' titled and adored a god. 
Yea,'' sacrificed unto, myself, in Rome, 
No less than Jove : and I bo brought to do 
A peevish giglot, rites ! perhaps the thought 
And shame of that, made fortune turn her face. 
Knowing herself the lesser deity, 
And but my servant. — Bashful queen, if so, 
Sejanus thanks thy modesty. — Who's that ? 

Enter Pompoxics and ^ Mixutius. 

Pom. His fortune suffers, till he hears ray news : 
I have waited hero too long. Macro, my lord 

Sej. Speak lower and withdraw. 

[TaJces him aside. 

Ter. Are these things true ? 

Min. Thousands are gazing at it in the streets. 

Sej. What's that ? 

Ter. Minutius tells us here, my lord, 
Tliat a new head being set upon your statue, 
A** rope is since found wreath' d about it ! and. 
But now '' a fiery meteor in the form 
Of a great ball was seen to roll along 
The troubled air, where yet it hangs unperfcct, 
The amazing Avonder of the multitude ! 

Sej. No more. That Macro's come, is more 

Ter. Is Macro come ? [than all ! 

Fom. I saw him. 

Ter. Where ? with whom ? 

Pom. With Begulus. 

Sej. Terentius ! 

Ter. My lord. 

Sej. Send for the ** tribunes, we will straight 
have up 

1 Solemnis foTtiula in donis ciiivis iinmini cffeiendis. 
- I.cf;. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lih. Iviii. p. 717. dc hoc sacrificio. 
8 Tac t. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 96. 

Dio Lib. Iviii. p. 716. 
6 Do Minutic. vid. Tacit. Ann. Lili. vi. 

Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 717. 

1 Vid. .Senec. Nat. aucst. Lib. i. c 7. 
3 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 71b. 



More of the soldiers for our guard. [Exit Teh 
We pray yovi go for Cotta, Latiaris, [Miniitius, 
Trio the consul, or what senators 
You know arc sure, and ours. [Exit Mix.] You, 

my good Natta, 
For Laco, ju-ovost of the watch. [Exit Nat., 

Now, Satrius, 
The time of proof comos on ; arm all our ser- 
vants, [ponius, 
And without tumult. [Exit S.\t.] You, Pom- 
Hold some good correspondence with the con- 
sul : [things begin 
Attempt him, noble friend. [Exit Pomp.] These 
To look like dangers, now, worthy my fates. 
Fortune, I see thy worst : let doubtful states. 
Aiid things uncertain, hang upon thy will ; 
Me surest death shall render certain still. 
Yet, w'hy is now my thought tum'd toward 

death. 
Whom fates have let go on, so far in breath, 
Uncheck'd or unreproved ? I,^ that did help 
To fell the lofty cedar of the world, 
Germanicus ; that at one stroke '" cut down 
Drusus, that upright elm ; wither'd his vine ; 
Laid " Silius and '^ Sabinus, two strong oaks, 
Flat on the earth ; besides those other shrubs, 
Cordus '•' and " Sosia,'* Claudia Pulchra, 
Furnius and '® Gallus, which I have grubb'd up : 
And since, have set my axe so strong and deep 
Into the root of spreading " Agrippina ; 
Lopt off and scatter' d her proud branches, Nero, 
Drusus ; and '- Caius too, although re-planted. 
If you will. Destinies, that after all, 
I faint now ere I touch my period, 
You are but cruel ; and I already have clone 
Things great enough. All Rome hath been my 
The senate sate an idle looker on, [slave ; 

And witness of my power ; when I have blush'd 
More to command than it to suffer : all 
The fathers have sate ready and prepared. 
To give me empire, temples, or their throats. 
When I -would ask 'cm ; and what crowns the 

top, 
Rome, senate, people, all the world have seen 
Jove, but my equal ; Caesar, but my second. 
'Tis then your malice. Fates, who, but j'our own). 
Envy and fear to have my power long known. 

[Exit 

SCENE V. — A Room in the same. 

Enter Terentius and Tribunes. 
Ter. Stay here : I'll give his lordship, you 
are conie. 

Enter IMinutius, icith Cotta and Latiaris. 
Min. Marcus Terentius, 'pray you tell my 
Here's Cotta, and Latiaris. [lord 

Ter. Sir, I shall. [Exit 

Cot. My letter is the very same with yours ; 

5 Vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. i. p. 93. 

10 Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. pp. 74, 75, et Dio. Lib. Ivii. p. 709 

u Tacit. Lib. iv. p. 79. 

12 Ibid. p. 94. 

13 Do Crcmut. Cor. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Ivii. p. 710 
Tacit. Ann. Lib. iv. p. 83. 

1* Do Sosia. Tacit. Ann. Lib. iy- p. 94. 

15 De Clan, et Furnio. qiitere Tacit. Ann. Lih. iv. p 89 

10 ne Gallo Tacit. Lib. iv.p. 9.5. et Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 7Iil 

V De Aijr. Ner. et Dru. leg. Suet. Tib. cap. 53, 4. 

18 De Caio. cons. Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 727 



SEJANUS. 



26-5 



Only requires me to be present there, 

And give mj' voice to strengthen his design. 

Lat. Names he not what it is ? 

Cot. No, nor to you. 

Lat. 'Tis strange and singular doubtful ! 

Cot. So it is. 
It may be all is left to lord Sejanus. 

Enter Netta and Gracinus Laco. 
Nat. Gentlemen, wherc's my lord ? 
Tri. AVe wait him here. 
Cot. The provost Laco ! what's the news ? 
Lat. ]My lord 

Enter Sejanus. 

Sej. Now, my right dear, noble, and trusted 
friends, 
How much I am a captive to your kindness ! 
Most worthy Cotta, Latiaris, Laco, 
Your valiant hand ; and, gentlemen, your loves. 
I wish I could divide myself unto you ; 
Or that it lay within our narrow powers, 
To satisfy for so enlarged bounty. 
Gracinus, we must pray you, hold j'^our guards 
Unquit when morning comes. Saw you the 
consul ? 

Min. Trio will presently be here, my lord. 

Cot. They are but giving ' order for the edict, 
To warn the senate. 

Sej. How ! the senate ? 

Lac. Yes. 
This morning in Apollo's temple. 

Cot. We 
Ai'c charged by letter to be there, my lord. 

Sej. By letter ! pray you, let's see. 

Lat. Knows not his lordship ? 

Cot. It seems so ! [edge ! 

Se . A senate warn'd ! without my knowl- 
And on this sudden ! Senators by letters 
Required to be there ! who brought these r 

Cot. Macro. 

Sej. Jline '^ enemy ! and when ? 

Cot. This midnight. 

Sej. Time, 
With every other circumstance, doth give 
It hath some strain of engine in't ! — How now ? 

Enter Satkius. 

Sat. My lord, Sertorius Macro is without, 
Alone, and prays t' have private conference 
In business of liigh nature with your lordship. 
He says to me, and which regards you much. 

Sej. Let him come here. 

Sat. Better, my lord, withdraw : [friends 

You will betray what store and strength of 
Are now about you ; which he comes to spy. 

Sej. Is he not arm'd ? 

Sat. We'll search him. 

Sej. No ; but take, 
And lead him to some room, where you conceal'd 
M-.:y keep a guard upon us. [Exit Sat.] Noble 

Laco, 
You are our trust ; and till our o^^■n cohorts 
Can be brought up, your strengths must be our 
Now, good Minutius, honor'd Latiaris, [guard. 
[Ho salutes them humbly. 

1 Vid. DIo. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. d. 718. 

2 Dio. Lib, Iviii. p. 718. 



Most worthy and my most unwearied friends : 
I return instantly. [Exit. 

Lat. Most worthy lord. 

Cot. His lordship is turn'd instant kind, me- 
thinks ; 
I have not observed it in liim, heretofore. 

1 Tri. 'Tis true, and it becomes him nobly. 
Min. I 

Am wrapt withal. 

2 Tri. By Mars, he has my lives, 
Were the)' a million, for this only grace. 

Lac. Ay, and to name a man ! 
Lat. As he did me. 
Min. And me ! 

Lat. Who would not spend his life and for- 

To purchase but the look of such a lord ? [tunes, 

Lac. He that would nor be lord's fool, nor the 

world's. [Aside. 

SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Sejanus, Macro, and Satrius. 

Sej. Macro ! * most welcome, a most coveted 
friend ! 
Let me enjoy my longings. AVhen arrived you ? 

Mac. About ■• the noon of night. 

Sej. Satrius, give leav«. [Exit Sat. 

Mac. I have been, since I came, with both the 
On a particular design from Ctesar. [consuls, 

Sej. How fares it with our great and royal 
master .' 

Mac. Right plentifully well ; as, with a prince 
That still holds out * the great proportion 
Of his large favors, where his judgment hath 
!Made once divine election : like the god 
That wants not, nor is wearied to bestow 
Where merit meets his bounty, as it doth 
In j'ou, already the most happy, and ere [nus. 
The sun shall climb the so->. :th, most high Seja- 
Let not my lord be amused. For, to this end 
Was I by Ctesar sent for to the isle, 
With special caution to conceal my journey ; 
And, thence, had my dispatch as privately 
Again to Rome ; charged to come here by night 
And only to the consuls make narration 
Of his great purpose ; that the benefit [much 
Might come more full, and striking, by how 
It Avas less look'd for, or aspired by you, 
Or least informed to the common thought. 

Sej. What may this be ? part of myself, dca) 
Macro, 
If good, speak out ; and share with your Sejanus 

Mac. If bad, I should for ever loath myself 
To be the messenger to so good a lord. 
I do exceed my instructions to acquaint 
Y'our lordship with thus much ; but 'tis my 

venture 
On your retentive wisdom : and because 
I would no jealous scruple should molest 
Or rack j-our peace of thought. For I assure 
My noble lord, no senator yet knows [ters 

The business meant : though all by several let 
Are warned to be there, and give their voices, 
Only to add unto the state and grace 
Of what is purposed. 



3 Dio. Hist. Rom. Lib. Iviii. p. 73. 

i Mcridies noctis, V;ur. Marcipor. vid. Non. Mar. cap. Vi 

5 Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 78 



266 



SEJANUS. 



SeJ. You take pleasure, Macro, 
Like a coy wench, in torturing your lover. 
What can be worth this suffering ? 

Mac. That which follows, 
The ^ tribunitial dignity and ^Dower : 
Both which Sejanus ia to have this day 
Conferral upon him, and by public senate. 

Stj. Fortune be mine again ! thou hast satisfied 
Tor thy suspected royalty. [Aside. 

Mac'. My lord, 
I have no longer time, the day approacheth, 
And I must back to Caesar. 

SeJ. Where's Caligula ? 

Mac. That I forgot to tell your lordship. Why, 
He lingers yonder about Caprese, 
Disgraced ; Tiberius hath not seen him yet : 
He needs would thrust himself to go with me. 
Against my wish or will ; but I have quitted 
His forward trouble, with as tardy note 
As ray neglect or silence could afford him. 
Your lordship cannot now command me aught. 
Because I take no knowledge that I saw you ; 
But I shall boast to live to serve your lordship : 
And so take leave. 

,%'. Honest and worthy Macro ; 
Your love and friendship. [Exit Macro.] — 

Who's there ? Satrius, 
Attend my honorable friend forth. — O ! 
How vain and vile a passion is this fear. 
What base uncomely things it makes men do ! 
Suspect their noblest friends, as I did this. 
Flatter poor enemies, entreat their servants, 
Stoop, court, and catch at the benevolence 
Of creatures, unto whom, within this hour, 
I would not have vouchsafed a quarter-look, 
Or piece of face ! By you that fools call gods, 
Hang all the sky Avith your prodigious signs, 
Fill earth with monsters, drop the scorpion 
Out of the zodiac, or the fiercer lion, [down, 
Shake off the loosen'd globe from her long 

hinge. 
Roll all the world in darkness, and let loose 
The enraged winds to turn up groves and towns ! 
When I do fear again, let me be struck 
With forked fire, and unpitied die : 
Who fears, is worthy of calamity. [Exit. 

SCENE VIL — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Terentius,Minutius, Laco, Cotta, Lati- 

ARis, and PoMPONius ; Regulus, Trio, and 

others, on dijferent sides. 

Fom. Is not my lord here ? 

Ter. Sir, he will be straight. 

Cot. What news, Fulcinius Trio ? 

Tri. Good, good tidings ; 
But keep it to yourself. My lord Sejanus 
Is to receive this day in open senate 
The tribunitial dignity. 

Cot. Is't true ? 

Tri. No words, not to your thought : but, sir, 

Lai. What says the consul ? [believe it. 

Cot. Speak it not again : 
He tells me, that to-day my lord Sejanus 

Tri. I must entreat you, Cotta, on your honor 
Not to reveal it. 



1 Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 78. vid. Suet, do oppress. Sejan. Tib. 
c. C5. 



Cot. On my life, sir. 

Lat. Say. 

Cot. Is to receive the tribunitial power. 
But, as you are an honorable man, 
Let me conjure you not to utter it ; 
For it is trusted to me with tliat bond. 

Lat. I am Harpocrates. 

Ter. Can you assure it ? 

Pont. The consul told .t me, but keep it close . 

Min. Lord Latiaris, what's the news ? 

Lat. I'll tell you ; 
But you must swear to keep it secret. 

Etiter Sejanus. 

ScJ. I knew the Fates had on their distaff left 
More of our thread, than so. 

Becf. Hail, great Sejanus ! 

Tri. Hail, the ^ most honor' d ! 

Cot. Happy ! 

Lat. High Sejanus ! 

SeJ. Do you bring prodigies too ? 

Tri. May all presage 
Turn to those fair effects, whereof we bring 
Your lordship news. 

liej. May't please my lord withdraw. 

SeJ. Yes : — I will speak with you anon. 

[To some that stand by, 

Ter. My lord. 
What is your pleasure for the tribunes ? 

SeJ. Why, 
Let them be thank'd and sent away. 

Min. My lord 

Lac. Will't please your lordship to command 

Scj. No : [me 

You aye troublesome. 

Min. The ^ mood is changed. 

Tri. Not speak. 
Nor look ! 

Lac. Ay, he is wise, will make him fi'iends 
Of such who never love, but for their ends. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VIIL — A Space before the Temple 
of Apollo. 

Enter Arruntius and Lepidus, divers Senators 
passintj by them. 

Arr. Ay, go, make haste ; take heed you be not 
To tender your ■* All Hail in the wide hall [last 
Of huge Sejanus : run a lictor's pace : 
Stay not to put your robes on ; but away, [ship 
With the pale troubled ensigns of great friend- 
Stamp' d in your face ! Now, Marcus Lepidus^ 
You still believe your former augury ! 
Sejanus must go downward ! You perceive 
His wane approaching fast ! 

Lep. Believe me, Lucius, 
I wonder at this rising. 

Arr. Ay, and that we 
Must give our suffrage to it. You will say. 
It is to make liis fall more steep and grievous : 
It may be so. But think it, they that can 
With idle Avishes 'say to bring back time : 
In cases desperate, all hope is crime. 
See, see ! what troops of his officious friends 

2 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 718. 

3 Dio. ibid. 

•* Ave, niatutina vox salutanti projji'a, apud Ronianot 
vid. Bliss, de form. Lib. vui 



SEJANUS. 



^67 



Flock to salute my lord, and start before 
My great proud lord ! to get a lord-like nod ! 
Attend my lord unto the senate-liouse ! 
Bring back my lord ! like servile ushers, make 
Way for my lord ! proclaim his idol lordsliip. 
More than ten criers, or six noise of trumpets ! 
Make legs, kiss hands, and take a scatter'd hair 
From my lord's eminent shoulder ! 

[Sanquixius and Hateihus pass over the stage. 
See, ' Sanquinius 
With his slow belly, and his dropsy ! look. 
What toiling haste he makes ! yet here's another 
Ketarded -vvith the gout, wiU be afore him. 
Get thee '-'Liburnian porters, thou gross fool, 
To bear thy obsequious fatness, like thy peers. 
They are met ! the gout returns, and his great 

carriage. 
[Lictors, Regulus, Trio, Sejanus, Satrius, and 
many other Senators, ^^as« over the stage. 

Lict. Give way, make place, room for the 

San, Hail, [consul ! 

Hail, great Scjanus ! 

Hat. Hail, my honor' d lord ! 

Arr. We shall be mark'd anon, for our not 
Hail. 

Lep. That is already done. 

Arr. It is a note 
Of upstart greatness, to observe and watch 
For these poor trifles, which the noble mind 
Neglects and scorns. 

Lep. Ay, and they think themselves 
Deeply dishonor'd where they are omitted, 
As if they were ^ necessities that help'd 
To the perfection of their dignities ; 
And hate the men that but refrain them. 

Arr. O! 
There is a farther cause of hate. Their breasts 
Are guilty, that we know their obscure springs, 
And base beginnings ; thence the anger grows. 
On. Follow. 

SCENL IX. — Another Part of the same- 
Enter Macro and Laco. 
Mac. When all are enter' d, * shut the temple 
And bring your guards up to the gate, [doors ; 
Lac. I "W'lll. 

Mac. If you shall hear commotion in the sen- 
Present yourself : and charge on any man [ate. 
Shall offer to come forth, 

Lac. I am instructed. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE X. — The Temple of Apollo. 

Bntey H.^terius, Trk Sanquinius, Gotta, Reg- 
ULUS, SsjANua, PojftoNius, L.iTiARis, Lepidus, 
Arruntius, and divers other Senators ; Pra;co- 
nes, and Lictors. 

Hat. How well his lordship looks to-day ! 
Tri. As if 
i He had been born, or made for this hour's state. 

1 De Sanquinio vid. Tacit. Ann. Lib. vi. et de Haterio, 
Ibid. 

2 Ex Liliuniia, magnae et proceree staturae mittebantur, 
|ui eraiit Rom. Lecticarii ; test. Juv. Sat. iii. v. 240. 

Tiirba cedente vehetur 

Dives, et ingenti curiet super oia Liburno. 

s Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii 
t Dio. ibid. p. 718. 



Cot. Your fellow consul's come about, mo- 
thinks ? 

Tri. Ay, he is wise. 

Sa7i. Sejanus trusts him well. 

Tri. Sejanus is a noble, * bounteous lord 

Hat. He is so, and most valiant. 

Lat. And most wise. 

1 Se)i. He's every thing. 

Lat. Worthy of all, and more 
Than bounty can bestow. 

Tri. This dignity 
Will make him worthy. 

Pom. Above Caesar. 

San. Tut, 
Ctesar is but the ^ rector of an isle, 
He of the empire. 

Tri. Now he will have power 
More to reward than ever. 

Cot. Let us look 
We be not ^ slack in giving him our voices 

Lat. Not I. 

San. Nor I. 

Cot. The readier we seem 
To propagate his honors, will more bind 
His thoughts to ours. 

Hat. I think right with your lordship ; 
It is the way to have us hold our places. 

San. Ay, and get more. 

Lat. More office and more titles. 

Pom. I Avill not lose the part I hope to share 
In these his fortunes, for my patrimony. 

Lat. See, how Arruntius sits, and Lepidus ! 

Tri. Let them alone, they will be mark'd anon 

1 Sen. I'll do with others. 

2 Sen. So wiU I. 

3 Sen. And I. 

Men grow not In the state, but a.s they arc 
Warm in his favors. [planted 

Cot. Noble Sejanus ! 

Hat. Honor'd Sejanus ! 

Lat. Worthy and great Sejanus ! 

Arr. Gods ! how the sponges open and take m» 
And shut again ! look, look ! is not he blest 
That gets a seat in eye-reach of him ? more, 
That comes in ear, or tongue-reach ? O but m.oit 
Can claw his subtle elbow, or with a buz 
Fly-blow his ears ? 

Prcet. Proclaim the senate's peace. 
And give last summons by the edict. 

Pra. Silence ! 
In name of Ca;sar, and the senate, silence ! 

Memmius Regulus, and Fulcinius Trio, ^consuls, 
these present kalends of June, ivith the first light, 
shall hold a senate, in the temjile of AiJollo Pala- 
tine : ® all that are fathers, and are registered fa- 
thers, that have right of entering the senate, tee loam 
or command you he frequently present, take knovil- 
edge the business is the commonwealth's : whosoever 
is absent, his fine or mulct will be taken, his excuse 
will not be taken. 

Tri. Note who are absent, and record theii 
names. 



5 Vid. acclamation. Senat. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. <, 
719. 
Dio. p. 715. 

7 Dio. p. 719. 

8 Vid. Brissoniura de formul. Lib. li. et Lipsium S«I 
Menip. 

3 Palatinus, a monte Palatino dictus. 



268 



SEJANUS. 



Reg. Fathers conscriirt,' may what I am to 
utter 
Turn good and happy for the commonwealth ! 
And thou, Apollo, in whose holy house 
Wo here have met, inspire lis all with truth, 
And liberty of censure to our thoiight ! 
The majesty of great Tiberius Caesar 
Propounds to this grave senate, the bestowing 
Upon the man he loves, honor' d Scjanus, 
The ^ tribunitial dignity and power : 
Here are his letters, signed with his signet. 
What -^ pleaseth now the fathers to be clone ? 

Sen, Read, read them, open, publicly" read 
them. 

Cot. Caesar hath honor'd his own greatness 
In thinking of this act. [much 

Tri. It was a thought 
Happy, and worthy Ctesar. 

Lat. And the lord 
As Avorthy it, on whom it is directed ! 

Hat. Most worthy ! 

San, Rome did never boast the virtue 
That could give envj^ bounds, but his : Sejanus — 

1 Sen, Honor'd and noble ! 

2 Sen. Good and great Sejanus ! 

Arr. O, most tame slavery, and fierce flattery ! 
Prcc. Silence ! 

Tiberius C^sar to the Senate, greeting. 
Jf you, '^ conscript fathers, with your children, he 
in heaUh, it is abundantly loeM : tee with our 
friends here are so. The care of the commonwealth, 
hotosoever we are removed in person, cannot be ab- 
sent to our thought ; although, oftentimes, even to 
princes most present, the truth of their oion affairs is 
kid ; than which, nothing falls out more miserable 
to a state, or makes the art of governing more diffi- 
cult. But since it hatli been our easeful happiness 
to enjoy both the aids and industry of so vigilant a 
senate, toe profess to have been the more indulgent 
to our pleasures, not as being careless of our office, 
hut rather secure of the necessity. Neither do 
these common rumors of many, and infamous libels 
published against our retirement, at all afflict us ; 
being born more out of men's igtiorance than their 
malice : and tvill, neglected, find their oion grave 
quickly ; whereas, too sensibly acknoxdedged, it 
xoould make their obloquy ours. Nor do we desire 
their authors, though found, be censured, since in 
a "free state, as ours, all men ought to enjoy both 
their minds and tongues free. 

Arr, The lapwing, tlic lapwing ! 
Yet in things which shall loorthily and more near 
concern the majesty of a prince, we shall fear to be 
to unnaturally cruel to our oxon fame, as to neglect 
them. Triie it is, conscript fathers, that we have 
raised Sejaxuis from obscure, and almost unknoxon 
getitry. 

Sen. How, how ! 
to the highest and most conspicxious point of great- 
ness, and, toe hope, deservingly ; yet not xoithout 



1 Solcranis prtBfatio consulum in relationibus. Dio. p. 
.13. 

2 Vicl. Snot. Til), rap. (15. 

* Alia funnula soleiunis, vid. Briss. Lib. ii. et Dio. p. 719. 

* Soloiine exordium epistolar. apud Romanos. cons. Briss. 
<Je formiil. Lib. viii. 

5 Finnus et paticiis stiliinde jactabat, in civltato libera, 
lingiiam mentciiiqnc liberas esse debero. Suet. Tib. c. 28. 



danger : it being a most bold hazard in that sover- 
eign, toho, by his particular love to one, dares ad- 
ventxire the hatred of all his other subjects. 

Arr. This touches ; the blood turns. 
Btct we affy in your loves and understandings, and 
do no ioay sxisjject the merit of our Sejanus, to make 
our favors offensive to any. 

Sen. O ! good, good. 
Thoxigh xce coxild have wished his zeal had run a 
calmer course against Agrippina and oxtr nephexcs, 
howsoever the openness of their actions declared 
them delinqxtents ; and, that he tcould have remem- 
bered, no innocence is so safe, but it rejoiceth to 
stand in the sight of mercy : the use of \chich in us, 
he hath so quite taken axcay, toxoards them, by his 
loyal fxiry, as noxv oxir clemency xoould be thoxight 
but wearied cruelty, if toe should offer to exercise it. 

Arr. I thank him ; there I look'd for't. A 
good fox ! 
Some there be that ® xoould interpret this his 2niblic 
severity to be iiarticular ambition ; and that, under 
a pretext of service to xis, ho doth but remove his 
own lets : alleging the strengths he hath xnade to 
hirnself, by the prcelorian soldiers, by his faction in 
court and senate, by the offices he holds himself, and 
confers on others, his 2^02mlarity and dependents, 
his xirging and almost driving xts to this our xm- 
willing retirement, and, lastly, his aspiring to be ou> 
son-in-laic 

Sen. This is strange ! 

Arr. I shall anon believe j'our vultures 
Marcus. 
Yoxir loisdoms, conscript fathers, are ahh to ex- 
amine, and censxire these suggestions. But, xoert 
they left to oxir absohung voice, xoe dtcrst pronounce 
them, as xoe think them, most malicioxis. 

Sen. 0, he has restored all ; list ! 
Yet are they offered to be averred, and on the lives 
of the informers. What xoe should say, or rat/ier 
ichat xoe shoxild not say, lords of the senate, if this 
be true, our gods and goddesses confoxmd xis if xot 
knoxo ! Only xoe mxist think, xoe have 2>!aced oxit 
benefits ill ; and conclude, that in oxir choice, eitliei 
we xvere xvanting to the gods, or the gods to xis. 

[The Senators shift their places. 

Arr, The place grows hot ; they shift. 
We have xiot been covctoxis, honorable fathers, to 
change ; neither is it noxo any xiexo lust that alters 
our affection, or old lothing ; bxit those needful 
jealousies of state, that xoarn xciser princes hourly 
to provide their safety ; and do teach them hoxo 
learned a thing it is to bexoare of the humblest 
enctny ; mxich more of those great ones, xvhom their 
oxon em2}loycd favors have made fit J'or their fears. 

1 Sen. Away. 

2 Sen. Sit farther. 

Cot. Let's remove [wind ! 

Arr. Gods ! how the leaves drop off, this little 
We therefore desire, that the offices he holds be first 
seized by the senate ; and himself sxis2oe)ided fron 
all exercise of 2'>lace or 23oxver 

Sen. How ! 

San. [Thrusting by.] By your leave. 

Arr. Come, porpoise ; whero's Haterius ? 
His gout keeps him most miserably constant i 
Your dancing shews a tempest. 



» De liac cpist. vid. Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p 719 ft 
Juv. Sat. X. 



SEJANUS. 



20S 



SeJ. Read no more. [on. 

Bcff. Lords of the senate, hold your seats : read 
Sej. These letters they are forged. 
Eeff. A guard ! sit still. 

Enter Laco, tcith the Guards, 

Arr. Here's change ! 

Seff, Bid silence, and read forward. 

Pra. Silence ! a7td himself suspended from 

all exercise of place or power, but till due and 
mature trial be made of his hmocency, which yet 
we can faintlij apprehend the necessity to doubt. If, 
conscript fathers, to your more searching wisdoms, 

iherc shall appear farther cause or of farther 

proceeding, cither to seizure of lands, goods, or 

tnore it is not our poicer that shall limit your 

authority, or our favor that must corrupt your 
justice : cither loere dishonorable in you, and both 
xtncharitahle to ourself. We looxild ' loillingly be 
present xoith your counsels in this business ; but 
the danger of so potent a faction, if it should prove 
so, forbids our attempting it : except one of the 
consuls would be entreated for our safety, to under- 
•'eaJco the guard of us home ; then ice should most 
eadily adventure. In the mean time, it shall not 
be ft for us to importune so judicious a senate, who 
know how much they hurt the innocent, that S2)are 
the guilty ; and how grateful a sacrifice to the gods 
is the life of an ingrateful j^erson. We reflect 
not, in this, on Sejanus, (notwithstanding, if you 

keep an eye iqmn him and there is Latiaris, a 

senator, and Pinnarius Natta, two of his most 
trusted ministers, and so professed, whom ice desire 
'lot to have apprehended,) but as the necessity of 
the cause exacts it. 

Reg. A guard on Latiaris ! 

Arr. O, the sjiy. 
The reverend spy is caught ! who pities him ? 
Reward, sir, for your service : now, you have 

done 
Your property, you see what use is made ! 

[Exeunt Latiaris and Naita, guarded. 
Hang up the Instrument. 

S-j. Give leave. 

Lac. Stand, stand ! 
He comes upon his death, that doth advance 
An inch toward my point. 

Sej. Have v:c no friends here ? 

Arr. Hush'd ! 
Where now are all the hails and acclamations ? 

Enter I^Iaciio. 
Ma,c. Hail to the consuls, and this noble 

senate ! 
Sej. Is Macro here ? O, thou art lost, Sejanus ! 

[Aside. 
Mac. Sit still, and unafFrighted, reverend 
fathers : 
Macro, by Ctesar's grace, the new-made provost. 
And now possest of the praetorian bands. 
An honor late belong' d to that proud man. 
Bids you be safe : and to your constant doom 
Of his dcservings, offers you the surety 
Of all the soldiers, tribunes, and centurions, 
Received in our command. 

Eeg. Sejanus, Sejanus, 
Stand forth, Sejanus ! 

1 I>io. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719, et Suet. Tib. 



Sej. Am I call'd ? 

Mae. Ay, thou, 
Thou insolent monster, art bid stand. 

Sej. Why, Macro, 
It hath been otherwise between you and I ; 
This court, that knows us both, hath seen a 

difference, 
And can, if it be pleased to speak, confirm 
Whose insolence is most. 

Mae. Come down, Typhosus. 
If mine be most, lo ! thus I make it more ; 
Kick vy) thy heels in air, tear off thy robe, 
Play with thy beard and nostrils. Thus 'tis fit 
(And no man take compassion of thy state) 
To iise th' ingrateful viper, tread his brains 
Into the earth. 

Beg. Forbear. 

Mac. If I could lose 
All my humanity now, 'twere well to torture 
So meriting a traitor. — Wherefore, fathers. 
Sit you amazed and silent ; and not censure 
This wretch, who, in the hour he first rebell'd 
'Gainst Caesar's bounty, did condemn himself r 
Phlegra, the field where all the sons of earth 
Muster'd against the gods, did ne'er acknowledge 
So proud and huge a monster. 

Reg. Take him hence ; 
And all the gods guard Csesar ! 

Tri. Take him hence. 

Hat. Hence. 

Cot. To the dungeon with him. 

San. He deserves it. 

Sen. Crown all our ^ doors with bays. 

San. And let an ox, 
With gilded horns and garlands, straight be led 
Unto the Capitol — 

Hat. And sacrificed 
To Jove, for Caesar's safety. 

Tri. AH our gods 
Be present still to Caesar ! 

Cot. Phcebus. 

San. Mars. 

Hat. Diana. 

Sa7i. Pallas. 

Se7i. Juno, Mercury, 
All guard him ! 

Mac. Forth, thou prodigy of men ! 

[Exit Sejanus, guarded. 

Cot. Let all the traitor's titles be defaced. 

Tri. His images and statues be puU'd down. 

Hat. His chariot-wheels be broken. 

Arr. And the legs 
Of the poor horses, that deserved nought, 
Let them be broken too ! 

[Exeunt Lictors, Praecones, Macro, Regu- 
Lus, Trio, Haterius, and Sanquixius : 
manent Lepidus, Arruntius, and a few 
Senators. 

Lep. O violent change. 
And whirl of men's affections ! 

Arr. Like, as both 
Their bulks and souls were bound on Fortune's 
And must act only with her motion. [wheel, 

Lep. Who would depend upon the popular airj 
Or voice of men, that have to-day beheld 
That which, if all the gods had fore-decJared, 
Would not have been believed, Sejanus' fall ? 

3 Leg. Juv. Sat. x. 



270 



SEJANUS. 



He, that this morn rose proudly, as the sun, 
And, breaking through a mist of clients' breath, 
Came on, as gazed at and admired as he, 
When superstitious Moors salute his light ! 
That had our servile nobles waiting him 
As common grooms ; and hanging on his look, 
No less than human life on destiny ! 
That had men's knees as frequent as the gods ; 
And sacrifices ' more than Rome had altars : 
And this man fall ! fall ? ay, -without a look 
That durst appear his friend, or lend so much 
Of vain relief, to his changed state, as pity ! 
Arr. They that before, like gnats, play'd in 

his beams, 
And throng'd to circumscribe him, now not seen. 
Nor deign to hold a common seat with him ! 
Others, that waited him unto the senate. 
Now inhumanely ravish him to prison, 
Whom, but this morn, thev follow' d as their 

lord ! 
Guard through the streets, bound like a fugitive. 
Instead of wreaths give fetters, strokes for 

stoops, [titles. 

Blind shames for honors, and black taunts for 
Who would trust slippery chance ? 

Lej}. They that would make 
Themselves her spoil ; and foolishly forget, 
When she doth flatter, that she comes to prey. 
Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men 
Had wisdom : we have placed thee so high. 
By fond belief in thy felicity. 

[Shout within.'] The gods guard Coesar ! AH 
the gods guard Csesar ! 

He-enter Macro, Regulus, and divers Senators. 

Mac. NoAV, ^ great Sejanus, you that awed the 
state, 
And sought to bring the nobles to your whip ; 
That would be Caesar's tutor, and dispose 
Of dignities and offices ! that had 
The public head still bare to your designs. 
And made the general voice to echo yours ! 
That look'd for salutations twelve score off. 
And would have pjTamids, yea temples, rear'd 
To your huge greatness ; now you lie as flat. 
As was your pride advanced ! 

Reg. Thanks to the gods ! [Rome ! 

Sen. And praise to Macro, that hath saved 
Liberty, liberty, liberty ! Lead on, 
And praise to Macro, that hath saved Rome ! 

[Exeunt all but AiinuNTius and Lepidus. 

Arr. I prophesy, out of the senate's flattery. 
That this new fellow, Macro, will become 
A greater i^rodigy in Rome, than he 
That now is fallen. 

Enter Terentius. 
Ter. you, whose minds are good. 
And have not forced all mankind from your 

brsasts 
That yet have so much stock of virtue left, 
To pity guilty states, when they are wretched : 
Lend your soft ears to hear, and eyes to weep, 
Deeds done by men, beyond the acts of furies. 
The eager multitude (who never yet 
Knew why to love or hate, but only pleased 



1 Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 719, fcc. 

« Vid. Dio. Rom Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720, Sec. 



T express their rage of power) no sooner heard 
The murmur of Sejanus in decline, 
But with that speed and heat of appetite, 
With which they greedily devour the way 
To some great sports, or a new theatre. 
They fiU'd the Capitol, and Pompey's Cirque, 
Where, like so many mastiffs, biting stones. 
As if his statues now were sensitive 
Of their wild fury ; first, ^ they tear them down ; 
Then fastening ropes, drag them along the streets, 
Crying in scorn. This, this was that rich head 
Was crown' d with garlands, and Avith odors, this 
That was in Rome so reverenced ! Now 
The furnace and the bellows shall tj work. 
The great Sejanus crack, and piece by piece 
Drop in the founder's pit. 
Lep. O popular rage ! 

Ter. The whilst the senate at * the temple of 
Concord 
Make haste to meet again, and thronging cry. 
Let us condemn him, tread him down in water. 
While he doth lie upon the bank ; away ! 
While some more tardy, cry unto their bearers. 
He will be censured ere we come ; run, knaves, 
And use that furioixs diligence, for fear 
Their bondmen should inform against their 

slackness. 
And bring their quaking flesh unto the hook : 
The roxit they follow Avith confused A'oicc, [him, 
Crying, they're glad, say, they could ne'er abide 
Enquire Avhat man he Avas, what kind of face. 
What beard he had,A\'hat nose,Avhat lips ? Protest 
They ever did presage he'd come to this ; 
They never thought him Avise, nor A'aliant ; ask 
After his garments, Avhen he dies, Avhat death ; 
And not a beast of all the herd demands, 
What Avas his crime, or Avho Avere his accusers, 
Under Avhat proof or testimony he fell ? 
There came, says one, a huge long-worded letter 
Froni Caprese against him. Did there so ? 
O, they are satisfied ; no more. 

Lep. Alas ! 
They follow ^ Fortune, and hate men condemn' d, 
Guilty or not. 

Arr. But had Sejanus thriA'cd 
In his design, and prosperously opprest 
The old Tiberius ; then, in that same minute, 
These very rascals, that noAV rage like furies, 
Woiild have proclaim'd Sejanus emperor. 
Lep. But Avhat hath foUoAv'd ? 
Ter. Sentence* by the senate. 
To lose his head ; Avhich was no sooner off', 
But that and the unfortunate trunk Avere seized 
By the rude multitude ; A\'ho not content 
With AA'hat the forward justice of the state 
Officiously had done, AAdth violent rage 
Have rent it limb from limb. A thousand heads, 
A thousand hands, ten thousand tongues anu 

voices, 
Employ'd at once in seA^eral acts of malice ! 
Old men not staid Avith age, A'irgins Avith shame 
Late Avives Avith loss of husbands, mothers oi 
Losing all grief in joy of his sad fall, [children 



3 Vid. Juv. Sat. x. 

* Dio. Rom. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. 

6 Juv. Sat. X. 

Dio. Hist. Lib. Iviii. p. 720 Senec. ' b <le Traiiq 
Anim. c. 11. Quo die ilium senatus dcduxerei, f Oi'jlas it 
frusta divisit, &c. 



SE JANUS. 



271 



Run quite transposed with their cruelty ! 
These mounting at his head, these at his face, 
These digging out his eyes, those with his brains 
Sprinkling themselves, their houses and their 

friends ; 
Others are met, have ravish'd thence an arm, 
And deal small pieces of the flesh for favors ; 
These with a thigh, this hath cut off" his hands, 
And this his feet ; these fingers and these toes ; 
That hath his liver, he his heart : there wants 
Nothing but room for wrath, and place for hatred! 
What cannot oft be done, is now o'erdone. 
The whole, and all of what was great Scjanus, 
And, next to Caesar, did possess the world. 
Now torn and scattcr'd, as he needs no grave ; 
Each little dust covers a little part : 
So lies he no where, and yet often buried ! 

Enter Nuntius. 

An: ^^lore of Sejanus ? 

Nun. ^Yes. 

Lep. What can be added ? 
We know him dead. 

Nun. Then there begin your pity. 
There is enough behind to melt ev'n Rome, 
And CtEsar into tears ; since never slave 
Could yet so highly offend, but tyranny. 
In torturing him, w^ould make him worth la- 
menting. — 
A son and daughter to the dead Sejanus, 
(Of whom ' there is not now so much remaining 
As would give fast'ning to the hangman's hook,) 
Have they drawn forth for farther sacrifice ; 
Whose tenderness of knowledge, unrii^e years, 
And childish silly innocence was such, [ger : 
As scarce would lend them feeling of their dan- 
The^ girl so simple, as she often ask'd 
'* Where they would lead her ? for what cause 

they dragg'd her ? " 
Cried, " She would do no more : " that she could 
take [laM^s 

•' Warning with beating." And because our 
Admit no virgin * immature to die, 
The wittily and strangely cruel Macro 
Deliver'd her to be deflower'd and spoil'd, 
By the rude lust of the licentious hangman. 
Then to be strangled with her harmless brother. 

Lep. O, act most worthy hell, and lasting 
To hide it from the world ! [iiight, 

Nun. Their bodies thrown 
Into the Gemonies, (I know not how. 
Or by what accident return'd,) the mother. 
The expulscd * Apicata, finds them there ; 



1 \"iu. &v.nec. lib. de Tranq. Ani. c. xi. 

2 Tac. Ann. Lib. v. p. 99. Et Dio. Lib. Iviii. p 720. 

* Lex non tarn virginitati ignotum cautumque voliiil 
luam stati. Cons. Lips, comment. Tac 
i Dio. Lib Ivi/i c 720. 



Whom when she saw lie spread on the* degreefj. 
After a world of fury on herself. 
Tearing her hair, defacing of her face. 
Beating her breasts and Momb, kneeling amaz'd, 
Crying to heaven, then to them ; at last, 
Her drowned voice gat up above her woes, 
And with such black and bitter execrations, 
As might affright the gods, and force the sun 
Run backward to the east ; nay, make the old 
Deformed chaos rise again, to o'erwhelm 
Them, us, and all the world, she fills the air. 
Upbraids the heavens with their partial doomSj 
Defies their tyrannous powers,® and demands, 
What she, and those poor innocents have trans- 
gress' d. 
That they must suffer such a share in vengeance, 
Whilst Livia, Lygdus, and Eudemus live. 
Who, as she says, and firmly vows to prove it 
To Ctesar and the senate, poison'd Drusus ? 

Lep. Confederates with her husband ! 

Nun. Ay. 

Lep. Strange act ! 

An: And strangely open'd : what says now 
my monster. 
The multitude ? they reel now, do they not ? 

Nun. Their gall is gone, and now they 'gin to 
weep 
The mischief they have done. 

Arr. I thank 'em, rogues. 

Nun. Part are so stupid, or so flexible. 
As they believe him innocent ; all grieve : 
And some Avhose hands yet reek Avith his warm 

blood. 
And gripe the part which thcj^ did tear of him, 
Wish him collected and created new. 

Lep. How Fortune plies her sports, when she 
begins 
To practise them ! pursues, continues, adds, 
Confounds with varying her impassion'd moods! 

An: Dost thou hope. Fortune, to redeem thy 
crimes. 
To make amend for thy ill placed favors, 
With these strange punishments ? Forbear, you 

things 
That stand upon the pinnacles of state, 
To boast your slippery height ; when you do fall. 
You pash 3'ourselvcs in pieces, ne'er to rise ; 
And he that lends you pity, is not Avise. 

Ter. Let this example move the insolent man, 
Not to grow proud and careless of the gods. 
It is an odious Avisdom to blaspheme, 
Much more to slightcn, or deny their powers : 
For, AA'hom the morning saAv so great and high, 
Thus loAV and little, 'fore the even doth lie. 

[Exeunt, 

6 ScalfE Gemonias m qvias erant projecta damnator. cor- 
pora 
6 Dio. Lib. Iviii. p. 720. 



VOLPONE; OE, THE FOX 

TO THE MOST NOBLE AND MOST EQUAL SISl'EKK, 

THE TWO FAMOUS UNIVERSITIES, 

I OR THEIR LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE SHEWN TO IILS POEM IN THE PRESENI'AriONi 

BEN JONSON, 

THE GBATEFUL ACKNOWLEDQEH, 

DEDICATES BOTH IT AND HIMSELF. 

>rETER, most eqiwl Sisters, liad any man a wit so presently excellent, as that it could raise itself; but there must comt 
hoti) matter, occasion, eommenders, and favorers to it. If tliis bo true, and that the fortune of all writers doth daily provf. 
It, it behoves the careful to provide well towards these accidents ; and, having acquired them, to preserve tliat part of rep- 
utation most tenderly, wherein the benefit of a friend is also defended. Hence is it, that I now render myself RratefuJ, 
;nd am studious to justify tlie bounty of your act; to which, though your mere authority were satisfyinR, yet it lieing an 
7."e wherein poetry and the professors of it hear so ill on all sides, there will a reason be looked for in the subject. It is 
'pertain, nor can it with any forehead be opposed, that the too much license of poetasters in this time, hath much deformed 
liieir mi^^tress; that, every day, their manifold and manifest ignorance doth stick unnatural reproaches upon her: but for 
:hcir petulancy, it were an act of the greatest injustice, either to let the learned suffer, or so divine a skill (which indeed 
yhould not be attempted with unclean hands) to fall under the least contempt. For, if men will impartially, and not 
asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any 
^nan's being the good poet, without first being a good man. He that is said to be able to inform young men to all good 
lisciplines, inflame grown men to all great virtues, keep old men in their best and supreme state, or, as they decline to 
childhood, recover them to their first strength ; that comes forth the interpreter and arbiter of nature, a teacher of things 
divine no less than human, a master in manners ; and can alone, or with a few, effect the business of mankind : this, 1 
;ake him, is no subject for pride and ignorance to exercise their railing rhetoric upon. But it will here be hastily an- 
swered, that the writers of these days are other things ; that not only their manners, but their natures, are inverted, and 
nothing remaining with them of the dignity of poet, but the abused name, which every scribe usurps ; that now, espe- 
cially in dramatic, or, as they term it, stage-poetry, nothing but ribaldry, profanation, blasphemy, all license of oflence to 
God and man is practised. I dare not deny a great part of this, and am sorry I dare not, because in some men's abortive 
features (and would they had never boasted the light) it is over true: but that all are embarked in this bold adventure 
for liell, is a most uncharitable thought, and, uttered, a more malicious slander. For my particular, I can, and from a 
most clear conscience, affirm, that I have ever trembled to thiuktoward the least profaneness ; have loathed the use of 
such foul and unwashed bawdry, as is now made the food of the scene : and, howsoever I cannot escape from some, the 
imputation of sharpness, but that they will say, I have taken a pride, or lust, to be bitter, and not my youngest infant but 
hath come into the world with all his teeth ; I would ask of tliese supercilious politics, what nation, society, or genera! 
order or state, I have provoked.' What public person.' Whether I have not in all these preserved their dignity, as mine 
own person, safe.' My works are read, allowed, (I speak of those that are intirely mine,) look into them, what broad 
reproofs have I used .' where have 1 been particular? where personal .' except to a mimic, cheater, bawd, or buffoon, crea- 
tures, for their insolencies, worthy to be taxed.' yet to which of these so poiiitingly, as he might not either ingenuously 
have confest, or wisely dissembled his disease .' But it is not rumor can make men guilty, much less entitle me to other 
men's crimes. I know, that nothing can be so innocently writ or carried, but may be made obnoxious to construction ; 
marry, whilst I bear mine innocence about me, I fear it not. Application is now grown a trade with many ; and thero 
are that profess to have a key for the decyphering of every thing: but let wise and noble persons take heed how they be 
too credulous, or give leave to these invading interpreters to be over-familiar with their fames, who cunningly, and often, 
utter their own virulent malice, under other men's simplest meanings. As for those that will (by faults which charity 
hath raked up, or common honesty concealed) make themselves a name with the multitude, or, to draw their rude and 
beastly claps, care not whose living faces they intrench with their petulant styles, may they do it without a rival, for me '. 
I cliooso rather to live graved in obscurity, than share with them in so preposterous a fame. Nor can I blame the wishes 
of those severe and wise patriots, who providing the hurts these licentious spirits may do in a state, desire rather to sco 
fools and devils, and those antique relics of barbarism retrieved, with all other ridiculous and exploded follies, than be- 
iiold tiie wounds of private men, of princes and nations : for, as Florace makes Trobatius speak among these, 

" Sibt quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et odit." 

And men may justly impute such rages, if continued, to the writer, as his sports. The increase of v/liich lust m liberty, 
together with the present trade of the stage, in all their miscelline interhides, what learned or liberal soul doth not ai- 
reaiJy abhor.' where nothing but the filth of the time is uttered, and with such impropriety of phrase, such plenty of sole- 
cisms, such dearth of sense, so bold prolepses, so racked metaphors, with brothelry, able to violate the ear of a pagan, and 
ilasphemy, to turn the blood of a christian to water. I cannot but be serious in a cause of this nature, wherein my fame, 
ind the reputation of divers honest and learned are the question; when a name so full of authority, antiquity, and all 
§reat mark, is, through their insolence, become the lowest scorn of the age ; and those men subject to the petulancy of 
wery vernaculous orator, that were wont to be the care of kings and happiest monarchs. This it is that hath not only rapt 
me to present indignation, but njadc me studious heretofore, and by all my actions, to stand off from them ; which may 
raost appear in this my latest work, which you, most learned Arbitrcsses, have seen, judged, and to my crown approved ; 
wherein I have labored for their instruction and amendment, to reduce not only the ancient forms, but mariners of the 
"cene, the easiness, the propriety, the innocence, and last, the doctrine, which is the principal end of poesie, to inform 
men iQ the best reason of living. And though my catastrophe may, in the strict rigor of comic law, meet with censure, 
W turning back to my promise ; I desiro the learned and charitable critic, to have so much faith in me, to think it v/as 

272 



THE F'_/X. 



273 



Joiie of industry: for, with what ease I could have varied it nearer his scale (hut that I fear to boLst my own faculty) I 
could here insert. But my special aim being to put the snaffle in tlicir mouths, tliat cry out, We never punish vice in our 
interludes, &c., I took the more liberty; though not without some lines of example, drawn even in the ancients theni- 
Eelves, the goings out of whose comedies are not always joyful, but oft times the bawds, the servants, the rivals, yea, and 
the masters are mulcted ; and fitly, it being the office of a comic poet to imitate justice, and instruct to life, as well as pu- 
rity of language, or stir up gentle affections ; to which I sliall take the occasion elsewhere to speak. 

For the present, most reverenced Sisters, as I have cared to be thankful for your affections past, and here made the un- 
derstanding acquainted with some ground of your favors ; let me not despair their continuance, to the maturing of some 
worthier fruits; wherein, if my muses be true to me, I shall raise the despised head of poetry again, and stripping her out 
of tliose rotten and base rags wlierewith the times have adulterated her form, restore her to lier primitive habit, feature, 
and majesty, and render her worthy to be embraced and kist of all the great and master-spirits of our world. As for the 
vile and slothful, who never affected an act worthy of celebration, or are so inward with their own vicious natures, as 
they worthily fear her, and think it an higli point of policy to keep her in contempt, with their declamatory and windy 
invectives ; she shall out of just rage incite her servants (wlio are genus irritabile) to spout ink in their faces, that shall 
eat farther than their marrow into their fames ; and not Cinnamus the barber, with his art, shall be able to take out the 
brands ; but they shall live, and be read, till the wretches die, as things worst deserving of themselves in chief, and th«u 
of all mankind. 

From my House in the Black-Friars, this 11th day of February, 1607. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.E. 



VOLPONE, a Magnifico. 

MOSCA, his Parasite. 

VoLTORE, an Advocate. 

CoRBACCio, an old Oentleman. 

CORVINO, a Merchant. 

Bon ARIO, son to Corbaccio. 

Sir Politick Would-be, a Knight. 

PERE(;RlNE,a Oentleman Traveller. 

Nano, a Dwarf. 

Castrone, an Eunuch. 

AndrogVNO. an Hermaphrodite. 



Grege (or Mob.) 

Commandadori, Officers of Justice. 
Mercatori, three Merchants. 
Avocaton, four Magistrates. 
Notario, the Register. 

Lady Would-be, Sir PoUtick's Wife. 
Celia, Corvino's Wife. 

Servitori, Servants, two Waiting-women, ^e 



SCENE, — Venice. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

V olpone, childless, rich, feijns sick, despairs, 

Offers his state to hopes of several heirs, 

L ies lan(/i(ishi)i(j : his jmrasite receives 

P resents of all, assures, deludes ; then iveaves 

O ther cross plots, which ope themselves, are told. 

N eio tricks for safety are sought ; they thrive : ichen bold, 

E ach tempts the other again, and all are sold. 



PROLOGUE. 



Noio, luck yet send us, and a little wit 

Will serve to make our x>lay hit ; 
''According to the palates of the season) 

Here is rhime, not empty of reason. 
This toere we bid to credit from our poet. 

Whose true scope, if you would knoio if. 
In all his poems still hath been this measure. 

To mix p)rojit with \jour pileasure ; 
' And not as some, whose throats their envy failing. 

Cry hoarsely, All he icrites is railing : 
And when his 2^lays coma forth, think they can 
fiout them. 

With saying, he was a year about them. 
To this there needs no lie, but this his creature. 

Which teas two tnonths since no feature ; 
And though he dares give them fee lives to mend it, 

'Tis known, five loceks fully penn' d it. 
From his own hand, ivithout a co-adjutor, 

Novice, journey -man, or tutor. 

18 



Yet thus much I can give you as a token 

Of his play's worth, no eggs are broken. 
Nor quaking custards %vith fierce teeth affrighted^ 

Wherewith your rout are so delighted; 
Nor hales he in a gull old ends reciting, 

To stop gaps in his loose loriting ; 
With such a deal of monstrous and forced action. 

As might make Bethlem a faction : 
Nor made he his play for jests stolen from each table, 
f But makes jests to fit his fable ; 
'And so x)resents quick comedy refined, 

As best critics have designed ; 
The laws of time, i^lace, 2}ersons he dbsei'veth. 

From no needful rule he siccrveth. 
All gall and copperas from his ink he draineth. 

Only a little salt remaineth. 
Wherewith he'll rub your cheelcs, till red, with 
laugMer, 

TJiey shall look fresh a iceek after. 



274 



THE FOX. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in Volpoxe's House. 

Elite)- VoLPOXE cmd !Moi5CA. 
Volp. Good morning to the day ; and next, 

my gold ! — 
Open the shrine, that I may see my saint. 

[J^IoscA tcithdraws the curtain, and discovers 
piles of gold, 2}lO'tc,jeioels, &;c. 
Hail the -world's soul, and mine ! more glad than is 
The teeming earth to see the long'd-ibr sun 
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram, 
Am I, to view thy splendor darkening his ; 
That lying here, amongst my other hoards, 
Shew'st lilvc a flame by night, or like the day 
Struck out of chaos, -when all darkness fled 
Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol, 
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, 
With adoration, thee, and every relick 
Of sacred treasure in this blessed room. 
Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name. 
Title that age which they would have the best ; 
Thou being the best of things, and far tran- 
scending 
All style of joy, in children, parents, friends, 
Or any other waking dream on earth : 
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe. 
They should have given her twenty thousand 

Cupids ; 
Such are thy beauties and our loves ! Dear saint. 
Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men 

tongues. 
Thou canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do 

all things ; 
The price of souls ; even hell, with thee to boot. 
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame. 
Honor, and all things else. Who can get thee. 

He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise 

Mos. And Avhat he will, sir. Riches are in 

:^rtune 
A greater good than wisdom is in nature. 

Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory 
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, 
Than in the glad possession, since I gain 
No common way ; I use no trade, no venture ; 
I woiind no earth with plough-shares, fat no 

beasts, 
To feed the shambles ; have no mills for iron. 
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder : 
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships 
To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea ; 
I turn no monies in the public bank, 
Nor usure private. 

Mos. No, sir, nor devour 
Soft prodigals. You shall have some wiir 

swallow 
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch 
Will pills of butter, and ne'er purge for it; 
Tear forth the fathers of poor families 
Out of their beds, and coffin them alive 
In some Idnd clasping prison, where their bones 
May be forth- coming, when the flesh is rotten : 
But your sweet nature doth abhor these courses ; 
You lothe the widow's or the orphan's tears 
Bhould wash your pavements, or their piteous 

cries 
Ring in your roofs, and beat the air for vengeance. 



Volp. Right, Mosca ; I do lothe it. 
Mos. And besides, sir. 
You are not like the thresher that doth stand 
With a huge flail, watching a heap of corn, 
And, hungry, dares not taste the smallest grain, 
But feeds on mallows, f nd such bitter herbs ; 
Nor like the merchant, ,vho hath fiU'd his vaults 
With Romagnia, and rich Candian win';s, 
Yit drinks the lees of Lombard's vinegar : 
Ydu will lie not in straw, whilst moths and 

worms 
F ;cd on your sumptuous hangings and soft beds ; 
You know the use of riches, and dare give no^v 
From that bright heap, to me, your poor observer. 
Or to your dwarf, or your hermaphrodite. 
Your eunuch, or what other household trifle 

Your pleasure allows nraintcnance 

Volp. Hold thee, Mosca, [Gives him monei/. 
Take of my hand ; thou strik'st on truth in all. 
And they are envious term thee parasite. 
Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool. 
And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] Wliat 

should I do. 
But cocker up my genius, and live free 
To all delights my fortune calls me to ? 
I have no wife, no parent, child, ally. 
To give my substance to ; but Avhom I make 
Must be my heir : and this makes men obseri'«» 

me : 
This draws new clients daily to my house. 
Women and men of every sex and age, 
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, 

jewels. 
With hope that when I die (which they expect. 
Each greedy minute) it shall then return 
Ten-fold upon them ; whilst some, covctour 
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole, 
And counter-work the one unto the other, 
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in lovt. 
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes, 
And am content to coin them into profit. 
And look upon their kindness, and take more. 
And look on that ; still bearing them in hand. 
Letting the cherry knock against their lips, 
And draw it by their mouths, and back again , 
How now ! 

Re-enter Moscv 2vith Naxo, Axdrogyxo, and 
Castrone. 

Nan. JVoiv, room for frcsJi ffamesters, who do will 
you to know. 
They do bring you neither play nor university 
shoto ; 
And therefore do intreat you, that whatsoever they 

reliearsc, «i 

May not fare a lohit the worse, for the false puce 
of the verse. 
If yni wonder at this, you xoill wonder more ere loa 
pass, 
Fcr knoio, here is inclosed the soulof Pythagoras, 
Time juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow ; 
mich soul, fust and loose, sir, came first from 
Apollo, 
And was breath'd into .Mthalides, Mcrcurius his 
son, 
IVJiere it had the gift to remember all that evei 
was done. 
From thence it fled forth, and made quick trattrsmi 
^ration 



THE FOX. 



276 



To goldhj-lock'd Euphorhus, who icas killed in 
good fashion. 
At the siege of old Trog, bg the cue/cold of Sparta, 
Ilcrmotimus was next (I find it in mg chatta) 
To lohom it did pass, where no sooner it was missing 
But with one Pgrrhus of Debs it learn'd to go a 
fishing ; 
And thence did it enter the sophist of Greece. 

From Pgthagore, she went into a beautiful liiece, 
Ilight As2)asia, the meretrix ; and the next toss of 
her 
Was again of a whore, she became a philosopher, 
Crates the cgnick, as ii self doth rel-ate it : 

Since kings, knights', and beggars, knaves, lords, 
and fools gat -ii, 
Besides ox and ass, camel, mule, goat, and brock. 

In all which it hath spoke, as in the cobler's cock. 
But I come not here to discourse of that matter. 
Or his one, two, or three, or his great oath, By 

QUATER ! 

His musics, his trigon, his golden thigh. 

Or his telling hoio elements shift, but I 
Would ask, hoxo of late thou hast sitffercd trans- 
lation. 
And shifted thg coat in these dags of reformat io7i. 
And. Like one of the reformed, a fool, as you see. 

Counting all old doctrine heresie. 
Nan. But not on thine own forbid moats hast thou 
ventured f 
And. On fish, when first a Carthusian I enteral- 
Nan. Why, then thy dogmatical silence hath left 
tJiee? 
And. Of that an obstreperous laioger bereft me. 
Nan. O wonderful change, when sir lawyer forsook 
thee ! 
For Pgthagore' s sake, tchat body then took thee ? 
And. A good dull mule. Nan. And hoic ! by that 
means 
Thou loert brought to allow of the eating of beans ? 
And. Yes, Nan. But from the mule into ichom 
didst thou pass ? 
And. Into a very strange beast, by some writers 
caird an ass ; 
By others, a pirecisc, pure, illuminate brother. 

Of those devour fesh, and sometimes one another ; 
And will drop you forth a libel, or a sanctified lie. 

Betwixt every spoonful of a nativity-pie. 
Nan. Now . quit thee, for heaven, of that pirofane 
nation. 
And gently report thy next transmigration. 
And. To the same that I am. Nan. A creature 
of delight. 
And, lohat is more than a fool, an hermaphrodite ! 
Now, prithee, sweet soul, in all thy variation, 

Which body would'st tJwu choose, to keep up thy 

station ? 

And. Troth, this I am in : even here xoould I tarry. 

Nan. 'Cause here the delight of each sex thou 

canst vary ? 

And. Alas, those 23leasi(res be stale and forsaken ; 

No, 'tis your fool loheretolth I am so tahvi. 
The only one creature that I can call blessed ; 

For all other forms I have proved most dhtressed. 
Nan. Spoke true, as thou wert in Pythagorxs still. 

This learned opinion we celebrate lolU, 
Fellow eunuch, as beJioves us, iclth all our w't and 
art, 
Tc dignifg that whereof ourselves are sd great and 
special a part. 



Volp. NoAv, verj-, Tcry pretty ! Mosca, tlus 
Was thy invention ? 

3Ios. If it please my patron, 
Not else. 

Volp. It doth, good Mosca. 

Mos. Then it Avas, sir. 

Nano a?id Castrone sing. 

Fools, they are the only nation 

Worth men's envy or admiration ; 

Free from care or sorrow-taking, 

Selves and others merry making : 

All they speak or do is sterling. 

Your fool he is your great man's darling 

And your ladies' sport and pleasure ; 

Tongue and hauble are his treasure. 

E'en his face begettetli laughter, 

And he speaks truth free from slaugliter ; 

He's the grace of eveiy feast, 

And sometimes the chiefest guest; 

Hath his trencher and his stool, 

When wit waits upon the fool. 

O, who would not be 

He, he, he ? [Knocking v>Uhout. 

Volp. 'Wlio's that? Away! [Exeunt Nano 
and Castroxe.] Look, Mosca. Fool, 
begone ! [Exit Androgyno. 

Mos. 'Tis signior Voltore, the advocate ; 
I know him by his knock. 

Volp. Fetch me my gown, [ging, 

]\Iy furs and night-caps ; say, my couch is chan- 
And let him entertain himself aAvhile 
Without i' the gallery. [Exit Mosca.] Now, 

now, my clients 
Begiti their visitation ! A'ulture, kite. 
Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey, 
That think me turning carcase, nov.^ they come ; 
I am not for them yet — 

lie-enter Mosca, toith the goton, ^c. 

How now ! the news ; 

Mos. A piece of plate, sir. 

Volp. Of what bigness ? 

Mos. Huge, 
Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed, 
And arms engraven. 

Volp. Good ! and not a fox 
Stretch' d on the earth, with fine delusive 
Mocking a gaping crow ? ha, Mosca ! [sleights, 

Mos. Sharp, sir. 

Volp. Give me my furs. [Puts on his sick dress.} 
Why dost thou laugh so, man ? 

Mos. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend 
What thoughts he has without now, as he walks : 
That this might be the last gift he should give ; 
That this would fetch you ; if you died to-day, 
And gave him all, what he should be to-morrow ; 
What large return would come of all his ven- 
tures ; 
How he should worship'd be, and reverenced : 
Ptide with his furs, and foot-cloths ; Availed on 
By herds of fools, and cUents ; have clear Avay 
Made for his mule, as letter'd as himself ; 
Be call'd the great and learned advocate : 
And then concludes, there's nought impossible. 

Volp. Yes, to be learned, Mosca. 

Mos. O, no : rich 
Implies it. Hood an as:J Avith reverend p-:.rple, 
So you can hide his two ambitious ears, 
And he shall pass for a cathedral doctor. 

Volp. My caps, my caps, good Mosca. Fetch 
him iu. 



276 



THE EOX. 



Mos. Stay, sir ; yovir ointment for your eyes. 

Volp. That's true ; 
Dispatch, dispatch : I long to have possession 
Of my new present. 

Mos. That, and thousands more, 
> hope to see you lord of. 

Volp. Thanks, kind Mosca. 

Bios. And that, when I am lost in blended dust, 
A.nd hundred such as I am, in succession 

Volp. Nay, that were too much, Mosca. 

Mos. You shall live. 
Still, to delude these harpies. 

Volp. Loving Moscr . 
'Tis well: my i^illow now, and let him enter. 

[Exit Mosca. 
Now, my feign'd cough, my phthisic, and my 
My apoplexj', palsy, and catarrhs, [gout, 

Help, with your forced functions, this my pos- 
ture, [hopes. 
Wherein, this three year, I have milk'd their 
He comes ; I hear him — Uh ! [oouyhi7i(7] uh ! 
uh! uh! O 

Re-enter Mosca, introducing Voltore, ivlth a 
2)iece of ^jfo^e. 

Mos. You stni are what you were, sir. Only 
Of all the rest, are he commands his love, [you, 
And you do wisely to preserve it thus, 
With early visitation, and kind notes 
Of j'our good meaning to him, which, I know. 
Cannot but come most grateful. Patron ! sir ! 
Here's signior Voltore is come 

Volp, {faintly.'] What say you ? 

WIos. Sir, signior Voltore is come this morning 
To visit you. 

Volp. I thank him. 

Mos. And hath brought 
A piece of antique plate, bought of St. Mark, 
With which he here presents you. 

Volp. He is welcome. 
Pray him to come more often. 

Mos. Yes. 

Volt. What says he ? [often. 

Mos. He thanks you, and desires you see him 

Volp. Mosca. 

Mos- My patron ! 

Volp. Bring him near, where is he ? 
I long to feel his hand. 

Mos. The plate is here, sir. 

Volt. How fare you, su" ? 

Volp. I thank you, signior Voltore ; 
Where is the plate ? mine eyes are bad. 

Volt. \p)iMing it into his hands.] I'm sorry, 
To see you still thus weak. 

Mos. That he's not weaker. [Aside. 

Volp. You are too munificent. 

Volt. No, sir ; would to heaven, 
I could as well give health to you, as that plate ! 

Volp. You give, sir, what you can : I thank 
you. Your love 
Hath taste m this, and shall not be unanswered : 
I pray you see me often. 

Volt. Yes, I shall, sir. 

Volp. Be not far from me. 

Mos. Do you observe that, sir ? 

Volp. Hearken unto me still ; it -will concern 
you. 

Mos. You are a happy man, sir ; know your 
good. 



Volp. I cannot now last long 

Mos. You are his heir, sir. 

Volt. Am I ? 

Volp. I feel me going ; Uh ! uh ! uji ! uh ! 
I'm sailing to my port, Uh ! uli ! uh ! uh ! 
And I am glad I am so near my haven. 

3Ios. Alas, kind gentleman ! Well, we must 
all go 

Volt. But, Mosca 

Mos. Age wiU conquer. 

Volt. 'Pray thee, hear me : 
Am I inscribed his heir for certain ? 

Mos. Are you ! 
I do beseech you, sir, you will vouchsafe 
To write me in your family. AU my hopes 
Depend upon your worship : I am lost. 
Except the rising sun do sliine on me. 

Volt. It shall both shine, and warm thee, 

Mos. Sir, [Mosca 

I am a man, that hath not done your love 
All the worst offices : here I Avear your keys. 
See all your coffers and your caskets lock'd. 
Keep the x^oor inventory of your jewels. 
Your plate and monies ; am your steward, sir, 
Husband your goods here. 

Volt. But am I sole heir ? 

Mos. Without a partner, sir ; confirm'd this 
morning : 
The wax is warm yet, and the ink scarce dry 
Upon the parchment. 

Volt. Happj"-, happy, me ! 
By what good chance, sweet Mosca ? 

Mos. Your desert, sir ; 
I know no second cause. 

Volt. Thy modesty 
Is not to know it ; well, we shall requite it. 

AIos. He ever liked your course, sir ; that first 
took him. 
I oft have heard him say, how he admired 
Men of your large profession, that could speak 
To every cause, and things mere contraries, 
Till they were hoarse again, yet all be law ; 
That, with most quick agility, could turn. 
And [re-] return ; [could] make knots, and 

undo them ; 
Give forked counsel ; take provoking gold 
On either hand, and put it up : these men. 
He knew, would thrive with their humility. 
And, for his part, he thought he shouli] e 

blest 
To have his heir of such a suffering sj^irit, 
So wise, so grave, of so perplex'd a tongue. 
And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce 
Lie still, without a fee ; when every word 
Y'our worship but lets fall, is a chcquin ! — 

[Knocking tvithojit. 
Who's that ? one knocks ; I would not have you 

seen, sir. 
And yet — pretend you came, and went in haste 

I'll fashion an excuse and, gentle sir. 

When you do come to swim in golden lard, 
Up to the arms in honey, that your chin 
Is borne up stiff, with fatness of the flood. 
Think on your vassal ; but remember me : 
I have not been your worst of clients. 

Volt. Mosca ! 

Mos. When will you have your inventorj 
brought, sir ? 
Or see a copy of the wiU ? Anon ! — 



THE FOX. 



277 



I'll bring them to you, sir. Away, be gone, 
Put business in your face. [Exit Voltore. 

Volj}. {springing ?c^;.] Excellent Mosca ! 
Come hither, let me kiss thee. 

Mos. Keep you still, sir. 
Here is Corbaccio. 

Volp. Set the plate away : 
The vulture's gone, and the old raven's come ! 

Mos. Betake you to your silence, and your 
sleep. 
Stand there and multiply. [Putting the plate to 

the rest.\ Now, shall we see 
A- wretch who is indeed more impotent 
Than this can feign to be ; yet hopes to hop 
Over his grave — 

Enter Corbaccio. 

Signior Corbaccio ! 
You're very welcome, sir. 

Corh. How does your patron ? 

Mos. Troth, as he did, sir ; no amends. 

Corh. "What ! mends he ? 

Mos. No, sir : he's rather worse. 

Corh. That's well. Where is he ? 

Mos. Upon his couch, sir, newly fall'n asleep). 

Corh. Docs he sleep well ? 

Mos. No wink, sir, all this night, 
Nor yesterday ; but slumbers. 

Corh. Good ! he should take 
Some counsel of physicians : I have brought him 
A.n opiate here, from mine own doctor. 

Mos. He will not hear of drugs. 

Corh. Why ? I myself [ents : 

Stood by while it was made, saw all the ingredi- 
And know, it cannot but most gently work : 
My life for his, 'tis but to make him sleep. 

Volp. Ay, his last slecj^, if ho would take it. 

[Aside. 

Mos. Sir, 
He has no faith in physic. 

Corh. Say you, say you ? 

Mos. He has no faith in physic : ho does think 
Most of your doctors are the greater danger, 
And worse disease, to escajje. I often have 
Hoard him protest, that your physician 
Should never be his heir. 

Corh. Not I his heir ? 

Mos. Not your phj-sician, sir. 

Corh. O, no, no, no, « 

I do not mean it. 

Mos. No, sir, nor their fees 
He cannot brook : he says, they flay a man, 
Before they kill him. 

Coi-h. llight, I do conceive you. 

Mas, And then they do it by experiment ; 
For which the law not only doth absolve them, 
But gi'ves them great reward: and he is loth 
To hire his death, so. 

Corh. It is true, they kill 
With as much license as a judge. 

Mos. Nay, more ; 
For he but kills, sir, where the law condemns. 
And these can kill him too. 

Corh. Ay, or me ; 
Or any man. How does his apoplcx ? 
[s that strong on him still ? 

Mos. Most violent. 
tlis speech is broken, and his eyes are set, 
[lis face drawn longer thai 'twas wont 



Corh. How ! how ! 
Stronger than he was wont ? 

Mos. No, sir : his face 
Drawn longer than 'twas wont. 

Corh. O, good ! 

Mos. His mouth 
Is ever gaping, and liis eyelids hang. 

Corh. Good. [joints, 

Mos. A freezing numbness stiffens all his 
And makes the color of his flesh like lead. 

Corh. 'Tis good. 

Mos. His pulse beats slow, and dull. 

Corh. Good symptoms still, 

Mos. And from his brain 

Corh. I conceive you ; good. 

Mos. Flows a cold sweat, Avith a continual 
Forth the resolved corners of his eyes, [rheum, 

Corh. Is't possible ? Yet I am better, ha ! 
How does he, with the swimming of his head ? 

Mos. O, sir, 'tis past the scotomy ; he now 
Hath lost his feeling, and hath left to snort : 
You hardly can perceive him, that he breathes. 

Corh. Excellent, excellent ! sure I shall out- 
last him : 
This makes me young again, a score of years. 

Mos. I was a coming for you, sir. 

Corh. Has he made his will ? 
AVhat has he given me ? 

Mos. No, sh". 

Corh. Nothing ! ha ? 

Mos. He has not made his will, su-'. 

Corh. Oh, oh, oh ! 
What then did Voltore, the lawyer, here ? 

Mos. He smell a carcase, sir, when he but 
My master was about his testament ; [heard 
As I did urge him to it for your good 

Corh. He came unto him, did he ? I thought so. 

Mos. Y''es, and presented him this piece of plate. 

Corh. To be his heir ? 

Mos. I do not know, sir. 

Corh. True : 
I know it too. 

Mos. By yo\ir own scale, sir. [Aside. 

Corh. Well, 
I shall prevent him, yet. See, Mosca, look. 
Here, I have brought a bag of bright chequines, 
Will quite weigh down his plate. 

Mos. [ Taking the hag.'l Yea, marry, sir. 
This IS true physic, this your sacred medicine ; 
No talk of opiates, to this great elixir ! 

Corh. 'Tis aurum palpable, if not potabile. 

Mos. It shall be miiiister'd to him., in his ho\\\, 

Corh. Ay, do, do, do. 

Mos. Most blessed cordial ! 
This will recover him. 

Corh. Y'es, do, do, do. 

Mos. I think it were not best, sir. 

Corh. What? 

Mos. To recover him. 

Corh. O, no, no, no ; by no means. 

Mos. Whj', sir, this 
Will work some strange effect, if he but feel il. 

Corh. 'Tis true, therefore forbear; I'll take 
Give me it again. [my venture : 

Mos. At no hand ; pardon me : 
You shall not do yourself that wrong, sir. I 
Will so advise you, you shall have it all. 

Corh. How? [man 

Mos. All, sir ; 'tis your right, your own : uc 



278 



THE FOX. 



dan claim a j^art : 'tis yours, without a rival, 
Decrocd by destiny. 

Corb. How, how, good Mosca ? . 

Mas. I'll tell you, sir. This fit he shall recover. 
Corb. I do conceive you. 

Mos, And, on first advantage 
Of his gain'd sense, will I re-imijortuiic liim 
Unto the making of his testament : 
And shew liim this. [Pointinc/ to the vtoncy. 

Corb. Good, good. 

Mos- 'Tis better yet. 
If you will hear, sir. 

Corb. Yes, with all my heart. 

Mos. Now, would I counsel you, nialce home 
with speed ; 
I'hero, frame a will ; whereto you shall inscribe 
My master your sole heu\ 

Corb. And disinherit 
My son ! 

Mos, O, sir, the better : for that color 
Shall make it much more taking. 

Corb. O, but color ? 

Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me. 
Now, when I come to enforce, as I will do, 
Yoiir cares, your watchings, and your many 
prayers, [present. 

Your more than many gifts, your this day's 
And last, produce your will ; where, without 

thought. 
Or least regard, unto your proper issue, 
A son so brave, and highly meriting, [j'o^i- 

The stream of your diverted love hath thrown 
Upon my master, and made him your heir : 
ile cannot be so stupid, or stone-dead, 
But out of conscience, and mere gratitude — — 

Corb. He must pronounce me his ? 

Mos. 'Tis true. 

Corb. This plot 
Did I think on before. 

Mos. I do believe it. 

Corb. Do you not believe it .' 

Mos. Yes, sir. 

Corb. Mine own project. 

Mos. Which, when he hath done, sir — — 

Corb. PubUsh'd me his heir ? 

Mos. And you so certain to survive him 

Corb. Ay. 

Mos. Being so lusty a man 

Corb. 'Tis true. 

Mos. Yes, sir [should be 

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he 
The very organ to express my thoughts ! 

Mos. You have n'ot only done yourself a 
good- 

Corb. But multiplied it on my son, 

Mos. 'Tis right, sir. 

Ccrb, Still, my invention. 

Mos. 'Las, sir ! heaven knov.'s, 
It hath been all my study, all my care, 
(I e'en grow gray withal,) how to work 
things 

Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca. 

Mos. You are he. 
For whom I labor here. 

Corb. Ay, do, do, do : 
I'll straight about it. [ Going. 

Mos. Rook go with you, raven ! 

Corb. I knoAv thee honest. 

Mos. You do lie, sii- ! [Aside. 



Corb. And [ears, sir 

Mos, Your knowledge is no better than youi 

Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee. 

Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing 

Corb. I may have my youth restored to me, 

Mos. Yoiu- worship is a precious ass I [why not \ 

Corb. What say'st thou ? 'siz-. 

Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, 

Corb. 'Tis done, 'tis done ; I go. {^Exit. 

Vol]), [leaping from his couch.'] 0, I shall 
Let out my sides, let out my sides — [burst ! 

Mos. Contain 
Your flux of laughter, sir : you know this hope 
Is such a bait, it covers any hook. 

Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it ! 
I cannot hold ; good rascal, let me kiss thee : 
I never knew thee in so rare a humor. 

Mos: Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught ; 
Follow your grave instructions ; give them 

Avords ; 
Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. 

Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare pun- 
Is avarice to itself ! [ishmcnt 

Mos. A}', with our help, sir. 

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies. 
So many fears attending on old age. 
Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish [faint, 
Can be more frequent Avith them, their limbs 
Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going. 
All dead before them ; yea, their very teeth, 
Their instruments of eating, failing them : 
Yet this is rcckon'd life ! nay, hero was one, 
Is now gone homo, that wishes to live longer ! 
Feels not his gout, nor palsy ; feigns himself 
Younger by scores of years, flatters his age 
With confident belying it, hopes he may. 
With charms, like ^Fson, have his youth re- 
stored : 
And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate 
Would be as easily cheated on, as he. 
And all turns air ! [Knocking xuilhin.'] Who's 
that there, now ? a third ! [voice : 

Mos. Close, to your couch again ; I hear hia 
It is Corvino, our spruce merchant. 

Volp. [lies down as before.] Dead. 

Mos. Another bout, sir, with your ej-cs, 
[Anointing them.] Who's there? 

Enter CoRviNO. 
Sfgnior Corvino ! come most Avish'd for ! O, 
How happy were you, if you knew it, now i 

Corv. Why ? what ? wherein ? 

Mos. The tardj"- hour is come, sir, 

Corv. He is not dead ? 

Mos. Not dead, sir, but as good ; 
He knows no man. 

Corv. How shall I do then ? 

Mos. Why, su- ? 

Corv. I have brought him here a ijcarl. 

Mos. Perhaps he has 
So much remembrance left, as to know you, sir : 
He stiUs calls on you. ; nothing but your name 
Is in his movith. Is your pearl orient, sir ? 

Corv, Venice was never owner of the like. 

Volp. [faintly.] Siguier Corvino ! 

Mos. Hark. 

Volp. Signior Corvino ! Tie's here, sir, 

Mos. He calls you; step and give it him. — 
And he has brought you a rich ^jearl. 



THE FOX. 



279 



Corv. How do yon, sir ? 
Tell him, it doubles the twelfth caract. 

Mos. Sir, 
He cannot understand, his hearing's gone ; 
And yet it comforts him to see you 

Corv. Say, 
t have a diamond for Mm, too. 

Mos. Best shew it, sir ; 
Put it into his hand ; 'tis only there 
He ajiprehends : he has his feeling, yet. 
Sec how he grasps it ! 

Corv. 'Las, good gentleman ! 
How pitiful the sight is ! 

Mos. Tut ! forget, sir. 
The weeping of an heir should still be laughter 
Under a visor. 

Corv. Why, am I his heir ? 'will 

Mos. Sir, I am sworn, I may not shew the 
Till he be dead ; but here has been Corbaccio, 
Here has been Voltore, here were others too, 
I cannot number 'em, they were so many ; 
All gaping here for legacies : but I, 
Taking the vantage of his naming you, 
Slgnior Corvhio, Signior Corvino, took 
Paper, and pen, and ink, and there I asked him, 
Whom he would have his heir ? Corvino. Who 
Should be executor ? Corvino. And, 
To any question he was silent to, 
I still interpreted the nods he made. 
Through weakness, for consent : and sent homo 

th' others. 
Nothing bequeath'd them, but to cry and curse. 

Corv. O, my dear Mosca ! {They embrace.'] 
Does he not perceive us ? 

Mos. No more than a blind harper. Ho 
knows no man, 
No face of friend, nor name of any servant. 
Who 'twas that fed him last, or gave him drink : 
Not those he hath begotten, or brought up. 
Can he remember. 

Corv. Has he children ? 

Mos. Bastards, 
Some dozen, or more, that he begot on beggars, 
Gypsies, and Jews, and black-moors, when he 

was drunk. 
Knew }'ou not that, sir ? 'tis the common fable. 
The dwarf, the fool, the eunuch, are all his ; 
He's the true father of his family, [ing. 

In all, save me : — but he has given them noth- 

Corv. That's well, that's well ! Art sure he 
does not hear us ? 

Mos. Sure, sir ! why, look you, credit your 
own sense. [Shouts in Vol.'s ear. 

The pox approach, and add to your diseases. 
If it would send you hence the sooner, sir, 
For your incontinence, it hath deserv'd it 
Thoroughly, and thoroughly, and the plague to 
boot ! — [once close 

You may Come near, sir. — Would you would 
Those filthy eyes of yours, that flow with slime. 
Like two irog-pits ; and those same hanging 
cheeks, [sir — 

Covered with hide instead of skin — Nay, help, 
That look like frozen dish-clouts set on end ! 

Corv. [aloud.'] Or like an old smoked wall, on 
Ran down in streaks ! [which the rain 

Mos. Excellent, sir ! speak out : 
You may be louder yet ; a culverin 
Discharged in his ear would hardly bore it. 



Corv. His nose is like a common sewer, etil 
running. 

Mos. 'Tis good ! And what his mouth ? 

Corv. A very draught. 

Mos. O, stop it up 

Corv. By no means. 

Mos. 'Pray you, let mc : 
Faith I could stifle him rarely with a pillow, 
As well as any Avoman that should keep him. 

Corv. Do as yoii will ; but I'll begone. 

Mos. Be so: 
It is yovLT presence makes him last so long. 

Corv. I pray you, use no violence. 

Mos. No, sir ! why ? [sir . 

Why should you be thus scrupulous, pray you, 

Corv. Nay, at your discretion. 

Mos. Weil, good sir, begone. [pearl. 

Corv. I will not trouble him now, to take my 

Mos. Pull ! nor your diamond. What a need- 
less care 
Is this afflicts you ? Is not all here yours ? 
Am not I here, whom you have made your 
That owe my being to you ? [creature ? 

Corv. Grateful Mosca ! 
Thou art my friend, my fellow, m.y companion. 
My partner, and shalt share in all my fortunes. 

Mos. ExceiJting one. 

Corv. What's that? 

Mos. Your gallant wife, sir, — [Exit Corv. 
Now is he gone : we had no other means 
To shoot him hence, but this. 

Yolp. My divine ISIosca ! 
Thou hast to-day outgone thyscK. [Knocking 

within.] — Who's there ? 
I will be troubled with no more. Prepare 
Mo music, dances, banquets, all delights ; 
The Turk is not more sensual in his pleasures. 
Than will Volpone. [Exit Mos.] Let me see : 
a pearl ! [ing's purchase. 

A diamond ! plate ! chequines ! Good morn- 
Why, this is better than rob churches, yet ; 
Or fat, by eating, once a month, a man — 

Re-enter Mosca. 
Who is't ? 

Mos. The beauteous lady Would-be, sir, 
Wife to the English knight, sir Politick Would- 
(This is the stjde, sir, is directed me,) [be, 

Hath sent to know how you have slept to-night, 
And if you would be visited ? 

Volp. Not now : 
Some three hours hence — 

Mos. I told the squire so much. 

"Volp. When I am high with mirtli and wine ; 
then, then : 
'Fore heaven, I wonder at the desperate valor 
Of the bold English, that they dare let loose 
Their wives to all encounters ! 

Mos. Sir, this knight 
Had not his name for nothinj^ le in politick, 
And knows, howe'er his wife affect strange airs, 
She hath not yet the face to be dishonest : 
But had she signior Corvino's Avife's face — 

I'olp. Has she so rare a face ? 

Mos. O, sir, the wonder, 
The blazing star of Italy ! a Avcnch 
Of the first year ! a beauty ripe as harvest ! 
Whose skin is A^'hiter than a SAvan all over, 
Than silver, snow, or lilies ! a soft lip» 



280 



THE FOX. 



Would tempt you to eternity of kissing ! 
And flesh that melteth in the touch to blood ! 
Brighc as your gold, and lovely as your gold ! 

Volp. Why had not I known this before ? 

Mos. Alas, sir, 
Myself but yesterday discover'd it. 

'Volp. How might I see her ? 

3Ios. O, not possible ; 
She's kept as warily as is your gold ; 
Never does come abroad, never takes air, 
Btit at a window. All her looks are sweet. 
As the first grapes or cherries, and are Avatch'd 
As near as they are. 

Volp. I must see her. 

Mos. Sir, 
There is a guard of spies ten thick upon her. 
All his whole household ; each of which is set 
Upon his fellow, and have all their charge, 
When he ^r'os out, when he comes in, examined. 

Volp. I will go see her, though but at her 

Mos. In some disguise, then. [window. 

J'olp. That is true ; I must 
Maintain mine own shape still the same : we'll 
think. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — St. jMarii's Palace ; a retired cor- 
ner before Corvino's House. 

Enter Sir Politick ■ Would-be, a7id Peregeine. 

Sir P. Sir, to a Avise man, all the world's his 
[t is not Italy, nor France, nor Europe, [soil : 
That must bound me, if my fates call me forth. 
Yet, I protest, it is no salt desire 
Of seeing countries, shifting a religion, 
Nor any disaffection to the state 
Where I was bred, and unto which I owe [less, 
My dearest plots, hath brought me out ; much 
That idle, antique, stale, gray-headed project 
Of knowing men's minds and manners, with 

Ulysses ! 
But a peculiar humor of mj' wife's 
Laid for this height of Venice, to observe, 
To quote, to learn the language, and so forth — 
I hope you travel, sir, with license ? 

Per. Yes. [long, sir, 

Sir P. I dare the safclier converse How 

Since you left England r 

Per. Seven Aveeks. 

Sir P. So lately ! 
You have not been with my lord ambassador ? 

Per. Not yet, sir. [climate ? 

S<V P. Pray you, what news, sir, vents our 
I heard last night a most strange thing reported 
By some of my lord's followers, and I long 
To hear how 'twill be seconded. 

Per. What was't, sir ? 

Sir P. !Marry, sir, of a raven that should build 
In a ship royal of the king's. 

Per. This fellow, 
!Does he gull me, trow ? or is gull'd ? [Aside.] 
Your name, sir. 

Sir P. My name is Politick Would-be. 

Per. O, that speaks him. — [^s/ffe.] 
X knight, sir ? 

Sir P. A poor knight, sir. 

Per. Your lady 
Lies here in Venice, for intelligence 



Of tires, and fashions, and behavior, 

Among the courtezans ? the fine lady Would-be . 

Sir P. Yes, sir ; the spider and the bee, oftimct» 
Suck from one flower. 

Per. Good sir Politick, 
I cry you mercy ; I have heard much of you : 
'Tis true, sir, of your raven. 

Sir P. On your knowledge ? [er 

Per. Yes, and your lion's whelping in the Tow- 

Sir P. Another whelp ! 

Per. Another, sir. 

Sir P. Now heaven ! 
What prodigies be these ? The fires at Berwick ! 
And the new star ! these things concurring, 

strange, 
And full of omen ! Saw you those meteors ? 

Per. I did, sir. 

iSV;- P. Fearful ! Pray you, sii-, confirm me. 
Were there three porpoises seen above the bridge, 
As they give out ? 

Per. Six, and a sturgeon, sir. 

Sir P. I am astonish'd. 

Per. Nay, sir, be not so ; 
I'll tell you a greater jDrodigy than these. 

Sir P. What should these things portend ? 

Per. The very day 
(Let me be sure) that I put forth from London, 
There was a whale discovered in the river, 
As high as Woolwich, that had waited there, 
Few know how many months, for the subversion 
Of the Stodc fleet. 

Sir P. Is't possible ? believe it, 
'Twas either sent from Spain, or the archdukes 
Spinola's whale, upon my life, my credit ! 
Will they not leave these projects ? Worthy sir 
Some other news. 

Per. Faith, Stone the fool is dead, 
And they do lack a tavern fool extremely. 

Sir P. Is Mass Stone dead ? 

Per. He's dead, sir ; why, I hope 
You thought him not immortal .'' — 0,this knight. 
Were he well known, would be a precious thing 
To fit our English stage : he that should write 
But such a fellow, should be thought to feign 
Extremely, if not maliciouslj'. [Aside. 

Sir P. Stone dead ! 

Per. Dead. — Lord ! how deeply, sir, you ap- 
prehend it ? 
lie was no kinsman to you ? 

Sir P. That I know of. 
Well ! that same fellow was an unknown fool. 

Per- And yet you knew him, it seems ? 

Sir P. I did so. Sir, 
I knew him one of the most dangerous heads 
Living within the state, and so I held him. 

Per. Indeed, sir .'' 

Sir P. While he lived, in action. 
He has received weekly intelligence, 
Upon my knowledge, out of the Low Countries 
For all parts of the world, in cabbages ; 
And those dispensed again to ambassadors. 
In oranges, musk-melons, apricocks, [time* 

Lemons, pome-citrons, and such-like ; some 
In Colchester oysters, and your Selsey cockles. 

Per. You make me wonder. 

Sir P. Sir, upon my knov.'ledge. 
Nay, I've observed him, at your public ordinary. 
Take his advertisement from a traveller, 
A conceal'd statesman, in a trencher of meat ; 



THE FOX 



281 



And instantly, before the meal was done, 
Convey an answer in a tooth-pick. 

Per. Strange ! 
How could this be, sir ? 

Sir P. Why, the meat was cut 
So like his character, and so laid, as he 
Must easily read the cipher. 

Per. I have heard, 
He could not read, sir. 

Sir P. So 'twas given out, 
In policy, by those that did omploj^ him : 
But he could read, and had your languages. 
And to't, as sound a noddle 

Per. I have heard, sir, 
That your baboons were spies, and that they were 
A kind of subtle nation near to China. 

Sir P. Ay, ay, your Mamaluchi. Faith, they 
had 
Their hand in a French plot or two ; but they 
Were so extremely given to women, as 
The)-- made discovery of all : yet I 
Had my advices here, on Wednesday last. 
From one of their own coat, they were return'd, 
Made their relations, as the fashion is, 
• And now stand fair for fresh employment. 

Per. 'Heart! 
This sir Pol will be ignorant of nothing. \_Aside. 
It seems, sir, you know all. 

Sir P. Not all, sir, but 
T have some general notions. I do love 
To note and to observe : though I live out, 
Free from the active torrent, yet I'd mark 
The currents and the passages of things, 
For mine own private use ; and know the ebbs 
And flows of state. 

Per. Believe it, sir, I hold 
Myself in no small tie unto my fortunes. 
For casting me thus luckily upon you. 
Whose knowledge, if your bounty equal it, 
May do me great assistance, in instruction 
For my behavior, and my bearing, Avhich 
Is yet so rude and raw. 

Sir P. Why, came you forth 
Empty of rules for travel ? 

Per. Faith, I had [mar, 

Some common ones, from out that vulgar gram- 
Which he that cried Italian to me, taught me. 

Sir P. Why this it is that spoils all our brave 
bloods, 
Trusting our hopeful gentry unto pedants. 
Fellows of outside, and mere bark. You seem 

To be a gentleman, of ingenuous race : 

I not profess it, but my fate hath been 
To be, where I have been consulted with, 
In this high kind, touching some great men's 
Persons of blood and honor. [sons, 

Enter ^MoscA and Nano disr/uised, followed bij per- 
sons with materials for erecting a stage. 
Per. Who be these, sir ? 
Mas. Under that window, there 't must be. 

The same. 
Sir P. Fellows, to mount a bank. Did jomx 
instructor 
In the dear tongues, never discourse to you 
Of the Italian mountebanks ? 
Per. Yes, sir. 
Sir P. Why, 
Here you shall see one. 



Per, They are qxiacksalveri 
Fellows, that live by venting oils and drugs. 

Sir P. Was that the character he gave you of 

Per. As I remember. [tli^m • 

Sir P. Pity his ignorance. 
They are the only knowing men of Europe ! 
Great general scholars, excellent physicians. 
Most admired statesmen, profest favorites. 
And cabinet counsellors to the greatest princes ; 
The only languaged men of all the world ! 

Per. And, I have heard, they are most lewd 
impostors ; 
^lade all of terms and shreds ; no loss beliers 
Of great men's favors, than their own vile med- 

'cines ; 
Which they Avill utter upon monstrous oaths : 
Selling that drug for two-pence, ore they part. 
Which they have valued at twelve crowns bo- 
fore. 

Sir P. Sir, calumnies are answered best Avith 

silence. [friends ? 

Yourself shall judge. — Who is it mounts, m> 

Mas. Scoto of Mantua, sir. 

Sir P. Is't he ? Nay, then 
I'll proudly promise, sir, you shall behold 
Another man than has been phant'sied to you. 
I wonder yet, that he should mount his bank, 
Here in tliis nook, that has been wont t' appeal 
In face of the Piazza ! — Here he comes. 

Enter Volpone, disguised as a mountebank Doctor, 
and followed by a crowd of people, 

Tolp. Mount, zany, [to Naxo.] 

Mob. Follow, follow, follow, follow ! 

Sir P. See how the people follow him ! he's 
a man 
May write ten thousand crowns in bank here 
Note, [Volpone mounts the stage. 

Mark but his gesture : — I do use to observe 
The state he keeps in getting up. 

Per. 'Tis worth it, sir. 

Voljj. Most noble gentlemen, and my worthy pa- 
trons ! It may seem strange, that I, yotir Scoto 
Mantuano, who was ever loont to fix my bank in 
face of the ptiblic Piazza, near the shelter of the 
Portico to the Procuratia, should noiv, after eight 
months absence from this illustrious city of Venice, 
humbly retire myself into an obscure nooh of the 
Piazza, 

Sir P. Did not I now object the same .' 

Per, Peace,- sir. 

Volp. Let me tell you : I am not, as your Lom- 
bard in-overb saith, cold on my feet ; or content to 
part with my commodities at a cheaper rate, than I 
accustomed : look not for it. Nor that the calum- 
nious reports of that impudent detractor, and shame 
to our pirofession, {Alessandro Buttone, I mean,} 
who gave out, in public, I was condemned a sfor- 
zato to the galleys, for poisoning the cardinal Bern- 
bo's cook, hath at all attached, much less de- 
jected me. No, no, worthy gentlemen : to tell you 
true, I cannot endure to see the rabble of these 
ground ciarlitani, that spread their cloaks on th& 
pavement, as if they meant to do feats of activity, 
and then come in lamely, wi*h their mouldy tales 
out of Boccacio, like stale Tabarine, the fabulist . 
some of them discoursing their travels, aiid of thei? 
tedious captivity in the Turks jallics, xchen, indeed, 
2cere the truth known, they icerc the Christian! 



262 



THE rox. 



ijallies, tchere very temperately they eat bread, and 
drunk water, as a wholesome petiance, enjoined 
thcni by their confessors, for base pilferies. 

Sir p. Note but his bearing, and contempt of 
these. 

Volp. These turdy-facy-nasfy-paty-loiisy-farti- 
cal rogues, toiih one poor groat's worth of unpre- 
pared antimony, finely tcrapt up in several scar- 
toccios, are able, very well, to Jdll their twenty a 
xceeTx, and play ; yet, these meagre, starved spirits, 
who have half stopt the organs of their minds with 
earthy oppilations, want not their favorers among 
your shrivell'd sallad-eating artizans, who are 
overjoyed that they may have their half-peWth of 
physic ; though it purge them into another icorld, 
li makes no matter. 

Sir P. Excellent ! have you heard better lan- 
guage, sir. 

Volp. -Well, let the7n go. And, gentlemen, hon- 
orable gcntle?nen, know, that for this time, our 
bank, being thus removed from the clamors of the 
canaglia, shall be the scene of pleasure and delight ; 
for I have nothing to sell, little or nothing to sell. 

Sir P. I told you, sir, his end. 

Per. You did so, sir. 

Volp. 1 2»'otest, I, and my six servants, are not 
dble to make of this 23reciotis liquor, so fast as it is 
fetch'd away from my lodging by gentlemen of 
your city ; strangers of the Terra-Jirma ; worship- 
ful merchants ; ay, and senators too : who, ever 
since my arrival, have detained me to their zises, 
by their splendidous liberalities. And worthily; 
for, xohat avails your rich man to have his maga- 
zines stxift ivith moscadclli, or of the purest grape, 
when his physicians 2'>rcsa-ibe him, on p)ain of death, 
*o drink nothing but toater cncted with aniseeds ? 
O, health ! health ! the blessing of the rich ! the 
riches of the poor ! icho ccm buy thee at too dear a 
rate, since there is no enjoying this world icithout 
thee? Be not then so sparing of your purses, /hon- 
orable gentlemen, as to abridge the natural course of 
life 

Per. You see his end. 

Sir P. Ay, is't not good ? 

Volp. For, wlicn a humid flux, or catarrh, by 
the mutability of air, falls from your head into an 
arm or shoulder, or any other part ; talie you a 
ducket, or your chequin of gold, and apply to the 
place ajfected : see w/iai good effect it can work. 
No, 710, 'tis this blessed unguento, this rare extrac- 
tion, that hath only p)oioer to disperse all malignant 
humors, that proceed either of hot, cold, moist, or 
windy causes — 

Per. I -would he had piit in dry too. 

Sir P. 'Pray you, observe. 

Volp. To fortify the most indigest and crude 
stomach, ay, loere it of one tJiat, through extreme 
weakness, vomited blood, applying only a warm 
nap\in to the place, after the unction and fricace ; 
— for the vertigine in the head, putting but a dro^) 
into your nostrils, likeioisc behind the ears ; a most 
sovereigii and apii^roved remedy : the mal caduco, 
cramps, convulsions, paralysies, cpilejisies, tremor- 
cordia, retired nerves, ill vapors of the spleen, stop- 
ping of the liver, the stone, the strangury, hernia 
vcntosa, iliaca j)assio ; stops a dysenteria imme- 
diately ; eascth the torsion of the small guts ; and 
cures melancholia hypondriaca, being taken and ap- 
plied according to my 2^rinted receipt. [Pointing to 



his bill and his vial.] For, this is the physician, 
this the medicine ; this counsels, (his cures ; thib 
gives the direction, this icorks the effect ; . and, in 
sum, both together may be termed an abstract of the 
theorick and jyractick in the .Mscidajnan art. ' Twill 
cost you eight croions. And, — Zan Fritada, 
prithee sing a verse extempore in Ivonor of it. 

Sir P. How do you like him, sir ? 

Per. Most strangely, I ! 

Sir P. Is not his language rare ? 

Per. But alchemy, 
I never heard the like ; or Broughton's books. 

Nano sings. 

Had old Hippocrates, or Galen, 

Tliat to tlieir books put medidines all in, 

But known this secret, they had never 

(Of which they will be guilty ever) 

Been murderers of so much paper, 

Or wasted many a hurtless taper ; 

No Indian drug had e'er been famed, 

Tobacco, sassafras not named ; 

Ne yet, of guacum one small stick, sir, 

Nor Raymund l^ully's great elixir. 

Ne had been kno.wn the Danish Gonsvi'art, 

Or Paracelsus, with iiis long sword. 

Per. All this, yet, ■^^•ill not do ; eight crowns 
is high. 

Volp. No more. — Gentlemen, if I had but time 
to discourse to you the miraculous effects of this 
my oil, surnamed Oglio del Scoto ; ivith the count- 
less catalogue of those I have cured of the aforesaid, 
and 7nany more diseases ; the piatents and privileges 
of all the 2}rinces and commo^nvealths of Christen- 
dom ; or but the dc23ositions of those that a2]2^eared 
on my part, before the sigtiiory of the Sanita and 
most learned College of Physicians ; u-here I was 
authorized, upon notice taken of the admirable vir- 
tues of my medicaments, and mine oion excellency 
in 7natter of rare and unhiotvn secrets, not only to 
disperse them publicly in this famous city, but in 
all the territories, that happily Joy under the gov- 
ermncnt of the most pious and magnificant states of 
Italy. But may sotne other gallant felloio say, O, 
there be divers that make 2)rofession to have as good, 
and as expcrimeiited, receipts as yours : indeed, very 
onany have assayed, like a2)es, in imitation of that, 
which is really and essentially in me, to make of 
this oil; bestowed great cost in furnaces, stills, 
alembeclis, conthnial fires, and preparation of the 
ingredients, (as indeed thei'o goes to it six hundred 
several simples, besides some quantify of human fat, 
for the conglutination, which we buy of the anato- 
mists,) but, ivhen these practitioners come to the last 
decoction, blow, bloio, P'^'-fft P"JF^ (^'^^ all fies in 
fumo : ha, ha, ha ! Poor wretches ! I rather piity 
their folly and indisci-etion, than their loss of time and 
money ; for these tnay be recovered by industry : but 
to be CO fool born, is a disease ineundile. 

For myself, I always from my yoxdh have e7i- 
deavored to get the rarest secrets, and book them, 
cither in exchange, or for money : I S2}ared nor cost 
7ior labor, ichere any thing was icorthy to be learned. 
And, gentlemen, honorable gentleme^i, I zoill under- 
take, by virtue of chemical art, out of the hoiiorable 
hat that covers your head, to extract the four ele- 
ments ; that is to say, the fire, air, wate)', and 
earth, and return you your felt witlwut bum or 
stain. For zvhilsf others have been at the Balloo, 1 
have been at my book ; and am 71020 j^aii the C7'agg'j 



THE FOX. 



233 



paths of stuAij, and come to the flowery lAains of 
honor and reputation. 

Sir P. I do assure you, sir, that is 1 is aim. 

Volp. But to our 2)r>ce 

Per. And that withal, sir Pol. 

Volp. You all know, honorable genuemen, I 
never valued this ampulla, or vial, at less than eight 
crowns ; but for this time, I am content to be de- 
prived of it for six : six crowns is the 2}rice, and less 
in courtesy I knoto you cannot offer me ; take it or 
leave it, howsoever, both it and I am at your ser- 
vice. I ask you not as the value of the thing, for 
then I should demand of you a thousand crowns, so 
the cardinals Montalto, Fernese, the great Duke of 
Tuscany, my gossip, with divers other i^rinces, have 
given me ; but I despise money. Only to shew my 
affection to you, Jionorable gentlemen, and your il- 
lustrious State Jiere, I have neglected the messages 
of these princes, mine own offices., framed my jour- 
ney hither, only to ^^rosent you icith the fruits of my 
travels. — Tune your voices once more to the touch 
of your instruments, and give the honorable assembly 
some delighful recreation. 

Per. Wliat monstrous and most painful cir- 
cumstance 
Is here, to get some three or^'our gazettes. 
Some three-pence in the whole ! for that 'twill 
come to. 

^ Naxo sings. 

You tliat would last long, list to my song. 
Make no more coil, but btij' of this oil. 
Would jou be ever fair and young? 
Stout of teetli, and strong of tongue? 
Tart of palate ? quick of ear? 
Sliarp of sight? of nostril clear? 
Moist of hand ? and light of foot? 
Or, I will come nearer to't, 
Would you live free from all diseases? 
Do the act your mistress pleases. 
Yet fright all aches from your bones? 
Here's a raed'cine for the nones. 

V'^olp. Well, I am in a humor at this time to 
make a present of the small quantity my coffer con- 
tains ; to the rich in courtesy, and to.ihe poor for 
God's sake. Wherefore now mark : lask'd you six 
croicns ; and six crowns, at otlicr times, you have 
paid me ; you shall not give me six crowns, nor five, 
nor four, nor three, nor two, nor one ; nor half a 
ducat ; no, not a moecinigo. Sixpence it will cost 

you, or six hundred 2^ound expect no lower 

price, for, by the banner of my front, I will not 
bate a bagatine, — that I toill have, oily, a j^ledge 
of your loves, to carry something from amongst you, 
to shew I am not contemn d by you. Therefore, }iow, 
toss your handkerchiefs, cheerfully, cheerfully ; and 
bo advertised, that the first heroic spirit that deigns to 
grace me with a handkerchief, I will give it a little 
remembrance of something, beside, shall please it 
better, than if I had i^resented it with a double 
pistolet. 

Per. Will you be that heroic spark, sir Pol ? 
[Celia at a ivindow above, throivs down her hand- 
chief. 
0, see ! the window has prevented you. 

A'^olp. Lady, I Jciss your bounty ; and for this 
timely grace you have done your poor Seoto of Man- 
tua, I tcill return you, over and above my oil, a 
secret of that high and inestimable nature, shall 
inake yo^xfor ever enamour' d on that minute, where- 
',ti your eye first descended on so mean, yet not alto- 



gether to be despised, an object. Here is a powder 
conceal' d in this 2Mper, of ivhich, if I slwuld S23cak 
to the worth, nine thousand volumes were but as one 
page, that page as a line, that line as a zvord ; so 
short is this 2>ilgrimage of man (which some call 
life) to the cxjiressing of it. Would I reflect on the 
price ? lohy, the xolwle loorld is but as an en^yire, that 
em2nre as a 2>rovince, that province as a bank, that 
bank as a 2>rivate purse to tlie j!5M;r/t«se of it. 1 
ivill only tell you ; it is the powder that made Veniat 
a goddess, (given her by Apollo,) that kcpit her /^er- 
2}etually young, clear'd Jier ivrinkles, firm'd her 
gums, fill'd her skin, color cl Jier hair ; from her 
derived to Helen, and at the sack of Troy unfortu- 
nately lost : till now, in this our age, it teas as ha2)- 
pily recovered, by a studious ccntiquary, out of some 
ruins of Asia, tvho sent a moiety of it to the court 
of France, (but much sophisticated,) wliercwith the 
ladies there, now, color their hair. Tlie rest, at this 
27resent, remains with me; extracted to a. quint- 
essence : so that, loherever it but touches, in youth it 
periJetually preserves, in age restores the complex- 
ion ; seats your teeth, did they dance like virginal 
jacks, firm as a wall ; makes them ichite as ivory, 
that ivere black as 

Enter Corvino. 

Cor. Spight o' the devil, and my shame ! 
come down, here ; [your scene ? 

Come down ; — No house but mine to make 
Siguier Flaminio, wiU you down, sir ? down ? 
What, is my wife your Franciscina, sir ? 
No windows on the whole Piazza, hero, 
To make your properties, but mine ? but mine : 
[Beats away Volpone, Nano, ^c. 
Heart ! ere to-morrow I shall be new-christen'd 
And call'd the Pantalone di Besogniosi^ 
About the town. 

Per. What should this mean, sir Pol ? 

Sir P. Some trick of state, believe it ; I will 

Per. It may be some design on you. [homft 

Sir P. I know not, 
ril stand iipon my guard. 

Per. It is your best, sir. 

Sir P. This three weeks, all my advices, all 
They have been intercepted. [my letters, 

Per. Indeed, sir ! 
Best have a care. 

Sir P. Nay, so I will. 

Per. This knight, 
I may not lose him, for my mirth, till night. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Volpone's House. 

Enter Volpone and, Mosca. 

Volp, O, I am wounded ! 

Mos. Where, sir ?. 

ro//j. Not without; [ever. 

Those blows were nothing : I could bear them 
But angry Cupid, bolting from her eyes, 
Hath shot himself into me like a flame ; 
Where, now, he flings about his burning heat, 
As in a furnace an ambitious fire, 
Whose vent is stopt. The fight is all within ma 
I cannot live, except thou help me, Mosca ; 
My liver melts, and I, without the hope 
Of some soft aii-, from her refreshing breath, 
Am but a heaj^ of cinders. 



284 



THE FOX 



Mos. 'Las, good sir, 
Would you liad never seen lier ! 

1'olp. Nay, would thou 
Ilad'st neve'r told me of her ! 

Mos. Sir, 'tis true ; 
I do confess I was "anfortunate, 
And you unhappy : but I'm bound in conscience, 
No less tb an duty, to effect my best 
To j'ourieleasc of torment, and I will, sir. 
Volp. Dear Mosca, shall I hope ? 
Mos. Sir, more than dear, 
I will not bid you to despair of aught 
Within a human compass. 

Volp. O, there spoke 
My better angel. Mosca, take my keys, 
Gold, plato, and jewels, all's at thy devotion ; 
Employ them how thou wilt ; nay, coin me too : 
So thou, in this, but crown my longings, Mosca. 
Mos. Use but your patience. 
Volp. So I have. 
Mos. I doubt not 
To bring success to your desires. 

Volp. Nay, then, 
I not repent me of my late disguise. 

Mos. If you can horn him, sir, you need not. 
Volj}. True : 
Besides, I never meant him for my heir. — 
Is not the color of ray beard and ej'ebrows 
To make me known ? 
Mos. No jot. 
Volp. I did it well. 

Mos. So well, would I could follow you in mine, 
With half the happiness ! — and yet I would 
Escape your epilogue. [Aside. 

Volp. But were they gull'd 
With a belief that I was Scoto ? 

Mos. Sir, 
Scoto himself could hardly have distinguish'd ! 
I have not time to flatter you now ; we'll part ; 
And as I prosper, so ajjplaud my art. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Corvino's House. 

Enter Coeyixo, icith his sword in his hand, drag- 
ging in Celia. 
Corv. Death of mine honor, with the city's 

fool! 
A juggling, tooth-drawing,prating mountebank ! 
And at a public window ! Avhere, whilst he, 
With his strain' d action, and his dole effaces, 
To his drug-lecture draws your itching ears, 
A crew of old, unmarried, noted letchers. 
Stood leering up like satyrs ; and you smile 
!Most graciously, and fan your favors forth. 
To give your hot spectators satisfaction ! 
What, was yoiu* mountebank their call ? their 

whistle ? 
Or were you enamour'd on his copper rings, 
His saffron jewel, Avith the toad-stone in't. 
Or his embroidor'd suit, Avith the cope-stitch. 
Made of a herse cloth ? or his old tilt-feather ? 
Or his starch' d beard ? Well, you shall have 

him, yes ! 
He shall come home, and minister unto you 
The fricace for the mother. Or, let me see, 
I think you'd rather mount ; would you not 

mount ? [may : 

Why, if you'll mount, 3'ou may ; yes, truly, you 
And so you may be seen, down to the foot. 



Get you a cittern, lady Vanity, 

And be a dealer with the virtuous man ; 

Make one : I'll but protest myself a cuckold, 

And save your dowry. I'm a Dutchman, I ! 

For, if you thought me an Italian, 

You would be damn'd, ere you did this, you 

whore ! 
Thou'dst tremble, to imagine, that the murder 
Of father, mother, brother, all thy race, 
Should follow, as the subject of my justice. 
Cel. Good sir, have patience. 
Corn. What couldst thou propose 
Less to thyself, than in this heat of wrath. 
And stung with my dishonor, I should strike 
This steel into thee, with as many stabs, 
As thou wert gaz'd upon with goatish eyes ? 

Cel. Alas, sir, be appeased ! I could not think 
My being at the Avindow should more now 
Move your impatience, than at other times. 

Corv. No ! not to seek and entertain a parley 
With a known knave, before a multitude ! 
You Avere an actor Avith your handkerchief, 
"Which he most SAVcetly kist in the receipt. 
And might, no dotxbt, return it A\ith a letter, 
And point the place Avhere you might meet 

your sister's, [turn. 

Your mother's, or your aunt's might serve the 

Cel. Wliy, dear sir, when do I make these ex- 

Or ever stir abroad, but to the church ? [cuses. 

And that so seldom 

Corv. Well, it shall be less ; 
And thy restraint before Avas liberty. 
To Avhat I noAv decree : and therefore mark me. 
First, I Avill haA-e this baAvdy light damm'd up ; 
And till't be done, some tAvo or three yards off, 
I'll chalk a line : o'er Avhich if thou but chance 
To set thy desperate foot, more hell, more horror, 
More Avild remorseless rage shall seize on thee. 
Than on a conjuror, that had heedless left 
His circle's safety ere his devil Avas laid. 
Then here's a lock which I Avill hang upon thee,. 
And, noAV I think on't, I Avill keep thee back- 

Avards ; 
Thy lodging shall be backAvards ; thy Avalks 

backwards 
Thy prospect, all be backwards ; and no pleasure, 
That thou shalt knoAV but backAvards : nay, since 

you force 
My honest nature, know, it is your own. 
Being too open, makes me use you thus : 
Since you Avill not contain your subtle nostrils 
In a sweet room, but they must snuff the air 
Of rank and sweaty i^assengers. [Knocking 
vjithin.l 
— One knocks. 
AAvay, and be not seen, pain of thy life ; 

Nor look toAvard the Avindow : if thou dost 

Nay, stay, hear this — let me not prosper, whore, 

But I Avill make thee an anatomy. 

Dissect thee mine OAvn self, and read a lecture 

Upon thee to the city, and in public. 

AAvay ! — [Exit Celia.- 

Enter Servant. 
Who's there ? 
Serv. 'Tis signior Mosca, sir. 
Corv. Let him come in. [Exit Sarv.] Hir 
master's dead : there's yet 
Some good to help the bad. — 



soBNB n. 



TKE FOX. 



28.5 



Enter Mosca. 

My Mosca, -welcome ! 
I guess your news. 

Mos. I fear you cannot, sir. 

Corv. Is't not his death r 

Mos, Rather the contrary. 

Corv. Not his recovery .' 

Mos, Yes, sir. 

Coi'v, I am curs' d, 
I am bewitch'd, my crosses meet to vex me. 
How ? how ? how ? how ? 

Mos. Why, sir, with Scoto's oil ; 
Corbaccio and Voltore brought of it. 
Whilst I was busy in an inner room 

Corv. Death ! that damn'd mountebank ; but 
for the law 
Now, I could kill the rascal : it cannot be. 
His oil should have that virtue. Have not I 
Known him a common rogue, come fidling in 
To the osteria, with a tumbling whore, 
And, when he has done all his forced tricks, 

been glad 
Of a poor spoonful of dead wine, with flics in't ? 
It cannot be. All his ingredients 
Are a sheep's gall, a roasted bitch's marrow, 
Some few sod earwigs, pounded caterpillars, 
A little capon's grease, and fasting spittle : 
I know them to a dram. 

3Ios. I know not, sir ; 
But some on't, there, they pour'd into his ears, 
Some in his nostrils, and recover'd him ; 
Applying but the fricace. 

Corv. Pox o' that fricace ! 

Mos. And since, to seem the more officious 
And flatt'ring of his health, there, they have had, 
At extreme fees, the college of physicians 
Consulting on him, how they might restore him ; 
Where one would have a cataplasm of spices. 
Another a flay'd ape clapp'd to his breast, 
A third would have it a dog, a fourth an oil, 
With Avild cats' skins : at last, thej^ all resolved 
That, to preserve him, was no other means, 
But some young woman must be straight sought 
Lusty, and full of juice, to sleep by him ; [out, 
And to this service, most unhappily. 
And most unwillingly, am I now employ'd. 
Which liere I thought to pre-acquaint you with. 
For your advice, since it concerns you most; 
Because, I would not do that thing might cross 
Your ends, on whom I have my whole depend- 
Yet, if I do it not, they may delate [ance, sir : 
My slackness to my patron, work me out 
Of his oiDinion ; and there all your hopes, 
Ventures, or whatsoever, are all frustrate ! 
I do but tell you, sir. Besides, they are all 
Now striving, who shall first present him ; there- 
fore — 
I could entreat you, briefly conclude somewhat ; 
Prevent them if you can. 

Co)'v. Death to my hopes, 
This is my villainous fortune ! Best to hire 
Some common courtezan. 

Mos. Ay, I thought on that, sir ; 
But they are all so subtle, full of art — 
And age again doting and flexible. 
So as — I cannot tell — we may, perchance, 
Light on a quean may cheat us all. 

Corv, 'Tis true. 



3Ios. No, no : it must be one that has no 
tricks, sir, 
Some simple thing, a creature made unto it ; 
Some wench you may command. Have you no 

kinswoman ? 
Odso — Think, think, think, think, think, think, 

think, sir. 
One o' the doctors offered there his daughter. 

Coro, How ! 

Mos. Yes, signior Lupo, the j)hysiciai^- 

Corv. His daughter ! 

Mos. And a virgin, sir. Why, alas, 
He knows the state of's body, what it is ; 
That nought can warm his blood, sir, but a 

fever ; 
Nor any incantation raise his spirit : 
A long forgstfulness hath seized that part. 
Besides, sir, ■\^■ho shall know it ? some one oi 
two — 

Corv. I pray thee give me leave. [Walks aside.] 
If any man 
But I had had this luck — The thing in't self, 
I know, is nothing — Wherefore should not I 
As well command my blood and my affections, 
As this dull doctor ? In the point of honor. 
The cases are all one of wife and daughter. 

3Ios. I hear him coming. [Aside. 

Corv. She shall do't : 'tis done. 
Slight ! if this doctor, who is not engaged, 
Uirless 't be for his counsel, which is nothing, 
Offer his daughter, what should I, that am 
So deeply in r I will prevent him : Wretch ! 
Covetous wretch ! — Mosca, I have determined. 

Mos. How, sir ? 

Co)-v. We'll make all sure. The party you 
wot of 
Shall be mine own wife, Mosca. 

Mos. Sir, the thing. 
But that I would not seem to counsel you, 
I should have motion' d to you, at the first : 
And make yovrr count, you have cut all their 

throats. 
Why, 'tis directly taking a possession ! 
And in his next fit, we may let him go. 
'Tis but to pull the piUow from his head. 
And he is throttled : it had been done before. 
But for your scrupulous dou.bts. 

Corv. A}', a i^lague on't, 
My conscience fools my wit ! Well, I'll be brie^ 
And so be thou, lest they should be before us : 
Go home, prepare him, tell him with what zeal 
And willingness I do it ; swear it was 
On the first hearing, as thou may'st do, truly. 
Mine own free motion. 

Mos. Sir, I warrant you, 
I'll so possess him with it, that the rest 
Of his starv'd clients shall be banish'd all ; 
And only you received. But come not, sir, 
Until I send, for I have something else 
To ripen for your good, you must not know't. 

Corv, But do not you forget to send now. 

Mos, Fear not. [Exit, 

Corv. Where are you, wife ? my Celia ! wife ! 

Re-enter Ceha. 
— What, blubbering ? 
Come, dry those tears. I think thov thought' st 

me in earnest ; 
Ha ! by this light I talk'd so but tc try thee : 



286 



THE FOX. 



.Methinks the lightness of the occasion 
Should have confirin'd thee. Come, I am not 

Cel. No ! [jealous. 

Con. Faith I am not, I, nor never -was ; 
It is a i^oor unprofitable humor. 
Do not I know, if women have a will, 
They'll do 'gainst all the watches of the world. 
And that the fiercest spies are tamed with gold ? 
Tut, I am confident in thee, thou shalt see't ; 
And see FU give thee cause too, to believe it. 
Come kiss me. Go, and make thee ready, 

straight. 
In all thy be-jt attire, thy choicest jewels. 
Put them all on, and, with them, thy best looks : 
We are invited to a solemn feast. 
At old Volpone's, where it shall appear 
How far I am free from jealousy or fear. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. 



A Street. 



Enter MoscA. 
Mos. I fear, I shall begin to grow in love 
With my dear self, and my most prosperous 

parts. 
They do so spring and biirgeon ; I can feel 
A whimsy in my blood : I know not how, 
Success hath made me wanton, I could skip 
Out of my skin, now, like a subtle snake, 
I am so limber. O ! your parasite 
Is a most precious thing, dropt from above, 
Not bred 'mongst clods and clodpoles, here on 

earth. 
I muse, the mystery was not made a science, 
It is so liberally profcst ! almost 
All the Avise world is little else, in nature, 
But parasites or sub-parasites. — And, yet, 
I mean not those that have your bare town-art, 
To know who's iit to feed them ; have no house, 
No family, no care, and therefore mould 
Tales for men's ears, to bait that sense ; or get 
Kitchen-invention, and some stale receipts 
To please the belly, and the groin ; nor those. 
With their court dog-tricks, that can fawn and 

fleer, 
Make their revenue out of legs and faces, 
Echo my lord, and lick away a moth : 
But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise. 
And stoop, almost together, like an arrow ; 
Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star ; 
Turn short as doth a swallow ; and be here. 
And there, and here, and yonder, all at once ; 
Present to any humor, all occasion ; 
And change a visor, swifter than a thought ! 
This is the creature had the art born with him ; 
Toils not to learn it, but doth practise it 
Out of most excellent nature : and such sparks 
Are the true parasites, others but their zanis. 

Enter Bonario. 
Who's this .' Bonario, old Corbaccio's son ? 
The person I was bound to seek. — Fair sir, 
You are happily met. 

Bon. That cannot be by thee. 
Mos. Why, sir? 

Bon. Nay, pray thee, know thy way, and 
leave me : 



I would loth to interchange discourse 
With such a mate as thou art. 

Mos. Courteous sir, 
Scorn not my poverty. 

Bon. Not I, by heaven ; [neas. 

But thou shalt give me leave to hate thy base- 

Mos. Baseness ! 

Bon. Ay ; answer me, is not thy sloth 
SufHcient argument ? thy flattery ? 
Thy means of feeding ? 

Mos. Heaven be good to me ! 
These imputations are too common, sir. 
And easily stuck on virtue Avhen she's i^oor 
You are unequal to mo, and however 
Your sentence may be righteous, j'et you are not 
That, ere you know me, thus proceed in censure : 
St. Mark bear witness 'gainst you, 'tis inhuman. 

[ Weeps. 

Bon. What ! docs he weep ? the sign is soft 
and good : 
I do repent me that I was so harsh. [Aside. 

Mos. 'Tis true, tliat, sway'd by strong neces- 
I am enforced to eat my careful bread [sity, 
With too much obsequy ; 'tis true, beside, 
That I am fain to spin mine own poor raiment 
Out of my mere observance, being not born 
To a free fortune : but that I have done 
Base offices, in rending friends asunder, 
Dividing families, betraying counsels, [praises. 
Whispering false lies, or mining men with 
Train'd their credulity Avith perjuries, 
Corrupted chastity, or am in love 
With mine own tender case, but would not rather 
Prove the most rugged, and laborious course, 
That might redeem my present estimation, 
Let me here perish, in all hope of goodness. 

Bon. This cannot be a personated passion. — 

[Aside. 
I Avas to blame, so to mistake thy nature ; 
Prithee, forgive me : and speak out thy business. 

Mos. Sir, it concerns you ; and though I may 
seem. 
At first to make a main offence in manners, 
And in my gratitude unto my master ; 
Yet, for the pure loA'e, which I bear all right, 
And hatred of the Avrong, I must reveal it. 
This very hour your father is in purpose 
To disinherit you ■ 

Bon. How ! 

Mos. And thrust you forth. 
As a mere stranger to his blood ; 'tis true, sir, 
The work no way engageth me, but, as 
I claim an interest in the general state 
Of goodness and true virtue, which I hear 
To abound in you : and, for which mere respect, 
Without a second aim, sir, I have done it. 

Bon. This tale hath lost thee much of the latQ 
Thou had'st Avith me ; it is impossible : [tust 
I knoAV not hoAV to lend it any thought. 
My father should be so unnatural. 

Mos. It is a confidence that Avell bect>uies. 
Your piety ; and form'd, no doubt, it is 
From your oAvn simple innocence : Avliich makea 
Your Avrong more monstrous and abhorr'd. 

But, sir, 
I noAv Avill tell you more. This A'ery minute, 
It is, or Avill be doing ; and, if you 
Shall be but pleased to go Avith mo, I'll bring 
vou 



THE FOX. 



287 



I dare not say where you shall see, but where 
Yoiir ear shall be a witness of the deed ; 
Hear yourself written bastard, and profest 
The common issue of the earth. 

Bon. I am amazed ! 

Mos. Sir, if I do it not, draw your just SAVOrd, 
And score your vengeance on my front and face : 
^larlc me your villain : you have too much wrong, 
And I do suffer for you, sir. ily heart 
Weeps blood in anffuish 

Bon. Lead ; I follow thee. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Boom in Volpone's House. 
Enter VoLPOXE. 

Volp. Mosca stays long, mcthinks. — Bring 
forth your sports. 
And help to make the wretched time more sweet. 

Ente-i- Nano, Androgyno, and Castrone. 
Nan. Dwarf, fool, and cimiich, tcell met Jiere 
103 be. . 
A question it were now, wlietlier of us three. 
Being all the knoicn dclicates of a rich man. 
In pleasing him, claim the precedency can ? 
Cas. I claim for myself . 
And. And so doth the fool. 
Nan. 'Tis foolish indeed: let me set you both to 
school. 
First for your dwarf, he's Utile and loitty, 
And every thing, as it is little, is pretty ; 
Else why do men say to a creature of my shape, 
So soon as they see him. It's a pretty little ape f 
A7id why a ptretty ape, hut for pleasing imitation 
Of greater men's actions, in a ridiculous fashion ? 
Beside, this feat body of mine doth not crave 
Half the meat, drink, and cloth, one of your bulks 

will have. 
Admit your fool's face be the mother of laughter. 
Yet, for his brain, it must always come after: 
And though that do feed him, it's a piitiful case. 
His body is beholding to such a bad face. 

[Knocking within. 

Volp. Who's there ? my couch ; away ! look ! 
Nano, see : [Exe. And. a7id Cas. 

Give me my caps, first go, enquire. [Exit 

Naxo.] — Now, Cupid 
Send it be Mosca, and with fair return ! 

Nan. [within.] It is the beauteous madam 

Volp. Would-be is it ? 

Nan. The same. 

Volp. Now torment on me ! Squire her in ; 
For she will enter, or dwell here for ever : 
Nay, quickly. [Retires to his couch.] — That my 

fit were past ! I fear 
A second hell too, that my lothing this 
Will quite expel my appetite to the other : 
Would she were taking now her tedious leave. 
Lord, how it threats me what I am to suffer ! 

Re-enter Nano, with Lady Politick Would-be. 
Lady P. I thank you, good sir. 'Pray you 
signify 
Unto your patron, I am here. — This band 
Shews not my neck enough — I trouble yon, sir ; 
Let me request you, bid one of nxj women 
Come hither to me. — In good faith, I am drest 



Most favorably to-day ! It is no matt'jt i 
'Tis well enough. — 

Enter 1 Waiting-woman. 

Look, see, these petulant things, 
How they hav«3 done this ! 

Volp. I do feel the fever 
Entering in at mine ears ; O, for a charm, 
To fright it hence ! [Aside, 

Lady P. Come nearer : is this curl 
In his right place, or this ? Why is this higher 
Than all the rest ? You have not wash'd youi 

ej'cs, yet ! 
Or do they not stand even in your head ? 
Where is your fellow ? call her. 

[Exit 1 AVoman. 

Nan. Now, St. Mark 
Deliver us ! anon, she'll beat her women, 
Because her nose is red. 

Be-enter 1 icith 2 Woman. 
Lady P. I pray you, view 
This tire, forsooth : are all things apt, or no ? 
1 Worn, One hair a little, here, sticks out, for- 
sooth. 
Lady P. Does't so, forsooth ! and where was 
your dear sight, [eyed ? 

When it did so, forsooth ! AVliat now ! bird- 
And you, too ? 'Pray you, both approach and 

mend it. 
Now, by that light, I muse you are not ashamed ! 
I that have preach'd these things so oft unto you, 
Read you the principles, argued all the grounds 
Disputed every fitness, every grace, 
Call'd you to counsel of so frequent dressings — 
Nan. More carefully than of your fame or 
honor. [Aside. 

Lady P. Made you acquainted, what an ample 
dowry [you. 

The knowledge of these things would be unto 
Able, alone, to get you noble husbands 
At your return : and you thus to neglect it ! 
Besides you seeing what a curious nation 
The Italians are, Avhat will they say of me ? 
The English lady cannot dress herself. 
Here's a fine imputation to our country ! 
Well, go your ways, and stay in the next room. 
This fucus was too coarse too ; it's no matter. — 
Good sir, you'll give them entertainmant ? 

[Exeunt Nano and Waiting-V\'omen, 
Volp. The storm comes toward mc. 
Lady P. [goes to the couch.] How does my 

Volpone ? 
Volp. Troubled Avith noise, I cannot sleep ; I 
dreamt 
That a strange fury enter'd, now, my house, 
And, Avith the dreadful tempest of her breath, 
Did cleave ray roof asunder. 

Lady P. BclieA'e me, and I [ber't — 

Had the most fearful dream, could I remem- 
l'ol2}. Out on my fate ! I have given her the 
occasion 
HoAV to torment me : she Avill tell me hers. 

[Aside 
Lady P. Me thought, the golden mediocrity. 

Polite and delicate 

Volp. O, if you do love me. 
No more : I sweat, and suffer, at the mention 
Of any dream ; feel hoAV I tremble yet. 



288 



THE FOX. 



Lachj P. Alas, good soul ! the passion of the 
heart. 
Soed-pcaii -were good now, boil'd Avith syrnp of 
Tincture of gold, and coral, citron-pills, [apples, 
Yonr elicampane root, myrobalancs 

Volp. Ah me, I have ta'en a grass-hopper by 
the wing ! \_Aside. 

Lady P. Burnt silk, and amber ; You have 
Good in the house [muscadel 

Volp. You "will not drink, and part ? 

Ladij P. No, fear not that. I doubt, we shall 
not get 
Some English saffron, half a dram would serve ; 
Your sixteen cloves, a little musk, dried mints, 
Bugloss, and barley-meal 

Volp. She's in again ! 
Before I feign'd diseases, now I have one. 

[Aside. 

Lady P. And these applied with a right scar- 
let cloth. 

Volp. Another ilood of words ! a very torrent ! 

{Aside. 

Lady P. Shall I, sir, make you a poultice r 

Volp. No, no, no, 
I'm very m'cU, you need prescribe no more. 

Lady P. I have a little studied physic ; but 
I'm all for music, save, in the forenoons, [now. 
An hour or two for painting. I would have 
A lady, indeed, to have all, letters and arts, 
Be able to discourse, to write, to paint, 
But principal, as Plato holds, your music, 
And so does Avise Pythagoras, I take it. 
Is your true rapture : when there is concent 
In face, in voice, and clothes : and is, indeed. 
Our sex's chiefest ornament. 

Volp. The poet 
As old in time as Plato, and as knowing, 
.Says, that your highest female grace is silence. 

Lady P. Which of your poets ? Petrarch, or 
Tasso, or Dante ? 
Guarini ? Ariosto ? Aretine ? 
Cieco di Hadria? I have read them all. 

Volp. Is every thing a cause to my destruc- 
tion ? [Aside. 

Lady P. I think I have two or three of them 
about me, 

Volp. The sun, the sea, Avill sooner both stand 
still 
Than her eternal tongue ! nothing can 'scape it. 

[Aside. 

Lady P. Here's Pastor Fido 

Volp. Profess obstinate silence ; 
That's now my safest. [Aside. 

Lady P. All our English writers, 
I mean such as are happy in the Italian, 
Will deign to steal out of this author, mainly : 
Almost as much as from Montagnie : 
He has so modern and facile a vein, 
Fitting the time, and catching the court-ear ! 
Your Petrarch is more passionate, yet he, 
In days of sonnetting, trusted them with much : 
Dante is hard, and few can understand him. 
But, for a desj^erate wit, there's Aretine ; 

Only, his pictures are a little obscene 

You mark me not. 

Volp. Alas, my mind's pcrturb'd. [ourselves, 

Lady P. Why, in such cases, we mu?'; cure 

Make use of our philosophy 

Volii. Oh me ! 



Lady P. And as we find our passions do rebel, 
Encounter them with reason, or divert them. 
By giving scope unto some other humor 
Of lesser danger : as, in politic bodies. 
There's nothing more dcth overwhelm the judg* 

ment. 
And cloud the understanding, than too much 
Settling and fixing, and, as 'twere, subsiding 
Upon one object. For the incorporating 
Of these same outward things, into that part. 
Which we call mental, leaves some certain faeces 
That stop the organs, and as Plato says. 
Assassinate our knowledge. 

Volp. Now, the spirit 
Of patience help m.e ! [Aside, 

Lady P. Come, in faith, I must 
Visit you more a days ; and make you well : 
Laugh and be lusty. 

Volp. My good angel save me ! [Aside. 

Lady P. There was but one sole man in all 
the world. 
With whom I e'er couid sympathise ; and he 
Would lie you, often, three, four hours together 
To hear me speak ; and be sometime so rapt, 
As he would answer me quite from the purpose, 
Like you, and you are like him, just. I'll dis- 
course, 
An't be but only, sir, to bring you asleep. 
How we did spend our time and loves together, 
For some six years. 

Volp. Oh, oh, oh, oh, on, oh ! [up — 

Lady P. For we were cosetanei, and brought 

Volp. Some power, some fate, some fortune 
rescue me ! 

Enter MoscA. 

Mos, God save you, madam ! 

Lady P. Good sir. 

Volp. Mosca ! welcome. 
Welcome to my redemption. 

Mos. Why, sir ? 

Volp. Oh, 
Rid me of this my torture, qviickly, there ; 
My madam, with the everlasting voice : 
The bells, in time of pestilence, ne'er made 
Like noise, or were in that jicrijctual motion ! 
The Cock-pit comes not near it. All my house, 
But now, steam'd like a bath with her thick 

breath, 
A lawyer could not have been heard ; nor scarce 
Another woman, such a hail of words 
She has let fall. For hell's sake, rid her hence. 

Mos. Has she presented ? 

Volp. O, I do not care; 
I'll take her absence, upon any price. 
With any loss. 

Mos. Madam 

Lady P. I have brought yoiir patron 
A toy, a cap here, of mine own work. 

Mos. 'Tis well. 
I had forgot to tell you, I saw yoiir knight, 
Where you would little think it. 

Lady P. Where ? 

Mos. Marry, [hend 

Where yet, if you make haste, you may appro- 
Rowing upon the water in a gondole 
With the most cunning courtezan of Venice. 

Lady P. Is't true ? 

Mos. Pursue them, and believe your eye? : 



THE FOX. 



289 



Lca'.-c mo, to make your gift. [Exit Lady P. 

hastily.'] — I knew 'twould take: 
For, lightly, they that use themselves most 
Are still most jealous. [license, 

Volp. Mosca, hearty thanks, 
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me. 
N'aw to my hopes, what say'st thou ? 

Re-enter Lady P. Would-by, 

Lady P. But do you hear, sir ? 

VoJp. Again ! I fear a paroxysm. 

Lady P. Which way 
I'ow'd they together? 

Mos. Toward the Eialto. 

Lady P. I pray you lend me your dwarf. 

Mo». I pray you take him. — [Exit Lady P. 
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair, 
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay 
But the maturing ; keep you at your couch, 
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the Will ; 
When he is gone, I'll tell you more. [_Exit. 

Volp. My blood. 
My spirits are return'd ; I am alive : 
And, like your wanton gamester at primero, 
Whose thought had whisper'd to him, not go less, 

Methinks I lie, and draw for an encounter. 

• The scene closes upon Volpoke. 

SCENE IL — The Passaye hading to Volpoxe's 
Chanber. 

Enter Mosca and Bonaeio, 
Mos. Sir, here conceal'd, [sheios htm a closet.'} 
j-ou may hear all. But, p/ay you, 
Have i^atience, sir ; [knock^n.^ icithin.'] — the 

same's your father knocks : 
I am compcll'd to leave you. [Exit. 

Bon. Do so. — Yet 
Cannot my thought imagine this a truth. 

[Goes hit.0 the closet- 

SCENE III. — A7ioiher Part of the same. 

Enter MoscA and Convixo, Celia following. 

Mos. Death on me ! you are come too soon, 
Did not I say, I would send ? [what meant you ? 

Corv. Y''eo, but I fear'd 
You might forget it, and then they prevent us. 

3Ios. Prevent ! did e'er man haste so, for his 
horns ? 
A courtier would not ply it so, for a place. 

[Aside. 
"Well, now there is no helping it, stay here ; 
I'll presently return. [Exit. 

Corv. Where are you, Celia ? [hither ? 

Y'"ou know not. wherefore I have brought you 

Cel. Not well, except you told me. 

Corv. Now, I will : 
Hark hither. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — A Closet opening Into a Gallery. 

Enter Mosca and Boxario. 
Mos. Sir, your father hath sent word. 
It Avill be half an hour ere he come ; 
And therefore, if you please to waUc the while 
Into that gallery — at the upper end, 
There are some books to entertain the time : [sir. 
And I'll take care no man shall come unto you, 
19 



Bon. Yes, I will stay there. — I do doubt this 
fellow. [Aside, and exit. 

Mos. [Looking after him.'} There ; he is far 
enough ; he can hear nothing : 
And, for his father, I can keep him off. [Es-ti. 

SCENE V. — Volpoxe's Chamber. — Volponb 
on his couch. Mosca sitting by him. 

Enter Couyino, forcing in Celia. 

Co7-v. Nay, now, there is no starting back, tvA 
therefore, 
Resolve upon it : I have so decreed. 
It must be done. Nor Avould I move't afore, 
Because I would avoid all shifts and tricks, 
That might deny mc. 

Cel. Sir, let me beseech you, 
Affect not these strange trials ; if you doubt 
My chastity, why, lock me up for ever ; 
Make me the heir of darkness. Let me live, 
Where I may please your fears, if not your 
trust. 

Corv. Believe it, I have no such humor, I. 
All that I speak I mean ; 5-et I'm not mad ; 
Nor horn-mad, see you .-' Go to, show yourself 
Obedient, and a wife. 

Cel. O heaven ! 

Corv. I say it, 
Do so. 

Cel. Was this the train ? 

Corv. I've told you reasons ; 
What the physicians have set down : how much 
It may concern me ; what my engagements are , 
My means ; and the necessity of those means, 
For my recovery : wherefore, if you be 
Loyal, and mine, be won, respect my venture. 

Cel. Before your honor ? 

Corv. Honor ! tut, a breath : 
There's no such thing in nature : a mere term 
Invented to awe fools. What is mj^ gold [on . 
The worse for touching, clothes for being look'd 
Why, this 's no more. An old decrepit wretcli, 
That has no sense, no sinew ; takes his meat 
With others fingers ; only knows to gajDC, 
When you do scald his gums ; a voice, a 
And, what can this man hurt you ? [shadow ; 

Cel. Lord ! what spirit 
Is this hath enter'd him ? [Aside. 

Corv. And for your fame, 
That's such a jig ; as if I would go tell it, 
Cry it on the Piazza ! who shall know it, 
But he that cannot speak it, and this fellow, 
Whose lips are in my pocket ? save yourself, 
(If you'll proclaim't, you may,) I know no other 
Shall come to know it. 

Cel. Are heaven and saints then nothing ? 
Will they be blind or stupid ? 

Corv. How ! 

Cel. Good sir, 
Be jealous still, emulate them ; and think 
What hate they burn with toward every sin. 

Corv. I grant you : if I thought it were a sin, 
I would not urge you. Should I offer this 
To some young Frenchman, or hot Tuscan blood 
That had read Aretinc, conn'd all his prints, 
Knew every quirk within lust's labyrinth- 
And were professed critic in lechery ; 
And I Avould look upon him, and applaud him. 
This were a sin : but here, 'tis contrary. 



290 



THE FOX. 



A pious work, mere charity for physic, 
And lionest polity, to assure mine own. 

Cel. O heaven ! canst thou suffer such a 

change ? [pride, 

Volp. Thou art mine honor, Mosca, and my 

My joy, mj' tickling, my deliglit ! Go bring 

them. 

Mos. {advancing^ Please you draw near, sir. 

Cory. Come on, what 

You will not be rebellious ? by that light 

Mos. Sir, 
Signior Con'ino, here, is come to see you. 
Volp. Oh ! 

Mos. And hearing of the consultation had. 
So lately, for your health, is come to offer, 

Or rather, sir, to prostitute 

Corv. Thanks, sweet Mosca. 

Mos. Freely, unask'd, or unintreated 

Corv. Well. 

Mos. As the true fervent instance of his love. 
His own most fair and i:)roper wife ; the beauty, 

Only of price in Venice 

Corv. 'Tis well urged. [yo^^- 

Mos. To be your comfortross, and to preserve 

Volp. Alas, I am past, already ! Pray you, 

thank him 

For his good care and promptness ; but for that, 

'Tis a vain labor e'en to fight 'gainst heaven ; 

Applying fire to stone — uh, uh, uh, uh ! 

[coughing^ 
Making a dead leaf grow again. I take [him. 
His wishes gently, though ; and you may tell 
What I have done for him : marry, my state is 

hopeless. 
Will him to pray for me ; and to use his fortune 
With reverence, when he comes to't. 

Mos. Do you hear, sir ? 
Go to him witli your wife. 

Corv. Heart of my father ! [come. 

Wilt thou persist thus ? come, I pray thee, 
Thou seest 'tis nothing, Celia. By this hand, 
I shall groAv A^iolent. Come, do't, I say. 

Ccl. Sir, kill me, rather : I will take down 

Eat burning coals, do any thing. [poison, 

Corv. Be damn'd ! 
Heart, I will drag thee hence, home, by the hair ; 
Cry thee a strumpet through the streets ; rip tip 
Thy mouth vmto thine ears ; and slit thy nose, 
Like a raw rochet ! — ^ Do not tempt mo ; come, 
Yield, I am loth — Death ! I will buy some 

slave 
Whom I Avill kill, and bind thee to him, alive ; 
And at my window hang you forth, devising 
Some monstrous crime, which I, in capital let- 
Will eat into thy flesh with aquafortis, [ters, 
And burning corsives, on this stubborn breast. 
Now, by the blood thou hast incensed, PU do it ! 
Cel. Sir, what you i^lease, yon may, I am 
your martyr. [served it : 

Corv. Be not thus obstinate, I have not de- 
Think who it is intreats you. 'Prithee, sweet ; — 
Good faith, thou slialt have jewels, gowns, 

attires. 
What thou wilt think, and ask. Do but go kiss 
him. [suit. — 

Or touch him, but. For my sake. — At my 
This once. — No ! not ! I shall remember thia. 
Will you disgrace me thus ? Do you thirst my 
undoing ? 



Mos. Nay, gentle lady, be advised, 

Corv. No, no. 
She has watch'd her time. Ods precious, this 
'Tis very scurvy ; and you are — [is scutvy. 

Mos. Nay, good sir. 

Corv. An arrant locust, by heaven, a locust ! 
Whore, crocodile, that hast thy tears prepared, 
Expecting how thou'lt bid them flow 

Mos. Nay, 'pray you, sir ! 
She will consider. 

Cel. Would my life would ser\'c 
To satisfy — 

Corv. S' death ! if she would but speak to him, 
And save my reputation, it were somewhat ; 
But spightfuUy to affect my utter ruin ! 

Mos. A}', now A'ou have put your fortune in 
her hands. 
Why i'faith, it is her modesty, I must quit her. 
If you were absent, she would be more coming ; 
I know it : and dare tmdcrtake for her. 
What Avoman can before her husband ? 'pray 
Let us depart, and leave her here. [you, 

Corv. Sweet Celia, 
Thou may'st redeem all, yet ; I'll say no more : 
If not, esteem yourself as lost. Nay, stay there. 
[S/mts the door, and exit loith MoscA. 

Cel. O God, and his good angels ! whither, 
whither, [ease, 

Is shame fled human breasts ? that with such. 
Men dare put off your honors, and their own f 
Is that, which ever was a cause of life. 
Now placed beneath the basest circumstance. 
And modesty an exile made, for money ? 

Volp, Ay, in Corvino, and such earth-fed 
minds, [Leaping fro?n his couch. 

That never tasted the true heaven of love. 
Assure thee, Celia, he that would sell thee. 
Only for hope of gain, and that uncertain. 
He would have sold his part of Paradise 
For ready money, had he met a cope-man. 
Why art thou mazed to see me thus revived ? 
Rather applaud thy beauty's miracle ; 
'Tis thy great work : that hath, not now alone, 
But sundry times raised me, in several shapes, 
And, but this morning, like a mountebank, 
To see thee at thy window : ay, before 
I would have left my practice, for thy love. 
In varj'ing figures, I would have contended 
With the blue Proteus, or the horned flood. 
Now art thou welcome. 

Cel. Sir! 

Volp. Nay, fly me not. 
Nor let thy false imagination 
That I was bed-rid, make thee think I am so : 
Thou shalt not find it. I am, now, as fresh, 
As hot, as high, and in as jovial plight, 
As Avhen, in that so celebrated scone, 
At recitation of our comedy, 
For entertainment of the great Valois, 
I acted young Antinous ; and attracted 
The ej^es and ears of all the ladies present, 
To admire each graceful gesture, ncte, and 
footing. ""ftfi^y. 



Come, my Celia, let us prove, 
While we can, the sports of love. 
Time will not be ours for ever. 
He, at length, our good will sever , 
Spend not then his gifts in vain ; 
Sijns, that set, may rise again • 



bCEIiTI V 



THE FOX. 



291 



But if once we lose this light, 
'Tis with us perpetual night. 
Why should we defer our joys? 
Fame and rumor are but toys. 
Cannot we delude the eyes 
Of a few poor household spies ? 
Or his easier ears beguile, 
Thus removed by our wile ? — 
'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal : 
But the sweet thefts to reveal ; 
To be taken, to be seen, 
These have crimes accounted been. 

Cel. Some serene blast me, or dire lightning 

strike 
This Vivy offending face ! 

Volp. Why droops my Celia ? 
Thou hast, in place of a base husband, found 
A worthy lover : use thj' fortune -well, 
With secrecy and pleasure. See, behold. 
What thou art queen of ; not in expectation. 
As I feed others : but possess' d and crown' d. 
Sec, here, a rope of pearl ; and each, more 

orient 
Than that the brave iEgyptian queen caroused : 
Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle, 
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark ; 
A diamond, would have bought Lollia Paulina, 
When she came in like star-light, hid with 

jewels. 
That were the spoils of provinces ; take these, 
And wear, and lose them : yet remains an ear- 
ring 
To purchase them again, and this whole state. 
A gem but worth a private patrimony. 
Is nothing : we will eat such at a meal. 
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales. 
The brains of peacocks, and of ostriches. 
Shall be our food : and, could Ave get the 

phoenix. 
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish. 
Cel. Good sir, these things might move a 

mind affected 
With such delights ; but I, whose innocence 
Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying, 
And which, once lost, I have nought to lose 

beyond it, 
Cannot be taken with these sensual baits : 

If you have conscience 

Volp. 'Tis the beggar's virtue ; 
If thou hast Avisdom, hear me, Celia. 
Thy baths shall be the juice of July-flowejs, 
Spirit of roses, and of violets, * 

The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath 
Gather'd in bags, and mixt Avith Cretan AAunes. 
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber ; 
Which we will take, until my roof whirl round 
With the A^ertigo : and my dAvarf shall dance. 
My eimuch sing, m)' fool make up the antic, 
AVhilst Ave, in changed shapes, act Ovid's talcs. 
Thou, like Europa noAV, and I like JoA'e, 
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine : 
So, of the rest, till Ave have quite run through. 
And wearied all the fables of the gods. 
Then will I have thee in more modern forms, 
Attired like some sprightly dame of France, 
Brave Tuscan lady, or proud Spanish beauty ; 
Sometimes, unto the Persian sophy's wife ; 
Or the grand signior's mistress ; and, for cliange, 
To one of our most artful courtezans. 
Or some quick Negro, or cold Russian ; 
And I will meet thee in as many shapes : 



Where AA-e may so transfuse our Avandering souIp 
Out at our lips, and score up sums of pleasures, 

[Sings. 

That the curious shall not know 

How to tell them as they flow ; 

And the envious, when tiiey find 

What their number is, be pii»ed 

Cel. If you haA'e ears that AA'ill be pierced — 
or eyes [touch'd — 

That can be open'd — a heart that may be 
Or any part that yet sounds man about you — 
If you haA'e touch of holy saints — or heaven — 
Do me the grace to let me 'scape — if not. 
Be bountiful and kill me. You do know, 
I am a creature, hither ill botray'd, 
By one, Avhose shame I Avould forget it Avere : 
If you Avill deign me neither of these graces, 
Yet feed your Avrath, sir, rather than your lust, 
(It is a vice comes nearer manliness,) 
And punish that unhappy crime of nature, 
Which you miscall my beauty : flay my face. 
Or poison it Avith ointments, for seducing 
Your blood to this rebellion. Rub these hands. 
With Avhat may cause an eating leprosy, 
E'en to my bones and marroAV : any thing, 
That may disfavor me, save in my honor — 
And I Avill kneel to you, pray for you, pay 

doAvn 
A thousand hourly voavs, sir, for your health ; 
Report, and think you virtuous 

Volp. Thank me cold. 
Frozen and impotent, and so report me ? 
That I had Nestor's liernia, thou Avouldst think, 
I do degenerate, and abuse my nation, 
To play Avith opportunity thus long : 
I should have done the act, and then have 

parley'd. 
Yield, or I'll force thee. [Seizes her, 

Cel. ! just God ! 

Volp. In vain 

Bon. [rushing in.] Forbear, fo\il ravisher, li- 
bidinous SAvine ! 
Free the forced lady, or thou diest, impostor. 
But that I'm loth to snatch thy punishment 
Out of the hand of justice, thou shouldst, yet, 
Be made the timely sacrifice of vengeance, 

Before this altar, and this dross, thy idol. 

Lady, let's quit the place, it is the den 

Of A'illainy ; fear nought, you have a guard : 

And he, ere long, shall meet his just rcAvard. 

[Exeunt Bon. and Cel. 

Volp. Fall on me, roof, and bury me in ruin ! 
Become my grave, that AA'ert my shelter ! O ! 
I am unmask' d, unspirited, undone. 
Betrayed to beggary, to infamy 

Enter ^loscA, loounded and bleeding. 

Mos. Where shall I run, most Avretched 
shame of men. 
To beat out my unlucky braini^ 

Volp. Here, here. 
AVhat ! dost thou bleed ? 

3Ios. O that his well-driv'n SAVord 
Had been so courteous to have cleft me doAvn 
Unto the navel, ere I lived to see 
My life, my hopes, my spirits, my patron, all 
Thus desperately engaged, by my error ! 

Volp. Woe on thy fortune ! 

Mos. And mv follies, sir. 



292 



THE rox. 



J. C'l 17. 



Volp. Thou hast made me miserable. 

Mos. And myself, sir. 
Who Avould have thought he would have 

Volp. What shall we do ? [hearken'd so ? 

Mos. I know not ; if my heart 
Could expiate the mischance, I'd joluck it out. 
Will you be pleased to hang me, or cut my 

throat ? 
And I'll requite you, sir. Let's die like Ro- 
Since Ave have lived like Grecians. [mans, 

[KnocJcint/ toithin. 

Volp. Hiirk ! who's there ? 
I hear some footing ; officers, the saffi, 
Come to apprehend us ! I do feel the brand 
Hissing already at my forehead ; now. 
Mine ears are boring. 

Mos. To your couch, sir, you, 
Make that place good, however. [Volpone lies 

doron, as before.] — Guilty men 
Suspect what they deserve still. 

Enter Cobbaccio. 
Signior Corbaccio ! 

Corb. Why, how now, Mosca ? 

Mos. O, undone, amazed, sir. 
Your son, I know not by Avhat accident, 
Acquainted with your purpose to my patron, 
Touching your Will, and making him your heir, 
Enter'd our house with violence, his sword 

drawn 
Sought for you, call'd j'ou wretch, unnatural, 
Vow'd ho Avould kill you. 

Corb. Me ! 

Mos. Yes, and my patron. 

Corb. The act shall disinherit him indeed ; 
flere is the Will. 

Mos. 'Tis well, sir. 

Corb. Ilight and well : 
Bo you as careful now for me. 

Enter Voltoee, behind. 
Mos. My life, sir. 

Is not more tender'd ; I am only yours. 

Corb. How docs he ? Avill ho die shortly, 
Mos. I fear [think' st thou ? 

He'll outlast May. 
Corb. To-day? 
Mos. No, last out May, sir. 
Corb. Conld'st thou not give him a dram ? 
Mos. O, by no means, sir. 
Corb. Nay, I'll not bid you. 
Volt, {coming forward.'^ This is a knave, I see. 
Mos. [seeing Voltore.] How ! signior Vol- 
tore ! did he hear me r [Aside. 

Volt. Parasite ! 

Mos. Who's that ? — O, sir, most timely wel- 
come — 
Volt. Scarce, 
To the discovery of your tricks, I fear. 
You are his, only ? and mine also, are you not ? 
Mos. Who ? I, sir ? 
Volt. You, sir. AVhat device is tlris 
AboutaAViU? 

Mos. A plot for you, sir. 
Volt. Come, 
put not your foists upon me ; I shall scent them. 
Mos. I3id you not hear it ? 
Volt. Yes, I hear Corbaccio 
Hath made your patron there his heir. 



Mos. 'Tis true. 
By my device, drawn to it by my plot, 
With hope 

Volt. Your patron should reciprocate .' 
And you have promised ? 

Mos. For your good, I did, sir. [here, 

Naj^ more, I told his son, brought, hid hlra 
"Where he might hear his father pass the deed : 
Being persuaded to it by this thought, sir, 
That the unnaturalness, first, of the act. 
And then his father's oft disclaiming in him, 
(Which I did mean t'help on,) Avould sure en- 
To do some violence upon his parent, [rage him 
On which the law should take sufficient hold, 
And you be stated in a double hope : 
Truth be my comfort, and my conscience, 
My only aim was to dig you a fortune 
Out of these two old rotten sepulchi-es — 

Volt. I cry thee mercy, Mosca. 

Mos. Worth your patience. 
And your great merit, sir. And sec the change I 

Volt. Why, what success .' 

Mos. Most hapless ! you must help, sir. 
Whilst Ave expected the old raven, in comes 
Corvino's Avife, sent hither by her husband — 

Volt. What, Avith a present ? 

Mos. No, sir, on visitation ; 
(I'll tell you how anon ;) and staying long, 
The youth he groAVS impatient, rushes forth, 
Seizeth the lady, Avounds me, makes her SAvear 
(Or he Avould murder her, that Avas his vow) 
"To affirm my patron to have done her rape : 
Which hoAV unlike it is, you see ! and hence, 
With that pretext he's gone, to accuse his father 
Defame my patron, defeat you 

Volt. Where is her husband ? 
Let him be sent for straight. 

Mos. Sir, I'll go fetch him. 

Volt. Bring him to the Scrutineo. 

Mos. Sir, I Avill. 

Volt. Thie must be stopt. 

Mos. O you do nobly, sir. 
Alas, 'twas labor' d all, sir, for your good , 
Nor Avas there Avant of counsel in the plot : 
But fortune can, at any time, o'erthroAV 
The projects of a hundred learned clerks, sir. 

Corb. [listening.] What's that ? 

l~olt. Will't please, sir, to go along ? 

[Exit Corbaccio, followed by Voltore. 

Mos. Patron, go in, and pray for our success. 

Volp. [rising from his coucJi.] Need makes do- 
A'otion : heaven your labor bless ! 

[Exexmt. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—A Street. 

Enter Sir PoLiTicii Would-be and Peregrine. 
Sir P. I told you, sir, it Avas a plot ; you see 
What obserA'ation is ! You mention' d me 
For some instructions : I Avill tell you, sir, 
(Since avc are met here in this height of Venice, 
Some feAv particulars I have set doAvn, 
Only for this meridian, fit to be known 
Of your crude traveller ; and they are these. 
I Avill not touch, sir, at your phrase, or clotlias 
For they are old. 



THE FOX. 



293 



Per. Sir, I have better. 

Sir P. Pardon, 
I meant, as they are themes. 

Per. O, sir, proceed : 
I'll slander you no more of wit, good sir. 

Sir P. First, for your garb, it must bo grave 
and serious, 
Very reserv'd and lock'd ; not tell a secret 
On any terms, not to your father ; scarce 
A fable, but with caution : make sure choice 
Both of your company, and discourse ; beware 
You never speak a truth 

Per. How ! 

Sir P. Not to strangers, 
For those be they you must converse with most ; 
Others I would not know, sir, but at distance, 
So as I still might be a saver in them : 
You shall have tricks else past upon you hourly. 
And then, for your religion, profess none, 
But wonder at the diversity, of all : 
And, for your part, protest, were there no other 
But simply the laws o' th' land, you could con- 
tent you, 
Nic. Machiavel, and Monsieur Bodin, both 
Were of this mind. Then must you learn the use 
And handling of your silver fork at meals, 
Tlie metal of your glass ; (these are main matters 
With your Italian ;) and to know the hour 
When you must eat 5'our melons, and your figs. 

Per. Is that a point of state too ? 

Sir P. Here it is : 
For your Venetian, if he see a man 
Preposterous in the least, he has him straight ; 
He has ; he strips him. I'll acquaint you, sir, 
I now have lived here, 'tis some fourteen months 
Within the first week of my landing here. 
All took me for a citizen of Venice, 
I knew the forms so well 

Per. And nothing else. [Aside. 

Sir P. I had read Contarene, took me a house. 
Dealt with my Jews to furnish it with movea- 
bles — 
Well, if I could but find one man, one man 
To mine own heart, whom I durst trust,! vv^ould — 

Per. What, what, sir ? 

Sir P. !Make him rich ; make him a fortune : 
He should not think again. I would command it. 

Per. As how ? 

Sir P. With certain projects that I have ; 
\Vhich I may not discover. 

Per. If I had 
But one to wager with, I Avould lay odds now, 
He tells me instantly. [Aside. 

Sir P. One is, and that 
I care not greatly who knows, to serve the state 
Of Venice Avith red herrings for three years. 
And at a certain rate, from Rotterdam, 
Where I have correspondence. There's a letter, 
Sent me from one 0' the states, and to that pur- 
pose : 
He cannot -wvite his name, but that's his mark. 

Per. He is a chandler ? 

Sir P. No, a cheesemonger. 
There are some others too with whom I treat 
About the same negociation ; 
And I will undertake it : for, 'tis thus. 
I'll do't with ease, I have cast it all : Your hoy 
Carries but three men in her, and a boy ; 
And she shall make me three returns a year : 



So, if there come but one of three, I save ; 
If two, I can defalk : — but this is now, 
If my main project fail. 

Per. Then you have others ? 

Sir P. I should be loth to draw the subtle ail 
Of such a place, without my thousand aims. 
I'll not dissemble, sir : where'er I come, 
I love to be considerative ; and 'tis true, 
I have at my free hours thought upon 
Some certain goods unto the state of Venice, 
Which I do call tnij Cautions ; and, sir, which 
I mean, in hope of pension, to propound 
To the Great Council, then unto the Forty, 
So to the Ten. My means are made already — 

Per. By whom ? [scure, 

» Sir P. Sir, one that, though his place be ob- 
Yet he can sway, and they will hear him. He's 
A commandador. 

Per. What ! a common Serjeant ? 

Sir P. Sir, such as they arc, put it in their 
mouths, [greater ; 

^\^lat they should say, sometimes ; as well as 
I think I have my notes to shew you — 

[Searching his pocliets. 

Per. Good sir. [gentry. 

Sir P. But you shall swear unto me, on youf 
Not to anticipate — 

Per. I, sir ! 

Sir P. Nor reveal 
A circumstance My paper is not with me. 

Per. O, but you can remember, sir. 

Sir P. INIy first is 
Concerning tinder-boxes. You must know* 
No family is here without its box. 
Now, sir, it being so portable a thing, 
Put case, that you or I were ill affected 
Unto the state, sir ; with it in our pockets. 
Might not I go into the Arsenal, 
Or you, come out again, and none the wiser ? 

Per. Except yourself, su*. 

Sir P. Go to, then. I therefore 
Advertise to the state, how fit it w-ere, 
That none but such as were known patriots, 
Sound lovers of their country, should be suffer'd 
To enjoy them in their houses ; and even those 
Scal'd at some office, and at such a bigness 
As might not lurk in pockets. 

Per. Admu-able ! [resolv'd. 

Sir P. My next is, how to enquire, and 09 
By present demonstration, whether a ship. 
Newly arrived from Soria, or from 
Any suspected part of all the Levant, 
Be guilty of the plague : and where they usa 
To lie out forty, fifty days, sometimes. 
About the Lazaretto, for their trial ; 
I'll save that charge and loss unto the merchant, 
And in an hour clear the doubt. 

Per. Indeed, sir ! 

Sir P. Or 1 wiU lose my labor. 

Per. 'My faith, that's much. [onions, 

Sir P. Nay, sir, conceive me. It will cost me in 
Some thirty livres 

Per. Which is one pound sterling. [sir. 

Sir P. Beside my water-works : for this I do, 
First, I bring in your ship 'twixt two brick walls ; 
But those the state shall venture : On the one 
I strain me a fair tarpauling, and in that 
I stick my onions, cut in halves : the other 
Is full of loop-holes, out at which I thru.it 



294 



THE FOX. 



The noses of my bellows ; and those bellows 
I keep, with water-works, in perpetual motion, 
Which is the easiest matter of a hundred. 
NoAV, sir, your onion, Avhich doth naturally 
Attract the infection, and your bellows blowing 
The air upon him, will show, instantly, 
By his changed color, if there be contagion ; 
Or else remain as fair as at the first. 
— Now it is known, 'tis nothing. 

Per. You are right, sir. 

Sir P. I would I had my note. 

Per. 'Faith, so would I : 
But you have done Avell for once, sir. 

Sir P. Were I false, 
Or would be made so, I could show j'ou reasons 
How I could sell this state now to the Turk, 

Spite of their gallies, or their -. 

[Examining his 2}ct2Krs. 

Per. Pray you, sir Pol. 

Sir P. I have them not about me. 

Per. That I fear'd : 
They are there, sir. 

Sir P. No, this is my diary, 
Wherein I note my actions of the day. 

Per. Pray j'ou, let's see, sir. What is here ? 
Notandum, [Reads. 

Arat Iiad gnaivn my spur-leathers ; notwithstanding , 
I put on neio, and did go forth : but first 
I threw three beans over the threshold. Item, 
I went and bought two tootli-picks, ichereof one 
I hurst immediately, in a discourse 
With a Dutch merchant, 'boiU ragion del stato. 
From him I went and j^aid a nioccinigo 
For ineeing my silk stockings ; by the way 
1 cheapen d sprats ; and at St. Mark's I urincd. 
'Faith these are politic notes ! 

Sir P. Sir, I do sliji 
No action of my life, but thus I quote it. 

Per. Believe me, it is wise ! 

Sir P. Nay, sir, read forth. 

Enter, at a distance. Lady Politick Would-be, 
Nano, and two Waiting-women. 

Lady P. Where should this loose knight be, 
trow ? sure he's housed. 

Nan. Why, then he's fast. 

Lady P. Ay, he plays both with me. 
I pray you stay. This heat will do more harm 
To my complexion, than his heart is worth. 
(I do not care to hinder, but to take him.) 
How it comes off ! [Rubbing her cheeks. 

1 Worn. My master's j-onder. 
Lady P. AVhere ? 

2 Worn. With a young gentleman. 
Lady P. That same's the party ; 

111 man's apparel ! 'Pray you, sir, jog my knight : 
I will be tender to his reputation. 
However he demerit. 

Sir P. [Seeing her.] My lady ! 

Per. Where ? [her. She is. 

Sir P. 'Tis she indeed, sir ; you shall know 
Were she not mine, a lady of that merit, 
For fasliion and behavior ; and for beauty 
I durst compare 

Per. It seems you are not jealous. 
That dare commend her. 

Sir P. Nay, and for disco irse 

Per. Being your wife, she cannot miss that. 

Sir P. [introducing Feb.] Madam, 



Here is a gentleman, pray you, use him fairly , 
He seems a youth, but he is 

Lady P. None. 

Sir P. Yes, one 
Has put his face as soon into the world 

Lady P. You mean, as early .'' but to-day r 

Sir P. How's this ? 

Lady P. Why, in this habit, sir ; j-ou appre- 
hend me : — [you ; 
Well, master Would-be, this doth not become 
I had thought the odor, sir, of your good name 
Had been more precious to you ; that you would 

not 
Have done this dire massacre on your honor ; 
One of your gravity and rank besides ! 
But knights, I see, care little for the oath 
They make to ladies ; chiefly, their own ladies. 

Sir P. Now, by my spurs, the symbol of my 
knighthood, — 

Per. Lord, how his brain is humbled for an 
oath ! [Aside, 

Sir P. I reach you not. 

Lady P. Bight, sir, your policy 
May bear it through thus. — Sir, a word with 
you. [ To Feb, 

I would be loth to contest publicly 
With any gentlewoman, or to seem 
Froward, or violent, as the courtier says ; 
It comes too near rusticity in a lady, [cvei 

Which I would shun by all means : and laow- 
I may deserve from master Would-be, yet 
T'have one fair gentlewoman thus be made 
The unkind instrument to Avrong another. 
And one she knows not, ay, and to persever ; 
In my poor judgment, is not warranted 
From being a solecism in our sex, 
K not in manners. 

Per. How is this ! 

Sir P. Sweet madam, 
Come nearer to your aim. 

Lady P. Marry, and will, sir. 
Since you provoke mo with your impudence, 
And laughter of your light land-syren here, 
Your Sj^orus, your hermaphrodite 

Per. ^^^lat's here ? 
Poetic fury, and historic storms ! 

Sir P. The gentleman, believe it, is of Vi'orth, 
And of our nation. 

Lady P. Ay, your White-friars nation. 
Come, I blvish for you, master Would-be, I ; 
And am asham'd you should have no more 

forehead. 
Than thus to be the patron, or St. George, 
To a lewd harlot, a base fricatrice, 
A female devil, in a male outside. 

Sir P. Nay, 
An you be such a one, I must bid adieu 
To your delights. The case appears too liquid. 

[Exit. 

Lady P. Ay, you may carry't clear, with yoiii 
state-face ! — 
But for your carnival concupiscence. 
Who here is fled for liberty of conscience, 
From furious persecution of the marshal. 
Her will I dis'ple. 

Per. This is fine, i'faith ! 
And do you iise this often ? Is tliis part. 
Of your wit's exercise, 'gainst you have occasion ? 
Madam 



THE FOX. 



295 



Ladij P. Go to, sir. 

Per. Do you hoar me, lady ? 
Why, if your itnight have set jon to beg shiits. 
Or to invite me home, you might have done it 
A nearer way, by far. 

Lady P. This cannot work you 
Out of my snare. 

Per. AVh}', am I in it, then ? 
Indeed your husband told me you were fair. 
And so 5'ou are ; only your nose inclines, 
That side that's next the sun, to the queen- 
apple. 

Lady P. This cannot be endur'd by any pa- 
tience. 

Enter Mosc.v. 

Mos. What is the matter, madam ? 

Lady P. If the senate 
"Right not my quest in this, I will protest them 
To all the world, no aristocracy. 

Mos, What is the injury, lady ? 

Lady P. Why, the callet 
You told me of, here I have ta'en disguised. 

Mos. Who ? this ! Wiat means your ladyship ? 
the creature 
I mention'd to you is apprehended now. 
Before the senate ; you shall see her • 

Lady P. Where ? [tleman, 

Mos. I'U bring you to her. This young gen- 
l saw him land this morning at the port. 

Lady P. Is't possible ! how has my judgment 
wandcr'd ? 
Sir, I must, blushing, say to you, I have err'd ; 
And plead your j^ardon. 

Per. What, more changes yet ! [remember 

Lady P. I hope j'ou have not the malice to 
A gentlewoman's passion. If you stay 
In Venice here, please you to use me, sir — — 

Mos, Will you go, madam ? 

Lady P. 'Pray you, sir, use me ; in faith, 
The more you see me, the more I shall conceive 
You have forgot our quarrel. 

[Exeunt Lady Would-be, Mosca, Nano, 
and Waiting- women. 

Per. This is rare ! 
Sir Politick Would-be ? no ; sir Politick Bawd, 
To bring me thus acquainted with his wife ! 
Well, wise sir Pol, since you have practised thus 
Upon my freshman-ship, I'll try your salt-head. 
What proof it is against a counter-plot. [Exit, 

SCENE II. — T/ie Scrutineo, or Senate-House. 

Enter Voltore, Cokbaccio, Cokvino, and Mosca. 

Volt. Well, now you know the carriage of the 
Your constancy is all that is required [business, 
Unto the safety of it. 

Mos. Is the lie 
Safely convey' d amongst us ? is that sure ? 
Knows every man his burden ? 

Corv. Yes. 

Mos. Then shrink not. 

Corv. But knows the advocate the truth ? 

Mos, 0, sir. 
By no means ; I devised a formal tale, 
That salv'd your reputation. But be valiant, su-. 

Corv. I fear no one but him, that this his 
pleading 
Should make him stand for a co-heir 



Mos. Co-haltcr ! 
Hang him ; we will but use his tongue, his noisd 
As we do croakers here. 

Corv. Ay, what shall he do ? 

Mos. When we have done, j'Oii mean ? 

Corv. Yes. 

Mos. Why, we'll think : 
vSell him for mummia ; he's half dust already. 
Do you not smile, [to Voltore.] to see this b\if 

falo, 
How he doth sport it Avith his head ? — I should, 
If all were well and past. [Aside.] — Sir, [to Cor- 

BACcio.] only you 
Are ho that shall enjoy the crop of all, 
And these not know for whom they toil. 

Corb. Ay, peace. 

Mos. [turning to CoRViNO.] But you shall eat 
it. Much! [^sjffe.] -^ Worshipful sir 
[to Voltore.] 
Mercury sit upon your thundering tongue. 
Or the French Hercules, and make your lan- 
guage 
As conquering as his club, to beat along. 
As with a tempest, flat, our adversaries ; 
But much more yours, sir. 

Volt. Here they come, have done. 

Mos. I have another witness, if you need, sir, 
I can produce. 

Volt. Who is it ? 

Mos. Sir, I have her. 

Enter Avocatori and take their seats, Bonario^ 
Celia, Notario, Commandadori, Saffi, and 
other OtHcers of justice. 

1 Avoc, The like of this the senate nevei 

heard of. 

2 Avoc. 'Twill come most strange to them 

when we report it. 
4 Avoc. The gentlewoman has been ever held 
Of unreproved name. 

3 Avoc. So has the youth. 

4 Avoc. The more unnatural part that of his 
2 Avoc. More of the husband. [father. 
1 Avoc. I not knoAV to give 

His act a name, it is so monstrous ! 

4 Avoc. But the impostor, he's a thing created 
To exceed example ! 

1 Avoc. And all after-times ! 

2 Avoc. I never heard a true voluptuary 
Described, biit him. 

3 Avoc. Appear yet those were cited ? 
Not. All but the old magnifico, Volpone. 

1 Avoc. Why is not he here ? 
Mos, Please your fatherhoods. 

Here is his advocate : himself's so Aveak, 
So feeble 

4 Avoc. AVhat are you ? 
Bo7i. His parasite. 

His knave, his pandar : I beseech the court, 
He may be forced to come, that your grave eyes 
May bear strong witness of his strange impos- 
tures, [tues. 
Volt. Upon my faith and credit with your vir- 
He is not able to endure the air. 

2 Avoc. Bring him, however. 

3 Avoc. AVe will see him. 

4 Avoc, Fetch him. 

Volt. Your fatherhoods' fit pleasures be obey'd 
[Exeunt OiScers 



29G 



THE FOX. 



Rut sure, the sight will rather move your pities, 
Than indignation. May it please the court, 
In the mean time, he may be heard in me : 
I know this place most void of prejudice. 
And therefore crave it, since wo have no reason 
To fear our truth shotild hurt our cause. 

," Avoc. Speak free. [now 

Volt. Then know, most honor'd fathers, I must 
Discover to your strangely abused cars, 
The most prodigious and most frontless piece 
Of solid impudence, and treachery, 
That ever vicious nature yet brought forth 
To shame the state of Venice.' This lewd woman, 
That wants no artificial looks or tears 
To help the vizor she has now put on. 
Hath long been known a close adulteress 
To that lascivious youth there ; not supected. 
I say, but known, and taken in the act 
With him ; and by this man, the easy husband, 
Pardon'd ; whoso timeless bounty makes him 

now 
Stand here, the most unhappy, innocent person, 
That over man's own goodness made accused. 
For these not knowing how to owe a gift 
Of that dear grace, but with their shame ; being 
So above all powers of their gratitude, [placed 
Began to hate the benefit ; and, in place 
Of thanks, devise to cxtirpe the memory 
Of such an act : wherein I pray your fatherhoods 
To observe the malice, yea, the rage of creatures 
Discover'd in their evils ; and what heart 
Such take, even from their crimes : — but that 

anon 
Will more appear. — This gentleman, the father, 
Hearing of this foul fact, with manj' others, 
Which daily struck at his too tender ears. 
And grieved in nothing more than that he could 
Preserve himself a parent, (his son's ills [not 
Growing to that strange flood,) at last decreed 
To disinherit him. 

1 Avoc. These be strange turns ! 

2 Avoc. The young man's fame was ever fair 

and honest. 
ToU. So mixch more full of danger is his vice. 
That can beguile so under shade of virtue. 
But, as I said, my honor'd sires, his father 
Having this settled purpose, by what means 
To him betray'd, avo know not, and this day 
Appointed for the deed ; that parricide, 
I cannot style him better, by confederacy 
Preparing this his paramour to be there, 
Enter'd Volponc's house, (who was the man, 
Your fatherhoods must u.nderstand, dcsign'd 
For the inheritance,) there sought his father : — 
ButwithAvhat purpose sought he him, my lords ? 
I tremble to xn'onounce it, that a son 
Unto a father, and to such a father, 
Should have so foul, felonious intent ! 
It was to murder him : when being prevented 
By his more happy absence, what then did he ? 
Not check his Avicked thoughts ; no, now new 

deeds ; 
(Mischief doth never end where it begins) 
An act of horror, fathers ! he dragg'd forth 
The aged gentleman that had there lain bed-riti 
Three years and more, out of his innocent couch. 
Naked upon the floor, there left him ; Avounded 
His servant in the face : and, Avith this strumpet 
The stale to his forged practice, Avho Avas glad 



To be so active, — (I shall here desire 
Your fatherhoods to note but my collections, 
As most remarkable, — ) thought at once to stop 
His father's ends, discredit his free choice 
In the old gentleman, redeem themselves. 
By laying infamy upon this man, [lives. 

To Avhom, Avith blushing, they should OAve their 

1 Avoc. What proofs have you of this ? 
Bon. Most honored fathers, 

I humbly crave there be no credit gi\-en 
To this man's mercenary tongue. 

2 Avoc. Forbear. 

Bon. His soul moves in his fee. 

3 Avoc. O, sir. 

Bon. This felloAV, [Maker. 

For six sols more, Avould plead against his 

1 Avoc. You do forget yourself. 

Volt. Nay, nay, grave fathers. 
Let him have scope : can any man imagine 
That he Avill spare his accuser, that Avould not 
Have spared his parent ? 

1 Avoc. Well, produce your proofs. 

Ccl. I Avould I could forget I Avcre a creature 
Volt. Siguier Corbaceio ! 

[CoRBAccio comes fcncajcl 

4 Avoc. What is he ? 
Volt. The father. 

2 Avoc. Has he had an oath ? 
Not. Yes. 

Corb. What must I do noAV ? 

Not. Your testimony's craA'ed. 

Corb. Speak to the knave ? [heart 

I'll have my mouth first stopt Avith earth ; my 
Abhors his knowledge ; I disclaim in him. 

1 Avoc. But for AAdiat cause? 
Corb. The mere portent of nature ! 

He is an utter stranger to my loins. 

Bon. Have they made you to this ? 

Corb. I Avill not hear thee, 
Monster of men, swine, goat, Avolf, parricide ! 
Speak not, thou viper. 

Bon. Sir, I Avlll sit doAvn, 
And rather Avish my innocence should suffer, 
Than I resist the authonty of a father. 

Volt. Siguier Corviuo ! 

[CoKViNO comes forwardx 

2 Avoc. This is strange. 
1 Avoc, Who's this ? 
Not. The husband. 

4 Avoc. Is he sworn ? 
Not. He is. 

3 Avoc. Speak, then. 

Corv. This Avoman, please your fatherhoods, is 
a AA'hore, 
Of most hot exercise, more than a partrich. 
Upon record 

I Avoc. No more. 

Corv. Neighs like a jennet. 

Not. Preserve the honor of the court. 

Corv. I shall. 
And modesty of yov.r most reverend cars. 
And yet I hope that 1 may say, these ej'^es 
Have seen her glued imto that piece of cedar, 
That fine AA'clI-timber'd gallant ; and that here 
The letters may be read, thorough the horn, 
That make the story perfect. 

Mas. Excellent ! sir. 

Corv. There is no shame iu this noAV, is th'iro 
[Aside to MoscA. 



THE FOX. 



297 



Mos. None. 

Corv. Or if I said, I hoped that she were on- 
To her damnation, if there be a hell [ward 

Greater than whore and woinan ; a good catholic 
May make the doubt. 

3 Avoc. His grief hath made him frantic. 

1 Avoc. Remove him hence. 

2 Avoc, Look to the Avoman. [Celia siooons, 
Corv. Rare ! 

Prettily feign' d, again ! 

4 Avoc. Stand from about her. 

1 Avoc, Give her the air. 

3 Avoc. What can you saj- ? [To Mosca. 
Mos. My wound, 

May it j)lease your wisdoms, speaks for me, re- 
ceived 

In- aid of my good patron, when he mist 

His sought-for father, Avhcn that well-taught 
dame 

Had her cue given her, to cry out, A rape ! 
Bo>i, O most laid impudence ! Fathers 

3 Avoc. Sir, be silent ; 

^ou had your hearing free, so must they theirs. 

2 Avoc. I do begin to doubt the imposture here. 

4 Avoc. This woman has too many moods. 
Volt. Grave fathers. 

She is a creature of a m.ost profest 
And prostituted lewdness. 

Corv. Most impetuous, 
Unsatisfied, grave fathers ! 

Volt. May her feignings 
Not take your wisdoms : but this day she baited 
A stranger, a grave knight, with her loose eyes. 
And more lascivious kisses. This man saw them 
Together on the water, in a gondola. 

3Ios. Here is the lady herself, that saw them 
too; 
Without ; who then had in the open streets 
Pursued them, but for saving her knight's honor. 

1 Avoc. Produce that lady. 

2 Avoc. Let her come. [Exit MoscA. 
4 Avoc. These things, 

They strike with wonder. 

3 Avoc. I am turn' a a stone. 

Re-enter Mosca with Ladij Would-be. . 

'Mos. Be resolute, madam. 

Lady P. Ay, this same is she. 

[Pointing to Celia. 
Out, thou camelion harlot ! now thine eyes 
Vie tears with the hyaena. Dar'st thou look 
Upon my wronged face-? — I cry your pardons, 
I fear I have forgcttingly transgrest 
Against the dignity of the court 

2 Avoc. No, madam. 

Lady P. And been exorbitant 

2 Avoc, You have not, lady. 

4 Avoc. These proofs are strong. 
Lady P. Surely, I had no purpose 

Co scandalize your honors, or my sex's. 

3 Avoc. We do believe it. 

Lady P. Surely, you may believe it. 

2 Avoc. Madam, we do. 

Lady P. Lideed you may ; mj' breeding 
Is not so coarse 

4 Avoc. We know it. 
Lady P. To offend 

With pertinacity 

3 Avoc. Lady — 



Lady P. Such a presence ! 
No surely. 

1 Avoc. We well think it. 

Lady P. You may think it. 

1 Avoc. Let her o'ei-comc. What Avitnesses 
To make good your report ? [have you 

Bon. Our consciences. 

Ccl. And heaven, that never fails the innocent. 

4 Avoc. These are no testimonies. 

Bon. Not in your courts, 
Where multitude and clamor overcomes. 

1 Avoc. Nay, then you do wax insolent. 

Re-enter Officers, hearing Volfone on a couch. 

Volt. Here, here. 
The testimony comes, that Avill conA'ince, 
And put to utter dumbness their bold tongues ! 
See here, grave fathers, here's the ravisher, 
The rider on men's AA'ives, the great impostor. 
The grand A'oluptuary ! Do you not think 
These limbs should affect A'cnery ? or these eyes 
Covet a concubine ? pray you mark those hands ; 
Are they not fit to stroke a lady's breasts ? — 
Perhaps he doth dissemble ! 

Bon. So he does. 

Volt. Would you have him tortured ? 

Bon. I Avould have him proved. 

Volt. Best try him then with goads, or burning; 
Put him to the strappado : I haA^e heard [irons ; 
The rack hath cured the gout ; 'faith, give it him, 
And help him of a malady ; be courteoiis. 
I'll undertake, before these honor'd fathers, 
He shall liaA'C yet as many left diseases. 
As she has knoAvn adulterers, or thou strum- 
pets. — 
O, my most equal hearers, if these deeds. 
Acts of this bold and most exorbitant strain, 
May pass Avith sufferance, AVhat one citizen 
But owes the forfeit of his life, yea, fame. 
To him that dares traduce him ? Avhich of you 
Are safe, my honor'd fathers ? I Avould ask. 
With leave of your grave fatherhoods, if theij 
Have any face or color like to truth ? [plo* 

Or if, unto the dullest nostril here. 
It smell not rank, and most abhorred slander ? 
I crave your care of this good gentleman, 
Whose life is much endanger'd by their fabls ; 
And as for them, I Avill conclude Avith this. 
That vicious persons, Avhen they're hot and 

flesh'd 
In impious acts, their constancy abounds : 
Damn'd deeds are done Avitli greatest confidence. 

1 Avoc. Take them to custody, and sever them. 

2 Avoc. 'Tis pity two such prodigies should 

live. 

1 Avoc. Let the old gentleman be return'd AA'ith 

care. [Exeunt Of&cers loith Volpone. 

I'm sorry our credulity hath Avrong'd him. 
4 Avoc. These are tAvo creatures ! 

3 Avoc. I've an earthquake in mo. 

2 Avoc. Their shame, even in their cradles, 

fled their faces. 

4 Avoc. You have done a Avorthy service to 

the state, sii'. 
In their discovery. [ To Volt. 

1 Avoc. You shall hear, ere night. 
What punishment the coiirt decrees upon them 
[Exeunt Aa'OCAt., Not., and Officers, loith 
BoNAEio ana C'elia. 



298 



THE FOX. 



ACT V 



YoU. We thank your fatherhoods. — How 
like you it ? 

Mos. Rare. 
I'd have you're tongue, sir, tipt with gold for 

this ; 
I'd have you be the heir to the whole city ; 
The earth I'd have want men, ere you want 

living : 
They're bound to erect your statue in St. Mark's. 
Signior Corvino, I would have you go 
And shew yourself, that you have conquer'd. 

Con. Yes. 

Mos. It was much bettor that you shoidd 
profess 
Yourself a cuckold thus, than that the other 
Should have been proved. 

Con. Nay, I consider'd that: 
Now it is her fault. 

Mos. Then it had been yours. 

Corv. True 5 I do doubt this advocate still. 

Mos. I'faith 
You need not, I dare ease you of that care. 

Corv. I trust thee, Mosca. \Ezit. 

Mos. As 5^our own soul, sir. 

Corb. Mosca ! 

Mos. Now for your business, sir. 

Corb. How ! have you business ? 

Mos. Yes, your's, sir. 

Corb. O, none else ? 

Mos. None else, not I. 

Corb. Be careful, then. 

3I0S. Rest you with both your ej'es, sir. 

Corb. Dispatch it. 

Mos. Instantly. 

Corb. And look that all, 
Vv'hatever, be put in, jewels, plate, moneys. 
Household stuff, bedding, curtains. 

Mos. Curtain-rings, sir : 
Only the adyocatc's fee must be deducted. 

Corb. I'll pay him now ; you'll be too prod- 
igal. 

Mos. Sir, I must tender it. 

Co7-b. Two chequines is well. 

Uos. No, six, sir. 

Corb. 'Tis too much. 

Mos. He talk'd a great while ; 
Vou must consider that, sir. 

Corb. Well, there's three 

Mos. I'll give it him. 

Corb. Do so, and there's for thee. [Exit. 

Mos. Bountiful bones ! What horrid strange 
offence 
jJid he commit 'gainst nature; in his youth, 
Worthy this age ? [Aside.] — You see, sir, [to 

Volt.] how I work 
'Jnto your ends : take you no notice. 

Volt. No, 
I'll leave you. [Exit. 

Mos. All is yours, the devil and all : 
Good advocate ! —Madam, I'll bring you home. 

Lady P. No, I'll go see your patron. 

Mos. That you shall not : 
I'll tell you why. My purpose is to nrge 
My patron to reform his Will ; and for 
The zeal you have shewn to-day, whereas before 
You were but third or fourth, you shall be now 
Put in the first ; which would appear as begg'd, 
If you Avere present. Therefore 

Ladi/ P. You shall sway me. lExeunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in Volpone's Iloiise. 

Enter Volpoxe. 
Tolp. Well, I am hero, and all this brunt i° 
I ne'er was in dislike with my disguise [past. 
Till this fled moment : here 'twas good, in 

private ; 
But in your public, — cave v.-hilst I breathe. 
'Fore God, my left leg 'gan to have the cramp, 
And I apprehended straight some power had 

struck me 
With a dead palsy : Well ! I must be merry, 
And shake it off. A many of these fears 
Would put me into some villainous disease. 
Should they come thick upon me : I'll prevent 
Give me a bowl of lusty wine, to fright ['em. 
This humor from my heart. [Drinks.] — Hum, 

hum, hum ! 
'Tis almost gone already ; I shall conquer. 
Any device, now, of rare ingenious knavery, 
That would possess me Avith a violent laughter, 
Would make me np again. [Drinks a^ain.] — ■ 

So, so, so, so ! 
This heat is life ; 'tis blood by this time : — Mosca ! 

Enter iSIoscA. 

Mos. HoAV now, sir ? docs the day look cleai 
again ? 
Are Ave recover'd, and AATought out of error 
Into our AA'ay, to see our path before us f 
Is our trade free once more ? 

Vo7j3. Exquisite Mosca ! 

Mos. Was it not carried learnedly ? 

Volp. And stoutly : 
Good Avits are greatest in extremities. 

Mos. It Avcre a folly bej^ond thought, to trust 
Any grand act unto a coAvardly spirit : 
You are not taken Avitli it enough, methinks. 

Volp. O, more than if I had enjoy'd the Avench ; 
The pleasure of all Avoman-kind's not like it. 

Mos. Why noAV you speak, sir. We inusJ 

, here be fix'd ; 
Here Ave must rest ; this is our master-piece ; 
We cannot think to go bej'ond this. 

Volp. True, 
Thou hast play'd thy prize, my precious Mosca 

Mos. Nay, sir. 
To gull the court 

Volp. And quite divert the torrent 
Upon the innocent. 

3Ios. Yes, and to make 
So rare a music out of discords 

I'olp. Right. 
That yet to me's the strangest, hoAV thou hoBt 

borne it ! 
That these, being so diA'ided 'mongst themselves. 
Shoiild not scent somcAvhat, or in me or thee, 
Or doubt their OAvn side. 

Mos. True, they Avill not see't. [thenj 

Too much light blinds them, I think. Each of 
Is so possest and stuft Avith his OAvn hopes, 
That any thing unto the contrary, 
NcA'er so true, or ncA'or so apparent. 
Never so palpable, they Avill resist it 

l^olj}. Lili c a temptation of the deAdl. 



THE FOX. 



29a 



Mos. Rigut, .sir. [signiors 

Merchanlii luay talk of trade, and yom* great 
Of land that yields well ; but if Italy 
Have any glebe more fruitful than these fellows, 
I am deceiv'd. Did not j'our advocate rare ? 

Volp. O — Ml/ most honor d fathers, my grave 
Under correction of your fatherhoods, [fathers, 
What face of truth is here ? If tliese strange deeds 
May pass, most honor' d fathers — I had much ado 
To forbear laughing. 

Mos. It seera'd to me, you sweat, sir. 
Volp. In troth, I did a little. 
Mos. But confess, sii', 
Were you not daunted ? 

Volp. In good faith, I was 
A little in a mist, but not dejected ; 
Never, but still myself. 

Mos. I think it, sir. [sir, 

Now, so truth help me, I must needs say this. 
And out of conscience for your advocate. 
He has taken pains, in faith, sir, and deserv'd, 
In my poor judgment, I speak it under favor, 
Not to contrary you, sir, very richly — 
Well — to be cozen' d. 

Volp. Troth, and I think so too, 
Ey that I heard him, in the latter end. 

Mos. O, but before, sir : had you heard him 
Draw it to certain heads, then aggravate, [first 
Then use his A^ehement figures — I look'd still 
When he would shift a shirt : and, doing this 

Out of pure love, no hope of gain 

Volp, 'Tis right. 
I cannot answer him, Mosca, as I would. 
Not yet ; but for thy sake, at thy entreaty, 
I will begin, even now — to vex them aU, 
This very instant. 
Mos. Good sir. 
Volp. Call the dwarf 
And eunuch forth. 
Mos. Castrone, Nano ! 

Enter Castroxe and Naxo. 

Nan. Here. 

Volp. Shall we have a jig now .' 

M'os. What you please, sir. 

Volp. Go, 
Straight give out about the streets, you two, 
That I am dead ; do it with constancy. 
Sadly, do you hoar .' impute it to the grief 
Of this late slander. [Exeunt Cast. a7ul Nano. 

Mos. What do you mean, sir ? 

Volp. O, 
I shall have instantly my Vulture, Crow, 
Raven, come fl}'ing hither, on the news. 
To peck for carrion, my she- wolf, and all, 
Greedy, and full of expectation — 

Mas. And then to have it ravish' d from their 
mouths ! 

Volp. 'Tis true. I will have thee put on a gown, 
And take upon thee, as thou Avert mine heir : 
Shew them a will : Open that chest, ancf reach 
Forth one of those that has the blanks ; I'll 
Put in thy name. [straight 

Mos. It will be rare, sir. [Gives him a paper. 

Volp. Ay, [luded — 

When they ev'n gape, and find themselves de- 

Mos. Yes. 

Volp. And thou use them scurvily ! 
Dispatch, get on thy gown. 



Mos. [putting on a goion?^ But what, sir, if they 
After the body ? [ask 

Volp. Say, it was corrupted. 

Mos. I'll saj', it stunk, sir; and was fain to 
Coffin'd up instantly, and sent away. [have it 

Volp. Any thing ; what thou A^dlt. Hold, 
here's ray will. 
Get thee a cap, a count-book, pen and ink. 
Papers afore thee ; sit as thou wert taking 
An inventory of parcels : I'll get up 
Behind the curtain, on a stool, and hearken ; 
Sometime peep over, see how they do look. 
With what degrees their blood doth leave theu* 

faces, 
0, 't-will afford me a rare meal of laughter ! 

Mos. [putting on a ca]}, and setting out the table, 
tjc] Your advocate ^Yill turn stark dull 
upon it. 

Volp. It Avill take off his oratory's edge. 

Mos. But your clarissimo, old round-back, he 
Will crump you like a hog-louse, with the touch. 

l^olp. And Avhat Corvino ? 

3Ios. O, sir, look for him. 
To-morrow morning, with a rope and dagger. 
To visit all the streets ; he must run mad. 
My lady too, that came into the court, 
To bear false Avitness for your Avorship — 

Volp. Y'es, 
And kiss'd me 'fore the fathers, Avhcn my face 
Flow'd all Avith oils. 

Mos. And SAveat, sir. Why, your gold 
Is such another mod' cine, it dries up 
All those off'ensive savors : it transforms 
The most deformed, and restores them loA^ely, 
As 'tAvere the strange poetical girdle. Jove 
Could not invent t' himself a shroud more subtle 
To pass Acrisius' guards. It is the thing 
Makes all the world her grace, her youth, liei 
beauty. 

V0I2}. I think she loA'es me, 

Mos. Who ? the lady, sir ? 
She's jealous of you. 

V0I2]. Dost thou say so ? [Knocking teitkin. 

Mos. Hark, 
There's some already. 

Volp. Look. 

3I0S. It is the Vulture ; 
He has the quickest scent. 

Volp. I'll to my place. 
Thou to thy posture. [Goes behind the curtaiih 

Mos. I am set. 

Volp. But, Mosca, 
Play the artificer noAV, torture them rarely. 

Enter Voltore. 
Volt. HoAV noAA', my Mosca ? 

Mos. [Avriting.] Turkey carjyets, nine 

Volt. Taking an inventory ! that is Avell. 

Mos. Two suits of bedding, tissue 

Volt. Where's the Will ? 
Let me read that the Avhile. 

Enter Servants, with Corbaccio in a chair. 
Corb. So, set me doAAai, 
And get you home. [Exeunt Servanta 
Volt. Is he come now, to trouble us ! 
Mos. Of cloth of gold, two more. 
Corb. Is it done, Mosca .' 
Mos. Of several velvets, eight 



300 



THE FOX. 



Volt. I like his care. 
Corb. Dost thou not hear ? 

Enter Corvino. 
Corb. Ha ! is the hour come, Mosca ? 
Volp. [peepii)(j over the curtain.] Ay, now they 

muster. 
Core. What does the advocate here. 
Or this Corbaccio ? 

Corv. What do these here ? 

Enter Lady Pol. Would-be. 

Ladij P. Mosca ! 
Is his thread spun ? 

Mos. Eight chests of linen 

Tolp. O, 
My fine dame Would-be, too ! 

Corv. Mosca, the Will, - 

That I may shew it these, and rid them hence. 

Mos. Six chests of diaper, four of damask. — 

There. 
[Gives them the Witt carelessly, over his shoulder. 

Corb. Is that the Will ? 

Mos. Doicn-beds and bolsters — 

Volp. Rare ! 
Be busy still. Now they begin to flutter : 
They never think of me. Look, see, sec, see ! 
How their swift eyes run over the long deed, 
Unto the name, and to the legacies, 
W^hat is bequeathed them there — 

Mos. Ten suits of hangings — 

Volp. Ay, in their garters, Mosca. Now their 
Are at the gasp. [hopes 

Volt. Mosca the heir ! 
■ Corb. What's that ? 

Volp. My advocate is dumb ; look to my mer- 
chant, [lost, 
He has heard of some strange storm, a ship is 
He faints ; my lady will swoon. Old giazen eyes. 
He hath not reach'd his despair yet. 

Corb. All these 
Are out of hope ; I am, sure, the man. 

[Tahes the Will. 

Corv. But, Mosca 

Mos. Ttoo cabinets. 

Corv. Is this in earnest ? 

Mos. One 
Of ebony 

Corv. Or do jon but delude me ? 

Mos. The other, mother of pearl — I am very 
busy. 
Good faith, it is a fortune thrown upon me — 
Item, one salt of agate — not my seeking. 

Lady P. Do you hear, sir ? 

Mos. A perfumed box — 'Pray you forbear. 
You see I'm troubled — made of an onyx — 

Lady P. How ! 

Jlos. To-morrow or next day, I shall be at 
To talk Avith you all. [leisure 

Corv. Is this my large hope's issue ? 

Lady P. Sir, I must have a fairer answer. 

Mos. Madam ! 
Marry, and shall : 'pray you, fairlj^ quit my 
house. [yo^> 

Nay, raise no tempest with j-our looks ; but hark 
Remember what your ladyship offer' d me 
To put you in an heir ; go to, think on it : 
And what you said e'en your best madams did 
For maintenance ; and why not you ? Enough. 



Go home, and use the poor sir Pol, your knight, 

well. 
For fear I tell some riddles ; go, be melancholy. 
[Exit Lady Would-be. 
Volp. O, my fine devil ! 
Corv. Mosca, 'pray you a word. 
Mos. Lord ! will you not take your dispatch 
hence yet ? [ample, 

^lethinks, of all, you should have been the ex- 
W^hy should you stay here ? Avith what thought, 

what promise ? 
Hear you ; do you not knoAv, I know you an ass, 
And that you Avould most vain have been a 

wittol. 
If fortune would have let you ? that you are 
A declared cuckold, on good terms ? This pearl. 
You'll say, was yours ? right : this diamond ? 
I'll not dcny't, but thank you. Much hero else .' 
It may be so. Why, think that th'^se good works 
May help to hide your bad. I'll not betray you ; 
Although you be but extraordinary. 
And have it only in title, it sufficeth : 
Go home, be melancholy too, or mad. 

[Exit Corvino, 
Volp. Rare Mosca ! how his villainy becomes 

him ! 
Volt. Certain he doth delude all these for me 
Corb. Mosca the heir ! 
Volp. O, his four eyes have found it. 
Corb. I am cozen'd, cheated, by a parasite 
Harlot, thou hast guU'd me. [slave ; 

Mos. Yes, sir. Stop your mouth, 
Or I shall draw the only tooth is left. 
Are not you he, that filthy covetous wretch. 
With the three legs, that here, in hope of prey, 
Have, any time this three years, snuff'd about, 
With your most grovelling nose, and would 

have hired 
Me to the poisoning of my patron, sir ? 
Are not you he that have to-day in court, 
Profess'd the disinheriting of your son? 
Perjured yourself? Go home, and die, and stink; 
If you but croak a sjdlable, all comes out : 
AAvay, and call your porters ! [Exit CoiiB.iCcio.] 
Go, go, stink. 
Volp. Excellent varlet ! 
Volt. Now, my faithful Mosca, 
I find thy constancy. 
Mos. Sir! 
Volt. Sincere. 

Mos. [writing.] A table [some. 

Of porphyry — I marie you'll be thus t2 ouble- 
Volt. Naj', leave ofi now, they are gona. 
Mos. Why, who are you ? 
AVhat ! ■\\'ho did send for you ? O, cry you mercy. 
Reverend sir ! Good faith, I am grieved for you 
That any chance of mine should thus def?at 
Y'^our (I must needs say) most dcserviiit, ^ravails : 
But I protest, sir, it was cast upon me. 
And I cguld almost wish to be without it, 
But that the will o' the dead must be observ'd. 
Marry, my joy is that you need it not ; 
You have a gift, sir, (thank your education,) 
Will never let you Avant, while there are men. 
And malice, to breed causes. Would I had 
But half the like, for all my fortune, sir ! 
If I have any suits, as I do hope, 
Things being so easy and direct, I shall not, 
I will make hold with your obstreperous jiid. 



THE FOX. 



301 



Conceive me, — for your fee, rir. In meantime, 
You that have so much law, I know have the 

conscience 
Not to be covetous of vfh'xt is mine. 
Good sir, I thank you for my plate ; 'twill help 
To set up a young man. Good faith, you look 
As you were costive ; hejt go home and purge, 
sir, [Exit VoLTORE. 

Vol23. [comes f/om bJiiiul the curtain.'] Bid him 
eat lettuco wjU. My witty mischief, 
Lfct me embrace thet;. O that I could now 
Transform tlieo to a Venus ! — Mosca, go, 
Straight take my habit of clarissimo, [more : 
And walk the streets ; be seen, torment them 
Vv'c must pursue, as well as plot. Who would 
Have lost this feast ? 

Mos. I doubt it will lose them. 

Volp, O, ray recovery shall recover all. 
That I could now but think on some disguise 
To meet them in, and ask them questions ; 
How I would vex them still at every turn ! 

Mos. Sii', I can tit you. 

Volp. Canst thou ? 

Mos. Yes, I know 
One o' the commandadori, sir, so like you ; 
Him will I straight make drunk, and bring you 
his habit. [brain ! 

Volp. A rare disguise, and answering thy 
O, I will be a sharp disease unto them. 

Mos, Sir, you must look for curses 

Volp. Till they burst ; 
The Fox fares ov^r best when he is curst. 

[Exeunt. 

>10ENE II. — A Hall in Sir Politick's House. 

Enter Pehegiiine disguised, and three Merchants. 
Per. Am I enough disguised ? 

1 Mer. I warrant you. 

Per. All my ambition is to fright him only. 

2 Mar. If you could ship him away, 'twere 

3 Mer. To Zant, or to Aleppo ? [excellent. 
Per. Y'es, and have his 

Adventures put i' the Book of Voyages, 
And his gull'd story register'd for truth. 
Well, gentlemen, when I am in a while, 
And that you think us Warm in our discourse, 
Know your approaches. 

1 Mer. Trust it to our care. [iixc««^ Merchants. 

Enter Waiting-woman. 

Per, Save you, fair lady ! Is Sir Pol within ? 

Worn. I do not know, sir. 

Per. Pray you say unto him. 
Here is a merchant, upon earnest business, 
Desires to speak with him. 

Worn. I will see, sir. [Exit. 

Per. Pray you. — 
I see the family is all female here. 

Re-enter Waiting-woman. 
Worn. He says, sir, he has weighty affairs of 
state, 
That now require him whole ; some other time 
You may possess him. 

Per. Pray you say again, [him, 

If those require him whole, these will exact 
Wliereof I bring him tidings. [Exit Woman.] — 
What might be 



His grave aifair of state now ! how to make 
Bolognian sausages here in Venice, sparing 
One o' the ingredients ? 

Re-enter Waiting-woman. 

Worn. Sir, he says, he knows [man, 

By 5'our word tidings, that you are no states- 
And therefore wills you stay. 

Per. Sweet, jjray you return him ; 
I have not read so many proclamations. 
And studied them for words,- as he has done — 
But — here he deigns to come. [Exit Woman 

Enter Sir Politick. 

Sir P. Sir, I must crave 
Your courteous pardon. There hath chanced 

to-day, 
Unkind disaster 'twixt my lady and me ; 
And I was penning my apology. 
To give her satisfaction, as you came now. 

Per. Sir, I am grieved I bring you worse dis- 
aster : 
The gentleman you met at the port to-day, 
That told you, he was newly arrived 

Sir P. Ay, was 
A fugitive punk ? 

Per. No, sir, a spy set on you ; 
And he has made relation to the senate. 
That you jDrofcst to him to have a plot 
To sell the State of Venice to the Turk. 

Sir P. O me ! 

Per, For which, warrants are sign'd by thia 
time, 
To apprehend you, and to search your stiidy 
For papers 

Sir P. Alas, sir, I have none, but notes 
Drawn out of play- books 

Per. AU the better, sir. 

Sir P. And some essays. What shall I do ? 

Per. Sir, best 
Convey yourself into a sugar-chest ; 
Or, if you could lie round, a fraQ were rare, 
And I could send you aboard. 

Sir P. Sir, I but talk'd so. 
For discourse sake merely. [Knochini/ tvithin. 

Per. Hark ! they are there. 

Sir P. I am a wretch, a wretch ! 

Per. What will you do, sir ? 
Have you ne'er a currant-butt to leap into ? 
They'll put you to the rack ; you must ba 
sudden. 

Sir P. Sir, I have an ingine 

3 Mer. [loithin.] Sir Politick Would-be ! 

2 Mer. [within.] Where is he ? 

Sir P. That I have thought upon before time. 

Per. What is it ? 

Sir P. I shall ne'er endure the tortiirc. 
Marry, it is, sir, of a tortoise-shell, [mc. 

Fitted for these extremities : pray you, sir, help 
Here I've a place, sir, to put back my legs, 
Please you to lay it on, sir, [Lies doivn whils 
Peregrine 2'i<^ces the shell upon Mm.] — • 
with this cap, [toise, 

And my black gloves. I'll lie, sir, like a tov 
'Till they are gone. 

Per, And call you this an ingine ? 

Sir. P. ]\Iine own device Good sir, bid 

my wife's women 
To burn my papers. ^Exit Peregrine. 



302 



THE FOX. 



\CT V. 



The three Merchants rush in. 

1 Mer. Where is he hid ? 
3 3Ier. We must, 

And will sure find him. 

2 Met: Which is his study ? 

Re-enter Peregrine. 

1 Mer. What 
Are you, sir ? 

Per. I am a merchant, that came here 
To look upon this tortoise. 

3 Mer. How ! 

1 Mer. St. Mark ! 
What beast is this ! 

Per ■ It is a fish. 

2 Mer. Come out here ! 

Per. Nay, you may strike him, sir, and tread 
upon him ; 
He'll bear a cart. 

1 Mer. What, to run over him ? 
Per. Yes, sir. 

3 Mer, Let's jump upon him. 

2 Mer. Can he not go ? 
Per. He creeps, sir. 

1 Mer. Let's see him creep. 

Per. No, good sir, you will hurt him. 

2 Mer. Heart, I will see him creep, or prick 

his guts. 

3 Mer. Come out here ! 

Per. Pray you, sir ! — Creep a little. 

^ Aside to Sir Politick. 

1 Mer. Forth. 

2 Mer. Yet farther. 
Per. Good sir ! — Creep. 

2 Mer. We'll see his legs. 

[They pull off the shell and discover him. 

3 Mer. Ods so, ho has garters ! 

1 Mer. Ay, and gloves ! 

2 Mer. Is this 
Your fearful tortoise ? 

Per. [discoverinff himself.] Now, Sir Pol, we 
are even ; 
For your next project I shall be prepared : 
I am sorry for the funeral of your notes, sir. 

1 Mer. 'Twere a rare motion to be seen in 

Fleet-street. 

2 Mer. Ay, in the Term. 

1 Mer. Or Smithfield, in the fair. 

3 Mer. Methinks 'tis but a melancholy sight. 
Per. Farewell, most politic tortoise ! 

[Exeunt Per. and Merchants. 

Re-enter V/aiting- woman. 
air P. Where's my lady ? 
Knows she of this ? 
Wom. I know not, sir. 
Sir P. Enquire. — 
0, I shall be the fable of all feasts, 
The freight of the gazetti, ship-boy's tale ; 
And, which is Avorst, even talk for ordinaries. 

Worn. My lady's come most melancholy home, 
And says, sir, she will straight to sea, for 
physic. 
Sir P. And I to shun this place and clime for- 
ever. 
Creeping with Louse on back, and think it well 
To shrink my poor head in my politic shell. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE III. — A Room in Volpone's House. 

Enter Mosc.v in the habit of a Clarissimo, and 
VoLPOXE in that of a Commandadore. 

Volp. Am I then like him ? 

Mos. O, sii', you arc he : 
No man can sever you. 

Volp. Good. 

Afos. But what am I ? [becom'st it ! 

Volp. 'Fore heaven, a brave clarissimo ; thou 
Pity thou wert not born one. 

Mos. If I hold 
My made one, 'twill be well. [Aside. 

Volp. I'll go and see 
What news first at the court. [Exit 

Mos. Do so. My Fox 
Is out of his hole, and ere he shall re-enter, 
I'll make him languish in his borrow' d case, 
Except he come to composition with me. — 
Androgyno, Castrone, Nano ! 

Enter Androgyno, Castrone, and Nano. 
All. Here. 

Mos. Go, recreate yourselves abroad ; go sport 

[Exeu7it 
So, now I have the keys, and am possest. 
Since he will needs be dead afore his time, 
I'll bury him, or gain by him : I am his heir. 
And so will keep me, till he share at least. 
To cozen him of all, were but a cheat 
Well placed ; no man would construe it a sin : 
Let his sport pay for't. This is caUed the Fox- 
trap. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — A Street. 

Enter Corbaccio and Corvino. 
Corb. They say, the court is set. 
Corv. We must maintain 
Our first tale good, for both our reputations. 
Corb. Why, mine's no tale : my son would 

there have kill'd me. 
Corv. That's true, I had forgot : — mine is, 
I'm sure. [Aside, 

But for your Will, sir. 

Corb. Ay, I'll come upon him 
For that hereafter, now his patron's defwi. 

Enter Volpone. 

Volp. Signior Corvino ! and Corbaccio I .«>ir 
Much joy unto you. 

Corv. Of what ? 

Volp. The sudden good 
Dropt down upon you 

Corb. Where? 

Volj}. And none knows how, 
From old Volpone, sir. 

Corb. Out, arrant knave ! 

Volp. Let not your too much wealth, sir, make 

Corb. Away, thou vaiiet ! [you furious, 

Volp. Why, sir ? 

Corb. Dost thou mock me ? [change Wills ? 

Volp. You mock the world, sir ; did you not 

Corb. Out, harlot ! 

Volp. O ! belike you are the man, 
Signior Corvino ? 'faith, you carry it well ; 
You grow not mad withal ; I love your spirit ; 
You are not ovcr-leaven'd with yoxur fortune. 



THE FOX. 



£0J 



You should have some would swell now, like a 

wine-fat, 
With such an autumn — Did he give you all, sir ? 

Corv. Avoid, you rascal ! 

Volp Troth, your wife has shewn 
Herself a very woman ; but you are well, 
You need not care, you have a good estate, 
To bear it out, sir, better by this chance : 
Except Corbaccio have a share. 

Corb. Hence, varlet. [wise. 

Volp. You will not be acknown, sir ; why, 'tis 
Thus do all gamesters, at all games, dissemble : 
No man will seem to win. \_Exeimt Corvino and 

CoRDAccio.] — Here comes my vulture, 
Heaving his beak up in the air, and snuffing. 

Enter Voltoee. 

Volt. Outstrip! thus, by a parasite ! a slave, 
Would run on errands.and make legs for crumbs ! 
Well, what I'll do 

Volp. The court stays for jorit worship. 
I e'en rejoice, sir, at your woiship's happiness, 
And that it fell into so learned hands, 
That understand the fingering 

Volt, What do you mean ? 

Volp. I mean to be a suitor to your worship. 
For the small tenement, out of reparations, 
That, at the end of j'our long row of houses, 
By the Piscaria : it was, in Volpone's time, 
Your predecessor, ere he grew diseased, 
A handsome, i^retty, custom' d bawdy-house 
As any was in Venice, none dispraised ; 
But fell Avith him : his body and that house 
Decay'd together. 

Volt. Come, sir, leave your prating. 

Volp. AVhy, if your worship give me but 
your hand, 
That I may have the refusal, I have. done. 
'Tis a mere toy to you, sir ; candle-rents ; 
As your learn'd worship knows 

Volt. What do I know ? [decrease it ! 

Volp. Marry, no end of your wealth, sir ; God 

Volt. ^listaking knave ! what, mock'st thou 
my misfortune ? [Exit. 

Volp. His blessing on your heart, sir ; would 

'twere more ! 

Now to my first again, at the next corner. [Exit. 

SCENE V. —Another Part of the Street. 

Enter Corbaccio and Corvino ; — Mosca passes 

over the Stage, before them. 

Corb. See, in our habit ! see the impudent 

varlet ! [gun-stones ! 

Corv. That I could shoot mine eyes at him Hke 

E]iter VoLPONE. 

Volp. But is this true, sir, of the parasite ? 

Corb. Again, to afflict us ! monster ! 

Volp. In good faith, sir, 
I'm heartily grieved, a beard of your grave length 
Should be so over-reach'd. I never brook'd 
That parasite's hair : mcthought his nose should 

cozen : 
There still was somewhat in his look, did promise 
The bane of a clarissimo. 

Corb, Knave 

Volp. Methinks 
Yet you, that are so traded in the world, 



A witty merchant, the fine bird, Corvino, 
That have such moral emblems on your name, 
Should not have sung your shame, and dropl 

your cheese, 
To let the Fox laugh at your emptiness, [place, 

Corv, Sirrah, you think the privilege of the 
And your red, saucy cajo, that seems to me 
Nail'd to your jolt-head with those two che- 

quines. 
Can warrant your abuses ; come you hither : 
You shall perceive, sir, I dare beat you ; approach. 

Volp. No haste, sir, I do know your valor well, 
Since you durst publish what you are, sir. 

Corv. Tarry, 
I'd speak with you. 

Volp. Sir, sir, another time 

Corv. Nay, now. 

Volp. O lord, sir ! I were a wise man, 
Would stand the fury of a distracted cuckold. 
[As he is rvmiing off, re-enter MosCA. 

Co>-b. What, come again ! 

Volj}. Upon 'em, Mosca ; save me. 

Corb. The air's infected Avhere ho breathes. 

Corv. Let's fly him. [Exeunt Corv. and Corb, 

Volp. Excellent basilisk ! turn upon the vul- 
ture. 

Enter Voltore. 

Volt. Well, flesh-fly, it is summer with you 
Your Avinter Avill come on. [now ; 

Mos. Good advocate, 
Prithee not rail, nor threaten out of place thus ; 
Thou'lt make a solecism, as madam saj's. 
Get you a biggin more, your brain breaks loose. 

[Exit. 

Volt. Well, sir. [slave, 

Volp. Would you have me beat the insolent 
Throw dirt upon his first good clothes ? 

l^olt. This same 
Is doubtless some familiar. 

J'olp. Sir, the court. 
In troth, stays for you. I am mad, a mule 
That never read Justinian, should get up, 
And ride an advocate. Had yoii no quirk 
To avoid guUage, sir, by such a creature ? 
I hope you do but jest ; he has not done it ; 
'Tis but confederacy, to blind the rest. 
You are the heir. 

V'olt. A strange, ofHcious, 
Troublesome knave ! thovi dost torment mo. 

Volp. I know ■ 

It cannot be, sir, that you should be cozen'd ; 
'Tis not within the wit of man to do it ; 
You arc so wise, so prudent ; and 'tis fit 
That wealth and wisdom still should go togethei- 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — The Scrutineo, or Senate-IIotise. 

Enter Avocatori, Notario, Boxario, Celia, Cob 

BACcio, Corvino, Commandadori, Saffi, §c. 

1 Avoc. Arc all the parties here ? 
Not. All but the advocate 

2 Avoc. And here he comes. 

Enter Voltore and Volpone. 
1 Avoe. Then bring them forth to sentence. 
Volt. O, my most honor' d fathers, let youi 
mercy 



304 



THE FOX. 



Once win upon your justice, to forgive — 
I am distracted 

Volp. "What will he do now ? [Aside. 

Volt. O, 
I know not wliicli to address myself to first ; 
Whether your fatherhoods, or these innocents — 

Corv. Will he betray himself? YAskle. 

Volt. Whom equally 
I have abused, out of most covetous ends 

Corv. The man is mad ! 

Co7-b. What's that ? 

Corv. He is possest. [I prostrate 

Volt. For which, now struck in conscience,here 
Myself at your offended feet, for pardon. 

1, 2 Avoc. Arise. 

Cel. O heaven, how just thou art ! 

Volp. I am caught 
In mine own noose [Aside. 

Corv. [to CoRBAccio.] Be constant, sir : nought 
Can help, but impudence. [now 

1 Avoc. Speak forward. 

Com. Silence ! 

l^olt. It is not passion in me, reverend fathers. 
But only conscience, conscience, my good sires. 
That makes me now tell truth. That parasite, 
That knave, hath been the instrviment of all. 

1 Avoc. Where is that knave ? fetch him. 
Volp. I go. [Exit. 
Corv. Grave fathers. 

This man's distracted ; he confest it now : 
For, hoping to be old Yolpone's heir, 
Who now is dead 

3 Avoc, How ! 

2 Avoc. Is Volpone dead ? 
Corv. Dead since, grave fathers. 
Bon. O sure vengeance ! 

1 Avoc. Stay, 

Then he was no deceiver. 

Volt. O no, none : 
The parasite, grave fathers. 

Corv, He does speak 
Out of mere envy, 'cause the servant's made 
The thing he gaped for : please your fatherhoods. 
This is the truth, though I'll not justify/ 
The other, but he may be some-deal faulty. 

Volt, Ky, to your hopes, as well as mine, 
Corvino : 
But I'll use modesty. Pleascth your wisdoms. 
To view these certain notes, and but confer them ; 
As I hope favor, they shall speak clear truth. 

Corv, The devil has enter'd him ! 

Bon. Or bides in you. 

4 Avoc. "We have done ill, by a public officer 
To send for him, if he be heir. 

2 Avoc, For whom ? 

4 Avoc. Him that they call the parasite. 

3 Avoc. 'Tis true, 

He is a man of great estate, now left. 

4 Avoc. Go you, and learn his name, and say, 

the court 
Entreats his presence here, but to the clearing 
Of some few doubts. [Exit Notary. 

2 Avoc. This same's a labyrinth ! 

1 Avoc. Stand you unto your first report ? 

Corv. My state, 
My life, my fame — 

Bon. Where is it ? 

Corv. Are at the stake. 

1 Avoc. Is yours so too ? 



Corh. The advocate's a knave, 

And has a forked tongue 

2 Avoc. Speak to the point. 
Corh. So is the parasite too. 
1 Avoc. This is confusion. 
Volt. I do beseech your fatherhoods, read but 
those — [Giving them papers. 

Corv. And credit nothing the false spirit hath 
writ : 
It cannot be, but he's possest, grave fathers. 

[The scene closes, 

SCENE VII. — A Street. 

Enter Volpoxe. 
Volp. To make a snare for mine own neck ! 
and run 
My head into it, AvilfuUy ! with laughter ! 
When I had newly 'scaped, was free, and clearj 
Out of mere wantonness ! O, the dull devil 
Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it, 
And Mosca gave it second ; he must now 
Help to sear up this vein, or we bleed dead. — 

Enter Nano, Androgyxo, and Castkoxe. 
How now ! who let you loose ? whither go yon 

now ? 
"Wliat, to buy gingerbread, or to drown kitlings r 

Nan. Sir, master Mosca cali'd us out of doors, 
And bid iis all go play, and took the keys. 

And. Yes. 

Volp. Did master Mosca take the keys ? why so ! 
I'm farther in. These are my fine conceits ! 
I must be merry, with a mischief to me ! 
What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear 
]SIy fortune soberly ? I must have my crotchets, 
And my conundrums ! Well, go you, and seek 

him : 
His meaning may be truer than my fear. 
Bid him, he straight come to me to the court , 
Thither will I, and, if 't be possible, 
Unscrew my advocate, upon new hopes : 
When I provoked hhn, then I lost myself. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VIII. — The Scrutineo, or Senate-House. 

Avocatori, Bonaeio, Celia, Corbaccio, Corvino, 
Commandadori, Saffi, &c., as before, 

1 Avoc. These things can ne'er be reconciled. 
He, here, [Shewing the Papers. 

Professeth, that the gentleman was wrong'd. 
And that the gentlewoman was brought thither, 
Forced by her husband, and there left. 

Volt. Most true. 

Cel. How ready is heaven to those that pray , 

1 Avoc. But that 
Volijone would have ravish' d her, he holds 
Utterly false, knowing his impotence. 

Corv. Grave fathers, he's possest ; again, I say, 
Possest : nay, if there be possession, and 
Obsession, he has both. 

3 Avoc. Here comes our officer. 

Enter Volpone. 
Volp. The parasite wiU. straight be here, grave 
fathers. [sir varlet. 

4 Avoc. You might iuA'ent some other name^ 
3 Avoc. Did not the notary meet him ? 



dt;ENE VIII. 



THE FOX. 



305 



Volp. Not that I know. 

4 Avoc, His coining will clear all. 

2 Avoc. Yet, it is mist5% 

Volt. May't please your fatherhoods 

Volp. [whispers A^olt.] Sir, the parasite 
Will'd mc to tell you, that his master lives ; 
That you are still the man ; your hopes the 

same ; 
And this was only a jest 

Volt. How ? 

Volp. Sir, to trj' 
If you were firm, and how you stood affected. 

Volt. Art sure he lives ? 

Volp. Do I live, sir ? 

Volt. O me ! 
I was too violent. 

Vnlp. Sir, you may redeem it. 
I'licy said, you were possest ; fall down, and 

seem so : 
I'll help to make it good. [Voltoke falls.] — 

God bless the man ! 

Stop your Avind hard, and swell — See, see, see, 

see ! 
He vomits crooked pins ! his eyes are set, 
Like a dead hare's hung in a poulter's shop ! 
His mouth's running away ! Do you see, signior ? 
Now it is in his belly. 

Corv. Ay, the devil ! 

Volp. Now in his throat. 

Corv. Ay, I j^erceive it plain. 

Volp. 'Twill out, 'twill out ! stand clear. See 
where it flics, 
In shape of a blue toad, with a bat's wings ! 
Do you not see it, sir ? 

Corb. What ? I think I do. 

Corv. 'Tis too manifest. 

Volp. Look ! he comes to himself ! 

Volt. Where am I ? 

Volp. Take good heart, the worst is past, sir. 
You are dispossest. 

1 Avoc. What accident is this ! 

2 Avoc. Sudden, and full of wonder ! 

3 Avoc. If he were 

Possest, as it appears, all this is nothing. 

Corv. He has been often subject to these fits. 

1 Avoc. Shew him that writing : — do you 

know it, sir ? 
Vol^}. [tohispcrs Volt.] Deny it, sir, forswear 

it ; know it not. 
Volt. Yes, I do know it well, it is my hand ; 
lint all that it contains is false. 
Bon. O practice ! 

2 Avoc. What maze is this ! 

1 Avoc. Is he not guilty then. 
Whom -you. there name the parasite ? 

Volt. Grave fathers. 
No more than his good patron, old Yolpone. 

4 Avcc. Why, he is dead. 

Volt. O no, my honor' d fathers, 

He lives 

1 Avoc. How ! lives ? 

Volt, Lives. 

9, Avoc. This is subtler yet ! 

C .tvcc. You said he was dead. 

-/oU. Never. 

3 A.voc. You said so. 
Ooro. I heard so. 

4 Avoc. Here comes the gentleman ; make 

him wpy. 

20 



Enter Mosc.v. 

3 Avoc. A stool. 

4 Avoc. A proper man ; and, were Volpono 

dead, 
A fit match for my daughter. [Aside. 

■ 3 Avoc. Give him way. 

Volp. Mosca, I was almost lost ; the advocate 
Had betrayed all ; but now it is recovered ; 

All's on the hinge again Say, I am living. 

[Aside to Mos 

Mos. What busy knave is this ! — ISIost rev- 
erend fathers, 
I sooner had attended your grave pleasures. 
But that my order for the funeral 
Of my dear patron, did require me 

Volp. Mosca ! [Aside- 

Mos. Whom I intend to bury like a gentleman. 

Volp, Ay, quick, and cozen me of all. [Aside. 

2 Avoc. Still stranger ! 
More intricate ! 

1 Avoc. And come about again ! 

4 Avoc. It is a match, my daughter is be- 
stow' d. [Aside. 

Mos. Will you give me half ? [Aside to Volp. 

Volp. Fu-st, I'll be hang'd. 

Mos. I know 
Your voice is good, cry not so loud. 

1 Avoc. Demand 
The advocate. — Sir, did you not afhrm 
Volpone was alive ? 

Volp. Yes, and he is ; 
This gentleman told me so. — Thou shalt have 
half. — [Aside to Mos. 

3Ios. Whose drunkard is this same ? speak, 
some that know him : 
I never saw his face. — I cannot now 
Afford it you so cheap. [Aside to Volp. 

Volp. No ! 

1 Avoc. ^Yh.at say you ? 
Volt. The officer told me. 
Volp. I did, grave fathers, 

And will maintain he lives, with mine own life, 
And that this creature [jyoints to IMoscA..] told 

mc. — I was born 
With all good stars my enemies. [Aside, 

Mos. Most grave fathers. 
If such an insolence as this must pass 
Upon mo, I am silent : 'twas not this 
For which you sent, I hope. 

2 Avoc. Take him away. 
Volp. Mosca ! 

3 Avoc. Let him be whipt. 
Volp. Wilt thou betray mc ? 

Cozen me ? 

3 Avoc. And taught to bear himself 
Toward a person of his rank. 

4 Avoc. Awaj'. [The Officers seize VoLPONfi, 
Mos. I humbly thank your fatherhoods. 
Volp. Soft, soft : Whipt ! 

And lose all that I have ! If I confess, 
It cannot be much more. [Aside. 

4 Avoc, Sir, are you married r 
Volp. They'll be alUed anon ; I must be re.'o 
lute : The Fox shall here uncase. 

[ Throies ojf his disgi iso 
Mos. Patron ! 
Volp. Nay, now 
My ruins shall not come alone ; your match 



iO*? 



THE FOX. 



I'll }iinc!er sure : my substance shall r.ot glue you, 
Nor screw you into a family. 

Mm. Why, patron ; 

Vol^;. I am Volponc, and this is my knave ; 
[Pointiiiff to MoscA. 
'Iliis [to Volt.] his own knave ; this, [to Core.] 

avarice's fool ; 
This, [to CoRV.] a chimera of wittol, fool, and 

knave : 
And, reverend fathers, since we all can hope 
Nought but a sentence, let's not now despair it. 
You hear me brief. 

Corv, May it please your fatherhoods 

Co77i. Silence. 

i Avoc, The knot is now undone by miracle. 

2 Ai'oo. Nothing can be more clear. 

3 Avoc. Or can more prove 
Those innocent. 

1 Avoc. Give them then- liberty. 

Bon. Heaven could not long let such gross 
crimes be hid. [riches, 

2 Avoc. If this be held the high- way to get 
May I be poor ! 

3 Avoc. This is not the gain, but torment. 

1 Avoc. These possess wealth, as sick men 

possess fevers, 
Which trulier may be said to possess them. 

2 Avoc. Disrobe that parasite. 

Coru. 31os. Most honor'd fathers ! 

1 Avoc. Can you plead aught to stay the course 
If you can, speak. [of justice ? 

Corv. Volt. We beg favor. 

Cel. And mercy. 

1 Avoc. You hurt your innocence, suing for 
the guilty. 
Stand forth ; and first the parasite : You appear 
T'havo been the chiefest minister, if not plotter. 
In all these lewd impostures ; and now, lastly, 
Have with your impudence abused the court. 
And habit of a gentleman of Venice, 
Being a follow of no birth or blood : 
For which our sentence is, first, thou be whipt ; 
Then live perpetual prisoner in our gallies. 

Volp. I thank you for him. 

Mos. Bane to thy wolvish nature ! 

1 Avoc. Deliver him to the saffi. [Mosca is 
carried out.] — Thou, Volpone, 
By blood and rank a gentleman, canst not fall 
Under like censure ; but our judgment on thee 
ts. that thy substance all be straight confiscate 



To the hospital of the Incurabili : 
And, since the most was gotten by imposturr, 
By feigning lame, gout, palsy, and such disease's, 
Thou art to He in prison, cramp'd with irons, 
Till thou be'st sick and lame indeed. — Remove 
him. [He is taken from the Bar. 

Volp. This is call'd mortifj'ing of a Fox. 

1 Avoc. Thou, Voltore, to take away the 
scandal 
Thou hast given all worthy men of thy profession, 
Art banish'd from their fellowship, and our state. 
Corbaccio ! — bring him near — Wo here possess 
Thy son of all thy state, and confine thee 
To the monastery of San Spirito ; [hore, 

Where, since thou knewest not how to live well 
Thou shalt be learn'd to die well. 

Corb. Ah ! what said he ? 

Com. Y'ou shall know anon, sir. 

1 Avoc. Thou, Corvino, shalt 
Be straight embai'k'd from thine own house, and 

row'd 
Bound about Venice, through the cfrand canale, 
Wearing a cap, with fair long ass's ears. 
Instead of horns ; and so to mount, a paper 
Pinn'd on thy breast, to the Berlina 

Corv. Yes, 
And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish. 

Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs 'Tis well. I 

I shall not see my shame yet. [am gl?d 

1 Avoc. And to expiate 
Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her 
Home to her father, with her dowry trebled : 
And these are all your judgments. 

All. Honored fathers. — 

1 Avoc. Which may not be revoked. Now you 
begin, [ish'd, 

When crimes are done, and past, and to be pun- 
To think what your crimes are : away with them. 
Let all that see these vices thus rewarded. 
Take heart and love to study 'em ! Mischiefs feed 
Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed. 

[^Exeunt, 
Volpone comes foncard. 

The seasoning of a play, is the applause. 
Now, though the Fox be punish' d by the laios, 
He yet doth hope, there is no sujfering due. 
For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you ; 
If there be, censure him ; liere he doubtful stands 
If not, fare jovially , and rlap your ha?ids. [Exit 



EPICCENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN. 

TO THE TRUIiY NOBLE BY ALL TITLES, 

SIR FRANCIS STUART. 

SiH,— My hope is not so nourished by example, as it will conclude, this dumb piece should please you, because i 
ftath pleased others before ; but by trust, that when you have read it, you will find it wortliy to liave displeased none 
This makes that I now number you, not only in the names of favor, but the names of justice to what I write ; and dc 
presently call you to the exercise of that noblest, and manliest virtue ; as coveting rather to be freed in my fame, by tha 
authority of a judge, tlian the credit of an undertaker. Read, therefore, I pray you, and censure. There is not a line 
or syllable in it, changed from the simplicity of the first copy. And, when you shall consider, through the certain 
hatred of some, how much a man's innocency may be endangered by an uncertain accusation ; you will, I doubt not, so 
negin to hate the iniquity of such natures, as 1 shall love the contumely done me, whose end was so honorable as to be 
wiped off by your seutcncs. Your unprofitable, but true Lover, Ben. Joneoi» 

DRAIMATIS PERSON,^. 



MOROSE, a Gentleman that loves no noise. 
Sir Daupiiine Eugenie, a Knight, his JVephcw. 
Ned Ci.erimont, a Gentleman, his Friend. 
TruewiT, another Friend. 

Sir John Daw, a Knight. 

Sir A:worous La-Foole, a Knight also. 

Thomas Otter, o Land and Sea Captain 

Cutbeard, a Barber. 

Mute, one 0/ Morose 'S Servants 

Parson. 



Page to Clerimont. 

Epiccene, supposed the Silent Woman. 

Lady Haughtv, 1 

Lady Centauee, > Ladies Collegiates 

Mistress Dol. Mavis, ) 

Mistress Otter, t/ic Cap'aHi'.9 fFi/e, ; Ptc 

Mistress Trusty, Lady Haughty's JVoman, \ tendore 



Pages, Servants, ^'c. 



SCENE, — London. 



PROLOGUE. 



'Iruth says, of old the art of making plays 
Was to content the people ; and their j^raise 
IVas to the poet money, icine, and bays. 

But in this age, a sect of writers are, 
That, only, for particular likings care, 
And will taste nothing that is p>opular. 

With such ice mingle neither brains nor breasts ; 
Our wishes, like to those make public feasts, 
.■ire not to please the cook's taste biU the guests. 

Yet, if those cunning palates hither come. 

They shall fnd guests entreaty, and good room ; 
And though all relish not, sure there will be some, 

. That, when they leave their seats, shall make them 

say, 
"Who icrote that piece, could so have lorote a play. 
But that he kneio this was the better toay. 



For, to 2Jresent all custard, or all tart. 

And have no other meats to bear a part, 

Or to zoant bread, and salt, loere but coarse art. 

The poet prays you then, loith better thought 
To sit ; and, tohen his cates are all in brought. 
Though tJiere be none far-fet, there will deat 
bought. 

Be Jit for ladies : some for lords, knights, 'squires; 
Some for your ioaiting-ioench, and city-wires ; 
Some for your men, and daughters of IVJiiie' 
friars. 

Nor is it, only, lohile you keep your seat 
Here, that his feast toill last ; but you shall eat 
A iceek at ordinaries, on his broken meat 
If his muse be true, 
JVho commends her to vou. 



ANOTHER. 



'The ends of all, xcho for the scene do icrite, 
Are, or should be, to profit and delight. 
And still't hath been the pi-aise of all best times, 
So persons were not touch' d, to tax the crimes. 
Then, in this play, which we j^resent to-night, 
And make the object of your ear and sight. 
On forfeit of yourselves, think nothing true: 
Lest so yo* make the maker to judge you. 



For he knoiC'S, poet never credit gain'd 

By writing truths, but things, like truths, ireu 

feign' d. 
If any yet loill, %cith particular sleight 
Of ajjplication, wrest what he doth loi'ite ; 
And that he meant, or him, or her, toill ouy : 
They make a libel, ichich he made a play. 



307 



308 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



ACT T. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in Clekimont's Ilouse. 

Enter CLEnuioxT, makinf! himself ready, folloioed 
bi/ his Page. 

Cler. Havs you got the song yet perfect, I 
gave you, boy ? 

Payt. Yes, sir. 

Cler. Let me hear it. 

Pai/e. You shall, sir ; but i'faltli let nobody 
else. 

Cler. Why, I pray ? 

Paffe. It will get you the dangerous name of 
a poet in town, sir ; besides me a perfect deal of 
.11-will at the mansion you wot of, whose lady is 
the argument of it ; where now I am the wel- 
comest thing under a man that comes there. 

Cler. 1 think ; and above a man too, if the 
truth were rack'd out of you. 

Paffe. No, faith, I'll confess before, sir. The 
gentlewomen play with me, and throw me on 
Jhe bed, and carry me in to my lady : and she 
Kisses me Avith her oil'd face, and puts a peruke 
on my head ; and asks me an I will wear her 
gown ? and I say no : and then she hits me a 
blow o' the ear, and calls me Innocent ! and lets 
me go. 

Cler. No marvel if the door be kept shut 
against your master, when the entrance is so 

easy to you ■ well, sir, you shall go there no 

more, lest I be fain to seek your voice in my 
ladj''3 rushes, a fortnight hence. Sing, sir. 

[Page sings. 

Still to be neat, still to be drest — 

Enter Truewit. 

True. Why, here's the man that can melt away 
his time and never feels it ! What between his 
mistress abroad and his ingle at home, high fare, 
soft lodging, fine clothes, and his fiddle ; he 
thinks the hours have no wings, or the day no 
post-horse. Well, sir gallant, were you struck 
with the plague this minute, or condcmn'd to any 
capital punishment to-morrow, you would begin 
then to think, and value every article of your 
time, esteem it at the true rate, and give all for it. 

Cler. Why what should a man do ? 

True. W]iy, nothing ; or that which, when 'tis 
done, is as idle. Hearken after the next horse- 
race, or hunting-match, lay wagers, praise Pup- 
py, or Peppercorn, White-foot, Franklin ; swear 
upon Whitemane's party ; speak aloud, that my 
lords may hear you ; visit my ladies at night, 
and be able to give them the character of every 
bowler or better on the green. These be the 
things AA'herein your fashionable men exercise 
themselves, and I for company. 

Cler. Nay, if Ihave thy authority, I'll not leave 
■yet. Come, the other are considerations, when 
we come to have gray heads and weak hams, 
moist eyes and shrunk members. We'll think. 
on 'cm then ; then we'll pray and fast. 

True. Ay, and destine only that time of age 
to goodness, v.hich our want of ability will not 
let us employ in evil ! 

Cler. Why, then 'tis time enough. 



True. Yes ; as if a man should slefsp all the 
term, and think to effect his business the last day. 
O, Clerimont, this time, because it is an incor- 
poreal thing, and not subject to sense, we mock 
ourselves the fineliest out of it, with vanity and 
misery indeed ! not seeking an end of wretched- 
ness, but only changing the matter still. 

Cler. Nay, thou'lt not leave now — 

True. See but our common disease ! with what 
justice can we complain, that great men will not 
look upon us, nor be at leisure to give our aifairs 
such dispatch as we expect, when we will never 
do it to ourselves ? nor hear, nor regard our- 
selves ? 

Cler. Foh ! thou hast read Plutarch's morals, 
now, or some such tedious fellow ; and it shews 
so vilely with thee ! 'fore God, 'tmll spoil thy 
Avit utterly. Talk to me of pins, and feathers, 
and ladies, and rushes, and such things : and 
leave this Stoicity alone, till thou mak'st ser- 
mons. 

True. Well, sir; if it will not take, I have 
learn' d to lose as little of my kindness as I can ; 
I'll do good to no man against his will, certainly. 
When were you at the college ? 

Cler. What college ? 

True. As if you kncAV not ! 

Cler. No, faith, I came but from court yester- 
day. 

True. ^Vhy, is it not arrived there yet, the 
news ? A new foundation, sir, here in the tOA\Ti, 
of ladies, that call themselves the collegiatos, an 
order between courtiers and coimtry-madams, 
that live from their husbands ; and give enter- 
tainment to all the wits, and braveries of the 
time, as they call them : cry down, or up, what 
they like or dislike in a brain or a fashion, W"ith 
most masculine, or rather hermaphroditical au- 
thority ; and every day gain to'their college some 
new probationer. 

Cler. Who is the president ? 

Tr-ue. The grave and youthful matron, the lady 
Haughty. 

Cler. A pox of her autumnal face, her pieced 
beauty ! there's no man can be admitted till she 
be ready, now-a-days, till she has painted, and 
perfumed, and wash'd, and scour'd, but the boy, 
here ; and him she wipes her oiKd lips upon, like 
a sponge. I have made a song (I pray thee hear 
it) on the subject. LPfige sings. 

Still to be neat, siiil to bo drest, 

As yon were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powdcr'd, still perfum'd : 

Lady, it is to be i)resuined, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give me a face, 

That makes simplicity a grace ; 

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: 

Such sweet neglect more taketh nie, 

Than all the adulteries of art ; 

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 

True. And I am clearly on the other side : ] 
love a good dressing before any bea^lty o' the 
world. O, a woman is then like a delicate gar- 
den ; nor is there one kind of it ; she may vary 
every hour ; take often counsel of her glass, and 
choose the best. If she have good ears, shew 
them ; good hair, lay it out ; good legs, wcai 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



309 



short clothes ; a good hand, discover it often : 
practice any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, 
cepair eye-brows ; paint, and profess it. 

Cler. How ! publicly ? 

True. The doing of it, not the manner : that 
must be private. Many things that seem foul 
in the doing, do please done. A lady should, 
indeed, study her face, when we think she sleeps ; 
nor, when the doors are shut, should men be 
enquiring ; all is sacred within, then. Is it for 
us to see their perukes put on, their false teeth, 
their complexion, their eye-brows, their nails ? 
You see gilders Avill not work, but inclosed. 
They must not discover how little serves, with 
the help of art, to adorn a great deal. How long 
did the canvas hang afore Aldgate ? ^Vere the 
people suffered to see the city's Love and Char- 
ity, Avhile they were rnde stone, before they 
were painted and burnish'd ? No ; no more 
should servants approach their mistresses, but 
when they are complete and finish' d. 

Cler. Well said, my Truewit. 

True. And a wise lady will keep a guard 
alwaj's upon the place, that she may do things 
securely. I once followed a rude fellow into a 
chamber, where the poor madam, for haste, and 
troubled, snatch' d at her peruke to cover her 
baldness ; and put it on the wrong way. 

Cler. i^rodigy ! 

True. And the unconscionable knave held her 
in compliment an hour with that reverst face, 
when I still look'd when she should talk from 
the t'other side. 

Cler. Why, thou shouldst have relieved her. 

True. No, faith, I let her alone, as we'll let 
this argument, if you please, and pass to an- 
other. When saw you Dauphine Eugenic ? 

Cler. Not these three days. Shall we go to 
him this morning ? he is very melancholy, I hear. 

True. Sick of the uncle, is he ? I met that stiff 
piece of formality, his uncle, yesterday, with a 
huge turban of night-caps on his head, buckled 
over his ears. 

Cler. O, that's his custom when he walks 
abroad. He can endure no noise, man. 

True. So I have heard. But is the disease so 
ridiculous in him as it is made ? Tliey say he has 
been upon divers treaties with the fish-Avivcs 
and orange-women ; and articles propounded be- 
tween them : marry, the chimney-sweepers will 
not be drawn in. 

Cler. No, nor the broom-men : they stand out 
stiffly. He cannot endure a costard-monger, ho 
Ewoons if he hear one. 

True. Methinks a smith should be ominous. 

Cler. Or any hammer-man. A brasier is not 
F.uffer'd to dwell in the parish, nor an armorer. 
He would have hang'd a pewterer's prentice 
once upon a Shrove-tuesday's riot, for being of 
that trade, when the rest were quit. 

True. A trumpet should fright him terribly, 
or the hautboys. 

Cler. Out of his senses. The waights of the 
city have a pension of him not to come near that 
ward. This youth practised on him one night 
like the bell-man ; and never left till he had 
brought him down to the door Avith a long 
Bword ; and there loft him flourishing with 
Uie fiii-. 



Parie. Why, sir, he hath chosen a street to lie 
in so narrow at both ends, that it will receive no 
coaches, nor carts, nor any of these common 
noises : and therefore we that love him, devise to 
bring him in such as we may, now and then, for 
his exercise, to breathe him. He would grow 
resty else in his ease : his virtue Avould rust 
without action. I entreated a bearward, one day, 
to come down with the dogs of some four par- 
ishes that way, and I thank him he did ; and 
cried his games under master Morose's windo'v • 
till he was sent crying away, with his head mr.de 
a most bleeding spectacle to the multitude. 
And, another time, a fencer marching to his 
prize, had his drum most tragically run through, 
for taking that street in his way at my re- 
quest. 

True. A good wag ! How docs he for thft 
bells ? 

Cler. O, in the Queen's time, he was wont to 
go out of town every Saturday at ten o'clock, or 
on holy day eves. But now, by reason of the 
sickness, the perpetuity of ringing has made 
him devise a room, with double Avails and treble 
ceilings ; the AvindoAvs close shut and caulk' d : 
and there he lives by candle-light. He turn'd 
aAvay a man, last Aveek, for having a pair of new 
shoes that creak'd. And this fellow waits on 
him now in tennis-court socks, or slippers soled 
Avith Avool: and they talk each to other in a 
trunk. See, Avho comes here ! 

Entei- Sir Dauphine Eugenie. 

Daup. HoAV now ! Avhat ail you, sirs ? dumb ? 

True. Struck into stone, almost, I am here, 
with tales o' thine uncle. There Avas never such 
a prodigy heard of. 

Daup. I Avould you Avould once lose this sub- 
ject, my masters, for my sake. They are such 
as j'ou are, that liave brought me into that pre 
dicament I am with him. 

True. HoAV is that ? 

Daup. Marry, that he Avill disinherit me ; no 
more. He thinks, I and my company are au- 
thors of all the ridiculous Acts and Monuments 
are told of him. 

True. 'Slid, I Avould be the author of more tj 
vex him ; that purpose deserves it : it gives thcc' 
law of plaguing him. I'll tell thee Avhat I Avould 
do. I would make a false almanack ^ get it print- 
ed ; and then have him draAA-n out on a corona- 
tion day to the Tower-Avharf, and kill him Avith 
the noise of the ordnance. Disinherit thee S 
he cannot, man. Art not thou next of bloods 
and his sister's son ? 

Daup. Ay, but he Avill thrust me out of it, li? 
A'OAA's, and marry. 

True. How ! that's a more portent. Can he 
endure no noise, and aa-III venture on a Avife ? 

Cler. Yes : Avhy thou art a stranger, it seemS; 
to his best trick, yet. He has employed a fellov.' 
this half year all over England to hearken hira 
out a dumb Avoman ; bo she of any form, or any 
quality, so she be able to bear children : her 
silence is doAvry enough, he says. 

True. But I trust to God he has found none. 

Cler. No; but he has heard of one thal':» 
lodged in the next street to him, Avho is exceed- 
ingly soft spoken ; thrifty of her speech ; tha.< 



3 to 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



spends but six words a day. And her he's about 
aow, and ,«hall liave her. 

True. Is t possible ! who is his agent in the 
business ? 

Cler. Marry, a barber, one Cutbeard ; an hon- 
est fellow, one that tells Dauphine all here. 

True. Why you oppress me Avith Avonder : a 
woman, and a barl:)er, and love no noise ! 

Cler. Yes, faith. The fellow trims him silently, 
and has not the knack with his sheers or his 
fingers ; and that continence in a barber he 
tlunks so eminent a virtue, as it has made him 
chief of his counsel. 

True. Is the barber to be seen, or the wench ? 

Cler. Yes, that they are. 

True. I prithee, Dauphine, let's go thither. 
.Daup. I have some business now : I cannot, 
; faith. 

True. You shall have no business shall make 
you neglect this, sir : we'll make her talk, be- 
lieve it ; or, if she will not, wo can give out at 
least so much as shall interrupt the treaty ; we 
will break it. Thou art bound in conscience, 
when he suspects thee without cause, to tor- 
ment him. 

Daup. Not I, by any means. I'll give no 
suffrage to't. IIo shall never have that jilea 
against mo, that I opposed the least phant'sy of 
his. Let it lie upon my stars to be guilty, I'll 
be innocent. 

IVue. Yes, and be poor, and beg ; do, inno- 
cent : when some groom of his has got him an 
heir, or this barber, if he himself cannot. In- 
nocent ! — I prithee, Ned, where lies she ? let 
him be innocent still. 

Cler. Why, right over against the barber's ; 
in the house where sir John Daw lies. 

True. Y''ou do not mean to confound me ! 

Clor. Why? -^f,': 

True. Does he that would marry her know so 
much? 

Cler. I cannot tell. 

True. 'Twere enough of imputation to her 
with him. 

Cler. Why? 

True. The only talking sir in the town ! Jack 
Daw ! and ho teach her not to speak ! — God be 
wi' you. I have some business too. 

Cler, Will you not go thither, then ? 

True. Not with the danger to meet Daw, for 
niine ears. 

Cler. Why, I thought you two had been upon 
very goed terms. 

True. Y^es, of keeping distance. 

Cler. They say, he is a very good scholar. 

True. Ay, and he says it first. A pox on him, 
a fellow that pretends only to learning, buys 
titles, and nothing else of books in him ! 

Cler. The world reports him to be very 
learned. 

True. I am sorry the world should so conspire 
to belie him. 

Cler. Good faith, I have heard very good 
things come from him. 

True. Y'ou may ; there's none so desperately 
'.gnorant to deny that : would they were his 
own ! God be wi' you, gentlemen. 

[Exit hastilij- 

Clsr. This is very abrupt ! 



Daup. Come, you arc a strange open man, to 
tell every thing thus. 

Clor. Why, believe it, Dauphine, Truewit's o 
very honest fellow. 

Daup. I think no other : but this frank nature 
of his is not for secrets. 

Cler. Nay, then, you are mistaken. Dau- 
phine : I know where he has been well trust- 
ed, and discharged the trust very truly, and 
heartily. 

Daup. I contend not, Ned ; but with the fewei' 
a business is carried, it is ever the safer. Nov? 
we are alone, if you'll go thither, I am for you 

Cler. When were you there ? 

Daup. Last night : and such a Decameron of 
sport fallen out ! Boccace never thought of the 
like. DaAV docs nothing but court her ; and the 
wrong way. He would lie with her, and praises 
her modesty ; desires that she would talk and 
be free, and commends her silence in verses ; 
which he reads, and swears are the best that 
ever man made. Then rails at his fortunes, 
stamps, and mutines, whj' he is not made a 
counsellor, and call'd to affairs of state. 

Cler. I prithee let's go. I would fain partake 
this. — Some water, boy. \E.vit Page. 

Daup. We are invited to dinner together, he 
and I, by one that came thither to him, sir La- 
Foole. 

Cler. 0, that's a precious mannikin ! 

Daup. Do you know him ? 

Cler. Ay, and he Avill know you too, if e'er he 
saw you but once, though you shoixld meet him 
at church in the midst of prayers. He is one of 
the braveries, though he be none of the wits. 
He will salute a judge upon the bench, and a 
bishop in the pulpit, a lawyer when ho is plead- 
ing at the bar, and a lady when she is dancing 
in a masque, and put her out. He does give 
plays, and suppers, and invites his guests to 
them, aloud, out of his window, as they ride by 
in coaches. He has a lodging in the Strand for 
the purpose : or to watch vdien ladies are gone 
to the china-houses, or the Exchange, that he 
may meet them by chance, and give them pres- 
ents, some two or three hundred j^ounds' worth 
of toys, to be laugh'd at. He is never without 
a spare banquet, or sweet-meats in his chamber, 
for their women to alight at, and come up to 
for a bait. 

Daup. Excellent ! he was a fine youth last 
night ; but now ho is much finer ! what is his 
Christian name ? I have forgot. 

Re-enter Page. 

Cler. Sir Amorous La-Foole. 

Page. The gentleman is here below that owns 
that name. 

Cler. 'Heart, he's come to invite mo to dinner, 
I hold my life. 

Daup. Like enough : prithee, let's have 
him uj). 

Cler. Boy, marshal him. 

Page. With a truncheon, sir ? 

Cler. AAvay, 1 beseech you. [Exit Page.] — 
I'll make him tell us his pedigree now ; and 
what meat he has to dinner ; and who are liia 
guests ; and the whole course of his fortunes ; 
with a breath. 



THE SILENT AVOMAX. 



EnL:r Sir Amorous La-Foole. 

La-F. 'Save, dear sir Dauphiiio ! honored 
master Clcrimont ! 

Cler. Sir Amorous ! you have very much hon- 
ested my lodging Avith ycav presence. 

La-F. Good faith, it is a fine lodging : almost 
as delic!ite a lodging as mine. 

CJsr, Not so, sir. 

La-F. Excuse me, sir, if it were in the Strand, 
I assure you. I am come, master Clerimont, to 
■sntreat yon to wait upon two or three ladies, to 
dinner, to-day. 

Cler. How, sir ! wait upon them ? did you 
ever see me carry dishes ? 

La-F. No, sir, dispense with me ; I meant, to 
bear them company. 

Cler. O, that I will, sir : the doubtfulness of 
yoixr phrase, believe it, sir, Avould breed you a 
quarrel once an hour, with the terrible boys, if 
you should but keep them fellowship a day. 

La-F- It should be extremely against my will, 
sir, if I contested with any man. 

Cler. I believe it, sir : Where hold you your 
feast? ■ 

La-F. At Tom Otter's, sir. 

Daup- Tom Otter ! what's ho ? 

La-F. Captain Otter, sir; he is a kind of 
gamester, but he has had command both by sea 
and by land. 

Daup. O, then he is animal amphibium ? 

La-F. Ay, sir : his wife was the rich chma- 
woman, that the courtiers visited so often ; that 
gave the rare entertainment. She commands 
all at home. 

Cler. Then she is captain Otter. 

La-F. You say very well, sir ; she is my 
kinswoman, a La-Foole by the mother-side, and 
will invite any great ladies for my sake. 

Daup. Not of the La-Fooles of Essex ? 

La-F. No, sir, the La-Fooles of London. 

Cler. Now, he's in. \_Aside. 

La-F. They all come out of our house, the 
La-Fooles of the north, the La-Fooles of the 
west, the La-Fooles of the east and south — we 
fire as ancient a family as any is in Europe — but 
I myself am descended lineally of the French 
La-Foolcs — and, we do bear for our coat je\- 
low, or or, checker' d azure, and gules, and some 
three or four colors more, which is a very noted 
coat, and has, sometimes, been solemnly worn 
by divers nobihty of our house — but let that 
go, antiquitj' is not respected now. — I had a 
brace of fat does sent me, gentlemen, and half 
a dozen of pheasants, a dozen or two of god- 
wits, and some other fowl, which I would have 
eaten, while they are good, and in good com- 
pany : — there will be a great lady or two, my 
lady Haughty, my lady Centaure, mistress Dol 
Mavis — and they come o' purpot^e to see the 
sUent gentlewoman, mistress Ej^icccne, that 
honest sir John Daw has promised to bring 
thither — and then, mistress Trusty, my lady's 
woman, will be there too, and this honorable 
knight, sir Dauphine, with yourself, master 
Clerimont — and we'll be very merry, and have 
fidlers, and dance. — I have been a mad wag in 
my time, and have spent some crowns since I 
!>T.3 a page in court, to my lord Lofty, and 



after, my lady's gentleman-usher, who got ms 
knighted in Ireland, since it pleased my elder 
brother to die. — I had as fair a gold jerkin on 
that day, as any worn in the island voyage, or 
at Cadiz, none dispraised ; and I came over in it 
hither, shew'd myself to my friends in court, 
and after went down to my tenants in the 
country, and surveyed my lands, let new leases, 
took their money, spent it in the eye o' the land 
here, upon ladies : — and now I can take up at 
my pleasure. 

Daup. Can you take up ladies, sir ? 

Cler. O, let him breathe, he has not recover' d. 

Davp. Would I were your half in that com- 
modity ! 

La-F. No, sir, exc'ase me : I meant money, 
which can take up any thing. I have another 
guest or two, to invite, and say as much to, 
gentlemen. I'll take my leave abruptly, in 
hope you will not fail Yo\ir servant. [Exit. 

Daup. Wo will not fail you, sir precious La- 
Foole ; but she shall, that your ladies come to 
see, if I have credit afore sir Daw. 

Cler. Did you ever hear such a wind-sucker, 
as this ? 

Daup. Or such a rook as the other, that will 
betray his mistress to be scon ! Come, 'tis time 
we prevented it. 

Cler. Go. [Exeunt . 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Pioom in Mokose's House. 

Enter IMorose, loitJi a tube in his hand, followed 
by Mute. 
Mor. Cannot I, yet, find out a more compen- 
dious method, than by this trunk, to save my 
servants the labor of speech, and mine ears the 
discords of sounds ? Let me see : all discourses 
but my own afHict me ; they seem harsh, im- 
pertinent, and irksome. Is it not possible, that 
thou shouldst answer me by signs, and I appre- 
hend thee, fellow ? Speak not, though I ques- 
tion j'ou. You have taken the ring off from 
the street door, as I bade you ? answer me not 
by speech, but by silence ; unless it be other- 
wise. [JIuTE makes a le;).] — very good. And, 
you have fastened on a thick quilt, or flock-bed, 
on the outside of the door ; that if they knock 
with their daggers, or with brick-bats, they can 
make no noise ? — But with your leg, your an- 
swer, unless it be otherwise, [makes a fey.] — 
Very good. This is not only tit modesty in a 
servant, but good state and discretion in a mas- 
ter. And you have been with Cutbeard the 
barber, to have him come to me ? [makes a leg.] 
— Good. And, he will come presently ? An- 
swer me not but with your leg, unle&s it be other- 
wise : if it. be otherwise, shake jou.c head, or 
shrug, [makes a leg.] — So ! Your_ Italian and 
Spaniard are wise in these : and it is a frugal 
and comely gravity. How loiig will it bo 
ere Cutbeard come ? Stay ; if an hour, hold up 
your whole hand ; if half an hour, two fingers ; 
if a quarter, one ; [holds u]} a finger bent.] — 
Good : half a quarter ? 'tis well. And have 
you given him a key, to come in without knock- 
ing ? [makes a kg.] — Good. And, is the lock 



312 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



oil'd, and the hinges, to-day? [makes a le//.] — 
Good. And the quilting of the stairs no where 
worn out and bare ? [makes a leg.] — Very good. 
I see, by much doctrine, and impulsion, it may 
be effected ; stand by. The Turk, in this divine 
discipline, is admirable, exceeding all the poten- 
tates of the earth ; still waited on by mutes ; 
and all his commands so executed ; yea, even in 
the war, as I have heard, and in his marches, 
most of his charges and directions given by 
signs, and with silence : an exquisite art ! and 
I am heartily ashamed, and angry oftentimes, 
that the princes of Christendom should suffer a 
oarbarian to transcend them in so high a point 
of felicity. I will practise it hereafter. [A horn 
tcinded wiihin.] — How now ? oh ! oh ! what 
villain, what prodigy of mankind is that ? look. 
[Exit Mute.] — [Horn ajain.] — Oh ! cut his 
throat, cut his throat ! what murderer, hell- 
hound, devil can this be ? 

Re-enter -JSlvTE. 

Mute. It is a post from the court 

Mor. Out, rogue ! and must thou blow thy 
horn too ? 

Mufe. Alas, it is a post from the court, sir, 
that says, he must speak with you, jiain of 
death — 

Mor. Pain of thy life, be silent ! 

Enter Tkuewit ivith a jMst-horn, and a halter in 
his hand. 

True. By j'our leave, sir ; — I am a stranger 
nere : — Is your name master Morose ? is your 
name master Morose ? Fishes ! Pythagoreans 
all ! This is strange. What say you, sir ? 
nothing ! Has Harpocrates been here with his 
club, among you ? Well, sir, I will believe you 
to be the man at this time : I will venture upon 
you, sir. Your friends at court commend them 
to you, sir 

Mor. O men ! O manners ! was there ever 
Buch an impudence ? 

True. And are extremely solicitous for you, 
sir. 

Mor. Whose knave are you ? 

True. Mine own kuave, and your compeer, 
jir. 

Mor. Fetch me my sword 

T}-ue. You shall taste the one half of my 
dagger, if you do, groom ; and you the other, 
if 5'ou stir, sir : Be patient, I charge jon, in the 
king's name, and hear me without insurrection. 
They say, you are to marry ; to marry ! do you 
mark, sir ? 

Mor. How then, rude companion ! 

True. Marry, your friends do wonder, sir, the 
Thames being so near, wherein you may drown, 
BO handsomely ; or London-bridge, at a low fall, 
with a fine leap, to hurry you down the stream ; 
or, such a delicate steeple in the town, as Bow, 
to vault from ; or, a braver height, as Paul's : 
Or, if you affected to do it nearer home, and a 
shorter way, an excellent garret-window into 
the street ; or, a beam in the said garret, with 
this halter [shews him the halter.] — which they 
have sent, and desire, that you Avould sooner 
commit your grave head to this knot, than to 
the wedlock noose ; or, take a little sublimate. 



and go out of the world like a rat ; or a fly, af 
one said, with a straw in your arse : any way, 
rather than follow this goblin Matrimony. Alas, 
sir, do j'ou ever think to find a chaste wife in 
these times ? now ? Avhen there are so many 
masques, plays, Puritan preachings, rnad folks, 
and other strange sights to be seen daily, pri- 
vate and public ? If you had lived in king 
Etheldred's time, sir, or Edward the Confessor, 
you might, perhaps, have found one in some 
cold country haniiet, then, a dull frosty Avench, 
would have been contented with one man : 
now, they will as soon be pleased with one leg, 
or one eye. I'll tell yo.u, sir, the monstrous 
hazards you shall run with a wife. 

Mor. Good sir, have I ever cozcn'd any 
friends of yours of their land ? bought theu* 
possessions ? taken forfeit of their mortgage ? 
begg'd a reversion from them ? bastarded their 
issue ? What have I done, that may deserve 
this? 

True. Nothing, sir, that I know, but your 
itch of marriage. 

3Ior. Why, if I had made an assassinate upor. 
your father, vitiated your mother, ravished your 
sisters 

True- I Avould kill you, sir, I would kill you, 
if you had. 

Mor. Why, you do more in this, sir : it wero 
a vengeance centuple, for all facinorous acts 
that could be named, to do that you do. 

Trite. Alas, sir, I am but a messenger : I buf 
tell you, what you must hear. It seems youi' 
friends are careful after your soul's health, sir, 
and would have you know the danger : (but 
you may do your pleasure for all them, I per- 
suade not, sir.) If, after you arc married, your 
wife do run away with a vaulter, or the French- 
man that walks upon ropes, «r him that dances 
the jig, or a fencer for his skill at his weapon ; 
why it is not their fault, they have discharged 
their consciences ; when you know what may 
happen. Nay, suffer valiantly, sir, for I must 
tell you all the perils that you are obnoxious to. 
If she be fair, young and vegetous, no sweet- 
meats ever drew more flies ; all the ycllov.- 
doublets and great roses in the town will be 
there. If foul and crooked, she'll be with them, 
and buy those doublets and roses, sir. If rich, 
and that you marry her dowry, not her, she'll 
reign in your house as imperious as a widow. 
If noble, all her kindred will be your tyrants. 
If fruitful, as proud as May, and humorous as 
April ; she must have her doctors, her mid- 
Avives, her nurses, her longings OA^ery hour ; 
though it be for the dearest morsel of man. If 
learned, there Avas never such a parrot ; all your 
patrimony will be too little for the guests that 
must be inv<'''?d to hear her speak I^atin and 
Greek ; and you must lie Avith her in those lan- 
guages too, if you Avill please her. If precise, 
you must feast all the silenced brethren, once in 
three clays ; salute the sisters ; entertain the 
Avhole family, or wood of them ; and hear long- 
Avinded exercises, singings and catechisings, 
Avhich you are not given to, and yet miist giA-e 
for ; to please the zealous mati-on j oiu- Avife, 
who for the holy cause, Avill cozen you OA'^r ana 
above. You begin to SAVeat, sJr ! but this i^ 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



?ia 



not half, i'faitli : you may do your pleasure, 
notwithstanding, as I said before : I come not to 
persuade you. [Mute is stealinrj away.\ — Upon 
my faith, master serving-man, if you do stir, I 
"will beat you. 

Mor. O, what is my sin ! what is my sin ! 

True. Then, if you love your wife, or rather 
dote on her, sir ; O, how she'll torture you, and 
take pleasure in your torments ! you shall lie 
with her but when she lists ; she will not hurt 
h^r beauty, her complexion ; or it must be for 
that jewel, or that pearl, when she docs : every 
half hour's pleasure must be bought ancAV, and 
with the same pain and charge you woo'd her at 
first. Then you must keep what servants she 
please ; what company she M'ill ; that friend 
must not visit you Avithout her license ; and 
him she loves most, she will seem to hate eagcr- 
liest, to decline your jealousy; or, feign to be 
jealous of you first ; and for that cause go 
Ua'g with her she-friend, or cousin at the col- 
lege, that can instruct her in all the mysteries 
of writing letters, corrupting servants, taming 
spies ; where she must have that rich gown for 
such a great day ; a new one for the next ; a 
richer for the third ; be served in silver ; have 
the chamber fill'd with a succession of grooms, 
footmen, ushers, and other messengers ; besides 
embroiderers, jewellers, tire-Avomen, scmpsters, 
feathermen, perfumers ; whilst she feels not 
how the land drops away, nor the acres melt ; 
nor foresees the change, when the mercer has 
your woods for her velvets ; never weighs what 
her pride costs, sir ; so she may kiss a page, or 
a smooth chin, that has the despair of a beard : 
be a stateswoman, know all the news, Avhat was 
done at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at 
court, what in progress ; or, so she may censiu'e 
poets, and authors, and styles, and compare 
them ; Daniel with Spenser, Jonson Avith the 
t'other youth, and so forth : or be thought cun- 
ning in controTCrsies, or the very knots of di- 
vinity ; and have often in her mouth the state of 
the question ; and then skip to the mathematics, 
and demonstration : and ansAver in religion to 
cne, in state to another, in baAvdry to a third. 

Mor. 0,0! 

True. All this is very true, sir. And then her 
going ill disguise to that conjurer, and this cun- 
ning Avoman : Avhere the first question is, how 
soon you shall die ? next, if her present servant 
love her ? next, if she shall haA-c a ncAV serA-'ant? 
and hoAV many ? Avhich of her family A\'ould make 
the best baAvd, male or female ? AA'hat precedence 
she shall have by her next match ? ancl sets doAvn 
the aliSAvers, and believes them aboA^e tlie scrip- 
tures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the art. 

Mor. Gentle sir, haA^e you done ? haA^e you had 
your jileasure of me ? I'll think of these things. 

True. Yes, sir : and then comes reeking home 
of A'apor and SAveat, Avith going a foot, and lies in 
a month of a new face, all oil and birdlime ; and 
rises in asses' milk, and is cleairsed Avith a neAV 
fucus : God be Avi' you, sir-. One thing more, 
AA'hich I had almost forgot. This too, with Avhom 
you are to marry,may have made a conA^eyance of 
her virginity aforehand, as your Avise AvidoAVS do 
of their states, before they marry, in trust to some 
li-iend, sir : Who :an tell ? Or if she have not 



done it yet, she may do, upon the Avedding-day 
or the night before, and antedate you cuckold. 
The like has been heard of in nature. 'Tis no 
devised, impossible thing, sir. God be Avi' you : 
I'll be bold to leave this rope Avith you, sir, for a 
remembrance. — FaroAvell, Mute ! [Exit 

Mor. Come, have me to my chamber : but first 
shut the door. [Truewit loinds the horn without.'\ 
O, shut the door, shut the door ! is he come 
again ? 

Elite CUTBEARD. 

Cut. 'Tis I, sir, your barber. 

Mor. O, Cutbeard, Cutbeard, Cutbeard ! here 
has been a cut-throat Avith me : help me in to my 
bed, and give me physic with thy counsel. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Sir Joux Daav's House. 

Enter Daaa% Clerijioxt, Dauphine, and Epiccene. 

Dmo. Nay, an she will, let her refuse at her 
own charges ; 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen : but 
she will not be invited to the like feasts or guests 
every day. 

Cler. O, by no means, she may not refuse 

to stay at home, if you loA-e your reputation : 
'Slight, you are invited thither o' purpose to be 
seen, and laughed at by the lady of the college, 
and her shadoAVS. This trumpeter hath pro- 
claim'd you. [Aside to Epi. 

Daup. You shall not go ; let him be laugh'd at 
in your stead, for not bringing you : and put him 
to his extemporal faculty of fooling and talking 
loud, to satisfy the company. [Asid^i to Epi. 

Cler. He Avill suspect us ; talk aloud. — 'Pray, 
mistress Epiccene, let's see your verses ; Ave haA'e 
sir John Daw's leave ; do not conceal your ser- 
vant's merit, and yoiir OAvn glories. 

Epi. They'll prove my servant's glories, if you 
have his leave so soon. 

Daup. His vain-glories, lady ! 

Daw. Shew them, shcAv them, mistress ; I dare 
OAvn them. 

Epi. Judge you, Avhat glories. 

Daw. Nay, I'll read them myself too : an au- 
thor must recite his own Avorks. It is a madri- 
gal of Modesty. 

Modest and fcdr, for fair and rjood are near 

Neighbors, howe'er. — 

Daup. \evy good. 

Cler. Ay, is't not ? 

DaAV. No noble virtue ever toas alcne, 
But two in one. 

Daup. Excellent ! 

Cler. That again, I pray, sir John. 

Daup. It has something iu't like rc.re wit and 
sense. 

Cler. Peace. 

DaAV. No noble virtue ever loas alone, 
But two in one. 
Then, when 1 2^raisc ^weet modesty, I pi-cnst, 

Bright beauty's rays : 
And having praised both beauty and modesty 
I have piraised thee. 

Daup. Admirable ! 

Cler. HoAv it chimes, and cries tink m the 
close, divinely ! 

Daup. Ay, 'tis Seneca. 



8U 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



Chr. No, I think 'tis Plutarch. 

Daio. The dor on Plutarch and Seneca ! I 
hate it : they arc mine own imaginations, by that 
light. I wonder those fellows have such credit 
with gentlemen. 

Cler. They are very grave authors. 

Daic. Grave asses ! mere essayists : a few 
ioose sentences, and that's all. A man would 
.alk so, his Avhole age : I do utter as good things 
every hour, if they were collected and observed, 
is either of them. 

Daup. Indeed, sir John ! 

Cler. He must needs ; living among the wits 
and braveries too. 

Daup. Ay,and being president of them, as he is. 

Dau\ There's Aristotle, a mere common-place 
follow ; Plato, a discourser ; Thucydidcs and 
Livy, tedious and dry ; Tacitus, an entire knot : 
Bometimes worth the untying, very seldom. 

Cler. What do you think of the poets, sir 
John ? 

DaiD. Not worthy to be named for authors. 
Homer, an old tedious, prolix ass, talks of curri- 
ers, and chines of beef; Alrgil of dunging of 
land, and bees ; Horace, of I know not Avhat. 

Cler. I think so. 

Daw. And so, Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, 
Catullus, Seneca the tragedian, Lucan, Proper- 
tius, TibuUus, Martial, Juvenal, Ausonius, Stati- 
us, Pci^itian, Valerius Flaccus, and the rest 

Cler What a sack full of their names he has 
got! 

Daup. And how" he pours them out ! Politian 
with Valerius Flaccus ! , 

Cler. AVas not the character right of him ? 

Daup. As could be made, i'faith. 

Daw. And Persius, a crabbed coxcomb, not 
to be endured. 

Daup. Why, whom do you account for au- 
thors, sir John Daw ? 

Daw, Syntagma juris civilis ; Corpus juris 
civilis ; Corpus juris canonici ; the king of Spain's 
bible 

Daup. Is the king of Spain's bible an author ? 

Cler. Yes, and Syntagma. 

Daup. What was that Syntagma, sir ? 

Daw. A civil lawyer, a Spaniard. 

Daup. Sure, Corpus was a Dutchman. 

Cler. Ay, both the Corpuses, I knew 'em : 
they were very corpulent authors. 

Daw. And then there's Vatabliis, Pompona- 
tius, Symancha : the other are not to be received, 
within the thought of a scholar. 

Daup. 'Fore God, you have a simple learned 
servant, lady, — in titles. [Aside. 

Cler. I wonder that he is not called to the 
helm, and made a counsellor. 

Daup. He is one extraordinarj'. 

Cler. Nay, but in ordinary : to say truth, the 
state wants such. 

Daup. Why that will follow. 

Cler. I muse a mistress can be so silent to the 
dotes of such a servant. 

Dazo. 'Tis her virtue, sir. I have written 
somcwliat of her silence too. 

Daup. In verse, sir John ? 
Cler. AVhat else ? 

Daup. Why, how can you justify j'our own 
Deing of a pnet, that so slight all the old poets ? 



Daio. Why, every man that writes in verse, is 
not a poet ; j'ou have of the wits that write vcrijegi, 
and yet are no poets : they are poets that live by 
it, the poor fellows that live by it. 

Daup. Why, Avould not yovi live by yotir 
verses, sir John ? 

Cler. No, 'twere pity he should. A knight live 
by his verses ! he did not make them to that 
end, I hope. 

Daup. And yet the noble Sidney lives by his, 
and the noble family not ashamed. 

Cler. Ay, he profest himself; but sir John 
Daw has more caution : he'll not hinder his own 
rising in the state so much. Do you think he 
will ? Your verses, good sir John, and no poems, 

Dav,'. Silence in tooman, is like speech in man ; 
Deny't lolio can. 

Daup. Not I, believe it : youx reason, sir. 

Daw. Nor is't a tale, 

That female vice should he a virtue male, 
Or masculine vice a female vi)'tue be : 
You shall it see 
Prov'd with increase; 
I hnoio to speak, and she to hold her peace. 
Do you conceive me, gentlemen ? 

Daup. No, faith ; how mean you iciih increase, 
sir John ? 

Daio. Whj% Avith increase is, when I court her 
for the common cause of mankind, and she says 
nothing, but consentire videtur ; and in time is 
ffravida. 

Daup. Then this is a ballad of procreation .' 

Cler. A madrigal of procreation ; you mistake. 

Epi. 'Pray give me my verses again, servant. 

Daw. If you'll ask them aloud, you shall. 

[Walks aside loith the papers. 

Enter Teuewit icith his horn. 

Cler. See, here's Truewit again ! — Wliere 
hast thou been, in the name of madness, thus 
accoutred Avith thy horn ? 

True. Where the sound of it might have pierced 
your senses Avith gladness, had you been in ear- 
reach of it. Daupliine, fall down and Avorship 
me ; I have forbid the bans, lad : I haA-e been Avith 
thy Adrtuous uncle, and have broke the match. 

Daup. You have not, I hope. 

True. Yes, faith ; an thoii shouldst hope oth- 
erwise, I should repent me : this horn got mo 
entrance ; kiss it. I had no other Avay to get in, 
but by feigning to be a post ; but Avhen I got in 
once, I proved iione, but rather the contrary, 
turn'd \\\n\ into a post, or a stone, or Avhat is 
stiffer, Avith thundering into him the incommodi- 
ties of a Avife, and the miseries of marriage. If 
ever Gorgon Avcre seen in the shape of a Avoman, 
he hath seen her in my description : I haA'e put 
him off o' that scent for ever. — Why do you not 
applaud and adore me, sirs ? Avhy stand you 
mute ? are you stupid ? You are not Avorthy of 
the benefit. 

Daup. Did not I tell you ? Mischief ! — 

Cler. I Avould you had placed this bcuf^ftt 
someAvhere else. 

True. Why so ? 

Cler. 'Slight, you have done the most incon- 
siderate, rash, Aveak thing, that ever man did to 
his friend. 

Dauj). Friend ! if the most malicious enemy 1 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



315 



have, had studied to inflict an injury upon me, 
it could not be a greater. 

True. Wherein, for God's sake ? Gentlemen, 
come to yourselves again. 

Daiq}. But I presaged thus much afore to you. 

Cler. Would my lips had been solder' d -when 
£ spake on't ! Slight, what moved you to be 
thus impertinent ? 

True. My masters, do not put on this strange 
face to jjay my courtesy; ofi" Avith this vizor. 
Have good turns done you, and thank 'em this 
way ! 

Daup. 'Fore heaven, you have imdone me. 
That which I have plotted for, and been matur- 
ing now these four months, you have blasted in 
a minute : Now I am lost, I may speak. This 
gentlewoman was lodged here by me o' purpose, 
and, to be put upon my uncle, has i^rofost this 
obstinate silence for my sake ; being my entire 
friend, and one that for the requital of such a 
fortune as to marry him, would have made me 
very ample conditions ; where now, all my hopes 
are utterly miscarried by this unlucky accident. 

Cler, Thus 'tis when a man will be ignorantly 
officious, do services, and not know his why : I 
wonder what courteous itch possest you. You 
never did absurder part in your life, nor a greater 
trespass to friendship or humanity. 

Daup. Eaith, you may forgive it best ; 'twas 
your cause principally. 

Cler. I know it ; would it had not. 

Enter Cutbeard. 

Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! Avhat news ? 

Cut. The be?t, the happiest that ever was, sir. 
There has been a mad gentleman with your uncle 
this morning, [seeing Truewit.] — I think this 
be the gentleman — that has almost talk'd him 
out of his wits, Avith threatening him froni 
marriage 

Daup. On, I prithee. 

Cut. And j'our uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done 
by your procurement ; therefore he Avill see the 
party you Avot of presently ; and if he like her, 
he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb as I 
have told him, he SAvears he Avill marry her to- 
day, instantly, and not defer it a minute longer. 

Daup. Excellent ! beyond our expectation ! 

True. Bej^ond our expectation ! By this light, 
I kneAV it Avould be thus. 

Daup. Nay, SAveet TrueAvit, forgive me. 

True. No, I was ignorantlt/ officious, imiyerti- 
nent ; this Avas the absurd, xoeak part, 

Cler. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit noAV, 
Avas mere fortune ! 

True. Fortune ! mere proA'idence. Fortune 
had not a finger in't. I saAv it must necessarily 
in nature fall out so : my genius is never false 
to me in these things. ShcAV mo hoAV it could 
be otherwise. 

Daup. Nay, gentlemen, contend not ; 'tis avcU 
nOAV. 

True, Alas, I let him go on Avith inconsiderate, 
and rash, and Avhat he pleased. 

Cler, AAvay, thou strange justifier of thyself, 
to be Avisor than thou Avert, by the event ! 

True. Event ! by this light, tliou shalt never 
persuade me, but I foresaAV it as Avell as the 
ptars themselves. 



Daup. Nay, gentlemen, 'tis Avell now. Dc 
you two entertain sir John DaAV Avith discourse, 
AA'hile I send her aAvay Avith instructions. 

True, I'll be acquainted Avith her first, by your 
favor. 

Cler. Master TrueAvit, lady, a friend of ours. 

True. I am sorry I haA'C not knoAvn you soon- 
er, lad}', to celebrate this rare A'irtue of your 
silence. [Exeunt Daup. Epi. and Cutbeabd. 

Cler, Faith, an you had come sooner, you 
should have seen and heard her Avell celebrated 
in sir John DaAv's madrigals. 

Trice, [advances to Daav.] Jack DaAA', God save 
you ! Avhen saAV you La-Foole ^ 

Daw. Not since last night, master TruoAvit. 

True. That's a miracle ! I thought you tAvo 
had been inseparable. 

Daio. He's gone to invite his guests. 

True, 'Odso ! 'tis true ! What a false memory 
have I toAvards that man ! I am one : I met him 
even noAv, upon that he calls his delicate fine 
black horse, rid into foam, Avith posting from 
place to place, and person to pcr.son, to give them 
the cue 

Cler, Lest they should forget ? 

True, Yes : There Avas never poor captain 
took more pains at a muster to shoAV men, than 
he, at this meal, to sIioav friends. 

Daw. It is his quarter-feast, sir. 

Cier. What ! do you say so, sir John :■ 

True. Nay, Jack Daw Avill not be out, at the 
best friends he has, to the talent of hia Avit 
Where's his mistress, to hear and applaud him 
is she gone ? 

Daw. Is mistress Epiccene gone ? 

Cler. Gone afore, Avith sir Dauphine, I Avar- 
rant, to the place. 

True. Gone afore ! that Avere a manifest in- 
jury, a disgrace and a half; to refuse him at 
such a festival-time as this, being a bravery, and 
a Avit too ! 

Cler. Tut, he"ll SAvalloAV it hke cream : he's 
better read in Jure civili, than to esteem any- 
thing a disgrace, is offer'd him from a mistress. 

Daw. Nay, let her e'en go ; she shall sit alone, 
and be dumb in her chamber a Aveek together, 
for John DaA\^ I Avarrant her. Does she refuse 
me .' 

Cler. No, sir, do not take it so to heart ; she 
does not refuse you, but a little neglects you. 
Good faith, TrucAvit, you Avere to blame, to put 
it into his head, that she does refuse him. 

True. Sir, she docs refuse him palpably, Iioav- 
CA'er you mince it. An I Avere as he, I Avould 
SAvear to speak ne'er a Avord to her to-day for't. 

Daw. By this light, no more I AviU not. 

True. Nor to aiiybody else, sir. 

Daw, Nay, I Avill not say so, gentlemen. 

Cler. It had been an excellent happy condi= 
tion for the company, if you could have draAvn 
him to it. _ [Aside. 

Daw. I'll be A-ery melancholy, i'faith. 

Cler. As a dog, if I Avere as you, sir John. 

True. Or a snail, or a hog-louse : I Avould roll 
myself up for this day ; in troth, they should 
not uuAvind me. 

Daw, By this tooth-pick, so I Aviil. 

Cler, 'Tis Avell done : He begins already to be 
angry with his teeth. 



316 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



Daw. Will j-ou go, gentlemen ? 

Cler. Nay, you must Avalk alone, if you be 
riglit melancholy, sir John. 

True. Yes, sir, Ave'll dog you, ^ve'll follow you 
afar off. \_Exit Daw. 

Cler. Was there ever such a two yards of 
knighthood measured out by time, to be sold to 
laughter ? 

True. A mere talking mole, hang him ! no 
mushroom was ever so fresh. A fellow so ut- 
terly nothing, as he knows not what he would 
be.' 

Cler. Let's follow him : but first let's go to 
Dauphine, he's hovering about the house to 
hear what news. 

True. Content. \_Exeunt. 



SCENE HI. — A Boom in Mojiose's House, 

Enter MonosE cmd Mute, followed by Cutbeard 
with Epiccene. 

Mor. Welcome, Cutbeard ! draw near M'ith 
your fair charge : and in her ear softly entreat 
her to unmask. [En. talces off her ma^h.'] — So ! 
Is the door shut ? [Mute makes a le(j.\ — Enough. 
Now, Cutbeard, with the same discipline I use 
to my family, I will qiiestion you. As I con- 
ceive, Cutbeard, this gentlewoman is she yovi 
have provided, and brought, in hope she will 
fit me in the place and person of a wife ? An- 
swer me not but with your leg, unless it be oth- 
erwise : [Cut. viahes a leg.] — Very well done, 
Cutbeard. I conceive besides, Cutbeard, j'ou 
nave been prc-acquainted with her birth, educa- 
tion, and qualities, or else j'ou would not prefer 
her to my acceptance, in the weighty conse- 
quence of marriage, \_malies a leg.\ — This I con- 
ceive, Cutbeard. Answer me not but with your 
leg, unless it be otherwise, [boios again.] — Very 
well done, Cutbeard. Give aside now a little, 
and leave me to examine her condition, and 
aptitude to my affection, [goes about her and vieics 
her.] — She is exceeding fair, and of a special 
good favor ; a sweet composition or harmony of 
limbs ; her temper of beauty has the true height 
of my blood. The knave hath exceedingly well 
fitted me without : I will now try her Avithin. — 
Come near, fair gentlewoman ; let not my be- 
havior seem rude, though unto you, being rare, 
it may haply appear strange. [Epiccexe curtsies.] 
Nay, lady, you may speak, though Cutbeard 
and my man might not ; for of all sounds, only 
the sweet voice of a fair lady has the just length 
of mine ears. I beseech you, say, lady ; out of 
the first fire of meeting eyes, they say, love is 
stricken : do you feel any such motion suddenly 
shot into you, from any part you see in me ? ha, 
lady ? [Epr. curtsies.'] — Alas, lady, these answers 
by silent curtsies from you are too courtless and 
simple. I have ever had my breeding in court ; 
and she that shall bo my wife, must be accom- 
plished with courtly and audacious ornaments. 
Can you speak, lady ? 

Ein. [softly.] Judge you, forsooth. 

Mor. What say you, lady ? Speak out, I be- 
seech you. 

Epi. Judge you, forsooth. 

Mor. On my judgment, a divine softness ! 



But can you naturally, lady, as I enjoin these by 
doctrine and industry, refer yourself to the 
search of my judgment, and, not taking pleasure 
in your tongue, Avhich is a woman's chiefcst 
pleasure, think it plausible to answer me by si- 
lent gestures, so long as my speeches jiimp riglit 
with what you conceive ? [Epi. curtsies.] — Ex- 
cellent ! divine ! if it were possible she should 
hold out thus ! — Peace, Cutbeard, thou art 
made for ever, as thou hast made me, if this fe- 
licity have lasting : but I will try her further. 
Dear lady, I am courtly, I tell you, and I must 
have mine cars banquetted with pleasant and 
witty conferences, pretty girds, scoffs, and dalli- 
ance in her that I mean to choose for my bed- 
phere. The ladies in court think it a most des- 
perate impair to their quickness of wit, and good 
carriage, if they cannot give occasion for a man 
to court 'em ; and when an amorous discourse 
is set on foot, minister as good matter to eontin 
ue it, as himself : And do you alone so much 
differ from all them, that what they, with so 
much circumstance, affect and toil for, to seem 
learned, to seem judicious, to seem sharp and 
conceited, you can bury in yourself with silence, 
and rather trust your graces to the fair con- 
science of virtue, than to the Avorld's or your 
own proclamation ? 

Epi. [softly.] I should be sorzy else. 

Mor. What say you, lady ? good lady, speak 
out. 

Epi. I should be sorry else. 

Mor. That sorrow doth fill me with gladness. 

Morose, thou art happy above mankind ! pray 
that thou mayest contain thyself. I will only 
put her to it once more, and it shall be with the 
utmost touch and test of their sex. But hear 
me, fiiir lady ; I do also love to see her whom I 
shall choose for my heifer, to be the first and 
principal in all fashions, precede all the dames 
at court bj^ a fortnight, have council of tailors, 
lineners, lace-women, embroiderers : and sit 
with them sometimes twice a day upon French 
intelligences, and then come forth varied like 
nature, or oftener than she, and better by the 
help of art, her emulous servant. This do I af- 
fect : and how will yoi^be able, lady, with this 
frugality of speech, to give the manifold but 
necessary instructions, for that bodice, these 
sleeves, those skirts, this cut, that stitch, this 
embroidery, that lace, this wire, those knots, 
that ruff, those roses, this girdle, that fan, the 
t'other scarf, these gloves ? Ha ! what say you, 
lady? 

Epi. [softly.] I'll leave it to you, sir. 

Mor. How, lady ? pray you rise a note. 

Epi. I leave it to wisdom and you, sir. 

Mor. Admirable creature ! I will trouble yor 
no more : I y\i\\ not sin against so sweet a sim- 
plicity. Let mo now be bold to print on those 
divine lips the seal of being mine. — Cutbeard, 

1 give thee the lease of thy house free ; thank 
me not but with thy leg. [Cutbeard shakes his 
head.] — I knov/ what thou wouldst say, she's 
poor, and her friends deceased. She has brought 
a wealthy dowry in her silence, Cutbeard ; and 
in respect of her poverty, Cutbeard, I shall have 
her more loving and obedient, Cutbeard. Gc 
thy ways, and get me a minister presently, with 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



317 



a soft low voice, to marry us ; and pray liiin lie 
will not be impertinent, but brief as he can ; 
away: softly, Cutbeard. [Exit Cut.] — Sirrah, 
conduct your mistress into the dining room, 
your now mistress. [Exit Mute, followed by Epi.] 
— O my fclicitjf ! how shall I bo revenged on 
mine insolent kinsman, and his plots to fright 
me from marrying ! This night I will get an 
heir, and thrust him out of my blood, like a 
stranger. Ho would be knighted, forsooth, and 
thought by that means to reign over me ; his 
title must do it : No, kinsman, I will now make 
you bring me the tenth lord's and the sixteenth 
lady's letter, kinsman ; and it shall do you no 
good, kinsman. Your knighthood itself shall 
come on its knees, and it shall be rejected ; it 
shall be sued for its fees to execution, and not 
be redeem'd ; it shall cheat at the twelve-penny 
ordinary, it knighthood, for its diet, all the term- 
time, and tell tales for it in the vacation to the 
hostess ; or it knighthood shall do worse, take 
sanctuary in Cole-harbor, and fast. It shall 
fi-ight all it friends with borrowing letters ; and 
when one of the fourscore hath brought it 
knighthood ten shillings, it knighthood shall go 
to the Cranes, or the Bear at the Bridgefoot, 
and be drunk in fear ; it shall not have money 
to discharge one tavern-reckoning, to invite the 
old creditors to forbear it knighthood, or the 
new, that should be, to trust it knighthood. It 
shall be the tenth name in the bond to take up 
the commr.dity of pipkins and stone-jugs : and 
the part thereof shall not furnish it knighthood 
forth for the attempting of a baker's widow, a 
brown baker's widow. It shall give it knight- 
hood's name for a stallion, to all gamesome citi- 
zen's wives, and be refused, when the master of 
a dancing-school, or how do you call him, the 
worst reveller in the town is taken : it shall 
want clothes, and by reason of that, wit, to fool 
to lawyers. It shall not have hope to repair it- 
self by Constantinople, Ireland, or Virginia ; but 
the best and last fortune to it knighthood shall 
be to make Dol Tear-sheet, or Kate Common a 
lady, and so it knigthood may eat. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — A Eane, near Mohose's House. 

Enter Tkuewit, Dauphine, and Cleri^iont. 

True. Are you sure he is not gone by ? 

Daiqo. No, I staid in the shop ever since. 

Cler. But he may take the other end of the 
lane. 

Daup. No, I told him I would be here at this 
end : I appointed him hither. 

True. "What a barbarian it is to stay then ! 

Daup. Yonder he comes. 

Cler. And his charge left behind him, which 
is a very good sign, Dauphine. 

Enter Cutbeaed. 

Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! succeeds it, or no ! 

Cut. Past imagination, sir, omnia secunda ; 
you could not have pray'd to have had it so 
well. Saltat senex, as it is in the proverb ; he 
does triumph in his felicity, admires the party ! 
he has giveir me the lease of my house too ! and 
I am now going for a silent minister to marry 
chem, and away. 



True. 'Slight ! get one of the silenced minis- 
ters ; a zealous brother would torment him 
purely. 

Cut. Cum privileglo, sir. 

Daup. O, by no means ; let's do nothing to 
hinder it now : when 'tis done and finished, I 
am for you, for any device of vexation. 

Cut. And that shall be within this half hour, 
upon my dexterity, gentlemen. Contrive what 
you can in the mean time, bonis avibus. [Exit 

Ckr. How the slave doth Latin it ! 

True. It would be made a jest to posterity, 
sirs, this day's mirth, if ye will. 

Ckr. Beshrew his heart that Avill not, I pro- 
nounce. 

Daup. And for my part. AVhat is it ? 

True. To translate all La-Foole's company, 
and his feast thither, to-day, to celebrate thia 
bride-ale. 

Daup. Ay, marry ; but how will't be done ? 

True. I'll undertake the directing of all the 
lady-guests thither, and then the meat must 
follow. 

Cler. For God's sake, let's effect it ; it Avill bo 
an excellent comedy of affliction, so many ser 
eral noises. 

Daup. But are they not at the other place, 
already, think you ? 

True. I'll warrant you for the college-honors : 
one of their faces has not the priming color laid 
on yet, nor the other her smock sleek'd. 

Cler. O, but they'll rise earlier than 'ordinai-y 
to a feast. 

True. Best go see, and assure ourselves. 

Cler. Who knows the house ? 

True. I'll lead you : Were you never there 
yet? 

Daup. Not I. 

Cler. Nor I. 

True. Where have vou lived then.' not know 
Tom Otter ! 

Cler. No : for God's sake, what is he ? 

True. An excellent animal, equal with your 
Daw or La-Foole, if not transccndant ; and does 
Ijatin it as much as your barber : He is his wife's 
subject ; he calls her princess, and at such times 
as these follows her up and down the house like 
a page, with his hat off, partly for heat, partly 
for reverence. At this instant he is marshalling 
of his bull, bear, and horse. 

Daup. What be those, in the name of Sphynx ? 

True. Why, sir, he has been a great man at 
the Bear-garden in his time ; and from that sub- 
tle sport has ta'en the witty denomination of his 
chief carousing cups. One he calls his bull, 
another his bear, another his horse. And then 
he has his lesser glasses, that he calls his deer 
and his ape ; and several degrees of them too ; 
and never is well, nor thinks any entertainment 
perfect, till these bo brought out, and set on the 
cujDboard. 

Cler. For God's love ! — we should miss this, 
if we should not go. 

True, Nay, he has a thousand things as good, 
that will speak him all day. He will rail on his 
wife, with certain common places, behind hei 
back ; and to her face 

Daup. No more of him. Let's go see him, J 
petition you. \_Exeunt. 



318 



THE SILENT WOMAN 



ACT III. 

SCEXE I. — A Room in Oxter's House. 

Enter Captain Otter 7oith his cttps, and Mistress 
Otter. 

Olf. Naj', good princess, hear me pauca verba. 

If'-':. Git. By that light, I'll have you chain'd 
up, with your bull-dogs and bear-dogs, if you be 
not civil the sooner. I'll send you to kennel, 
i'faith. You were best bait me with your bull, 
Dear, and horse. Never a time that the courtiers 
or coUcgiatcs come to the house, but you make 
it a Shrove-tuesday ! I would have you get your 
"Whitsuntide velvet cap, and joiiv staff in your 
hand, to entertain them : yes, in troth, do. 

Ott. Not so, princess, neither ; but under cor- 
rection, sweet princess, give me leave. • 

These things I am known to the courtiers by : 
It is reported to them for my humor, and they 
receive it so, and do expect it. Tom Otter's bull, 
bear, and horse is knoAvn all over England, in 
rerum natura. 

Mrs. Ott. 'Fore me, I will na-ture them over 
to Paris-garden, and na-ture you thither too, if 
you pronounce them again. Is a bear a fit beast, 
or a bull, to mix in society with great ladies ? 
think in your discretion, in any good policy. 

Ott. The horse then, good princess. 

Mrs. Ott- Well, I am contented for the horse ; 
they love to be well horsed, I know : I love it 
myself. 

Ott. And it is a delicate fine horse this : Pocta- 
rum Pegasus. Under correction, princess, Jupi- 
ter did turn himself into a — taurus, or bull, 
under correction, good princess. 

Enter Truewit, Clerimont, and Dauphixe, he- 
hind. 

Mrs. Ott. By my integrity, I'll send you over 
to the Bank-side ; I'll commit you to the master 
of the Garden, if I hear but a syllable more. 
Must my house or my roof be polluted with the 
scent of bears and bulls, when it is perfumed 
for great ladies ? Is this according to the instru- 
ment, when I married you? that I would be 
princess, and reign in mine own house ; and you 
would be my subject, and obey me ? What did 
you bring me, should make you thus peremp- 
tory ? do I allow you your ha^f-crown a day, to 
spend where you Avill, among your gamesters, to 
vex and torment me at such times as these ? 
Who gives you j-our maintenance, I pray you ? 
who allows you your horse-meat and man's 
meat ? your three suits of apparel a year ? your 
four pair of stockings, one silk, three worsted ? 
your clean linen, your bands and cuffs, when I 
can get you to wear them ? — 'tis marie j-ou have 
them on now. — Who graces you with courtiers 
or great personages, to speak to you out of their 
coaches, and come home to your house ? Were 
you ever so much as looked ixpon by a lord or a 
lady, before I married yoix, but on the Easter or 
Whitsun-holidays ? and then out at the banquet- 
ing-house window, when Ned Wliiting or George 
Stone were at the stake ? 

True For God's sake, let's go stave her off 
hini. 



Mrs. Ott. Answer me to that. And did not I 
take you up from thence, in an old greasy buff- 
doublet, with points, and green velvet sleeves, 
out at the elbows ? you forget this. 

True. She'll worry him, if we help not in time, 
[They come foncard. 

Mrs. Ott. 0, here are some of the gallants ! 
Go to, behave yourself distinctly, and with good 
morality ; or, I protest, I'll take away your ex^ 
hibition. 

True. By j'our leave, fair mistress Otter, I'll 
be bold to enter these gentlemen in your ac- 
quaintance. 

Mrs. Ott. It shall not be obnoxious, or diffi- 
cil, sir. 

True. How does my noble cai:)tain ? is the bull, 
bear, and horse in rerum natura still ? 

Ott. Sir, sic visum superis. 

Mrs. Ott. I would you would but intimate 
them, do. Go your ways in, and get toasts and 
butter made for the -woodcocks : that's a fit 
province for you. [Drives him off. 

Cler. Alas, what a tyranny is this poor fellow 
married to ! 

True. O, but the sport will be anon, wdien we 
get him loose. 

Daup. Dares he ever speak ? 

True. No Anabaptist ever rail'd with the like 
license : but mark her language in the mean 
time, I beseech j-ou. 

Mrs. Ott. Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. 
My cousin, sir Amorous, will be here briefly. 

True. In good time, lady. Was not sir John 
Daw here, to ask for him, and the comjoany ? 

Mrs. Ott. I cannot assure you, master Truewit. 
Here was a very melancholy knight in a ruff, that 
demanded my subject for somebody, o gentle- 
man, I think. 

Cfe-. Ay, that was he, lady. 

Mrs. Ott. But he departed straight, I can re- 
solve you. 

Daup. What an excellent choice phrase this 
lady expresses in. 

True. O, sir, she is the only authentical cour- 
tier, that is not naturally bred one, in the 
city. 

Mrs. Ott. Yoii have taken that report upon 
trust, gentlemen. 

True. No, I assure you, the court governs it 
so, lady, in your behalf. 

Mrs. Ott. I am the servant of the court and 
courtiers, sir. 

True. They are rather your idolaters. 

Mrs. Ott. Not so, sir. 

Enter Cutbeard. 

Daup. How now, Cutbeard ! any cross ? 

Cut. O no, sir, o?nnia bene. 'Twas never bettet 
on the hinges ; all's sure. I have so pleased him 
with a curate, that he's gone to't almost with 
the delight he hoj^es for soon. 

Daup. What is he for a vicar ? 

Cut. One that has catch'd a cold, sir, and can 
scarce be heard six inches off ; as if he spoke out 
of a bulrush that were not pick'd, or his throat 
were full of pith : a fine qtiick fellow, and an 
excellent barber of prayers. I came to tell you, 
sir, that you might omnem movcre lapidem, a" 
they say, be ready Avith your vexation. 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



'6V> 



Daiqy. Gramcrcy, honest Cutbcarcl! be there- 
aboiits with thy key, to let us in. 

Cut. I will not fail you, sir ; ad manum. [Exit. 

True. Well, I'll go watch my coaches. 

Cler. Do ; and we'll send Daw to you, if you 
meet him not. [Exit Truewit. 

Mrs. Oft. Is master Truewit gone ! 

Daup. Yes, lady, there is some unfortiinate 
business fallen out. 

Mrs. Ott. So I adjudged by the physiognomy 
of the fellow that came in ; and I had a dream 
last night too of the new pageant, and my lady 
mayoress, which is always very ominous to me. 
I told it my lady Haughty t'other day, when her 
honor came hither to see some China stuifa ; and 
she expounded it out of Artemidorus, and I 
have found it since very true. It has done me 
many affronts. 

■Cler. Your dream, lady ? 

Mrs. Ott. Yes, sir, any thing I do but dream 
of the city. It stain' d me a damask table-cloth, 
cost me eighteen pound, at one time ; and burnt 
me a black satin gown, as I stood by the fire, at 
my lady Centaure's chamber in the college, an- 
other time. A third time, at the lords' masque, 
it dropt all my wire and my ruff with wax can- 
dle, that I could not go up to the banquet. A 
fourth time, as I was taking coach to go to Ware, 
to meet a friend, it dash'd me a new suit all over 
(a crimson satin doublet, and black velvet skirts) 
with a brewer's horse, that I was fain to go in 
and shift me, and kept my chamber a leash of 
days for the anguish of it. 

Daup. These were dire mischances, lady. 

Cler. I would not dwell in the city, an 'twere 
KG fatal to me. 

Mrs. Ott. Yes, sir ; but I do take advice of my 
doctor to dream of it as little as I can. 

Daup. You do well, mistress Otter. 

Enter Sir Johx Daw, and is taken aside hij Cleri- 

MOXT. 

Mrs. Ott. Will it please you to enter the house 
farther, gentlemen ? 

Daup. And your favor, lady : but we stay 
to speak with a knight, sir John Daw, who is 
here come. We shall follow you, lady. 

WIrs. Ott. At your own time, sir. It is my 
cousin sir Amorous his feast 

Daup. I know it, lady. 

Mrs. Ott. And mine together. But it is for 
his honor, and therefore I take no name of it, 
more than of the place. 

Daup. You are a bounteous kinswoman. 

Mrs. Ott. Your servant, sir. [Exit. 

Cler. [comiiiff foricard withDwy.] Why, do not 
you know it, sir John Daw ? 

Daio. No, I am a rook if I do. 

Cler. I'll tell you, then ; she's married by this 
time. And, whereas you were put in the head, 
that she was gone with sir Dauphine, I assure 
you, sir Dauphine has been the noblest, honest- 
est friend to you, that ever gentleman of your 
quality could boast of. He has discover'd the 
■whole plot, and made your mistress so acknowl- 
edging, and indeed so ashamed of her injury to 
you, that she desires you to forgive her, and but 
grace her wedding with your presence to-day — 
She is to be married to a very good fortune, she 



says, his uncle, old Morose ; and she will'd me 
in private to tell you, that she shall be able to 
do you more favors, and with more security now 
than befor-^ 

Daw. Did she say so, i'faitn :• 

Cler. Why, what do you think of me, air 
John ! ask sir Dauphine. 

Daio. Nay, I believe you. — Good sir Dau- 
phine, did she desire me to forgive her ? 

Daup. I assure yovi, sir John, she did. 

Dau. Nay, then, I do with all my heart, and 
I'll be jovial. 

Cler. Yes, for look you, sir, this was the in- 
jury to you. La-Foole intended this feast to 
honor her bridal day, and made you the jDrop- 
erty to invite the college ladies, and promise to 
bring her ; and then at the time she would have 
appear'd, as his friend, to have given 3-ou the 
dor. Whereas now, sir Dauphine has brought 
her to a feeling of it, with this kind of satisfac- 
tion, that you shall bring all the ladies to the 
place Avhere she is, and be A^ery jovial ; and 
there, she will have a dinner, which shall be in 
your name : and so disappoint La-Foole, to make 
you good again, and, as it Avere, a saver in the 
main. 

Daio. As I am a knight, I honor her ; and for- 
give her heartily. 

Cler. About it then presently. Tiuewit is 
gone before to confront the coaches, and to ac- 
quaint you with so much, if he meet you. Join 
Avith him, and 'tis well. — 

Enter Sir Amorous La-Foole. 
See; here comes your antagonist ; but take you 
no notice, but be A'cry jovial. 

La-F. Are the ladies come, sir John DaAV, 
and your mistress? [Exit Daav.] — Sir Dau- 
phine ! you are exceeding A\'elcome, and honest 
master "Clerimont. AVhere's my cousin ? did 
you see no collegiates, gentlemen ? 

Daup. Collegiates ! do you not hear, sir Amo- 
rous, how you are abused ? 
La-F. How, sir ! 

Cler. Will you speak so kindly to sir John 
Daw, that has done you such an affront ? 

La-F. Wherein, gentlemen ? let me be 
suitor to you to know, I beseech you. 

Cler. Why, sir, his mistress is married to-da 
to sir Dauphiiae's uncle, your cousin's neighbor 
and he has diverted all the ladies, and all you, 
company thither, to frustrate your provision, 
and stick a disgrace upon you. He Avas here 
now to haA'e enticed us away from you too : but 
Ave told him his OAvn, I think. 

La-F. Has sir John Daw wrong'd me so in 
humanly ? 

Daxtp. He has done it, sir Amorous, most 
maliciously and treacherously : but, if you'll be 
ruled by us, you shall qiiit him, i'faith. 

La-F. Good gentlemen, I'll make one, be- 
lieve it. HoAV, I pray r 

Daup. Marry, sir, get me your pheasants, and 
your godwits, and your \ est meat, and dish it in 
silver dishes of your cousin's presently ; and 
say nothing, but clap me a clean toAvel about 
you, like a scAver; and, bare-headed, march 
afore it with a good confidence, ('tis but over 
the Avay, hard by,) and Ave'U second you, Avhero 



S20 



THE SILENT WOMAN 



you shall set it on the board, and bid them wel- 
come to't, which shall shew 'tis yours, and dis- 
grace his preijaration utterly : and for your 
cousin, whereas she should be troubled here at 
home with care of making and giving welcome, 
she shall transfer all that labor thither, and be a 
principal guest herself; sit rank'd with the col- 
lege-honors, and be honor'd, and have her health 
drunk as often, as bare, and as loud as the best 
of them. 

La-F. ril go tell her presently. It shall be 
done, that's resolved. [^Exit, 

Cler. I thought he would not hear it out, but 
'twould take him. 

Daup. "Well, there be guests and meat now ; 
how shall we do for music ? 

Cler. Tlac smell of the venison, going through 
the street, will invite one noise of fiddlers or 
other. 

Daup. I would it would call the trumpeters 
hither ! 

Ckr. Faith, there is hope ; they have intelli- 
gence of all feasts. There's good correspond- 
ence betwixt them and the London cooks : 'tis 
twenty to one but Ave have them. 

Daup. 'Twill be a most solcmij day for my 
uncle, and an excellent fit of mirth for us. 

Cler. Ay, if we can hold up the emulation 
betwixt Foole and Daw, and never bring them 
to expostulate. 

Dnnp. Tut, flatter them both, as Truewit 
says, and you may take their understandings in 
a pursenet. They'll believe themselves to be 
just such men as we make them, neither more 
nor less. They have nothing, not the use of 
their senses, but by tradition. 

Re-enter La-Foole, like a Sewer. 

Cler. See ! sir Amorous has his towel on 
already. Have you persuaded your cousin ? 

La-F. Yes, 'tis very feasible : she'll do anj' 
thing, she says, rather than the La-Fooles shall 
be disgraced. 

Daup. She is a noble kinswoman. It will be 
such a pestling device, sir Amorous ; it will 
l)ound all your enemy's practices to powder, and 
blow him up with his own mine, his own train. 

La-F. Nay, we'll give fire, I warrant you. 

Cler. But you must carry it privately, without 
any noise, and take no notice by any means 

Re-enter Captain Otter. 

Ott. Gentlemen, my princess says you shall 
have all her silver dishes, festinate : and she's 
gone to alter her tire a little, and go with 
you 

Cler. And yourself too, captain Otter ? 

Daup. By any means, sir. 

Oit. Yes, sir, I do mean it : but I Avould en- 
treat my cousin sir Amorous, and you, gentle- 
men, to bo suitors to my princess, that I may 
carry my bull and my bear, as well as my horse. 

Cler. That you shall do, captain Otter. 

La-F. My cousin will never consent, gentle- 
oien. 

Daup. She must consent, sir Amorous, to 
reason. 

La-F. Why, she says they are no decorum 
Hraong ladies. 



Oit. But they are decora, and that's better, sir, 

Cler. Ay, she must hear argument. Did not 
PasiphaO, who was a queen, love a bull ? and 
was not Calisto, the mother of Areas, turn'd 
into a bear, and made a star, mistress Ursula, in 
the heavens ? 

Ott. O lord ! that I could have said as m\ich ! 
I will have these stories painted in the Bear- 
garden, ex Ovidii metamorphosi, 

Daup. Where is your princess, captain ? pray, 
be our leader. 

Oit. That I shall, sir. 

Cler. Make haste, good sir Amorous. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Morose's House. 

Enter Mokose, Epiccexe, Parson, and Cutbeabd 

Mor. Sir, there's an angel for yourself, and a 
brace of angels for your cold. Muse not at this 
manage of my boiinty. It is fit we shouh 
thank fortune, double to nature, for any benefi* 
she confers upon us ; besides, it is your imper- 
fection, but my solace. 

Par. [sj)eaks as having a cold.] I thank your 
worship ; so it is mine, now. 

Mor. What says he, Cutbeard ? 

Cut. He saj's, pirc^sto, sir, whensoever j'our 
worship needs him, he can be ready with the 
like. He got this cold with sitting uj) late, and 
singing catches with cloth-workers. 

Mor. No more. I thank him. 

Par. God keep your worship, and give you 
miicli joy with your fair spouse ! — uh ! uh ! 
uh ! 

Mor. O, O ! stay, Cutbeard ! let him give mo 
five shillings of my money back. As it is 
bounty to reward benefits, so it is equity to 
mulct injuries. I will have it. "N^liat says he ? 

Cler. He cannot change it, sir. 

Mor. It must be changed. 

Cut. Cough again. [Aside to Parson. 

Mor. What says he ? 

Cut. He Avill cough out the rest, sir. 

Par. Uh, uh, uh ! 

Mor. Away, aAvay Avith him ! stop his mouth ! 

away ! I forgive it. 

[Exit Cut. thrusting out the Par. 

Epi. Fie, master Morose, that you will use 
this violence to a man of the chiirch. 

Mor. HoAV ! 

Epi, It does not become your graA^ty, or 
breeding, as you pretend, in court, to have of- 
fer'd this outrage on a Avaterman, or any more 
boisterous creature, much less on a man of his 
civil coat. 

Mor. You can speak then ! 

Epi. Yes, sir. 

Mor. Speak out, I mean. 

Epi. Ay, sir. Why, did you think yon had 
married a statue, or a motion only ? one of the 
French puppets, Avith the eyes turn'd Avith a 
Avire ? or some innocent out of the hosj^ital, that 
Avould stand Avith her hands thus, and a plaise 
mouth, and look upon you ? 

Mor. O immodesty ! a manifest woman 1 
What, Cutbeard ! 

Epi. Nay, neA'cr quarrel Avith Cutbeard, sir ; 
it is too late now. I confess it doth bate some- 
what of the modesty I had, when I Avrit simply 



THE SILENT WOMAX. 



321 



maid : but I hope I shall make it a stock still 
competent to the estate and dignity of your 
wife. 

Mor. She can talk ! 

Epi. Yes, indeed, sir. 

Enter Mute. 
Mor, What sirrah ! None of my knaves there ? 
where is this impostor Cutbeard ? 

[Mute makes sif/ns. 
Epi. Speak to him, fellow, speak to him ! I'll 
have none of this coacted, unnatural dumbness 
in my house, in a family where I govern. 

[Exit Mute. 
Mor. She is my regent already ! I have mar- 
ried a Penthesilea, a Semiramis ; sold my liberty 
to a distaff. 

Enter Tkuewit. 

True. AVhere's master Morose ? 

Mor. Is he come again ! Lord have mercy 
upon me ! 

True. I wish you all joy, mistress Epica?ne, 
with your grave and honorable match. 

Epi. I return you the thanks, master Truewit, 
BO friendly a -wish deserves. 

Mor. She has acquaintance, too ! 

True. God save you, sir, and give you all 
contentment in j^our fair choice, here ! Before, 
I was the bird of night to you, the owl ; but 
now I am the messenger of peace, a dove, and 
bring you the glad wishes of many friends to 
the celebration of this good hour. 

Mor. WTiat hour, sir ? 

Trice. Your marriage hour, sir. I commend 
your resolution, that, notwithstanding all the 
dangers I laid afore you, in the voice of a night- 
crow, would yet go on, and be yourself. It 
shews you are a man constant to your own ends, 
and upright to your purposes, that would not 
be put off with left-handed cries. 

Mor. How should you arrive at the knowl- 
edge of so much ? 

True. Why, did you ever hope, sir, commit- 
ting the secrecy of it to a barber, that less than 
the whole town should know it ? you might as 
well have told it the conduit, or the bake-hoiise, 
or the infantry that follow the court, and with 
more security. Could your gravity forget so 
old and noted a remnant, as, lipjiis ef tonsorihus 
notum? Well, sir, forgive it yourself now, the 
fault, and be communicable with your friends. 
Here Avill be three or four fashionable ladies 
from the college to visit you presently, and their 
tr.ain of minions and followers. 

Mor. Bar my doors ! bar my doors! Where 
are aU my eaters ? my mouths, now ? — 

Enter Servants. 
Bar up my doors, you varlets ! 

Epi. He is a varlet that stirs to such an office. 
Let them stand open. I would see him that 
dares move his eyes toward it. Shall I have a 
barricado made against my friends, to be barr'd 
of any pleasure they can bring in to me with 
their honorable visitation) [Exeunt Ser. 

Mor. O Amazonian impadonce ! 

True. Nay, faith, in this, sir, she speaks but 
reason ; and, methinks, is more continent than 
21 



you. Would you go to bed so presently, sir, 
afore noon ? a man of your head and hair should 
owe more to that reverend ceremony, and not 
mount the marriage-bed like a town-bull, or a 
mountain-goat ; but stay the due season ; and 
ascend it then with religion and fear. Those 
delights are to be steeped in the humor and 
silence of the night ; and give the day to other 
oi^en pleasures, and jollities of feasting, of 
m.usic, of revels, of discourse : we'll have all, 
sir, that may make your Hymen high and 
happy. 

Mor. O my torment, my torment ! 

True. Nay, if you endure the first half hour, 
sir, so tediously, and with this irksomcness ; 
what comfort or hope can this fair gentlewoman 
make to herself hereafter, in the consideration 
of so many years as are to come 

Mor. Of my affliction. Good sir, depart, and 
let her do it alone. 

Trite. I have done, sir. 

Mor. That cursed barber. 

True. Yes, faith, a cursed Avretch indeed, sir. 

Mor. I have married his cittern, that's com- 
mon to all men. Some plague abr ve the 
plague 

True. All Egypt's ten plagues. 

Mor. Revenge me on him ! 

True. 'Tis very well, sir. If you laid on a 
curse or two more, I'll assure you he'll bear 
them. As, that he may get the pox with seek- 
ing to cure it, su" ; or, that while he is curling 
another man's hair, his own may drop off; or, 
for burning some male-bawd's lock, he may 
have his brain beat out with the curling iron. 

3for. No, let the wretch live wretched. May 
he get the itch, and his shop so lousy, a's no man 
dare come at him, nor he come at no man ! 

True. Ay, and if he would swallow all his 
balls for pills, let not them purge him. 

Mor. Let his warming-pan be ever cold. 

True. A perpetual frost underneath it, sir. 

Mor. Let him never hope to see fire again. 

True. But in hell, sir. 

Mor. His chairs be always empty, his scissars 
rust, and his combs mould in their cases. 

True. Very dreadful that ! And may he lose 
the invention, sir, of carving lanterns in paper. 

Mor. Let there be no bawd carted that year, 
to employ a bason of his : but let him be glad to 
eat his sponge for bread. 

True. And driixk lotium to it, and much good 
do him. 

Mor. Or, for want of bread 

T?-i(e. Eat ear-wax, sir. I'll help you. Or, draw 
his own teeth, and add them to the lute-string. 

Mor. No, beat the old ones to powder, and 
make bread of them. 

True. Yes, make meal of the mill-stones. 

Mor. May all the botches and burns that he 
lias cured on others break out upon liim. 

True. And he now forget the cure of them in 
himself, sir ; or, if he do remember it, let him 
have scraped all his linen into lint for't, and have 
not a rag left him for to set up with. 

3Ior. Let him never set up again, but have the 
gout in his hands for ever ! — Now, no more, sir. 

True. O, that last was too high set ; you might 
go less with him, i'faith, and be revenge' 



322 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



cnougli : as, that he be never able to new-paint 
his pole 

Mor. Good sir, no more, I forrrot myself. 

True. Or, Avant credit to take up with a comb- 
maker - — 

3Ioi: No more, sir. 

True. Or, having broken his glass in a former 
despair, fall now into a much greater, of ever 
getting another 

Mor. I beseech you, no more. 

True. Or, that he never be trusted with trim- 
ming of any but chimney-sweepers 

liirr. Sir — — 

Trice. Or, may he cut a collier's throat -vAith 
his razor, by chance-medley, and yet be hanged 
for't. 

Mor. I Avill forgive him, rather than hear any 
more. I beseech you, sir. 

Enter T)\w, introducing Lady IIaughty, Cen- 

TAUiiE, !Maa'is, and Trusty. 
Daw. This way, madam. I 

Mor. O, the sea breaks in upon me ! another 
flood ! an inundation ! I shall be overwhelmed 
with noise. It beats already at my shores. I 
■feel an earthquake in my self for't. 
Dau}. 'Give you joy, mistress. 
Mor. Has she servants too ! 
Daio. I have brought some ladies here to see 
and know you. My lady Haughty — [as he pre- 
sents them severally, Epi. kisses them.] this my 
lady Centaure — mistress Dol Mavis — mistress 
Trusty, my lady Haughty's woman. Where's 
yovir inisband? let's see him: can he endure no 
noise ? lot me come to him. 

Mor. What nomenclator is this ! 
True. Sir John Daw, sir, vour wife's servant, 
this. 

Mor. A Daw, and her servant ! O, 'tis decreed, 
'tis decreed of me, an she have such servants. 

[ Going. 
True. Nay, sir, you must kiss the ladies ; you 
must not go away, now : they come toward you 
a to seek you out. 

^ Hau. r faith, master Morose, would yaw steal 

a marriage thus, in the midst of so many friends, 
and not acquaint us ? Well, I'll kiss you, not- 
withstanding the justice of my quarrel : you 
shall give me leave, mistress, to use a becoming 
familiarity with your hiisband. 

Ejii. Your ladyship does me an honor in it, 
to let me know he is so worthy your favor : as 
you have done both him and me grace to visit so 
unprepared a pair to entertain you. 
Mor. Compliment ! comjiliment ! 
Epi. But I must lay the burden of thai upon 
my servant here. 

Hau. It shall not need, mistress Morose ; we 
will all bear, rather than one shall be opprest. 

Mor. I know it : and you will teach her the 
faculty, if she be to learn it. 

[Walks aside while the rest talk ajxirt. 
Ilau. Is this the silent woman ? 
Cen. Nay, she has found her tongue since she 
was married, blaster Truewit says. 

Hau. O, master Truewit ! 'save you.. What 
idnd of creature is your bridr here ? she speaks, 
n-.othinks ! 

True. Yes, madam, believe i ,, she is a gentle- 



woman of very absolute behavior, and of a good 
race. 

Hau. And Jack Daw told us she could not 
speak ! 

True. So it was carried in plot, madam, to put 
her iipon this old fellow, by sir Dauphine, his 
nephew, and one or two more of lis : but she is 
a woman of an excellent assurance, and an ex- 
traordinary happy Avit and tongue. Yoii shall 
see her make rare sport with Daw ere night. 
Hau. And he brought us to laugh at her ! 
True. That falls out often, madam, that he that 
thinks himself the master-Avit, is the master-fool. 
I assure your ladyship, ye cannot laugh at her. 
Hau. No, Ave'U have her to the college : An 
she have AA'it, she shall be one of us, shall she 
not, Centaure ? Ave'll make her a collegiate. 

Cen. Yes, faith, madam, and Mavis and she 
Avill set up a side. 

True. Believe it, madam, and mistress Mavis 
she Avill sustain her part. 

Mail. I'll tell you that, Avhcn I have talk'd 
Avith her, and tried her. 

Hau. Use her very civilly, IMavis. 
Mav. So I Avill, madam. [Whisjjers her. 
Mor. Blessed minute ! that they Avould Avhis- 
per thus ever ! [Aside. 
True. In the mean time, madam, Avould but 
year ladyship help to vex him a little : you knOAv 
his disease, talk to him about the Avedding cere- 
monies, or call for your gloves, or 

Hau. liCt me alone. Centaure, help me. — 
Master bridegroom, Avhere are you ? 

Mor. O, it was too miraculou£.]y good to last ! 

[Aside. 

Hau. We see no ensigns of a Avedding here ; 

no character of a bride-ale : Avhere be our scarves 

and our gloves ? I pray you, give them us. Let 

us knoAV your bride's colore, and yours at least. 

Cen. Alas, madam, he has provided none. 

Mor. Had I knoAvn your ladyship's painter, I 

Avould. 

Hau. He has given it you, Centaure, i'faith. 
But do you hear, master Morose ? a jest Avill not 
absolve you in this manner. You that have 
suck'd the milk of the court, and from thence 
have been brought up to the A'cry strong meats 
and Avine of it ; been a courtier from the biggcn 
to the nightcap, as Ave may say, and you to offend 
in such a high point of cercmonj' as this, and let 
your nuptials Avant all marks of solemnity ! Hov/ 
m.uch plate have you lost to-day, (if you had 
but regarded your profit,) Avhat gifts, Avhat 
friends, through your mere rusticity ! 

3Ior. Madam 

Hau. Pardon me, sir, I must insinuate youi 
errors to you ; no gloves ? no govters ? no scarves .' 
no epithalamium ? no masque ? 

Daic. Yes, madam, I'll malm an epithalasuium, 
I promise my mistress ; I havt) begun it already 
Avill your ladj-ship hear it ? 
Hau. Ay, good Jack DaAV. 
Mor. Will it please your ladyship command u 
chamber, and be private Avith your friend ? you 
shall have your choice of rooms to retire to after • 
my Avhole house is yours. I knoAV it hath been 
your ladyship's errand into the city -^t other 
time.«, hoAvever now you have been unhappily 
diverted upon me ; but I shall be loth to breaii 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



323 



any honorable custom of your ladyship's. And 
therefore, good madam 

Epi Come, you are a rude bridegroom, to en- 
tertain .adics of honor in this fashion. 

Cen. He is a rude groom indeed. 

True. By that light you deserve to be grafted, 
and have your horns reach from one side of the 
island to the other. — Do not mistake me, sir ; 1 
but speak this to give the ladies some heart again 
not for any malice to you. 

Mor. Is this your bravo, ladies ? 

True. As God [shall] help me, if you utter 
such another word, I'll take mistress bride in, 
and begin to you in a very sad cup ; do you Bee ? 
Go to, know your friends, and such as love you. 

Enter Cl'eui'sio'nt, folhwed by a number of 
Musicians. 

Cler. By your leave, ladies. Do you want 
any music ? I have brought you variety of 
noises. Play, sirs, all of you. 
l^iiside to the Musicians, who strike up all together. 

Mor. O, a plot, a plot, a plot, a plot, upon me ! 
.his day I shall be their anvil to work on, they 
will grate me asunder. 'Tis worse than the noise 
of a saw. 

Ckr. No, they are hair, rosin, and guts : I 
can give you the receipt. 

True. Peace, boA'S ! 

Clcr. Play ! I say. 

True. Peace, rascals ! You see who's your 
friend now, sir : take courage, put on a martjT's 
resolution. Mock doAvn all their attemptings 
with patience : 'tis but a day, and I would suf- 
fer heroicallJ^ Should an ass exceed me in 
fortitude ? no. You betray your infirmity with 
your hanging dull ears, and make them insult : 
bear uj bravely, and constant! j'. [La-Foole 
vasses over the stage as a Seicer,foUoioed by Servants 
carrying dishes, and Mistress Ottek.] — Look 
you heie, sir, what honor is done jovl unexpect- 
ed, by your nephew ; a Avcdding-dinner come, 
a"d a knight-sewer before it, for the more repu- 
tation : and fine mistress Otter, your neighbor, 
in the rump or tail of it. 

3Ior. Is that Gorgon, that Medusa come ! hide 
me, hide me. 

True. I warrant you, sir, she will not trans- 
form you. Look upon her with a good courage. 
Pray you entertain her, and conduct yoiu" guests 
in. No ! — Mistress bride, will you entreat in 
the ladies ? your bridegroom is so shame-faced, 
here. 

Epi. Will it please your ladyship, madam ? 

Haic. With the benetit of your company, 
mistress. 

Epi. Servant, pray you perform ^'our duties. 

Daio. And glad to be commanded, mistress. 

Cen. How like you her wit. Mavis ? 

Mav. Very prettily, absolutely well. 

Mrs. Oft. 'Tis my place. 

Mav. You shall pardon me, mistress Otter. 

Mrs. Ott. Why, I am a collegiate. 

Mav. But not in ordinary. 

Mrs. Ott. But I am. 

Mav, We'll dispute that within. 

{Exeunt Ladies. 

Ckr, Would this had lasted a little longer. 

True. And that they had sent for the heralds. 



Enter Captain Otteu. 
— Captain Otter ! what news ? 

Ott. I have brought my bull, bear, and horse, 
in p)rivate, and yonder are the trumpeters with- 
out, and the drum, gentlemen. 

[ The drum and trumpits sound loithin, 

Mor. O, O, O ! 

Ott. And we will have a rouse in each of them, 
anon, for bold Britons, i'faith. [ They sound agaius 

Mor. 0,0,0! [Exit hastily 

Omnes. Follow, follow, follow ! [Exeunt 



ACT IV. 

SCENE 1. — A Room in Morose's House. 

Enter Truewit and Clerimont. 

True. Was there ever poor bridegroom so tor- 
mented ? or man, indeed ? 

Cler. I have not read of the like in the chroni- 
cles of the land. 

True, Sure, ho cannot but go to a place of 
rest, after all this purgatory. 

Cl-er. He may presume it, I think. 

True. The spitting, the coughing, the laugh- 
ter, the neczing, the farting, dancing, noise of 
the music, and her masculine and loud com- • 
manding, and urging the whole family, makes 
him think he has married a fury. 

Ckr. And she carries it up bravely. 

True. Aj, she takes any occasion to speak : 
that's the height on't. 

Cler. And how soberly Dauphine labors to 
satisfy him, that it was none of his plot ! 

True. And has almost brought him to the 
faith, in the article. Here he comes. — 

Enter Sir Dauphixe. 
Where is he now ? what's become of him, Dau- 
phine ? 

Daup, O, hold me tip a little, I shall go away 
in the jest else. He has got on his whole nest 
of night-caps, and locked himself tip in the top 
of the house, as high as ever he can climb from 
the noise. I peep'd in at a cranny, and saw 
him sitting over a cross-beam of the roof, like 
him on the saddler's horse in Fleet-street, up- 
right : and he will sleep there. 

Ckr. But where are yotir collegiates ? 

Daup. AVithdrawn with the bride in private- 

True. O, they are instructing her in the col- 
lege-grammar. If she have grace with them, 
she knows all their secrets instantly. 

Ckr. jSIethinks the lady Haughty looks well 
to-day, for all my dispraise of her in the morn- 
ing. I think, I shall come about to thee again, 
Truewit. 

True. Believe it, I told yott right. Women 
ought to repair the losses time and years hava 
made in their features, with dressings. And an 
intelligent woman, if she know by herself the 
least defect, will be most curious to hide it : and 
it becomes her. If she be short, let her sit 
much, lest, when she stands, she be thought tc 
sit. If she have an ill foot, let her Avear her 
gown the longer, and her shoe the thinner. If 
a fat hand, and scald nails, let her carve the lesP 



324 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



und act in gloves. If a sour breath, let her 
never discourse fasting, and ahvays talk at her 
distance. If she have black and rugged teeth, 
let her offer the less at laughter, especially if 
fihc laugh wide and open. 

Ckr. O, you shall have some women, Avhen 
„hey laugh, you would think they brayed, it is 
so rude and ■ 

True. Ay, and others, that will stalk in their 
gait like an estrich, and take huge strides. I 
cannot endure such a sight. I love measure in 
the feet, and number in the voice : they are 
gentlenesses, that oftentimes draw no less than 
the face. 

Daup. How earnest thou to study these crea- 
tures so exactly ? I would thou wouldst make 
me a proficient. 

True. Yes, but you must leave to live in your 
chamber, then, a month together upon Amadis 
de Gaul, or Don Quixote, as you are wont ; and 
come abroad where the matter is frequent, to 
court, to tiltings, public shows and feasts, to 
plays, and church sometimes : thither they come 
to shew their new tires too, to sec, and to be 
seen. In these places a man shall find whom 
f.o love, whom to play with, whom to touch once, 
whom to hold ever. The variety arrests his 
judgment. A Avench to please a man comes not 
down dropping from the ceiling, as he lies on 
his back droning a tobacco-pipe. He must go 
where she is, 

Daup. Yes, and be never the nearer. 

True. Out, heretic ! That diffidence makes 
thee worthy it should be so. 

Cler. He says true to you, Dauphine. 

Daup. Why ? 

True. A man should not doubt to overcome 
any woman. Think he can vanquish them, and 
ne shall : for though they deny, their desire is 
to be tempted. Penelope herself cannot hold 
out long. Ostend, you saw, was taken at last. 
You must perscver, and hold to your purpose. 
They would solicit us, but that they are afraid. 
Howsoever, they wish in their hearts we should 
solicit them. Praise them, flatter them, you 
shall never want eloquence or trust : even the 
chastest delight to feel themselves that way 
rubb'd. With praises you must mix kisses too : 
if they take them, they'll take more — though 
they strive, they would be overcome. 

Cler. O, biit a man must beware of force. 

True. It is to them an acceptable violence, 
and has oft-times the place of the greatest cour,- 
tcBy. She that might have been forced, and you 
let her go free without touching, though then 
bhe seem to thank you, will ever hate you after ; 
and glad in the face, is assuredly sad at the 
heart. 

Ckr. But all women are not to be taken all 
ways. 

True. 'Tis true ; no more than all birds, or all 
fishes. If you appear learned to an ignorant 
wench, or jocund to a sad, or witty to a foolish, 
why she presently begins to mistrust herself. 
You must approach them in their own height, 
their own line ; for the contrary makes many, 
that fear to commit themselves to noble and 
worthy fellows, run into the embraces of a 



rascal. If she love wit, give Terses, though you 
borrow them of a friend, or buy them, to havL^ 
good. If valor, talk of your sword, and be fre- 
qxient in the mention of quarrels, though you 
be staunch in fighting. If activity, be seen on 
your barbary often, or leaping over stools, fo? 
the credit of your back. It" she love good 
clothes or dressing, have yoiu: learned council 
about you everj'^ morning, your French tailor, 
barber, linener, &c. Let your powder, your 
glass, and your comb be your dearest acquaint- 
ance. Take more care for the ornament of your 
head, than the safet)^ ; and wish the common- 
wealth rather troubled, than a hair about you. 
That will take her. Then, if she be covetou.s 
and craving, do you promise any thing, and 
perfoi-m sparingly ; so shall you keej) her in ap- 
petite still. Seem as you wovild give, but be 
like a barren field, that yields little ; or unlucky 
dice to foolish and hoping gamesters. Let your 
gifts be slight and dainty, rather than precious. 
Let cunning be above cost. Give cherries at 
time of year, or aiDricots ; and say, they were 
sent you out of the country, though you bought 
them in Cheapside. Admire her tires : like her 
in all fashions ; compare her in every habit to 
some deity ; invent excellent dreams to flatter 
her, and riddles ; or, if she be a great one, per- 
form always the second parts to her : like wha* 
she likes, praise whom she praises, and fail ijot 
to make the household and servants yours, yea 
the Avliole family, and salute them by their 
names, ('tis but light cost, if you can purchase 
them so,) and make your physician your pen- 
sioner, and her chief woman. Nor will it be 
out of your gain to make love to her too, so she 
follow, not usher her lady's pleasure. All blab- 
bing is taken away, when she comes to be a part 
of the crime. 

Daup. On what courtly lap hast thou late 
slept, to come forth so sudden and absolute a 
courtling ? 

True. Good faith, I should rather question 
you, that are so hearkening after these mys- 
teries. I begin to suspect your diligence, Dau- 
phine. Speak, art thou in love in eai-nest ? 

Daup. Yes, by my troth, am I ; 'twere ill dis- 
sembling before thee. 

True. With which of them, I prithee ? 

Daup. With all the collegiates. 

Cler. Out on thee ! We'll keep you at home, 
believe it, in the stable, an you be such a stal- 
lion. 

True. No ; I like him well. Men should love 
wisely, and all women ; some one for the face, 
and let her please the eye ; another for the skin, 
and let her please the touch ; a third for the 
voice, and let her please the ear ; and where 
the objects mix, let the senses so too. Thou 
wouldst think it strange, if I should make them 
all in love with thee afore night ! 

Daup. I would say, thou hadst the best plultre 
in the Avorld, and couldst do more than mat am 
Medea, or doctor Foreman. 

True. If I do not, let me play the mounte- 
bank for my meat, Avhile I live, and the bawd 
for my drink. 

Daup. So be it, I say. 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



326 



Enter Otxek, wi(h his three Cups, Daw, and La- 

EOOLE. 

Off. O lord, gentlemen, how my knights and 
I have mist you here ! 

Clcr. Why, captain, -what service, what ser- 
vice ? 

Ott. To see me bring xip my bull, bear, and 
horse to fight. 

Daw. Yes, faith, the captuin says we shall be 
his dogs to bait them. 

Daup, A good employment. 

True. Come on, let's see your course, then. 

La-F. I am afraid my cousin will be offended, 
if she come. 

Ott. Be afraid of nothing. — Gentlemen, I 
have placed the drum and the trumpets, and 
one to give them the sign when you are ready. 
Here's my bull for myself, and my bear for sir 
John Daw, and my horse for sir Amorous. Now 
set yoiur foot to mine, and yours to his, and 

La-F. Pray God ray cousin come not. 

Ott. St. George, and St. Andrew, fear no 
cousins. Come, sound, sound ! [Drum and 
trumpets sound.\ Et rauco strepuerunt cornua 
oantu. [ They drink. 

True. Well said, captain, i'faith ; well fought 
at the bull. 

Cler. Well held at the bear. 

True. Low, low ! captain. 

Daup. 0, the horse has kick'd off his dog al- 
ready. 

La-F. I cannot drink it, as I am a knight. 

True. Ods so ! off with liis spurs, somebody. 

La-F. It goes against my conscience. My 
cousin Avill be angry Avith it. 

Daio. I have done mine. 

True. You fought high and fair, sir John. 

Cler. At the head. 

Daup. Like an excellent bear-dog. 

Clcr. You take no notice of the business, I 
hope ? 

Daw. Not a word, sir ; you see we are jovial. 

Ott. Sir Amorous, you must not equivocate. 
It must be pull'd down, for all my cousin. 

Cler. 'Sfoot, if you take not your drink, they'U 
think you are discontented with something ; 
you'll betray all, if you take the least notice. 

La-F. Not I ; I'll both drink and talk then. 

Ott. You must pull the horse on his knees, 
sir Amorov.s ; fear no cousins. Jacta est alea. 

True. O, now he's in his vein, and bold. The 
least hint given him of his wife noAV, will make 
him rail desperately. 

Cler. 8peak to him of her. 

Tru:. Do you, and I'll fetch her to the hear- 
ing of i^.. [Exit. 

Davp. Captain He-Otter, your She-Otter is 
coraing, your wife. 

'Ott. Wife ! buz ? titiviUtium ! There's no 
BUfh thing in nature. I confess, gentlemen, I 
have a cook, a laundress, a house-drudge, that 
B5rves my necessary turns, and goes under that 
title ; but he's an ass that will be so uxorious 
to tie his affections to one circle. Come, the 
name dulls appetite. Here, replcnis'h again ; 
anothci' bout. [Fills the cups ajain.] Wives are 
ncsty, sluttish animals. 

Uauj). O, captain 



Ott. As ever the earth bare, tribus verbis. — 
Whore's master Truewit ? 

Daio. He's sHpt aside, sir. 

Cler. But you must drink and be jovial. 

Daw. Yes, give it me. 

La-F. And me too. 

Daw. Let's be jovial. 

La-F, As jovial as you will. 

Ott. Agreed. Now you shall haA^e the bear, 
cousin, and sir John DaAV the horse, and I'll 
have the bull still. Sound, Tritons of the 
Thames ! [Drum and trumpets sound again.^ 
Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libera 

Mor. [above.^ Villains, murderers, sons of the 
earth, and traitors, Avhat do you there ? 

Cler. O, noAv the trumpets have waked him, 
we shall have his company. 

Ott. A wife is a scurvy clogdogdo, an unlucky 
thing, a A'-ery foresaid bear-Avhelp, Avithout any 
good fashion or breeding, mala bestia. 

Re-enter Truewit behind, with Mistress Otter. 

Daup. Why did you marry one then, captain ? 

Ott. A pox ! 1 married Avith six thousand 

pound, I. I Avas in love Avitli that. I have not 
kissed my Fury these forty Aveeks. 

Cler. The more to blame you, captain. 

True. Nay, mistress Otter, hear him a littl-j 
first. 

Ott, She has a breath Averse than my grand- 
mother's, profecto. 

Mrs. Ott. O treacherous liar ! kiss me, sweet 
master TrucAvit, and prove him a slandering 
knave. 

True. I'll rather believe you, lady. 

Ott. And she has a peruke that's like a pound 
of hemp, made \ip in shoe-threads. 

Mrs. Ott. O viper, mandrake ! 

Ott. A most vile face ! and yet she spends me 
forty pound a year in mercury and hogs-bones. 
All her teeth were made in the Black-friars, 
both her ej-e-broAvs in the Strand, and her hair 
in SilA'cr-street. Every part of the toAvn OAvns 
a piece of her. 

Mrs. Ott. [comes forward.^ I cannot hold. 

Oit. She takes herself asunder still Avhon 
she goes to bed, into some tAventy boxes ; and 
about next day noon is put together again, like 
a great German clock : and so comes forth, and 
rings a tedious larum to the Avhole house, and 
then is quiet again for an hour, but for her 
quarters — HaA'e you done me right, gentlemen ? 

Mrs. Ott. [falls upion him, and beats 7ji»i.] No, 
sir, I'll do you right Avith my quarters, with my 
quarters. 

Ott. O, hold, good princess. 

True. Sound, sound ! 

[Drum and trumpets sound, 

Cler. A battle, a battle ! 

Mrs. Ott. You notorious stinkardly bearward, 
does my breath smell .' 

Ott. Under correction, dear princess. — Look 
to my bear and my horse, gentlemen. 

Mrs. Ott. Do I want teeth, and eyebrows, thou 
bull-dog ? 

True. Sotmd, sound still. [Theij sound again.- 

Ott. No, I protest, under correction — 

3L-S, Ott. Ay, noAv you are under correction, 
you protest : but you did not protest before 



326 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



correction, sir. Thou Judas, to offer to betray 
thy princess ! I'll make thee an example — 

[Beats him. 

Enter Morose, icith his long sicord. 

Mor. I will have no such Samples in my 
house, lady Otter. 

3Irs. Ott. Ah ! 

[Mrs. Oiter, Daw, and La-Foole, run off. 

Mor. Mistress Mary Ambree, your examples 
are dangerous. — Rogues, hell-hounds, Stentors ! 
out of my doors, you sons of noise and tumult, 
begot on an ill May-day, or when the galley- 
foist is afloat to Westminster ! [Drives out the 
musicians.] A trumi^etcr could not be conceived 
but then. 

Daup. What ails j'ou, sir ? 

Mor. They have rent my roof, walls, and all 
my windows asunder, with their brazen throats. 

[Exit. 

True. Best follow him, Dauphine. 

Daup. So I will. [Exit. 

Cler. Where's Daw and La-Foole ? 

Ott. They are both run away, sir. Good gen- 
tlemen, help to pacify my princess, and speak to 
the great ladies for me. Now must I go lie Avith 
the bears this fortnight, and keep out of the way, 
till my peace be made, for this scandal she has 
taken. Did you not see my bull-head, gentle- 
men ? 

Cler. Is't not on, captain ? 

True. No ; but he may make a new one, by 
that is on. 

Ott. O, here it is. An you come over, gentle- 
men, and ask for Tom Otter, m'c'U go down to 
IlatclifF, and have a course, I'faith, for all these 
disasters. There is bona spcs left. 

True. Away, captain, get off while you are 
well. [Exit Otter. 

Cler. I am glad we are rid of him. 

True. You had never been, unless we had put 
his wife upon him. His humor is as tedious at 
last, as it was ridiculous at first. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A long ojien Gallcrij in the same. 

Enter Lady Haughty, Mistress Otter, Mavis, 
Daw, La-Foole, Centaure, and Epiccene. 

Ilau. We wonder'd why you shriek'd so, mis- 
tress Otter. 

Mrs. Ott. O lord, madam, he came down with 
a huge long naked weapon in both his hands, 
and look'd so dreadfully ! sure he's beside him- 
eelf. 

Mav. Why, what made you there, mistress 
Otter ? 

3Irs. Ott. Alas, mistress Mavis, I was chastis- 
ing my subject, and thought nothing of him. 

Daiv. Faith, mistress, j'ou must do so too : 
learn to chastise. Mistress Otter corrects her 
husband so, he dares not speak but under cor- 
rection. 

La-F. And with his hat off to her : 'twould 
do you good to see. 

Ilau. In sadness," 'tis good and mature coun- 
sel; practise it, Morose. I'll call you Morose 
still now, as I call Centaure and Mavis ; we four 
will be all one. 



Cen. And you'll come to the college, and live 
with us .' 

Ilau. Make him give milk and honey. 

3Iav. Look how you manage him at first, yoii 
■shall have him ever after. 

Cen. Let him aUow you your coach, and four 
horses, your woman, your chamber-maid, your 
page, 3'our gentleman-usher, your French cook, 
and four grooms. 

Ilau. And go with us to Bedlam, to the cliina- 
houses, and to the Exchange. 

Cen. It will open the gate to your fame. 

Ilau. Here's Centaure has immortalized her- 
self, with taming of her wild male. 

Mav. Ay, she has done the miracle of the 
kingdom. 

Enter Clerimont and Truev/it. 

Epi. But, ladies,' do you count it lawful to 
have such plurality of servants, and do them all 
graces ? 

Ilau. Why not ? why should women deny 
their favors to men ? are they the poorer or the 
worse ? 

Daw. Is the Thames the less for the dyer.s 
water, mistress ? 

La-F. Or a torch for lighting many torches ? 

True. Well said, La-Foole ; what a new one 
he has got ! 

Cen. They are emjDty losses women fear in 
this kind. 

Ilau. Besides, ladies should be mindful of the 
approach of age, and let no time want his due 
use. The best of our days pass first. 

Mav. We are rivers, that cannot be call'd 
back, madam : she that now excludes her lovers, 
may live to lie a forsaken beldame, in a frozen 
bed. 

Cen.. 'Tis true. Mavis : and who will v.'ait on 
us to coach then ? or write, or tell us the news 
then, make anagrams of our names, and invite 
us to the Cockpit, and kiss our hands all the 
play-time, and draw their weapons for our 
honors ? 

IJau. Not one. 

Daw. Nay, my mistress is not altogether un- 
intelligent of these things ; here be in presence 
have tasted of her favors. 

Cler. What a neighing hobby-horse is this 1 

Epi. But not with intent to boast them again, 
servant. — And have you those excellent re- 
ceipts, madam, to keex) yourselves from bearing 
of children ? 

Hau. O yes. Morose : how should we main- 
tain our youth and beauty else ? Many births of 
a woman make her old, as many crops make the 
earth barren. 

Enter Morose and Daupkine. 

3Ior. O my cursed angel, that instructed me 
to this fate ! 

Daup. Why, sir .' 

Mor. That I should be seduced by so foolish 
a devil as a barber will make ! 

Daup. I would I had been worth j', sir, to have 
partaken your counsel ; yovi should never havt 
trusted it to such a minister. 

Mor. Would I could redeem it with the loss 
of an eye, nephew, a hand, or any other member 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



327 



Daup. Marry, God forbid, sir, that you sliould 
geld yourself, to anger your wife. 

Mor. So it would rid mo of lier ! — and, that 
I did supererogatory penance in a belfry, at West- 
minster-hall, in the Cockpit, at the fall of a stag, 
the Tower- wharf — what place is there else? — 
London-bridge, Paris-garden, Billinsgate, when 
the noises are at their height, and loudest. Nay, 
I would sit out a play, that were nothing but 
tights at sea, drum, trumpet, and target. 

Daup. I hope there shall be no such need, sir. 
Take patience, good uncle. This is but a day, 
and 'tis well worn too now. 

3Ior. O, 'twill bo so for ever, nephew, I fore- 
see it, for ever. Strife and tumult are the dowry 
that comes with a wife. 

True. I told you so, sir, and you would not 
believe rae. 

Mor. Alas, do not rub those wounds, master 
Truewit, to blood again : 'twas my negligence. 
Add not affliction to aftiictlon. I have perceived 
the effect of it, too late, in madam Otter. 

Epi. Hov%^ do you, sir ? 

Mor. Did you ever hear a more unnecessary 
question ? as if she did not see ! Why, I do as 
you see, empress, emj)ress. 

Epi. You are not avcII, sir ; you look very ill : 
Bomothing has distemper' d you. 

Mor. O horrible, monstrous impertinencics ! 
would not one of these have served, do you 
think, sir ? would not one of those have served ? 

True. Yes, sir ; but these are but notes of 
female kindness, sir ; certain tokens that she has 
a voice, sir. 

Mor. O, is it so ! Come, an't be no otherwise 
What say you ? 

Epi. How do you feel yourself, sir ? 

Mor. Again that ! 

True. Nay, look you, sir, you would be friends 
with your wife upon unconscionable terms ; her 
fcilence. 

Epi. They say you are run mad, sir. 

Mor. Not for love, I assure you, of you ; do 
you see ? 

Epi. O lord, gentlemen ! lay hold on him, for 
God's sake. What shall I do? who's his phy- 
Eician, can you tell, that knows the state of his 
body best, that I might send for him ? Good 
Bir, speak ; I'll send for one of my doctors else. 

Mor. What, to poison me, that I might die in- 
testate, and leave you possest of all ! 

Epi. Lord, how idly he talks, and how his 
eyes sparkle ! he looks green about the temples ! 
do you see what blue spots he has ! 

Clcr. Ay, 'tis melancholy. 

Epi. Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake, counsel 
me. Ladies ; — servant, you have read Pliny 
and Paracelsus ; ne'er a word now to comfort a 
poor gentlewoman? A}' me, what fortune had 
I, to marry a distracted man ! 

Data. I'll tell you, mistress 

True. How rarely she holds it up ! 

[Aside to Cler. 

Mor. What mean you, gentlemen ? 

Epi. What will you tell me, servant ? 

Daic. The disease in Greek is called ^luvia, in 
Latin insania, furor, vel ecsiasis melanchoUca, that 
fe, egressio, Avhen a man ex molanohoUco evadit 
fa''>.aticus. 



Mor. Shall I have a lecture read upon me ali'-'e '< 

Daw. But he may be but ^J7^;•e^^e^!(c^« yet, mis- 
tress ; and phrenetis is only delirium, or so. 

Ejii. Ay, that is for the disease, servant ; bu 
what is this to the cure ? We are sure enougli 
of the disease. 

Mor. Let me go. 

True. Why, we'll entreat her to liold her 
peace, sir. 

Mor. O no, labor not to stop her. She is like 
a conduit-pipe, that will gush out with more 
force when she opens again. 

Hau. I'll tell you. Morose, you must talk 
divinity to him altogether, or moral philosophy. 

La-F. Ay, and there's an excellent book of 
moral philosophy, madam, of Keynard the Fox, 
and all the beasts, called Doni's Philosophy. 

Cen. There is indeed, sir Amorous La-Foole. 

Mor. O misery ! 

La-F. I have read it, my lady Centaure, all 
over, to my cousin here. 

Mrs. Ott. Ay, and 'tis a very good book as 
any is, of the moderns. 

Daio. Tut, he must have Seneca read to him, 
and Plutarch, and the ancients ; the moderns 
are not for this disease. 

Cler. Why, you discommended them too, to- 
day. Sir John. 

Daio. Ay, in some cases : but in these they 
are best, and Aristotle's ethics. 

Mav. Say you so. Sir John ? I think you are 
deceived ; you took it upon trust. ■ 

Hau. Where's Trusty, my woman ? I'll end 
this difference. I prithee. Otter, call her. Her 
father and mother were both mad, when they put 
her to me. 

Mor. I think so. — Nay, gentlemen, I am 
tame. This is but an exercise, I knov.', a mar- 
riage ceremony, which I must endure. 

Hau. And one of them, I know not which, 
was cured with the Sick Man's Salve, and the 
other with Green's Groat' s-Avorth of Wit. 

True. A very cheap cure, madam. 

Enter Trusty. 

Hau. Ay, 'tis very feasible. 

Mrs. Ott. My lady called for you, mistress 
Trusty : you must decide a controversy. 

Hau. O, Trusty, Avhich was it you said, your ■ 
father, or vour mother, that Avas cured Avith the 
Sick Man's Salve ? 

Trus. My mother, madam, Avith the Sah'e. 

True. Then it Avas the sick Avoman's salve ? 

Trus. And my father Avith the Groat's-Avorth 
of Wit. But there Avas other means used : AA-e 
had a preacher that Avould preach folk asleep 
still; and so they were prescribed to go to 
church, by an old Avoman that Avas their physi- 
cian, thrice a Avcek 

Epi. To sleep ? 

Trus. Yes, forsooth: and every night they 
read themselves asleep on those books. 

Epi. Good faith, it stands Avith great reason. 
I Avould I kneAV Avhere to procure those books. 

Mor. Oh! 

La-F. I can help you Avith one of them, mis- 
tress Morose, the Groat's-Avorth of Wit. 

Ejn. But I shall disfurnish you, sir Amorous 
can you spare it l 



328 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



La-F. O yes, for a week, or so ; I'll read it 
myself to him. 

Epi. No, I must do that, sir ; that must be 
n.y office. 

Mor. Oh, oh ! 

Epi. Sure he Avould do -well enough, if he 
could sleep. 

Mor. No, I should do well enough, if you 
could sleep. Have I no friend that will make 
her drunk, or give her a little laudanum, or 
opium ? 

True, "NVhy, sir, she talks ten times M-orse in 
her sleep. 

Mor. How ! 

Cler. Do you not know that, sir ? never 
ceases all night. 

True. And snores like a porpoise. 

Mor. redeem me, fate ; redeem me, fate ! 
For how many causes may a man be divorced, 
nejihew ? 

Daup. I know not, truly, sir. 

True. Some divine must resolve you in that, 
sir, or canon-lawyer. 

Mor. I will not rest, I will not think of any 
other hope or comfort, till I know. 

[Exit with Dauphine. 

Cler. Alas, poor .man ! 

True. You'll make him mad indeed, ladies, 
if you pursue this. 

Hau. No, we'll let him breathe now, a quar- 
ter of an hour or so. 

Cler. By my faith, a large truce ! 

Hau. Is that his keeper, that is gone with 
him ? 

Daw. It is his nephew, madam. 

La-F, Sir Dauphine Eugenie. 

Cen. He looks like a very pitiful knight 

Daio. As can be. This marriage has put him 
out of all. 

La-F. He has not a penny in his purse, 
madam. 

Daw. He is ready to cry all this day. 

La-F. A very shark ; he set me in the nick 
t'other night at Primero. 

True. How these swabbers talk ! 

Cler. Ay, Otter's wine has swell'd their 
humors above a spring-tide. 

Ilau. Good Morose, let's go in again. I like 
your couches exceeding well ; we'll go lie and 
talk there. 

[Ereunt Hau. Cen. Mav. Trus. La-Foole, 
a)id Daw.] 

Epi. \folloiving them.] I wait on you, madam. 

True, [stoijping hcr.\ 'Slight, I will have them 
as silent a? signs, and their post too, ere I have 
done. Do you hear, lady-bride ? I pray thee 
now, as thou art a noble wench, continue this 
discourse of Dauphine within ; but praise him 
exceedingly : magnify him with all the height 
r>f affection thou canst ; — I have some purpose 
in't : and but beat off these two rooks. Jack 
Daw and his fellow, with any discontentment, 
hither, and I'll honor thee for ever. 

Epi. I was about it here. It angered me to 
the soul, to hear them begin t ;) talk so malepert. 

True. Pray thee perform it, and thou Avinn'st 
me an idolater to thee everlasting. 

Epi. Will you go in and hear me do't ? 

Trua, No, I'U stay here. Drive them out of 



your company, 'tis all I ask ; which cannot be- 
any way better done, than by extolling Dauphine, 
whom they have so- slighted. 

Epi. I warrant you ; you shall expect one of 
them presently. \^Exit. 

Cler. What a cast of kestrils are these, to hawk 
after ladies, thus ! 

True. Ay, and strike at such an eagle as Dau- 
phine. 

Cler. He Avill be mad Avhen wc tell him 
Here he comes. 

Re-enter Dauphine. 

Cler. O sir, you are welcome. 

True. Where's thine irncle ! 

Daup. Run out of doors in his night-caps, to 
talk \^-ith a casuist about his divorce. It worka 
admirably. 

True. Thou wouldst have said so, an thou 
hadst been here ! The ladies have laughed at 
thee most comically, since thou went'st, Dau- 
phine. 

Cler. And ask'd, if thou wert thine uncle's 
keeper. 

True. And the brace of baboons answer'd, 
Yes ; and said thou Avert a pitiful poor fellow, 
and didst live upon posts, and hadst nothing but 
three suits of apparel, and some few benevo- 
lences that the lords gave thee to fool to them, 
and swagger. 

Daup. Let me not live, I'll beat them : I'll 
bind them both to grand-madam's bed-posts, 
and have them baited with monkios. 

True. Thou shalt not need, they shall be 
beaten to thy hand, Dauphine. I have an exe- 
cution to serve upon them, I warrant thee, shall 
serve ; trust my jilot. 

Daup. Ay, you have many plots ! so you had 
one to make all the wenches in love A\ith me. 

True. AVhy, if I do it not yet afore night, as 
near as 'tis, and that they do not every one in- 
vite thee, and be i-eady to scratch for thee, take 
the mortgage of my wit. 

Cler. 'Fore God, I'll be his witness thou shalt 
have it, Dauphine : thou shalt bo his fool for 
ever, if thou dost not. 

True. Agreed. Perhaps 'twill be the better 
estate. Do you observe this gallery, or rather 
lobby, indeed ? Here are a coiiple of studies, 
at each end one : here will I act such a tragi- 
comedy between the Guclphs and the Ghibel- 

lines. Daw and La-Foole which of them 

comes out first, will I seize on ; — you two shall 
be t'ne chorus behind the arras, and whip out 
between the acts and speak — If I do not make 
them keep the peace for this remnant of tho 

day, if not of the year, I have failed once 

I hear Daw coming : hide, [thcij withdraw] and 
do not laugh, for God's sake. 

Re-enter Daw. 

Daio. Which is the waj' into the garden, 
trow ? 

True. O, Jack Daw ! I am glad I have met 
with you. In good faith, I must have this mat- 
ter go no further between you : I must have it 
taken up. 

Daic. What matter, sir ? between whom ? 

2>«e. Come, you disguise it : sir Amorous 



THE SILENT WOMAN, 



329 



and you. If you love me, Jack, yo\i shall make | 
use of your philosophy now, for this once, and 
deliver me your sword. This is not the wed- 
ding the Centaurs were at, though there be a 
she one here. [Takes his sword.] The bride has 
entreated me I will see no blood shed at her 
bridal: you saw her whisper me erewhile. 

Daic. As I hope to finish Tacitus, I intend no 
murder. 

Trice. Do j-ou not wait for sir Amorous ? 

Daiip. Not I, by my knighthood. 

Tnce. And your scholarshijo too ? . 

Daw. And my scholarship too. 

True. Go to, then I return you your sword, 
and ask you mercy ; but put it not up, for you 
will be assaulted. I understood that 30U had 
apprehended it, and walked here to brave him ; 
and that j'ou had held 3'our life contemptible, 
in regard of your honor. 

Daw. No, no ; no such thing, I assure you. He 
and I parted now, as good friends as could be. 

True. Trust not you to that visor. I saw him 
since dinner with another face : I have known 
many men in my time vex'd with losses, with 
deaths, and with abuses ; but so offended a 
wight as sir Amorous, did I never see or read 
of. For taking away his guests, sir, to-day, 
that's the cause ; and he declares it behind 
your back with such threatenings and con- 
tempts He said to Dauphinc, ycu were 

the arrant'st ass 

Daui. Ay, he may say his pleasure. 

True. And swears you are so protested a 
coward, that he knows you will never do him 
any manly or single right ; and therefore he 
will take his course. 

Date. I'll give him any satisfaction, sir — but 
fighting. 

True. Ay, sir ; but who knows what satisfac- 
tion he'll take : blood he thirsts for, and blood 
ne will have ; and whereabouts on you he will 
have it, who knows but himself ? 

Daic. I pray you, master Truewit, be you a 
mediator. 

True. Well, sir, conceal yourself then in this 
study till I return. [Puis him into the study.~\ 
Nay, you must be content to be lock'd in ; for, 
for mine own reputation, I would not have you 
seem to receive a public disgrace, while I have 
the matter in managing. Ods so, here he 
comes ; keep your breath close, that he do not 
hear you sigh. — In good faith, sir Amorous, he 
is not this way ; I pray you be merciful, do not 
murder him ; he is a Christian, as good as j'ou : 
you are ann'd as if j-ou sought revenge on all 
his race. Good Dauphine, get him away from 
this place. I never knew a man's choler so 
high, but he would speak to his friends, he 
(S'ould hear reason. — Jack Daw, Jack ! asleep ! 

Daw. [;withiii.'\ Is he gone, master Truewit r 
True. Ay ; did you hear him ? 

Daw. O lord ! yes. 

True. AVhat a quick car fear has ! 

Daw. [comes out of the closet.] But is ho so 
arm'd, as you say ? 

True. Arm'd ! did you ever see a fellow set 
^ut to take possession ? 

Daio. A}', sir. 

True. That may give you some light to con- 



ceive of him ; but 'tis nothing to the principal 
Some false brother in the house has furnish' ci 
him strangely ; or, if it were out of the house, 
it was Tom Otter. 

Daw. Indeed he's a captain, and his Avife i? 
his kinswoman. 

True. He has got some body's old two-hand 
sword, to mow you off at the knees ; and that 
sword hath spawn' d such a dagger ! — But then 
he is so hung with pikes, halberds, petronels, 
calivers and muskets, that he looks like a jus- 
tice of peace's hall ; a man of two thousand a- 
year is not cess'd at so many weapons as he has 
on. There was never fencer challenged at so 
many several foils. You would think he meant 
to murder all St. Pulchre's parish. If he could 
but victual himself for half a-year in his 
breeches, he is sufficiently arm'd to over-run a 
coimtry. 

Daw. Good lord ! what means he, sir ? I pray 
you, master Truewit, be you a mediator. 

True. Well, I'll try if he will be appeased 
with a leg or an arm ; if not you must die 
once. 

Daw. I would be loth to lose my right arm, 
for writing madrigals. 

True. 'Why, if he will be satisfied with a 
thumb or a little finger, all's one to me. You 
must think, I'll do my best, [Shuts him up again. 

Daw. Good sir, do. 

[Clerimont and Dauphine come foncard 

Cler. What hast thou done ? 

True. He will let me do nothing, he does aL 
afore ; he offers his left arm. 

Cler. His left wing for a Jack Daw, 

Daup. Take it by all means. 

True. How ! maim a man for ever, for a jest 
What a conscience hast thou ! 

Daup. 'Tis no loss to him ; he has no employ- 
ment for his arms, but to eat spoon-meat. Be- 
side, as good maim his body as his repiitation. 

True. He is a scholar and a wit, and yet he 
does not think so. But he loses no reputation 
with us ; for we all resoh^ed him an ass before 
To j'our places again, 

Cler. I pray thee, let be me in at the other & 
little. 

True. Look, you'll spoil all ; these be ever 
your tricks, 

Cler. No, but I could hit of some things that 
thou wilt miss, and thou wilt say are good ones. 

True- I warrant you, I pray forbear, I'll 
leave it off, else. 

Daup. Come away, Clerimont. 

[Daup. and Cler, tvithdraw as before. 

Enter La-Foole. 

True. Sir Amorous ! 

La-F. ^Master Truewit. 

True. Whither were you going ? 

La-F. Down into the court to make water. 

True. By no means, sir ; you shall rath« 
tempt vour breeches. 

La-F. Why, sir ? 

True. Enter here, if you love your life. 

[Opening the door of the otJicr stud^ 

La-F. Why? why? 

True. Question till your throat be cut. do 
dally till the enraged soul find you. 



fiSO 



THE SILENT WOI^IAN. 



La-F. Who is that ? 

True. Daw it is : "vvill you in ? 

irt-F. Ay, ay, I'll in : what's the matter ? 

True. Nay, if ho had been cool enough to tell 
us that, there had been some hope to atone you ; 
but he seems so implacably enraged ! 

La-F. 'Slight, let him rage ! I'll hide myself. 

True. Do, good sir. But what have jom done 
to him within, that should provoke him thus ? 
iou have broke some jest upon him afore the 
.adies. 

La-F. Not I, never in my life, broke jest 
upon any man. The bride was praising sir 
Dauphinc, and he went away in snuff, and I 
followed him ; unless he took offence at me in 
his drink erewhile, that I would not pledge all 
the horse full. 

True. By niy faith, and that may be ; you 
remember well : but he walks the round up and 
down, through every room o' the house, with a 
towel in his hand, crying, Where's La Foole? 
Who SMo La-Foole 1 And when Dauphine and 
I demanded the cause, we can force no answer 
from him, but — O revenge, how sweet art thou ! 
I will strangle him in this towel — Avhich leads us 
to conjecture that the main cause of his fury is, 
for bringing your meat to-day, with a towel 
about you, to his discredit. 

La-F. Like enough. Why, an he be angry 
for that, I'll stay here till his anger be blown 
over. 

True. A good becoming resolution, sir ; if you 
can put it on o' the sudden. 

La-F. Yes, I can put it on: or, I'll away into 
the country presently. 

True. How will you go out of the house, sir ? 
he knows you are in the house, and he'll watch 
this se'nnight, but he'll have you : he'll outwait 
a Serjeant for you. 

La-F. Why, then I'll stay here. 

True. You must think how to victual yourseK 
in time then. 

La-F. Why, sweet master Truewit, will you 
entreat my cousin Otter to send me a cold veni- 
6on pasty, a bottle or two of Avme, and a cham- 
ber-pot ? 

True. A stool were bettor, sir, of sir Ajax his 
invention. 

La-F. Ay, that will be better, indeed ; and a 
pallat to lie on. 

True. O, I would not advise you to sleep by 
any means. 

La-F. Would you not, sir ? Why, then I will 
not. 

True. Yet, there's another fear — 

La-F. Is there ! what is't ? 

True. No, he cannot break open this door with 
his foot, sure. 

La-F. I'll set my back against it, sir. I have 
n good back. 

True. But then if ho should batter. 

La-F. Batter ! if he dare, I'll have an action 
of battery against him. 

True. Cast you the worst. He has sent for 
powder alreadj^, and what he will do with it, no 
man knows : perhaps blow up the corner of the 
house where he suspects you are. Here he 
comes; in quickly. [Thrusts in La-Foole and 
ihuts tlie (l-oor,\ — I protest, sir John Daw, he is 



not this way : what will you do ? Before God, 
you shall hang no petard here: I'll die rather, 
Will you not take my word ? I never knew one 
but would be satisfied. — Sir Amorous, [speaks 
through the keyhole,] there's no standing out : he 
has made a petard of an old brass pot, to force 
your door. Think upon some satisfaction, or 
terms to offer him. 

La-F. [within.] Sir, I'll give him any satisfac 
tion : I dare give any terms. 

True. You'll leave it to me then ? 

La-F. Ay, sir : I'll stand to any conditions. 

True, [beckoning forward Cleu. and Daupii.] 
How now, what think you, sirs ? wer't not a 
difficult thing to determine which of these two 
fcar'd most? 

Cler. Yes, but this fears the bravest : the other 
a whiniling dastard. Jack Daw ! But La-Foole, 
a brave heroic coward ! and is afraid in a great 
look and a stout accent ; I like him rarely. 

True. Had it not been pity these two should 
have been concealed ? 

Cler, Shall I make a motion ? 

True. Briefly : for I must strike whUe 'tis hot. 

Cler. Shall I go fetch the ladies to the catas 
trophe ? 

True. Umph ! ay, by my troth. 

Dau]}. By no mortal means. Let them con- 
tinue in the state of ignorance, and err still; 
think them wits and fine fellows, as they have 
done. 'Twere sin to reform them. 

True. Well, I will have them fetch'd, now 1 
think on't, for a private purpose of mine : do, 
Clerimont, fetch them, and discourse to them all 
that's past, and bring them into the gallery here. 

Daiq}. This is thy extreme vanity, now : thou 
think'st thou wert undone, if every jest thou 
mak'st were not published. 

True. Thou shalt see how unjust thoti art 
presently. Clerimont, say it was Dauphine' s 
j)lot. [Exit Clerimont.] Trust me not, if the 
whole drift be not for thy good. There is a car- 
pet in the next room, put it on, with this scarf 
over thy face, and a cushion on thy head, and 
be ready when I call Amorous. Away ! [Exit 
Daup.] John Daw ! 

[Goes to Daw's closet and brings him out 

Daw. What good news, sir ? 

True. Faith, I have followed and argued with 
him hard for you. I told him you were a knight, 
and a scholar, and that you knew fortitude did 
consist viagis patiendo quam faciendo, niagis fe- 
rendo quam feriendo. 

Daw. It doth so indeed, sir. 

True. And that you would suffer, I told him : 
so at first he demanded by my troth, in my con- 
ceit, too much. 

Daio. What was it, sir ? 

True. Y'our upper lip, and six of your fore- 
teeth. 

Daw, 'Twas unreasonable. 

True. Nay, I told him plainly, you could not 
spare them all. So after long argument ^jro et 
con, as you know, I brought him down to your 
two butter-teeth, and them he would have. 

Daio, O, did you so ? Why, he shall have 
them. 

True. But he shall not, sii-, by j^our leave. 
The conclusion is this, sir : because you shall bt 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



331 



very good friends hereafter, and tliis never to be 
remembered or upbraided ; besides, that he may 
not boast he has done any such thing to you in 
his own person ; he is to come here in disguise, 
give you five kicks in private, sir, take your 
sword from you, and lock you up in that studj' 
during pleasure : which wiU be but a little 
while, we'll get it released presently. 

Dato. Five kicks ! he shall have six, sir, to be 
friends. 

Irue. Believe me, you shall not over-shoot 
yourself, to send him that word by me. 

DaiD. Deliver it, sir ; he shall have it with all 
my heart, to be friends. 

True. Friends ! Nay, an he should not be so, 
and heartily too, upon these terms, he shall have 
me to enemy while I live. Come, sir, bear it 
bravely. 

Daw. O lord, sir, 'tis nothing. 

True. True : what's six kicks to a man that 
reads Seneca? 

Daw. I have had a hundred, sir. 

True. Sir Amorous ! 

Be-enter Dauphine, disguised. 

No speaking one to another, or rehearsing old 
matters. 

Daw. [as Daup. kiclcs him.'] One, two, three, 
four, five. I protest, Sir Amorous, you shall 
have six. 

True. Nay, I told you, you should not talk. 
Come give him six, an he w'ill needs. [Dauphine 
kicks him again.'] — Your sword, [takes his sioord.] 
Now return to your safe custody ; you shall 
presently meet afore the ladies, and be the dear- 
est friends one to another. [Puts Daw into the 
study.] — Give me the scarf now, thou slialt beat 
the other bare-faced. Stand by : [Dauphine 
retires, and Tuuewit goes to the other closet, and 
releases La-Foole.] — Sir Amorous ! 

La-F. "What's here 1 A sword ? 

True. I cannot help it, without I should take 
the quarrel upon myself. Here he has sent you 
his sword 

La-F. I'll receive none on't. 

True. And he wills you to fasten it against a 
wall, and break your head in some few several 
places against the hilts. 

La-F. I will not : tell him roundly. I cannot 
endure to shed my own blood. 

True. Will you not ? 

La-F. No. I'll beat it against a fair flat wall, 
if that will satisfy him : if not, he shall beat it 
himself, for Amorous. 

True. Why, this is strange starting off, when 
a man undertakes for you ! I offer'd him another 
condition ; will you stand to that ? 

La-F. Ay, whatis't? 

True. That you Avill be beaten in private. 

La-F. Yes, I am content, at the blunt. 

Enter, above, Haughty, Centauue, Mavis, Mis- 
tress Otxer, Epiccene, and Teusxy. 

True. Then you must submit yourself to be 
hoodwinked in this scarf, and be led to him, 
where he will take your sword from you, and 
make you bear si blow over the mouth, gules, 
Hnl twedis by thi; nose sans nomhre. 



La-F. I am content. But why must I be 
blinded ? 

True. That's for your good, sir ; because, if ho 
should grow insolent upon this, and publish it 
hereafter to your disgrace, (which I hope he will 
not do,) you might swear safely, and protest, h" 
never beat you, to your knowledge. 

La-F. O, I conceive. 

True. I do not doubt but you'll be perfect 
good friends upon't, and not dare to utter an ill 
thought one of another in future. 

La-F. Not I, as God help me, of him. 

True. Nor he of you, sir. If he should, [binds 
his eges.] — Come, sir. [leads him forward ) — All 
hid, Sir John ! 

Enter Dauphine, and tweaks him by the nose. 

La-F. Oh, Sir John, Sir John ! Oh, o-o-o-o-o- 
Oh 

True. Good Sir John, leave tweaking, you'll 
blow his nose off. — 'Tis Sir John's pleasure, you 
should retire into the study. [Puts him tip agaiti.] 
— Why, now you are friends. All bitterness 
between you, I hope, is buried ; you shall comt 
forth by and by, Damon and Pythias upon't, 
and embrace with all the rankncss of friendship 
that can be. — I trust, we shall have them 
tamer in their language hereafter. Dauphine, I 
worship thee. — God's wiU, the ladies have sur- 
prised us ! 

Enter Haughty, Centauue, Mavis, MiMress Ot- 
ter, Epiccene, and Tiiusty, behind. 

Halt. Centaure, how our judgments were im- 
posed on by tliese adulterate knights ! 

Cen. Nay, madam, Mavis Avas more deceivt-d 
than we ; 'twas her commendation utter'd them 
in the college. 

Mav. I commended but their wits, madam, 
and their braveries. I never look'd toward their 
valors. 

Hau. Sir Dauphine is valiant, and a wit too, 
it seems. 

Mav. And a bravery too. 

Hail. Was this Iris project ? 

Mrs. Ott. So master Clerimont intimatcD 
madam. 

Halt. Good Morose, when you come to the 
college, will you bring him with you ? he seems 
a very perfect gentleman. 

Epi. He is so, madam, believe it. 

Cen. But when will you. come. Morose ? 

E^n. Three or four days hence, madam, when 
I have got me a coach and horses. 

Hau. No, to-morrow, good Morose ; Centaure 
shall send you her coach. 

Mav. Yes faith, do, and bring sir Dauphine 
with you. 

Hau. She has promised that, Mavis. 

3{av. He is' a very worthy gentleman in tis 
exteriors, madam. 

Hau. Ay, he shews he is judicial in his clothes. 

Cen. And yet not so superlatively neat as 
some, madam, that have their laces seo in a 
brake. 

Halt. Ay, and have every hair in form. 

Mav. That wear purer linen than ourselves, 
and profess more neatness than the French her- 
maphrodite ! 



332 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



Ejii, Ay, ladies, they, what they tell one of us, 
have told a thousand ; and are the only thieves 
of our fame, that think to take us -with that per- 
fume, or with that lace, and laugh at U3 uncon- 
scionably when they have done. 

Ilati. But Sir Dauphuie's carelessness becomes 
him. 

Ccn. I could love a man for such a nose. 

Mav. Or such a leg. 

Cen. He has an exceeding good eye, madam. 

Mav, And a very good lock. 

Cen. Good Morose, bring him to my chamber 
first. 

Mrs. Ott. Please j'our honors to meet at my 
house, madam. 

True. See how they eye thee, man ! they are 
taken, I warrant thee. [Haughty comes forioard. 

Hail. You have unbraced our brace of knights 
here, master Truewit. 

True. Not I, madam ; it was Sir Daiiphine's 
inginc : who, if he have disfurnish'd your lady- 
sliip of any guard or service bj' it, is able to 
make the place good again in himself. 

Hau. There is no suspicion of that, sir. 

Cen. God so, Mavis, Haughty is kissing. 

Mav. Let us go too, and take part: 

[ They come foncard. 

Hau. But I am glad of the fortune (beside the 
discovery of two such empty caskets) to gain the 
knowledge of so rich a mine of virtue as Sir Dau- 
phine. 

Cen. AVe would be all glad to style him of our 
friendship, and see him at the college. 

Mav. He cannot mix with a sweeter soci- 
ety, I'll prophesy ; and I hope he himself wUl 
think so. 

Datip. I should be rude to imagine otherwise, 
lady. 

True. Did not I tell thee, Dauphine ! Why, 
all their actions arc governed by crude opinion, 
without reason or cause ; they know not why 
they do any thing ; but, as they are inform'd, 
believe, judge, praise, condemn, love, hate, and 
in emulation one of another, do all these things 
alike. Only they have a natural inclination 
nways them generally to the worst, when they 
j.re left to themselves. But pursue it, now thou 
hast them. 

Hau. Shall we go in again. Morose ? 

Epi. Yes, madam. 

Cen. We'll entreat sir Dauphine's company. 

True. Stay, good madam, the interview of the 
two friends, Pyladcs and Orestes : I'll fetch 
them out to j'OU straight. 

Hau. Will you, master Truewit ? 

Daitp. Ay, but noble ladies, do not confess in 
yolir countenance, or outward bearing to them, 
any discovery of their follies, that we may see 
iiow they will bear up again, with what assixr- 
ance and erection. 

Hau. We Avill not, sir Dauphine. 

Cen. Mav. Upon our honors, sir Dauphine. 

Trrce. [[/oes to the first closet,\ Sir Amorous, 
sir Amorous ! The ladies are here. 

La-F. [zLHthin.] Are they ? 

True. Yes ; but slip out by and by, as their 
backs arc turn'd, and meet sir John here, as by 
chance, when I call you. [Goes to the other.] — 
Jack Daw. 



Daw. [untkin.] What say you^ sir ? 

True. Whip out behind me sv.ddenh'. and no 
anger in your looks to your adversary, Noav 
now ! 

[La-Foole a7id Daw slip out of their respee- 
tive closets, and salute each other. 

La-F. Noble sir John Daw, where have you 
been ? 

Daio. To seek you, sir Amorous. 

La-F. Me ! I honor you. 

Daxo. I prevent you, sir. 

Cler. They have forgot their rapiers. 

True. O, they meet in peace, man. 

Daup. Where's your sword, sir John ? 

Cler. And yours, sir Amorous ? 

Dmo. Mine ! my boy had it forth to mend the 
handle, e'en now. 

La-F. And my gold handle was broke too, 
and my boy had it forth. 

Daup. Indeed, sir ! — How their excuses 
meet ! 

Cler. What a consent there is in the han- 
dles ! 

True. Nay, there is so in the points too, I 
warrant you. 

Enter Morose, loith the tico sioords, dratcn in hia 
hands. 

Mrs. Ott. O me ! madam, he comes again, the 
madman ! Away ! 

[Ladies, Daw, and La-Foole, run off. 

Mor. AVhat make these naked weapons here, 
gentlemen ? 

True. O sir ! here hath like to have been 
murder since you went ; a couple of knights 
fallen out about the bride's favors ! We were 
fain to take away their weapons ; your house 
had been begg'd by this time else. 

Mor. For what ? 

Cler. For manslaughter, sir, as being acces- 
sary. 

Mor. And for her favors ? 

True. Ay, sir, heretofore, not present — Cleri- 
mont, carrj' them their swords now. They have 
done all the hurt they will do. 

[Exit Cler. zcith the two stvords. 

Datip. Have you spoke with the lawyer, sir ? 

Mor. O no ! there is such a noise in the court, 
that they have frighted me homo with more 
violence than I Avent ! such speaking and coun- 
ter-speaking, with their several voices of cita- 
tions, appellations, allegations, certificates, at- 
tachments, intcrgatories, references, convictions, 
and afflictions indeed, among the doctors and 
proctors, that the noise here is silence to't, a 
kind of calm midnight ! 

True. Why, sir, if j-ou would be resolved 
indeed, I can bring you hither a very sufficient 
lawyer, and a learned divine, that shall enquire 
into every least scruple for you. 

Mor. Can you, master Truewit ? 

True. Yes, and are very sober, grave persons, 
that will dispatch it in a chamber, with a Avhis- 
per or two. 

Mor. Good sir, shall I hope this benefit from 
you, and trust myself into your hands ? 

True. Alas, sir ! your nephew and I have been 
ashamed and oft-times ma.l, since you went, to 
think how you are abused Go in, Ki^od ^ir, and 



^ 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



333 



lock yourself up till we call you ; we'll tell you 
more anon, sir. 

Mor. Do your pleasure with me, gentlemen ; I 
oelievc in you, and that deserves no delusion. 

[Exit. 

True. You shall find none, sir ; — but heap'd, 
neap'd plenty of vexation. 

Daiip. What wilt thou do now, Wit ? 

True. Recover me hither Otter and the bar- 
ber, if you can, by any means, presently. 

Daiq). Why ? to what purpose ? 

True. O, I'll make the deepest divine, and 
gravest lawyer, out of them two for him 

Daup. Thou canst.not, man ; these are Avaking 
dreams. 

True. Do not fear me. Clap but a civil gown 
with a welt on the one, and a canonical cloke 
with sleeves on the other, and give them a few 
terms in their moutlis, if there come not forth 
as able a doctor and complete a parson, for this 
turn, as may be wish'd, trust not my election : 
and I hope, without wronging the dignity of 
either profession, since they are but persons put 
on, and for mirth's sake, to torment him. The 
barber smatters Latin, I remember. 

Daup. Yes, and Otter too. 

True. Well then, if I make them not wrangle 
out this case to his no comfort, let me be thought 
a Jack Daw or La-Foole or anything Avorse. Go 
you to your ladies, but firet send for them. 

Daup. I will. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Moeose's House. 

Enter La-Foole, Clerimoxt, and Daw. 

La-F. Where had you our swords, master 
Clcrimont ? 

Cler. Why, Dauphine took them from the 
madman. 

La-F. And he took them from our boys, I 
warrant you. 

Cler. Yery like, sir. 

La-F. Tliank you, good master Clcrimont. 
Sir John Daw and I are both beholden to you. 

Cler. Would I knew how to make you so, 
gentlemen ! 

Daio. Sir Amorous and I are your servants, sir. 

Enter Mavis. 

Mav. Gentlemen, have any of you a pen and 
ink ? I would fain write out a riddle in Italian, 
Cor sir Dauphine to translate. 

Cler. Not I, in troth, lady ; I am no scriv- 
ener. 

Daio. I can furnish you, I think, lady. 

[Exeunt Daw and Mavis. 

Cler. He has it in the haft of a Itnife, I believe. 

La-F. No, he has his box of instruments. 

Cler. Like a surgeon ! 

La-F. For the mathematics : his square, his 
compasses, his brass pens, and black-lead, to draw 
maps of every place and person where he comes. 

Cler. How, maps of persons ! 

La-F, Yes, sir, of Nomentack when he was 
here, and of the prince of Moldavia, and of his 
mistress, mistress Epicoene. 



Re-enter Daw. 

Cler. Awky ! he hath not found out hor lati. 
tude, I hope. 

La-F. You ai-e a pleasant gentleman, sir. 

Cler. Faith, now we are in private, let's wan- 
ton it a little, and talk waggishly. — Sir John, I 
am telling sir Amorous here, that you two gov- 
ern the ladies wherever you come ; yo'.i carry 
the feminine gender afore you. 

Daio. They shall rather carry us afore fnem, 
if they will, sir. 

Cler. Nay, I believe that they do, withal — 
but that you are the prime men in their aifec 
tions, and direct all theii- actions ■ 

Daio. Not I ; sir Amorous is. 

La-F. I protest, sir John is. 

Daio. As I hope to rise in the state, sir Am- 
orous, you have the person. 

La-F. Sir John, you have the person, and the. 
discourse too. 

Daw. Not I, sir. I have no discoui'se — and 
then you have activity beside. » 

La-F. I in-otest, sir John, you come as high 
from Tripoly as I do, every whit : and lift as 
many join'd stools, and leap over them, if you 
would use it. 

Cler. Well, agree on't together, knights ; for 
between you, you divide the kingdom or com- 
monwealth of ladies' affections : I see it, and 
can perceive a little how they observe you, and 
fear you, indeed. You could tell strange stories, 
my masters, if you would, I know. 

Daio. Faith, we have seen somewhat, sir. 

La-F. Tliat we have velvet petticoats, 

and wrought smocks, or so. 

Daio. Ay, and 

Cler. Nay, out with it, sir John ; do not envy 
your friend the pleasure of hearing, when you 
have had the delight of tasting, 

Daio. Why — a — Do you speak, sir Amoroxis. 

La-F. No, do you, sir John Dav.'. 

Daio. r faith, you shall. 

La-F. I' faith, you shall. 

Data. Why, we have been 

La-F. In the great bed at Ware together in 
our time. On, sir John. 

Daio. Nay, do you, sir Amorous. 

Cler. And these ladies with you, knights ? 

La-F. No, excuse us, sir. 

Daio. We must not wound reputation. 

La-F. No matter — they were these, or others. 
Our bath cost us fifteen pound when we came 
home. 

Cler. Do you hear, sir John ? You shall tell 
me but one thing truly, as you love me. 

Daxo. If I can, I will, sir. 

Cler. You lay in the same house with the bride 
here ? 

Daio. Yes, and conversed with her hourly, sir. 

Cler. And what humor is she of? Is she 
coming and open, free ? 

Daio. O, exceeding open, sir. I was her ser- 
vant, and sir Amorous was to be. 

Cler. Come, you have both had favors frora 
her : I know, and have heard so much. 

Daw. O, no, sir. 

La-F. You shall excuse us, sir ; we must not 
wound reputation. 



334 



THE SILENT AYOMAN. 



Cler. Tut, she is married now, and you cannot 
Irnrt her with any report ; and therefore speak 
plainly : how many times, i' faith ? which of you 
led first ? ha ! 

La-F. Sir John had her maidenhead, indeed. 

Daw. O, it pleases him to say so, sir ; but sir 
Amorous knows what's what, as well. 

Clcr. Dost thou, i' faith. Amorous ? 

La-F. In a manner, sir. 

Cler, Why, I commend you, lads. Little 
Knows don Bridegroom of this ; nor shall ho, 
for me. 

Daw. Hang him, mad ox. ! 

Cler. Speak softly ; here comes his nephew, 
with the lady Haughty : he'll get the ladies 
from you, sirs, if yoii look not to him in time. 

La-F. Why, if he do, we'll fetch them home 
again, I warrant you. 

\Exit lolth Daav. Cler. icalks aside. 

Enter Dauphine and Haughty. 

Hail. I assure you, sir Dauphine, it is the price 
and estimation of jowx virtue only, that hath 
embark'd me to this adventure ; and I could not 
but make out to tell you so : nor can I repent 
me of the act, since it is always an argument of 
some virtue in our selves, that we love and affect 
it so in others. 

Daiip. Your ladyship sets too high a price on 
my weakness. 

Hau. Sir, I can distinguish gems from jicb- 
bles — 

Daup. Are you so skilful in stones ? \Aside. 

Ilau. And howsoever I may suffer in such a 
judgment as yours, by admitting equality of rank 
or society with Centaure or Mavis ; 

Daup. You do not, madam ; I perceive they 
are j^our mere foils. 

Hau. Then, are you a fnend to truth, sir ; it 
makes mc love you the more. It is not the out- 
ward, but the inward man that I affect. They 
are not apprehensive of an eminent perfection, 
but love fiat and dully. 

Cell, [within.] Where are you, my lady 
Haughty ? 

Ilau. I come presently, Centaure. — My cham- 
ber, sir, my page shall shew you ; and Trusty, my 
woman, shall be ever aAvake for you : you need 
not fear to communicate any thing Avith her, for 
she is a Fidelia. I pray you wear this jewel for 
my sake, sir Dauphine — 

Enter Centaure. 
Where's INIavis, Centaure ? 

Cen. Within, madam, a writing. I'll follow 
vou prcscntl)^ : [Exit IIau.] I'll but speak a 
ivord with sir Dauphine. 

Daup. With me, madam ? 

Ce7i. (iood sir Dauphine, do not trust Haughty, 
nor make any credit to her whatever you do be- 
sides. Sir Dauphine, I give you this caution, 
she is a perfect courtier, and loves nobody but 
for her uses ; and for her uses she loves all. 
Besides, her phj-sicians give her out to be none 
o' the clearest, whether she pay them or no, 
heaven knows ; and she's above fifty too, and 
pargets ! See her in a forenoon. Here comes 
Mavis, a worse face than she ! you would not 
like this by candle-light. 



He-enter Mavis. 
If you'll come to my chamber one o' these morn ■ 
ings early, or late in an evening, I'll tell yoa 
more. Where's Haughty, Mavis r 

Mav. Within, Centaure. 

Cen. What have you there ? 

Mav. An Italian riddle for sir Dauphine, 
you shall not see it, i'faith, Centaure. — [Exit 
Cen.] Good sir Daxiphine, solve it for me : 
I'll call for it anon. [Exit. 

Cler. [cominrj forward.] How now, Dauphine ! 
how .dost thou quit thj'self of these females ? 

Daup. 'Slight, they haunt mc like fairies, and 
give me jewels here ; I cannot be rid of them. 

Cler. O, you must not tell though. 

Daup. Mass, I forgot that : I was never so 
assaulted. One loves for virtue, and bribes me 
with this ; [shews thejeioel.] — another loves mo 
with caution, and so would possess me ; a third 
brings me a riddle here : and all are jealous, 
and rail each at other. 

Cler. A riddle ! pray let me see it. [Reads, 

Sir Dauphine, 1 chose this way of intimation for privacy. 
Tlie ladies here, I know, have both hope and purpose to 
make a collegiate and servant of ynti. If I might be so 
honored, as to appear at any end of so noble a work, 1 
would enter into a fame of taking physic to-morrow, and 
continue it four or five days, or longer, for your visitation 

M.ivis. 

By my faith, a subtle one ! Call you this a 
riddle ? what's their plain-dealing, trow ? 

Daup. We lack Truewit to tell us that. 

Cler. We lack him for somewhat else too : his 
knights reformadoes are wound up as high and 
insolent as ever they were. 

Daup. You jest. 

Cler. No drunkards, either with wine or vanity, 
ever confess'd such stories of themselves. I 
would not give a fly's leg in balance against all 
the women's reputations here, if they could be 
but thought to speak truth : and for the bride, 
they have made their affidavit against her di- 
rectly 

Daup. What, that they have lain with her ? 

Cler. Yes ; and tell times and circumstances, 
with the cause why, and the place where. I had 
almost brought them to affirm that they had 
done it to-day. 

Daup. Not both of them ? 

Cler. Yes, faith ; with a sooth or two mora 
I had effected it. They would have set it down 
under their hands. 

Daup. Why, they will be our sport, I sec, 
still, whether we will or no. 

Enter Truewit. 
True. O, are you here ? Come, Dauphine ; go 
call your uncle i^resently : I have fitted my di- 
vine and my canonist, dj'cd their beards and all. 
The knaves do not know themselves, they are so 
exalted and altered. Preferment changes any 
man. Thou shalt keep one door and I another, 
and then Clerimont in the midst, that he may 
have no means of escape from their cavilling, 
when thej' grow hot once again. And then the 
women, as I have given the bride her instruc- 
tions, to break in upon him in the I'envoy. O, 
'twill be full and twanging ! Away ! fetch 
him. [Exit P'auphink. 



THE SILENT WO]\IAN. 



335 



Enter Otter disguised as a divine, and Cutbeard 

as a canon laioyer. 
Come, master doctor, and master parson, look 
^/O your parts now, and discharge them bravely ; 
you are -well set forth, perform it as well. If 
j-ou chance to be out, do not confess it with 
standing still, or humming, or gaping one at 
another ; but go on, and talk aloud and eager- 
ly ; use vehement action, and only remember 
y:;ui terms, and you arc safe. Let the matter 
go where it will : you have many will do so. 
I5ut at first be very solemn and grave, like your 
garments, though j'ou loose your solves after, 
and skip out like a brace of jugglers on a table. 
Here he comes : set your faces, and look super- 
ciliously, while I present you. 

Be-enter Daupiiine loith Morose. 

Mor. Are these the two .learned men ? 

True. Yes, sir ; please you salute them. 

Mor. Salute them ! I had rather do any thing, 
than wear out time so unfruitfuUy, sir. I won- 
der how these common forms, as God save you, 
and YoH are welcome, are come to be a habit in 
our lives : or, I am glad to see you ! when I can- 
not sec what the profit can be of these words, 
so long as it is no whit bettor with him whose 
affairs are sad and grievous, that he hears this 
salutation. 

True. 'Tis true, sir ; we'll go to the matter 
then. — Gentlemen, master doctor, and master 
parson, I have acquainted j'ou suflicicntly with 
the business for which you are come hither ; 
and you are not now to inform yourselves in the 
state of the question, I know. This is the gen- 
tleman who expects your resolution, and there- 
fore, when you please, begin. 

Ott, Please you, master doctor. 

Cut. Please you, good master parson. 

Ott. I would hear the canon-law speak first. 

Cut. It must give place to positive divinity, sir. 

Mor. Nay, good gentlemen, do not throw me 
ii. to circumstances. Let your comforts arrive 
quickly at me, those that are. Be swift in afford- 
ing me my peace, if so I shall hope any. I love 
not your disputations, or j'our court-tumults. 
And that it be not strange to you, I will tell you: 
My fiither, in my education, was wont to advise 
me, that I shoidd always collect and contain my 
mind, not suffering it to flow loosely; that I 
should look to what things were necessary to the 
carriag! of my life, and what not ; embracing the 
one and eschewing the other : in short, that I 
should endear myself to rest, and avoid turmoil ; 
which now is grown to be another nature to me. 
So that I come not to your public pleadings, or 
your places of noise ; not that I neglect those 
things that m.ake for the dignity of the common- 
wealth ; but for the m.ere avoiding of clamors and 
impertinences of orators, that know not how to 
be silent. And for the cause of noise, am I now 
a suitor to you. You do not know in what a 
misery I have hcGn exercised this daj% what a 
torrent of evil ! my very house turns round with 
the tumult ! I dwell in a windmill : the perpet- 
ual motion is here, and not at Eltham. 

True. Well, good master doctor, will you break 
the ice ? master parson will wade after. 



Cut. Sir, though unworthy, and the weaker, \ 
will presume. 

Ott. 'Tis no presumption, domine doctor. 

Mor. Yet again ! 

Cut. Your question is, For liow many causea 
a man may have divortium Icgitimum, a lawful 
divorce ? First, you must understand the nature 
of the word, divorce, a divertendo 

Mor. No excursions upon words, good doctor ; 
to the question brieflj% 

Cut. I answer then, the canon law affords di- 
vorce btit in few cases ; and the principal is in 
the common case, the adulterous case : But there 
are duodecim impedimenta, twelve impediments, 
as we call them, all Avhich do not dirimere con- 
tractum, but irritutn reddere matrimonium, as we 
say in the canon law, not take away the bond, 
but eause a nullity therein. 

Mor. I understood you before : good sir, avoid 
your impertinenry of translation. 

Ott. He cannot open this too much, sir, by 
your favor. 

Mor. Yet more ! 

True. O, you must give the learned men leave, 
sir. — To your impediments, master doctor. 

Cut. The first is impcdimcntum error is. 

Ott. Of which there are several species. 

Cut. Ay, as error personce. 

Ott. If you conti'act yourself to one person, 
thinking her another. 

Cut. 'then, error fortune. 

Ott. If she be a beggar, and you thought her 
rich. 

Cut. Then, error qualitatis. 

Ott. If she prove stubborn or head-strong, that 
you thought obedient. 

Mor. How ! is that, sir, a lawful impediment ? 
One at once, I pray you, gentlemen. 

Ott. Ay, ante eopulam, but not post copulam, sir. 

Cut. Master parson says right. Nee post nup- 
tiarum bencdictionem. It doth indeed but irrita 
reddere spoiisalia, annul the contract ; after mar 
riage it is of no obstancy. 

True. x\las, sir, what a hope arc v.-e faller 
from by this time ! 

Cut.' The next is conditio : if you thought her 
free born, and she prove a bond-woman, thertf 
is impediment of estate and condition. 

Ott. Ay, but, master doctor, those servitudes 
are sublatce now, among us Christians. 

Cut. By your favor, master parson 

Ott. You shall give me leave, master doctor. 

Mor. Na}', gentlemen, quarrel not in that 
question ; it concerns not my case : pass to the 
third. 

Cut. Well then, the third is votum : if either 
party have made a vow of chastity. But tuat 
practice, as master parson said of the other, is 
taken away among us, thanks be to discipline. 
The fourth is cognatio ; if the persons be of kin 
within the degrees. 

Ott. Ay : do you know what the degrees are,sir? 

Mor. No, nor I care not, sir ; they offer me no 
comfort in the question, I am sure. 

Cut. But there is a branch of this impediment 
may, which is cognatio spiritualis : if you were 
her godfather, sir, then the ir arriage is inces- 
tuous. 

Ott. That comment is absurd and supe rstitiou-s. 



836 



THE SILENT AVO:*IAN. 



master doctor : I cannot endure it. Are we not 
all brothers and sisters, and as much akin in 
that, as godfathers and o;od-daughters ? 

3Io): O me ! to end the controversy, I never 
was a godfather, I never was a godfather in my 
life, sir. Pass to the next. 

Ctii. The fifth is crimen acluUeru ; the known 
case. The sixth, cultm disparitas, difference of 
religion : Have you ever examined her, what 
religion she is of ? 

Mor. No, I would rather she were of none, 
than be put to the trouble of it. 

Ott. You may have it done for you, sir. 

Mor. By no means, good sir ; on to the rest : 
shall you ever come to an end, think you ? > 

True. Yes, he has done half, sir. On to the 
rest. — Be patient, and expect, sir. 

Out. The seventh is, vis : if it were upon com- 
pulsion or force. 

Mor. no, it Avas too voluntary, mine ; too 
voluntary. 

Cut. The eighth is, ordo ; if ever she have 
taken holy orders. 

Oil. That's superstitious, too. 

Mor. No matter, master parson; Would she 
would go i;ito a nunnery yet. 

Cut. The ninth is lijaman ; if you were bound, 
sir, to any other before. 

Mor. I thrust myself too soon into these fet- 
ters. 

Cut. The tenth is, imhlica honestas ; which is, 
hichoata quwdam affmitas, 

Ott. A.J, or affinitas orla ex sponsallbus ; and 
IS but leve impedimentum. 

Mor. I feel no air of comfort blowing to me, in 
all this. 

Cut. The eleventh is, affinitas ezfornicatione. 

Ott. Which is no less vera affinitas, than the 
other, master doctor. 

Cut. True, quce oritur ex legitlmo matrimonio. 

Ott. Y^ou say right, venerable doctor: and, 
nascitur ex eo, quod per conjugium duce j^crsoncs 
cfficiuntur tma caro 

True. Hey-day, now they begin ! 

Cut. I conceive you, master jDarson : ita per 
fornicatlonem aque est varus pater., qui sic gene- 
rat 

Ott. Et vere films qui sic generafur. 

Mor. What's all this to me ? 

Cler. Now it grows warm. 

Cut. The twelfth and last is, si forte colre ne- 
quibis, 

Ott. Ay, that is impedimentum gravlsslmum : it 
doth utterly annul, and annihilate, that. If you 
have manlfcstcun frigiditatem, you are well, sir. 

True. Why, there is a comfort come at length, 
sir. Confess yourself but a man unable, and 
she will sue to be divorced first. 

Ott. A.J, or if there be morbus pierpetuus, et in- 
sanabllis ; as paralysis, elephantiasis, or so 

Daup. O, but frigiditas is the fairer way, 
gentlemen. 

Ott. Y'ou say troth, sir, and as it is in the 
canon, master doctor — 

Cut. I conceive you, sir. 

Cler. Before he speaks ! 

Ott. That a boy, or child, under years, is not 
fit for marriage, because he cannot rcddere debt- 
turn. So your o7nnipotentes 



True. Your impotentes, you whoreson lobster '. 
[Aside to Ott, 

Ott. Your impotentes, I should say, are minimi 
ap>tl ad contrahenda matrimonium. 

True. Matrimonium ! we shall have most un- 
matrimonial Latin with you : matrlmonia, and 
be hang'd. 

Dau]). Y''ou'll put them out, man. 

Cut. But then there will arise a doubt, master 
parson, in our case, jMst matrimonium : that fri~ 
gldltate prcedltus — do you conceive me, sir ? 

Ott. Very well, sir. 

Cut. Who cannot uti uxore piro uxore, ma^ 
habere earn pro sorore. 

Ott. Absurd, absurd, absurd, and merely 
apostatical ! 

Cut. Y^ou shall pardon me, master parson, I 
can prove it. 

Ott. Y'ou can prove a will, master doctor ; yoii 
can prove nothing clse_. Does not the verse of 
your own canon say, 

Hcee socianda vetant conmdila, facta retractant i 

Cut. I grant you ; but how do they retractari> 
master parson ? 

Mor. O, this was it I feared. 

Ott. In (Sternum, sir. 

Cut. That's false in divinity, by your favor. 

Ott. 'Tis false in humanity to say so. Is he 
not prorsus inutllis ad thorum ! Can he prcestan 
fidem datum ? I wou.ld fain know. 

Cut, Yes ; how if he do co7ivalere f 

Ott. He cannot convakre, it is impossible. 

True. Nay, good sir, attend the learned men 
they'll think you neglect them else. 

Cut. Or, if he do simulare himsall frig Idum, 
odio uxorls, or so ? 

Ott. I say, he is adulter manifestus then. 

Daup. They dispute it very learnedly, i' faith, 

Ott. And prostltutor uxorls ; and this is posi- 
tive. 

Mor. Good sir, let mo escape. 

True. Y'ou will not do me that Avrong, sir r 

Ott. And, therefore, if he be manlfeste frlgi- 
dus, sir — 

Cut. Ay, if he be manlfeste frigldus, 1 grant 
you — 

Ott. Why, that was my conclusion. 

Cut. And mine too. 

True. Nay, hear the conclusion, sir. 

Ott. Then, frlgldltatls causa 

Cut. Yes, causa frlgldltatls 

3Ior, O, mine ears ! 

Ott. She maj- have Ubellum dlvortll against you. 

Cut. Ay, dlvortll Ubellum she will sure have. 

Mor. Good echoes, forbear. 

Ott. If you confess it. 

Cut. Which I Avould do, sir 

Mor. I will do any thing. 

Ott. And clear myself in foro comcientia ■ 

Cut. Because you want indeed — - - 

Mor. Yet more ! 

Ott. Exercendl potcstate. 

Epiccene rushes in, followed by Haughty, Cen- 
TAUKE, Mavis, Mistress Otter, Daw, and La- 

FOOLE. 

Epi. I will not endure it any longer. Ladies, 
I beseech you, help me. Tliis is such a wrong 



1 



THE SILENT WOMAN. 



337 



as never was offered to poor bride before : upon 
her marriage-day to have her husband conspire 
against her, and a couple of mercenary compan- 
ions to be brought in for form's sake, to per- 
suade a separation ! If you had blood or virtue 
in you, gentlemen, you Avould not suffer such 
earwigs about a husband, or scorpions to creep 
between man and wife. 

Mor. O the variety and changes of my tor- 
ment ! 

Han. Let them be cudgell'd out of doors by 
our grooms. 

Cen. I'll lend you my footman. 
3Iav. We'll have our men blanket them in 
the hall. 

Mrs. Ott. As there was one at our house, 
madam, for peeping in at the door. 
DaiD. Content, i'faith. 

True. Stay, ladies and gentlemen ; you'll hear 
before you proceed ? 

Mcto. I'd have the bridegroom blankctted too. 
Cen. Begin with him first. 
Hail. Yes, by my troth. 
Mor. O mankind generation ! 
Daup. Ladies, for my sake forbear. 
Halt. Yes, for sir Dauphinc's sake. 
Cen. He shall command us. 
La-F, He is as fine a gentleman of his inches, 
madam, as any is about the town, and wears as 
good colors when he lists. 

True- Bo brief, sir, and confess your infir- 
mity : she'll be a-fire to bo quit of you, if she 
but hear that named once, j'ou shall not entreat 
her to stay : she'll fly you like one that had the 
marks upon him. 

Mor. Ladies, I must crave all your pardons — 
True. Silence, ladies. 

Mor. For a wrong I have done to your whole 
sex, in marrying this fair and virtuous gentle- 
woman 

Cler. Hear him, good ladies. 
Mor. Being guilty of an infirmity, which, be- 
fore I conferred with these learned men, I 
thought I might have concealed — 

True. But now being better informed in his 
conscience by them, he is to declare it, and give 
satisfaction, by asking your j^ublic forgiveness. 
Mor. I am no man, ladies. 
All. How ! 

Mor. UttcTly unabled in nature, by reason of 
frigidity, to perform the duties, or any the least 
office of a husband. 

Mav. Now out upon him, prodigious crea- 
ture ! 

Cen. Bridegroom uncarnate ! 
Ilau. And would you offer it to a young gen- 
tlewoman ? 

Mrs. Ott. A lady of her longings ? 
Epi. Tut, a device, a device, this ! it smells 
rankly, ladies. A mere comment of his own. 

True. Why, if you suspect that, ladies, you 
may have him search' d — 

Daio. As the custom is, by a jury of physi- 
cians. 
La-F. Yes, faith, 'twill be brave. 
Mor. O me, must I undergo that ? 
Mrs. Ott. No, let women search hira, madam ; 
we can do it ourselves. 
Mor. Out on me ! worse. 



Epi. No, ladies, you shall not need, I'll take 
him with all his faults. 
Mor. Worst of all ! 

Cler. Why then, 'tis no divorce, doctor, if she 
consent not ? 

Cut. No, if the man be frigidus, it is de 
2oarte uxoris, that we grant Ubellum divortil, in 
the law. 

Ott. Ay, it is the same in theology. 
Mor. Worse, worse than worst ! 
True. Naj', sir, be not utterly disheartened ; 
we have yet a small relic of hope left, as near 
as our comfort is blown out. Clerimont, pro- 
duce your brace of knights. What was that, 
master parson, you told me iiterrore qualitatis, 
e'en now ? — Dauphine, whisper the bride, thai 
she carry it as if she were guiltyi and ashamed. 

^Aside. 

Ott. !Marry, sir, in errore qualltatis, (which 
master doctor did forbear to urge,) if she be 
found corrupta, that is, vitiated or broken up, 
that was pro virgine des^^onsa, espoused for a 

maid 

Mor. "What then, sir r 

Ott. It doth dirimere contraction, and irritum 
redder e too. 

True. If this be true, we are happy again, sir, 
once more. Here are an honorable brace of 
knights, that shall affirm so much. 

Daio. Pardon us, good master Clerimont. 

La-F. You shall excuse us, master Clerimont. 

Cler. Nay, you must make it good now, 
knights, there is no remedy ; I'll eat no word-i 
for you, nor no men : you know yoii spoke it 
to me. 

Daia. Is this gentleman-like, sir ? 

True. Jack Daw, he's worse than sir Amo- 
rous ; fiercer a great deal. [Aside to Daw.] — Sir 
Amorous, beware, there be ten Daws in this 
Clerimont. [Aside to La-Foole. 

La-F. I'll confess it, sir. 

Daw. Will you, sir Amorous, will you wound 
reputation ? 

La-F. I am resolved. 

True. So should you be too, Jack Daw : what 
should keep you off? she's but a woman, and in 
disgrace : he'll be glad on't. 

Daio. Will he .' I thought he would have 
been angry. 

Cler. You will dispatch, knights ; it must be 
done, i'faith. 

True. Why, an it must, it shall, sir, they say : 
they'll ne'er go back. — Do not tempt his 
patience. [Aside to them. 

Daw. Is it true indeed, sir ? 

La-F. Yes, I assure you, sir. 

Mor. What is true, gentlemen ? what do you 
assure me .' 

Daw. That we have known your bride, 
sir 

La-F. In good fashion. She was our mis- 
tress, or so 

Cler. Nay, you must be plain, knights, as you 
were to me. 

Ott. Ay, the question is, if you have carna- 
liter, or no ? 

La-F. Carnaliter ! what else, sir ? 

Oft. It is enough ; a plain nullity 

Epi. I am \indone, I am undone ! 



338 



THE SILENT WO^^IAN. 



Mor. let me worship and adore you, gen- 
tlemen ! 

Epi. I am undone. [Weeps. 

Mor. Yes, to my hand, I thank these knights. 
Master j^arson, let me thank yovi otherwise. 

[Gives him money. 

Cen. And have they confess'd ? 

Mav. Now out upon them, informers ! 

True. You see what creatures you may be- 
stow your favors on, madams. 

Ilau. I would except against them as beaten 
knights, wench, and not good Avitnesses in law. 

Mrs. Ott. Poor gentlewoman, how she takes it ! 

Hau. Be comforted. Morose, I love you the 
better for't. 

Cen. So do I, I protest. 

Cut, But, gentlemen, you have not known 
her since matrimonium ? 

Daio. Not to-day, master doctor. 

La-F. No, sir, not to-day. 

Cict. Why, then I say, for any act before, the 
matrimo7uum is good and perfect ; unless the 
worshipful bridegroom did precisely, before wit- 
ness, demand, if she were virgo ante nuptias. 

Epi. No, that he did not, I assure you, master 
doctor. 

Cut. If he cannot prove that, it is ratum con- 
jugiuni, notwithstanding the premisses ; and 
they do no way impedire. And this is my sen- 
tence, this I pronounce. 

Ott. I am of master doctor's resolution too, sir ; 
if you made not that demand ante nuptias. 

Mor. O my heart ! wilt thou break? wilt 
thou break ? this is worst of all worst worsts 
that hell could have devised ! Marry a whore, 
and so much noise ! 

Daup. Come, I sec now plain confederacy in 
this doctor and this parson, to abuse a gentle- 
man. You study his affliction. I pray be gone, 
companions. — And, gentlemen, I begin to sus- 
pect you for having parts with them. — Sir, will 
it please you hear me ? 

Mor. O do not talk to me ; take not from me 
the pleasure of dying in silence, nephew. 

Daup. Sir, I must speak to you. I have been 
long your poor despised kinsman, and many a 
hard thought has strengthened you against me : 
but now it shall appear if either I love you or 
your peace, and prefer them to all the world 
b&iide. I will not be long or grievous to you, 
sir. If I free you of this unhappy match ab- 
solutely, and instantly, after all this trouble, 
and almost in your despair, now — 

Mor. It cannot be. 

Daup. Sir, that you be never troubled with a 
murmur of it more, what shall I hope for, or 
deserve of you ? 

Mor. O, what thou Avilt, nephew ! thou shalt 
deserve me, and have me. 

Daup. Shall I have your favor perfect to me, 
and love hereafter ? 

Mor. That, and anything beside. Make thine 
own coniitions. My whole estate is thine ; 
manage it, I will become thy ward. 

Daup. Nay, sir, I will not be so unreasonable. 
Epi. Will sir Uauphine be mine enemy too ? 
Daup. You know I have been long a suitor to 
you, uncle, that out of your estate, which is fif- 
teen h^mdred a-year, you would allow me but 



five hundred during life, and assure the rest 
upon me after ; to which I have often, by my- 
self and friends, tendered you a writing to sign, 
which you would never consent or incline to. 

If you please but to effect it now 

Mor. Thou shalt have it, nephew : I will do 
it, and more. 

Daup. If I quit you not presently, and for 
ever, of this cumber, you shall have power in- 
stantly, afore all these, to revoke your act, and 
I Avill become whose slave you will give me to, 
for ever. 

Mor. Where is the writing ? I will seal to it, 
that, or to a blank, and write thine own condi- 
tions. 

Epi. O me, most unfortunate, wretched gen- 
tlewoman ! 

Hau. Will sir Dauphine do this ? 
Epi. Good sir, have some compassion on me. 
Mor. O, my nephew knows you, belike; 
away, crocodile ! 

Cen. He does it not sure without good gi-ound. 
Daup. Here, sir. [Gives him the piarchments. 
Mor. Come, nephew, give me the pen ; I will 
subscribe to any thing, and seal to what thou 
wilt, for my deliverance. Thou art my restorer. 
Here, I deliver it thee as my deed. If there be 
a word in it lacking, or writ with false orthogra- 
phy, I protest before [heaven] I will not take 
the advantage. [Returns the writings. 

Daup. Then here is your release, sir. [takes 
off Epiccene's peruke and other disguises.^ Y''ou 
liave married a boy, a gentleman's son, that I 
have brought up this half year at my great 
charges, and for this composition, which I have 
now made with you. — What say you, master 
doctor ? This is justum impedimentum, I hope, 
error personce? 

Ott. Yes, sir, in jn-imo gradu. 
Cut. In primo gradu, 

Daup. I thank you, good doctor Cutbeard, and 
parson Otter, [pulls their fake beards and gowns 
off.] You are beholden to them, sir, that have 
taken this pains for you ; and my friend, master 
Truewit, who enabled them for the business. 
Now you may go in and rest ; be as private as 
you will, sir. [Exit Morose.] I'll not trouble 
you, till you trouble me with your funeral, which 
I care not how soon it come. — Cutbeard, I'll 
make j-'our lease good. Thank me not, bat with 
your leg, Cutbeard. And Tom Otter, j-our prin- 
cess shall be reconciled to you. — How now, gen- 
tlemen, do you look at me ? 
Cler. A boy ! 

Daup. Yes, mistress Epicoene. 
True. Well, Dauphine, you have lurch'd your 
friends of the better half of the garland, by con- 
cealing this part of the plot : but much good do 
it thee, thou deserv'st it, lad. And, Clerimont- 
for thy unexpected bringing these two to con- 
fession, wear my part of it freely. Nay, sir Daw 
and sir La-Foole, you see the gentlewoman that 
has done you the favors ! wo are all thankful to 
you, and so should the woman-kind here, spe- 
cially for lying on her, though not with her ! 
you meant so, I am sure. But that we have 
stuck it upon you to-day, in your own imagined 
persons, and so lately, this Amazon, the cham- 
pion of the sex, should beat you now thriftily, 



THE SILENT WOMAN, 



339 



for the common slanders which ladies receive 
from such cuckoos as you are. You are they 
that, when no merit or fortune can make you 
hope to enjoy their bodies, will yet lie with their 
reputations, and make their fame suffer. Away, 
you common moths of these, and all ladies' hon- 
ors. Go, travel to make legs and faces, and come 
home Avith some new matter to be laugh' d at ; 
you deserve to live in an air as corrupted as that 
wherewith you feed rumor. [Exeunt Daw and 
La-Foole.] — Madams, you are mvite, upon this 
new metamorphosis ! But here staiids she that 



has vindicated your fames. Take heed of such 
insectse hereafter. And let it not trouble you, 
that you have discovered any mysteries to this 
young gentleman : he is almost of j'ears, and 
will make a good visitant within this twelve- 
month. In the mean time, Ave'll all undertake 
for his secrecy, that can speak so Avell of his 
silence. [Coming fortoa7-d.] — Spectators, if you 
like this comedy, rise cheerfully, and now Morose is 
gone in, clap your hands. It may be, that noise 
will cure him, at least please him. [Exeunt. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 

TO THE LADY MOST DESEllVING HER NAME AND BLOOD, 

LADY MAEY WROTH. 

MATJiM, — In the age of sacrifices, the tnith of religion was not in the greatness and fat of the oflbrings, but in tb.3 
devotion and zeal of the sacrifices : else what could a handful of gums have done in tlie siglit of a hecatomb? or how 
miglitl appear at this altar, except with those affections that no less love the light and witness, than they have the con- 
science of your virtue? If what I offer bear an acceptable odor, and hold the first strength, it is your value of it, which 
remembers where, when, and to whom it was kindled. Otherwise, as the times are, there comes rarely forth that thing 
so full of autliority or example, but by assiduity and custom grows less, and loses. This, yet, safe in your judgment 
(whicli is a Sidney's) is forbidden to speak more, lest it talk or look like one of the ambitious faces of the time, who, the 
more they paint, are the less themselves. Your ladyship's true honorcr, Ben JoNson. 

TO THE HEADER, 



If thou becst more, tliou art an understander, and then 
I trust thee. If thou art one that takest up, and but a 
pretender, beware of what liands thou receivest thy com- 
modity ; for thou wert never more fair in the way to bo 
cozened, than in this age, in poetry, especially in plays : 
wherein, now the concupiscence of dances and of antics so 
veigneth, as to run away from nature, and be afraid of her, 
is the only point of art that tickles tlie spectators. But 
how out of purpose, and place, do I name art? When the 
professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, and pre- 
sumers on their own naturals, as they are deriders of all 
diligence that way, and, by simple mocking at the terms, 
when they understand not the tilings, think to get off wit- 
tily vi'ith their ignorance. Nay, they are esteemed the more 
learned, and sufficient for this, by the many, through their 
excellent vice of judgment. For they commend writers, as 
they do fencers or wrestlers ; who if they come in robust- 
uously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are 
raceived for tlie braver fellows • when many times their 



own rudeness is the cause of their disgrace, and a littte 
touch of their adversary gives all that boisterous fore? tho 
foil. I deny not, but that these men, who always seek to 
do more than enough, may some time happen on some thing 
that is good, and great ; but very seldom : and when it 
comes it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. It sticks 
out, perhaps, and is more eminent, because all is sordid 
and vile about it: as lights are more discerned in a thick 
darkness, than a faint shadow. I speak not this, out of a 
hope to do good to any man against his will ; for I know, 
if it were put to the question of theirs and mine, the worse 
would find more sufiVages : because the most favor com- 
mon errors. But I give thee this warning, that there is a 
great difference between those, that, to gain the oiunion 
of copy, utter all they can, however unfitly ; and those that 
use election and a mean. For it is only the disease of the 
unskilful, to think rude things greater than polished ; ct 
scattered more numerous than composed. 



ERAMATIS PERSONiE. 



Subtle, the Alchemist. 

Face, the Housekeeper. 

DoL Common, their Colleague. 

Dapper, a Laicyer''s Clerk. 

Drugger, a Tobacco Man. 

Love WIT, Master of the House. 

Sir Epicure Mammon, a Knight. 



Pertinax Surly, a Oamestcr. 

Tribulation Wholesome, a Pastor of .Smstcrdaai. 

Ananias, a Deacon there. 

Kastrill, the ancrrii Boy. 

Dame Pliant, his Sister, a Widow. 

Neighbors. 

Officers, Attendants, &c. 



SCENE,— London. 



ARGUMENT. 



T he sickness hoi, a master quit, for fear, 

H is house in town, and left one servant there , 

E ase him corrupted, and gave means to know 

A Cheater, and his punJc ; who noio brought low. 
L caving their narroio practice, were become 
C ozeners at large ; and onh/ wanting some 
H ouse to set vp, with him iheg here contract, 
E ach for a share, and all begin to act. 
M uch company tliey draw, and much abuse, 
I n casting figures, telling fortunes, neios, 
S elling of files, flat baivdrg with the stone, 
T ill it, and they, and all in fume are gone. 



340 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



341 



PROLOGUE. 

Fortune, that favors fools, these tico short hours, 

We xcish aioay, both for your sakcs and ours, 
Judging S2Kctators ; and desire, i?i place. 

To the author Justice, to ourselves but grace. 
Our scene is London, ^cause ice would make known. 

No country's mirth is better than our own: 
Xo clime breeds better matter for your whore, 

Baiod, squire., imxiostor, many persons more. 
Whose manners, noio call'd humors, feed the stage ; 

And lohich have still been subject for the rage 
Or spleen of comic vjritcrs. Though this pen 

Did never aim to grieve, but better men ; 
Hoioe'er the age he lives in doth endure 

The vices that she breeds, above their cure. 
But ichen the wholesome remedies are sweet, 

And in their worldng gain and profit meetj 
He hopies to find no spirit so much diseased, 

But will u-ilh such fair correctives be pleased : 
For here he doth not fear who can apply. 

If there be any that icill sit so nigh 
Unto the stream, to look what it doth run, [done ; 

They shall find things, they'd think or tcish were 
They are so natural follies, but so shoion, 

As even the doers may see, and yet not oicn. 



ACT I. 

SCENE L — A Room in Lovhwit's House. 

Enter Face, in a captain's uniform, toithhis sword 
draion, and Subtle ivith a vial, quarrelling, and 
folloioed by DoL Commox. 

Face, Believc't, I vdll. 

Sub. Thy worst. I fart at thee. 

Dol. Have you your -nits ? why, gentlemen ! 
for love 

Face. Sirrah, I'll strip you 

Sub. What to do r lick figs 
Out at my ■ ■ 

Face. Rogue, rogue !■ — out of all your sleights. 

Dol. Nay, look ye, sovereign, general, are you 
madmen ? 

Sub. O, let the wild sheep loose. I'll gum 
your silks 
^Yith good strong water, an j'ou come. 

Dol. Will you have 
The neighbors hear you ? will you betray all ? 
Hark ! I hear somebody. 

Face. Sirrah ■ 

Sub. I shall mar 
All that the tailor has made, if you approach. 

Face. You most notorious Avhelp, you insolent 
Dare you do this ? [slave, 

Sub. Yes, faith ; yes, faith. 

Face. Why, who am I, my mungrel ? who am I ? 

Sub. I'll tell you. 
Since you know not yourself. 

Face. Speak lovrer, rogue. / 

Sub. Yes, you were once (time's not long pa$l) 
the good, / 

Honest, plain, livery-thrce-pound-thrum, t^at 

kept ';, 

Your master's worship's house here in the Friats, 
For the vacations \ 



Face. Will you be so loud ? 

Sub. Since, by my means, translated suburb. 
captain. 

Face. By yoiu* means, doctor dog ! 

Sub. W^ithin man's memory, 
All this I speak of. 

Face. Why, I pray you, have I 
Been countenanced by you, or you by me ? 
Do but collect, sir, where I met you tirst. 

Sub. I do not hear well. 

Face. Not of this, I think it. 
But I shall put you in mmd, sir ; — at Pie-corner, 
Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls, 
Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk 
Pitcously costive, with your pinch'd-horn-nosc. 
And your complexion of the Roman wash, 
Stuck full of black and melancholic worms, 
Like powder corns shot at the artillery-yard. 

Sub. I wish you could advance your voice a 
little. 

Face. When you v.'cnt pinn'd up in the several 
rags 
You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before 

day; 
Yoxir feet in mouldy slippers, for j-our kibes ; 
A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloke. 
That scarce would cover your no buttocks ■ 

Sub. So, sir ! 

Face. When all your alchemy, and your alge- 
bra. 
Your minerals, vegetals, and animals, 
Your conjuring, cozening, and your dozen of 

trades. 
Could not relieve yoiir corps with so much linen 
Would make you tinder, but to see a fire ; 
I gave you countenance, credit for your coals. 
Your stills, your glasses, your materials ; 
Built you a furnace, drew j'ou customers. 
Advanced all your black arts ; lent you, bcsidoj 
A house to practise in 

Sub. Your master's house ! 

Face. Where j'ou have studied the more thriv- 
Of bawdry since. [ing skill 

Sub. Yes, in your master's house. 
You and the rats here kept possession. 
Make it not strange. I know you were one 

could keep 
The buttery-hatch still lock'd, and save the chip - 

pings. 
Sell the dole beer to aqua-vita men. 
The which, together with your Christmas vails 
At post-and-pair, your letting out of counters, 
Made you a pretty stock, some twenty marks, 
And gave you credit to converse with cobwebs. 
Here, since your mistress' death hath broke up 
house. 

Face. You might tallc softlier, rascal. 

Sub. No, you scarab, 
I'll thunder you in pieces : I will teach you 
How to bevi-are to tempt a Fury again. 
That carries tempest in his hand and voice. 

Face. The place has made you valiant. 

Sub. No, your clothes. — 
Thou vermin, have I ta'en thee out of dung. 
So poor, so wretched, when no living thing 
Would keep thee company, but a sijidcr, or 

worse ? 
Raised thee from brooms, and dust, and water- 
ing-pots, 



3i2 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Sublimed thee, and exalted thee, and fix'd thee 
In the thu-d region, call'd our state of grace ? 
Wrought thee to si^irit, to quintessence, "svith 

pains 
Would twice have won me the philosopher's 

work ? 
Put thee in words and fashion, made thee fit 
For more than ordinary fellowships ? 
Giv n thee thy oaths, thy quarrelling dimensions, 
Thy rules to cheat at horse-race, cock-pit, cards, 
Dice, or whatever gallant tincture else ? 
Made thee a second in mine own great art ? 
And have I this for thanks ! Do you rebel, 
Do you fly out in the projection ? 
Would you be gone now ? 

Dol. Gentlemen, what mean you ? 
Will you mar all ? 

Suh. Slave, thou hadst had no name 

Bol. Will you undo yourselves with civil war ? 

Bub. Never been known, i^ast eqiii cUbanum, 
The heat of horse-dung, under ground, in cellars, 
Or an ale-house aarker than deaf John's ; been 

lost 
To all manldnd, but laundresses and tapsters, 
Had not I been. 

Dol. Do you know who hears you, sovereign ? 

Face. Sirrah 

Dol. Nay, general, I thought you were civil. 

Face. I shall turn desperate, if you grow thus 
loud. 

Sub. And hang thyself, I care not. 

Face. Hang thee, collier, 
And all thy pots, and pans, in picture, I will. 
Since thou hast moved me 

Dol. O, this will o'er throw all. 

Face. Write thee up bawd in Paul's, have all 
thy tricks 
Of cozening with a hollow cole, dust, scrapings, 
Searching for things lost, with a sieve and sheers. 
Erecting figures in your rows of houses, 
And taking in of shadows with a glass, 
Told in red letters ; and a face cut for thee. 
Worse than Gamaliel liatsey's. 

Dol. Are you sound ? 
Have you your senses, masters ? 

Face. I will have 
A book, but barely reckoning thy impostures. 
Shall prove a true philosopher's stone to printers. 

Sub. Away, you trencher-rascal ! 

Face. Out, you dog-leach ! 
The vomit of all prisons 

Dol. Will you be 
Your own destructions, gentlemen ? 

Face. Still spew'd out 
For lying too heavy on the basket. 

Sub. Cheater! 

Face. Bawd ! 

Sub. Cow-herd! 

Face. Conjurer ! 

Sub. Cut-purse ! 

Face. Witch I 

Dol. O me ! 
We are ruin'd, lost ! have you no more regard 
To your reputations ? Avhere's your judgment ? 

'slight, 
Have yet some care of me, cf your republic 

Face. Away, this hrach ! I'll bring thee, 
rogue, within 
The statute of sorcery, tricesimo tertio 



Of Harry the Eighth : ay, and perhaps, thy 7ieck 
Within a noose, for laundring gold and barb- 
ing it. 
Dol. [SnatcJtes Face's sicord.'] You'll bring 
your head within a cockscomb, will you ? 
And you, sir, with j'our menstrue — 

[Dashes Subtle's vial out of his hand, 
Gather it up. — 
'Sdeath, you abominable pair of stinkards, 
Leave off j-our barking, and grow one again, 
Or, by the light that shines, I'll cut your throats. 
I'll not be made a prey unto the marshal, 
For ne'er a snarling dog-bolt of you both. 
Have you together cozen'd all this while. 
And all the world, and shall it now be said. 
You've made most courteous shift to cozen your- 
selves ? 
You 'will accuse him ! you will bring him in 

[To Face. 
Within the statute ' Who shall take your word : 
A whoreson, upstart, apocryphal captain, 
Whom not a Puritan in Blackfriars will trust 
So much as for a feather : and you, too, 

[To Subtle. 
Y^'ill give the cause, forsooth ! you will insult, 
And claim a primacy in the divisions ! 
You must be chief ! as if you only had 
The powder to project with, and the work 
Were not begun out of equality ? 
The venture tripartite ? all things in common ? 
Without priority ? 'Sdeath ! you perpetual cure. 
Fall to your couples again, and cozen kindly, 
And heartily, and lovingly, as you should. 
And lose not the beginning of a term. 
Or, by this hand, I shall grow factious too, 
And take my part, and quit you. 

Face. 'Tis his fault ; 
He ever murmurs, and objects his pains. 
And says, the weight of all lies upon him. 
Sub. Why, so it does. 
Dol. How does it ? do not we 
Sustain our parts ? 

Sub. Yes, but there are not equal. 
Dol. Why, if your part exceed to-day, I hope 
Ours may, to-morrow, match it. 
. Sub. Ay, they may. 
Dol. IMaj', murmuring mastiff ! ay, and do. 
Death on me ! 
Help me to throttle him. 

[Seizes Sub. bjj the throat. 

Sub. Dorothy ! mistress Dorothy ! 

'Ods precious, I'll do any thing. What do you 

mean ? [tion ? 

Dol. Because o' your fermentation and ciba- 

Sub. Not I, by heaven 

Dol. Your Sol and Luna help me. 

[To Face, 
Sub. Would I were hang'd then ! I'U conform 

myself. 
Dol. Will you, sir ? do so then, and quickly : 

swear. 
Sub. AVhat should I swear ? 
Dol. To leave your faction, sir. 
And labor kindly in the common work. 

Sub. Let me not breathe if I meant aught 
I only used those speeches as a spur [beside. 
To him. 

Dol. I hope we need no spurs, sir. Do we .' 
Face. 'Slid, prove to- day, who shall shark best. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



343 



Sub. Agreed. 

Dol. Yes, and ■work close and friendly. 
Sub. 'Slight, tlie knot 
Shall grow the stronger for this breach, -with me. 
[ T/iei/ shake hands. 
Dol. Why, so, my good baboons ! Shall we 
go make 
A sort of sober, scurvy, precise neighbors, 
That scarce have smiled twice since the king 

came in, 
A feast of laughter at our follies ? Rascals, 
Would run themselves from breath, to see me 

ride. 
Or you t' have but a hole to thrust your heads in, 
For which you should pay ear-rent ? No, agree. 
And may don Provost ride a feasting long. 
In his old velvet jerkin and stain'd scarfs, 
My noble sovereign, and worthy general. 
Ere we contribute a new cruel garter 
To his most worsted worslrip. 

Sub. Royal Dol ! 
Spoken like Claridiana, and thyself. 

Face. For which at supper, thou shalt sit in 
triumph. 
And not be styled Dol Common, but Dol Proper, 
Dol Singular : the longest cut at night 
Shall draw thee for his Dol Particular. 

[Bell rings without. 
Sub. Who's that ? one rings. To the window, 
Dol : [Exit DoL.] — pray heaven, 
The master do not trouble us this quarter. 
Face. O, fear not him. While there dies one 
a week [London : 

O' the plague, he's safe, from thinking toward 
Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now ; 
I had a letter from him. If he do. 
He'll send such word, for airing of the house. 
As you shall have sufficient time to quit it : 
Though we break up a fortnight, 'tis no matter. 

Re-enter DoL. 

Sub. Who is it, Dol ? 

Dol. A fine young quodling. 

Face. O, 
My lawyer's clerk, I lighted on last night, 
In Holborn, at the Dagger. He would have 
(I told you of him) a familiar. 
To rifle with at horses, and win cups. 

Dol. 0, let him in. 
• Sub. Stay. Who shall do't ? 

Face. Get you 
Your robes on : I will meet him as going out. 

DoL And what shall I do ? 

Face. Not be seen ; away ! [Exit Dol. 

Seem you very reserv'd. 

Sub. Enough. [Exit. 

Fac3. [aloud and retiring.'] God be wi' you, sir, 
1 pray you let him know that I was here : 
His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, 
but — 

Dap. [icithin.'] Captain, I am here. 

Face. Who's that ? — He's come, I think.doctor. 

Enter Dapper. 
Good faith, sir, I was going away. 

Dap. In truth, 
I am very sorrj', captain. 

Face. I3ut I thought 
Sure I should meet you. 



Daup. Ay, I am very glad. 
I had a scurvy writ or two to make, 
And I had lent my watch last night to one 
That dines to-day at the sheriff's, and so was 
Of my past-time. [robb'd 

Re-enter Subtle, in his velvet Cap and Goion. 
Is this the cunning-man ? 

Face. This is his worship. 

Dap. Is he a doctor ? 

Face. Yes. 

Dap. And you have broke with him, captain ? 

Face. Av. 

Dap. And how? [dainty 

Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so 
I know not what to say. 

Dap. Not so, good captain. [me. 

Face. Would I were fairly rid of it, believe 

Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why 
should you wish so ? 
I dare assure you I'll not be ungrateful. 

Face. I cannot think j-ou will, sir. But the law 

Is such a thing and then he says, Read's 

Falling so lately. [matter 

Dap. Read ! he Avas an ass, 
And dealt, sir, with a fool 

Face. It was a clerk, sir. 

Dap. A clerk ! 

Face. Nay, hear mo, sir, you know the law 
Better, I think 

Dap. I should, sir, and the danger : 
You know, I shew'd the statute to you. 

Face. You did so. [flesh, 

Dap. And will I tell then ! By this hand of 
Would it might never write good court-hand 

more, 
If I discover. What do you think of me, 
That I am a chiaus ? 

Face. What's that ? 

Dap. The Turk was here. 
As one -would say, do you think I am a Turk ? 

Face. I'll tell the doctor so. 

Dap. Do, good sweet captain. 

Faxe. Come, noble doctor, pray thee let's 
prevail ; 
This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus. 

Sub. Captain, I have return'd you all my an- 
swer. 

I would do much, sir, for your love But this 

I neither may, nor can. 

Face. Tut, do not say so. 
You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor. 
One that will thank you richly ; and he is no 
Let that, sir, move you. [chiaus : 

Sub. Praj' you, forbear 

Face. He has 
Four angels here. 

Sub. You do me wrong, good sii'. 

Face. Doctor, wherein ? to tempt you with 

these spirits ? 
Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril. 
Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my 

friend, 
That so would draw me to apparent danger. 

Face. I draw you ! a horse draw you, and a 
You, and your flies together [halter 

Dap. Nay, good captain. 

Face. That know no diflerence of men. 
Sub. Good words, sii-. 



344 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Face. Good deeds, sir, d-jctor dogs-meat. 
'Slight, I bring tou 
No cheating Clim o' the CloTighs, or Claribel?, 
That look as big as five-and-fiftv, and fiush ; 
And spit out secrets like hot custard — 

Dtip. Captain! 

Face. Xor any melancholic under-scribe, 
Shall tell t*lie vicar ; but a special gentle, 
That is the heir to forty marks a year. 
Consorts with the small poets of the time, 
Is the sole hope of his old grandmother ; 
That knows the law, and writes you sis fair 

hands, 
Is a fine clerk, and has his cyphering perfect, 
"WUl take his oath o' the Greek Testament, 
If need be, in his pocket ; and can court 
His mistress out of Ovid. 

Dap. Xay, dear captain 

Face. Did you not teU me so ? 

Dap. Yes ; but I'd have you 
Use master doctor with some more respect. 

Face. Hang him, proud stag, with his broad 
velvet head I — 
But for your sake, Fd choak, ere I would change 
An article of breath with such a puckfist : 
Come, let's be gone. [Goiny. 

Sub. Pray you let me speak with you. 

Dap. His worship calls you, captain. 

Face. I am sorry 
I e'er cmbark'd myself in such a business. 

Dap. Xay, good sir ; he did caU. you. 

Face. Will he take then : 

Sub. First, hear me 

Face. Xot a syllable, 'less you take. 

Sub. Pray you, sir 

Face. Upon no terms, but an assumpsit. 

Sub. Your humor must be law. 

[He takes the four an-jeh. 

Face. Why now, sir, talk. 
Now I dare hear you with mine honor. Speak. 
So may this gentleman too. 

Sub. Why, sir [Offering to tchisper Face. 

Face. No whispering. [loss 

S«5. Fore heaven, you do not apprehend the 
You do yourself in this. 

Face. Wherein : for what ? 

Sub. Marry, to be so importunate for one. 
That, when he has it, wLU undo you all : 
He'll win up all the money in the town. 

Fare. How ! [ster. 

Sub. Yes, and blow up gamester after game- 
As they do crackers ia a puppet plav. 
If I do give him a familiar, ' 
Give you him all you play for : never set bim : 
For he will have it. 

Face. You are mistaken, doctor. 
Why he does ask one but for cups and horses, 
A rifling fly ; none of your great familiars. 

Dap. Ycs,captain, I would have it for all games. 

Sub. I told you so. 

Face. [Taking Dap. aside-] 'Slight, that is a 
new business ! 
I understood you, a tame bird, to fly 
Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights. 
When you had left the office, for a nag 
Of forty or fifty shUlings. 

Dap. Ay, 'tis true, sir ; 
"But I do think now I shall leave the law, 
And tlierefore 



Fj::. Why, this changes quite the case. 
Do you think that I dare move ^im : 

Dap. If you please, sir ; 
All's one to him, I see. 

Face. What I for that money .' 
I cannot with my conscience ; nor should you 
Make the request, methinks. 

Dap. No, sir, I mean 
To add consideration. 

Face. Why then, sir, 
ril try. — [Goes to Subtle.] Say that it -were 
for all games, doctor : 

Sub. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him 
At any ordinary, but on the score. 
That is a gaming mouth, conceive me. 

Face. Indeed I [realm, 

5m^. He'll draw you all the treasure of the 
If it be set him. 

Face. Speak you this from art ? [art. 

Sub. Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of 
He is of the only best complexion, 
The queen of Fairy loves. 

Face. What I is he : 

Sub. Peace. [him — 

He'll overhear you. Sir, should she but sea 

Face. What : 

Sub. Do not you tell him. 

Face. Will he win at cards too r 

Sub. The spirits of dead HoUand, living Ispae, 
You'd swear were in him ; such a vigorous luck 
As cannot be resisted. 'Slight, he'll put 
Six of your gallants to a cloke, indeed. 

Face. A strange success, that some man shall 

Sub. He hears you, man [be bom to ! 

Dap. Sir, I'U not be ingrateful. [ture : 

Face. Faith, I have confidence ia his good na- 
You hear, he says he will not be uigrateful. 

Sub. VThv, as you please ; my venture fol- 
lows yours. [and make him. 

Face. Troth, do it, doctor ; tlmik him trusty. 
He may make us both happy in an hour ; 
Win some five thousand pound, and send us two 

Dap. Believe it, and I will, sir. [on't 

Face. And you shall, sir. ^ Takes him aside. 
Yoa have heard all ? 

Dap. No, what was't ? Nothing, I, sir. 

Face. Nothing ! 

Dap. A little, sir. 

Face. Well, a rare star. 
Reign' d at your birth- 

Dap. At mine, sir I No. 

Face. The doctor 
Swegjs that you are 

Sub. Nay, captain, you'll tell all now. 

Face. Allied to the queen of Fairy. 

Dap. "Who : that I am : 
Believe it, no such matter — — - 

Face. Yes, and that 
You were bom with a cawl on your head 

Dap. Who says so r 

Face. Come, " [ble it. 

You know it well enough, though you dissem- 

Dap. Ffac, I do not : you are mistaken. 

Face. How ! 
Swear by your fac, and in a thing so known 
Unto the doctor : How shall wc, sir, trust yoii 
In the ether matter ? can we ever think, 
When you have won five or sis thousand po'or.d 
You'll send us shares in't, by this rate : 



THE ALCKEMIST. 



8U 



:i. :.- i send tou half. 



[feiend, ' 
he's TOUT 



[Doctor, 



Dap. By Jove, ?ir, 
rilvria tea thouiani r 
Viacs no caih- 

Sw5. No, no, te did bat jes", 

Faee. Goto. Go thank the d>:tor 
To take i: so. 

Dap. I i2i2~i his ■w-orship 

Fute. So ; 
Another aoirel. 

Djp. Mus:i:- 

Faat- iliist you ! 'slight, 
"What else is thanks r -will von be trmal r — 
[Dappes <7»t<M itMi tAa mtomejf. 
"When mTisT he come for his j^miliaT ' j 

Dcp. Shall I not hare it ■with me r 

5a3. O, good sir '. 
There must a \r<Hld of cezemtmies pas ; 
You most be bath'd and fomigated nrs* : 
Besides the queen of Fairy does not rise 
Till it be noon. ' 

Jli?*. Xot. if she danced, to-night. 

S«i3. And she must bless it. ; 

Fud. Did yon never see j 

Her royal grace yet : ( 

D^p. Whom : j 

Fiux. Ycnr aunt of Tairy r [captain ; I 

ito. Xo: since she kist -"-^ in the cradle, i 
J osn resolve you that. 

Faof. Well, see her grace, I 

"Whaie'er it cost yon, for a tMng that I ki:o"w. 
It wiii '::^ sometrhat hard to com^^ss ; but 
However, see her. Tou are made, believe it. 
If you can see her. Her grace is a lone wonian. 
And very rich ; and if she take a fency. 
She will do strange things. See her, at any 

hand. 
'Slid, she may hap to leave you all she has : 
I: is the dcctor's fear. i 

Z)jj>. How will*: bo ' . " . - [j^^i ' 

i~j.v. Le: me a! en-; : thought. Do 

Bar siv to me, c^r.-.-' . _ _ ^^ _ _ir grace. 

Dap. Cj^tain, FU *« Aer fraee. 

Fs^-j. Eno-igh. [Rjiaettgy tsiiAiH. 

S..i. Who's there r I 

Anon. — Conduct hini forth bythe back way. — J 

{Aside t3 Facs. j 
Sir, against one o'clock jai^iaie yourself; j 

Tiii when you must be msting ; only take I 

Three drc^ of Tinegar in at your noEe, j 

Two at your mouth, and one at other ear ; 
Then bathe your n Tigers ends and wash your 
T: -harpen your nve senses, and cry Jatm [eyes. 
Thrice, and then on: as onen ; a^j^ then crane. 

[EziL 

Fast. Can yon rememher this : 

D-/;. I warrant you. [stowing 

Ft^ci. Well then, a-way. I: is but your be- '. 
?;~? twenty nobles 'mong her grace's serrants, i 
An i p -it on a clean shirt : you do not know [ 
V.~_i: rr:i:e her grace msv i: you in clean 
_n:n. ^-E-'-'^ .J Fi-Z s.-iJ Dappes. 

^^j. ^ -- ■ r -. , ; ._, C 'me in I tcc-i -Hirc-s, I pray 
you fjirbear me now ; 

Troth I can do you no good ffll afternoon — 

I 

Whit is your name, say yon, Abel Dmgger r ! 
I/t^j. Yes, sir. j 

5i<3. A seller of tobacco r ! 



L'Ts:. Yes, sir. 
Sw3. Ymph 1 
Free of the grocers ? 

Drn/j- Av, an't please von. 

Su.C w^ 

Your bxianess, Abel r 

Drug. This, an't please your worship : 
I am a young beginner, and am cuilding 
Of a new shop, an't like your worship, just 
At comer of a street : — Here's the plot on't — • 
And I would know by art, sir, of your worship^ 
Which way I should make my dcor, by necro- 
mancy, ffor boxes, 
And where my shelves ; and which should be 
And which for pots. I wonld be glad to thrive, 
sir [man. 
And I was wish'd to your worship by a gentle- 
One captain Face, that says you know men's 
And their good argels, and their bad. [iilanets, 

Sa5. I do, 
Ii I do see them 

Ee-eni^t Face. 

Fiux, WTiat ! my honest Abel ? 
Thou art well met here. 

Dru.g. Troth, sir, I was speaking, [ship : 

Jast as your worship came hra'e, of your wor- 
I pray yon speak fi>r me to master doctor. 

Fa-x- He shall do any thing. — Doctor, do 
you hear ! 
This is my Mend, Abel, an honest fellow ; 
He lets me have good tobacc-o, and hd does not 
Sophisti;-ate it with sack-lees or oil, 
Xor washes it in muscadel and grains, 
Xor fcniies i; in gravel, under ground, 
Wrappd up in greasy leather, or piss'd douls : 
But keeps it in fine liiy pots, that, open'd. 
Smell like conserve of roses, or Fraach beans. 
He has his maple block, his sLLver tongs, 
Wlnchster pip^ and fire of Juniper : 
A neat, spruce, honest fellow, and no goldsmith. 

Sub. He is a fortunate fellow, that I am 
sure on. [Abel I 

Face, Already, sir, have you found it r Lo thee, 

Sm5. And in right ■way to'ward riches — 

i^see. & ! 

&&. This snmmer 
He ■will be of the clothing of his company. 
And next spring caU'd to the scarlet ; spend 
what he can. 

Faa. What, and s-o little beari r 

Sk5. Sir, you must th^V, 
He may have a r —":■'-'- -~e : 

But hell be wi- 2nd fino 

His fortune look- l^for't; 

Face. 'Slid, doctor, how c-anst thou know 
I am am'use-i at that I ^this so soon ? 

Su5. By a rule, captain. 
In metoposcopy, which I do work by ; [not 
A certain star in the forehead, wluch you see 
Yonr chesnut or your tdhre-color'd face (19& 
Dees never feil : and your long ear doth prom- 
I knew't by certain spots, too, in his teeth. 
And on the nail of iis mercurial finger. 

Face, Which finger's that r 

Siib. His httle finger. Look. 
Yon -were IxHn upon a Wednesday r 

Drug. Yes, indeed, sir. [Venns , 

Sto. The thumb, in chiromancy, we give 



1 



310 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



The fore-fingor, to Jove ; the midst, to Saturn ; 
The ring, to Sol ; the least, to Mercury, 
Who -was the lord, sir, of his horoscope, 
His house of life being Libra; which fore- 
show'd, [balance. 

He should be a merchant, and should trade with 

Face- Why, this is strange ! Is it not, honest 
Nab ? 

Sub. There is a ship now, coming from Ormus, 
That shall yield him such a commodity 

Of drugs This is the west, and this the 

south ? [Pointiuf/ to the plan. 

Drug. Yes, sir. 

Sub. And those are your two sides ? 

Drug. Ay, sir. [broad side, west : 

Sub. Make me your door, then, south ; your 
And on the east side of your shop, aloft. 
Write Mathlai, Tarmiel, and Baraborat ; 
Upon the north part, Racl, Velel, Thiel. 
They are the names of those mercurial s^^irits. 
That do fright flies from boxes. 

Drug. Yes, sir. 

Sub. And 
Beneath your threshold, bury nae a load-stone 
To draw in gallants that wear spurs : the rest. 
They'll seem to follow. 

Face. That's a secret, Nalj ! 

Sub. And, on your stall, a puppet, with a vice 
And a court-fucus to call city-dames : 
You shall deal much Avith minerals. 

Drug. Sir, I have 
At homo, already 

Sub. Ay, I know you have arsenic, 
Vitriol, sal-tartar, argaile, alkali, 
Cinoper : I know all. — This fellow, captain. 
Will come, in time, to be a great distiller. 
And give a say — I will not say directlj^, 
But very fair — at the philosopher's stone. 

Face. Why, how now, Abel ! is this true ? 

Drug. Good captain. 
What must I give ? [Aside to Face. 

Face. Nay, I'll not counsel thee. 
Thou hear'st what wealth (he says, spend what 
Thou'rt like to come to. [thou canst,) 

Drug. I would gi' him a crown. [heart, 

Face. A crown ! and toward such a fortune ? 

Thou shalt rather gi' him thy shop. No gold 

about thee ? [half year. 

Drug. Yes, I have a portague, I have kept this 

Face. Out on thee. Nab ! 'Slight, there was 
such an offer — [Doctor, 

Shalt koep't no longer, I'll give't him for thee. 
Nab praj^s your worship to drink this, and 

swears 
He will appear more grateful, as your skill 
Does raise him in the world. 

Drug. I would entreat 
Another favor of his worship. 

Face. What is't, Nab ? 

Drug. But to look over, sir, my almanack, 
And cross out my ill days, that I may neither 
Bargain, nor trust upon them. 

Face. That he shall. Nab ; 
Leave it, it shall be done, 'gainst afternoon. 

Sub. And a direction for his shelves. 

Face. Now, Nab, 
Art thou well pleased, Nab ? 

Drug, 'Thank, sir, both your worships. 

Face. Away. — \_Exit Drugger. 



Why, now, you smoaky persecutor of nature ! 
Now do you see, that something's to be done, 
Beside your beech-coal, and your corsive waters, 
Your crosslets, crucibels, and cucurbites ? 
You must have stuff brought home to you, to 

work on : 
And yet you think, I am at no expense [them. 
In searching out these veins, then following 
Then trying them out. 'Pore God, my intelli- 
gence [to, 
Costs me more money, than my share oft comes 
In these rare works. 

Sub. You are pleasant, sir. — 

Re-enter Dol. 

How now ! 
'\Vhat saj's my dainty Dolkin ? 

Dol. Yonder fish- wife 
WiU not away. And there's your giantess, 
The bawd of Lambeth. 

Sub. Heart, I cannot speak with them, [voice, 

Dol. Not afore night, I have told them in a 
Thorough the trunk, like one of your familiars. 
But I have spied sir Epicure Mammon 

Sub. Where ? 

Dol. Coming along, at far end of the lane, 
Slow of his feet, but earnest of his tongue 
To one that's with him. 

Sub. Face, go you, and shift. [Exit Facu 

Dol, you must presently make ready, too. 

Dol. Why, what's the matter ? 

Sub. O, I did look for him 
With the sun's rising : 'marvel he could sleep. 
This is the day I am to perfect for him 
The magisterium, our great work, the stone ; 
And yield it, made, into his hands : of which 
He has, this month, talked as he were possess'd. 
And now he's dealing pieces on't away. — 
Methinks I see him entering ordinaries, 
Dispensmg for the pox, and plaguy houses, 
Keaching his dose, walking Moorfields for lepers, 
And offering citizens' wives pomander-braceletSj 
As his preservative, made of the elixir ; 
Searching the spittal, to make old bawds young , 
And the highways, for beggars, to make rich : 
I see no end of his labors. He will make 
Nature asham'd of her long sleep : when art. 
Who's but a step-dame, shall do more than she, 
In her best love to mankind, ever could : 
If his dream lasts, he'll turn the age to gold. 

[Exeunt, 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A}i Outer Boom in Lovewit's 
House. 

Enter Sir EncuRE SIammon and Surly 

Mam, Come on, sir. Noav, you set your foot 
In Novo Orbe ; here's the rich Peru : [on shore 
And there within, sir, are the golden mines. 
Great Solomon's Ophir ! he was sailing to't, 
Three years, but we have reach'd it in ten 

months. 
This is the day, wherein, to all my friends, 
I will pronounce the happy word. Be rich ; 
This day you shall be spectatissimi. 
You shall no more deal with the hollow dye, 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



347 



Or the frail card. No more be at charge of 

keeping 
The livery- punk for the young heir, that must 
Seal, at all hours, in his sliirt : no more, 
If he deny, have him beaten to't, as he is 
That brings him the commodity. No more 
Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger 
Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloke, 
To be display'd at madam Augusta's, make 
The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before 
The golden calf, and on their knees, whole 

nights, 
Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets : 
Or go a feasting after drum and ensign. 
No more of this. You shall start vip young 

viceroj^s. 
And have your punks, and punketees, my Surly. 
And unto thee I speak it first. Be rich. 
Wliere is my Subtle, there ? Within, ho ! [by. 

Face. [Within.'] Sir, he'll come to you by and 

Mam. That is his fire-drake. 
His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals, 
Till he firk nature up, in her own centre. 
You are not faithful, sir. This night, I'll change 
All that is metal, in my house, to gold : 
And, early in the morning, "will I send 
To all the plumbers and the pewterers, 
And buy their tin and lead up ; and to Lothbury 
For all the copper. 

Sur. What, and turn that too ? 

Ma7n. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and 
Cornwall, 
And make them perfect Indies ! j'ou admire now? 

Sur. No, faith. [Great Medicine, 

Mam, But when you see th' efi"ect3 of the 
Of which one part projected on a hundred 
Of Mercury, or Venus, or the moon, 
Shall turn it to as many of the sun ; 
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum : 
You will believe me. 

Sur. Yes, when I see't, I will. 
But if my eyes do cozen me so, and I 
Giving them no occasion, sure I'll have 
A whore, shall piss them out next day. 

Mam. Ha ! why .' 
Do you think I fable with you ? I assure you, 
He that has once the flower of the sun, 
The perfect ruby, which we call elixir. 
Not only can do that, but, by its virtue. 
Can confer honor, love, respect, long life ; 
Give safetjs valor, yea, ancl victory. 
To whom he will. In eight and twenty days, 
I'll make an old man of fourscore, a child. 

Sur. No doiibt ; he's that already. 

Mam. Nay, I mean. 
Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle, 
To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daugh- 
ters. 
Young giants ; as our philosophers have done. 
The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood, 
But taking, once a week, on a knife's point. 
The quantitj'' of a grain of mustard of it ; 
Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids. 

Sur. The decay 'd vestals of Pict-hatch would 
thank you. 
That keep the fire alive, there. 

Mam. 'Tis the secret 
Of nature naturiz'd 'gainst all infections. 
Cures all diseases coming of all causes ; 



A month's grief in a day, a year's in twelve ; 
And, of what age soever, in a month : 
Past all the doses of your drugging doctors, 
I'll undertake, witliall, to fright the plague 
Out of the kingdom in three months. 

Sur. And I'll [then, 

Be bound, the players shall sing your praises. 
Without their poets. 

Mam. Sir, I'll do't. Mean time, 
I'll give away so much unto my man, 
Shall serve the v^'hole city, with preservative. 
Weekly ; each house his dose, and at the rate — 

Sur. As he that built the Water- work, does 
Avith water ? 

Mam. You are incredulous. 

Sur. Faith I have a humor, 
I would not willingly be guU'd. Your stone 
Cannot transmute me. 

Mam. Pertinax, [my] Surly, 
Will you believe antiquity ? records ? 
I'll shew you a book where Moses and his sister, 
And Solomon have written of the art ; 
Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam — 

Sur. How! [Dutch. 

Mam. Of the philosopher's stone, and in High 

Sur. Did Adam write, sir, in High Dutch ? 

Mam. He did ; 
Which proves it was the primitive tongue 

Sur. What paper ? 

Mam. On cedar board. 

Sur. O that, indeed, they say, 
WiU last 'gainst worms. 

Mam. 'Tis like your Irish wood, [fleece, too, 
'Gauist cob-webs. I have a piece of Jason's 
Which was no other than a book of alchemy. 
Writ in large sheep-skin, a good fat ram-vellum. 
Such was Pythagoras' thigh. Pandora's tub, 
And, aU that fable of Medea's charms. 
The manner of our work ; the bulls, our furnace, 
Still breathmg fire ; our argent-vive, the dragon : 
The dragon's teeth, mercury sublimate. 
That keeps the whiteness, hardness, and the 

biting ; 
And they are gather'd into Jason's helm. 
The alembic, and then sow'd in Mars his field. 
And thence sublimed so often, till they're fix'd. 
Both this, the Hesperian garden, Cadmus' story, 
Jove's shower, the boon of Midas, Argus' eyes, 
Boccace his Demogorgon, thousands more, 
AU abstract riddles of our stone. — 

Enter Face, as a Servant. 
How noAV ! 
Do we succeed ? Is our day come ? and holds it 
Face. The evening will set red upon you, sir ; 
You have color for it, crimson: the red fer- 
ment [you 
Has done his office ; three hours hence prepare 
To see projection. 

Mam. Pertinax, my Surly, 
Again I say to thee, aloud. Be rich. [row, 

This day, thou shalt have ingots ; and, to-mor- 
Give lords th' aff'ront. — Is it, my Zephyrus 

right ? 
Blushes the bolt's-head ? 

Face. Like a wench with child, sir. 
That were but now ciiscover'd to her master. 
Mam. Excellent witty Lungs ! — my only 
care is, 



'348 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Where to get stuff enough now, to project on ; 
This town will not half serve me. 

Face. No, sir ! buy 
The covering off o' churches. 

Mam. That's true. 

Face. Yes. 
Let them stand bare, as do their auditory ; 
Or cap them, new, with shingles. 

Mam. No, good thatch : 
Thatch will lie light upon the rafters, Lungs. — 
Lungs, I will manumit thee from the furnace ; 
I will restore thee thy complexion, Puffe, 
Lost in the embers ; and repair this brain, 
Hurt with tlie fume o' the metals. 

Face. I have blown, sir, 
Hard for your worship ; thrown by many a coal, 
"When 'twas not beech ; v/oigh'd those I put in, 

just. 
To keep your heat still even ; these blear'd eyes 
Have wak'd to read your several colors, sir, 
Of the pale citron, the green lion, the crow. 
The peacock's tail, the plumed swan. 

Mam. And, lastly. 
Thou hast descry'd the flower, the sanguis agni ? 

Face. Yes, sir. 

Mam. Where's master ? 

Face. At his prayers, six-, he ; 
Good man, he's doing his devotions 
For the success. 

Mam. Lungs, I will set a period 
To all thy labors ; thou shalt be the master 
Of my seraglio. 

Face. Good, sir. 

Mam. But do you hoar ? 
I'll geld you, Lungs. 

Face. Yes, sir. 

Mam. For I do mean 
To have a list of wives and concubines. 
Equal with Solomon, who had the stone 
Alike with me ; and I will make me a back 
With the elixir, that shall be as tough 
As Hercules, to encounter fifty a night. — 
Thou art sure thou saw'st it blood ? 

Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. [stuft : 

Mam. I will have all my beds blown up, not 
Down is too hard : and then, mine oval room 
Fill'd Avith such pictures as Tiberius took 
From Elephantis, and dull Aretine 
But coldly imitated. Then, my glasses 
Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse 
And multiply the figures, as I walk 
Naked between my succubee. My mists 
I'll have of perfume, vapor'd 'bout the room, 
To lose ourselves in ; and my baths, like pits 
To fall into ; from whence we will come forth. 
And roll us dry in gossamer and roses. — 

Is it arrived at ruby ? Where I spy 

A wealthy citizen, or [a] rich lawyer, 

Have a sublimed pure wife, unto that fellow 

I'll send a thousand pound to be my ciickold. 

Face. And I shall carry it ? 

Mam. No. I'll have no bawds, 
But fathers and mothers : they will do it best, 
Best of all others. And my flatterers 
Shall bo the pure and gravest of divines. 
That I can get for money. My mere fools, 
Eloqueni burgesses, and then my poets 
The same that writ so subtly of the fart, 
Whom I Avill entertain still for that subject,. 



The few that would give out themselves to be 
Court and town-stallions, and, each- where, bely 
Ladies who are known most innocent for them ; 
Those will I beg, to make me eunuchs of: 
And they shall fan me with ten ostrich tails 
A-piece, made in a plume to gather wind. 
We will be brave, Puffe, now Ave have the 

med'cine. 
My meat shall all come in, in Indian shells, 
Dishes of agat set in gold, and studded 
With emeralds, sapphires, hyacinths, and rubies. 
The tongues of carj^s, dormice, and camels' heels, 
Boil'd in the spirit of sol, and dissolv'd pearl, 
Apicius' diet, 'gainst the epilepsy : [ber, 

And I Avill eat these broths Avith spoons of am- 
Headed Avith diamond and carbuncle. [mens, 
My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver'd sal- 
Knots, godAA'its, lampreys : I myself Avill have 
The beards of barbels served, instead of sallads ; 
Oil'd mushrooms ; and the SAvelling unctuous 

paps 
Of a fat pregnant soav, newly cut off, 
Dress Avith an exquisite, and poignant sauce ; 
For Avhich, I'll say luito my cook. There's gold, 
Go forth, and be a knight. 

Face. Sir, I'll go look 
A little, hoAV it heightens. [Exit. 

Mam. Do. — My shirts 
I'll have of taffeta-sarsnet, soft and light 
As cobAvebs ; and for all my other raiment. 
It shall be such as might provoke the Persian, 
AVere he to teach the Avorld riot ancAv. 
My gloves of fishes and birds' skins, perfumed 
With gums of paradise, and eastern air 

Sur, And do you think to have the stone with 
this? 

Mam. No, I do think t' have all this with the 
stone. [p'ftffh 

Stir. Why, I have heard, he must be homo 
A pious, holy, and religious man, 
One free from mortal sin, a very virgin. [it ; 

Mean. That makes it, sir ; he is so : but I buy 
My venture brings it me. He, honest wretch, 
A notable, superstitious, good soul. 
Has Avorn his knees bare, and his slii-jpers bald. 
With prayer and fasting for it : and sir, let him 
Do it alone, for me, still. Here he comes. 
Not a profane Avord afore him : 'tis poison. — 

Enter Subtle. 
Good morroAV, father. 

Sub. Gentle son, good morrow. [you ? 

And to your friend there. What is he, is Avith 

Mam. An heretic, that I did bring along. 
In hope, sir, to convert him. 

Sub. Son, I doubt 
You are covetous, that thusyou meet your time 
In the just point : prevent your day at morning. 
This argues something, Avorthy of a fear 
Of importune and carnal appetite. [JOtIj 

Take heed you do not cause the blessing leave 
With your ungovern'd haste. I should be sorry 
To see my labors, noAv even at perfection, 
Got by long Avatching and large patience. 
Not prosper Avhere my love and zeal hath placed 

them. 
Which (heaven I call to Avitness, Avith your self. 
To Avhom I have pour'd my thoughts) in all my 
ends, 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



349 



Have look'd no way, but unto public good, 
To pious uses, and dear chanty 
Now grown a prodigy with men. Wherein 
If 3'ou, my son, should now prevaricate. 
And, to your own particular lusts employ 
So great and catholic a bliss, be sure 
A curse wiE follow, 3'ea, and overtake 
Your subtle and most secret ways. 

Mam. I know, sir ; 
You shall not need to fear me : I but come, 
To have vou confute this gentleman. 

Sur. Who is. 
Indeed, sir, somewhat costive of belief 
Toward your stone ; would not be gull'd. 

Sub. Well, son, 
All that I can convince him in, is this, 
'Tlie AVORK IS DONE, bright sol is in his robe. 
We have a medicine of the triple soul. 
The glorified spirit. Thanks be to heaven, 
And make us worthy of it ! — Ulen Spiegel ! 

Face, [loithin.] Anon, sir. 

Sub. Look well to the register. 
And let 3'our heat still lessen by degrees. 
To the aludels. 

Face, [loiihin.] Y'es, sir. 

Sub. Did you look 

the bolt's-head yet ? 

Face, [within.] Which? on D, sir? 

Sub. Ay ; 
What's the complexion ? 

Face, [within.] Whitish. 

Sub. Infuse vinegar, 
To draw his volatile substance and his tincture : 
And let the water in glass E be filtcr'd. 
And put into the gripe's egg. Lute him well ; 
And leave him closed in balneo. 

Face. Uoithin.] I will, sir. [canting. 

Sur. What a brave language here is ! next to 

Sub. I have another work, you never saw, son. 
That three days since past the philosopher's 

Avheel, 
In the lent heat of Athanor ; and's become 
Sulphur of Nature. 

Mam. But 'tis for mo ? 

Sub. What need you ? 
Y'ou have enough in that is perfect. 

3Ia)n. O but 

SvJ). Wiry, this is covetise ! 

Mam. No, I assure you, 

1 shall employ it all in pious uses, 
Founding of colleges and grammar schools, 
lilarrying young virgins, buUding hospitals, 
And now and then a church. 

Ite- enter Pace. 

Suh. How now ! 

Face. Sir, please you. 
Shall I not change the filter ? 

Sub. Marry, yes ; 
And bring me the complexion of glass B. 

[Exit Face. 

Mam. Have you another ? 

Sub. Y'^es, son ; were I assured — 
Your piety were firm, we would not want 
The means to glorify it : but I hope the best. — 
I mean to tinct C in sand-heat to-morrow, 
And give him imbibition. 

Mam. Of white oil ? [too. 

Sub. No, sir, of red. F is come over the helm 



I thank my Maker, in S. Mary's bath, 

And shews lac virginis. Blessed be heaven ! 

I sent you of his faeces there calcined : 

Out of that calx, I have won the salt of mercury. 

Mam. By pouring on your rectified watet ? 

Sub. Y'es, and reverberating in Athanor. 

Re-enter Face. 
How now ! what color says it ? 
Face. The ground black, sir. 
Mam. That's your crow's head ? 
Sur. Your cock's-comb's, is it not ? [crow ! 
Sub. No, 'tis not perfect. Would it were tl-.e 
That work wants something. 

Sur. 0, I look'd for this. 
The hay's a pitching. [Aside 

Sub. Are you sure you loosed them 
In their own menstrue ? 

Face. Yes, sir, and then married them, [tion, 
And put them in a bolt's-head nipp'd to dige.s- 
According as you bade me, when I set 
The liquor of Mars to circulation 
In the same heat. 

Sub. The process then was right. 
Face. Yes, by the token, sir, the retort brake. 
And what was saved was put into the pelican, 
And sign'd with Hermes' seal. 

Sub. I think 'twas so. 
We should have a ncv/ amalgama. 

Sitr. O, this ferret 
Is rank as any pole-cat. [Aside. 

Sub. But I care not : 
Let him e'en die ; we have enough beside, 
In embrion. II has his white shirt on ?• 

Face. Yes, sir. 
He's ripe for inceration, he stands warm, 
In his ash-fire. I Avould not you should let 
Any die now, if I might counsel, sir. 
For luck's sake to the rest : it is not good. 
Matn. He says right. 

Sur. Ay, are you bolted ? [Asiae 

Face. Nay, I know't, sir, [ounces 

I have seen the ill fortune. What is some three 
Of fresh materials ? 
3Ia>n. Is't no more ? 
Face. No more, sir, 
Of gold, t'amalgame with some six of mercury. 
Mam. Away, here's money. What will serve i 
Face. Ask him, sir. 
Mam. How much ? 
Sub. Give him nine pound: — you may give 

him ten. 
Sur. Yes, twenty, and be cozen'd, do. 
Mam. There 'tis". [Gives Face the moneij. 

Sub. This needs not ; but that you will have 
To see conclusions of all : for two [it so, 

Of our inferior \vorks are at fixation, 
A third is in ascension. Go your way-s. 
Have you set the oil of luna in kemia ? 
Face. Yes, sir. 

Sub. And the philosopher's -vinegar ? 
Face. Ay. [Exit. 

Sur. We shall have a sallad ! 
Mam. When do you make projection ? 
Sub. Son, be not hasty, I exalt our med'cinc, 
By hanging him in balneo vaporoso, 
And giving him solution ; then congeal him ; 
And then dissolve him ; then again congeal him t 
For look, how oft I iterate the work, 



350 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



ACT n. 



So many times I add unto his virtue. 

As, if at first one ounce convert a hundred, 

After his second loose, he'll turn a thousand ; 

His third solution, ten ; his fourth, a hundred : 

After his fifth, a thousand thousand ounces 

Of any imperfect metal, into pure 

Silver or gold, in all examinations. 

As good as any of the natural mine. 

Get you your stuff here against afternoon. 

Your brass, your pewter, and your andirons. 

Mam. Not those of iron ? 

Sub. Yes, you may bring them too : 
We'll change all metals. 

Sur. I believe you in that. 

J/«»i. Then I may send my spits ? 

Sub. Yes, and your racks. [hooks, 

Sur. And dripping pans, and pot-hangers, and 
Shall he not ? 

Sub. If he please. 

Sur. — To be an ass. 

Sub. How, sir ! 

Mam. This gentleman you must bear withal : 
I told you he had no faith. 

Sur. And little hope, sir ; 
But much less charity, should I gull myself. 

Sub. Why, what have you observ'd, sir, in 
Seems so impossible ? [our art, 

Sur. But your whole work, no more. 
That you should hatch gold in a furnace, sir, 
As they do eggs in Egypt ! 

Sub. Sir, do you 
Believe that eggs are hatch'd so ? 

Sur. If I should ? 

Sub. Why, I think that the greater miracle. 
No egg but differs from a chicken more 
Than metals in themselves. 

Sur. That cannot be. 
The egg's ordain'd by nature to that end, 
And is a chicken in jwtentia. 

Sub. The same we say of lead and other metals, 
Which would be gold, if they had time. 

Mam. And that 
Our art doth further. 

Sub. Ay, for 'twere absurd 
To think that nature in the earth bred gold 
Perfect in the instant : something went before. 
There must be remote matter. 

Sur. Ay, what is that ? 

Sub. Marry, we say 

Mam. Ay, now it heats : stand, father, 
Pound him to dust. 

Sub. It is, of the one part, . 
A humid exhalation, which we call 
Materia liqidda, or the unctuous water ; 
On the other part, a certain crass and vicious 
Portion of earth ; both which, concorporatc, 
Do make the elementary matter of gold ; 
Which is not yet propria materia. 
But common to all metals and all stones ; 
For, where it is forsaken of that moisture. 
And hath more drincss, it becomes a stone : 
Where it retains more of the humid fatness, 
It turns to sulphur, or to quicksilver. 
Who are the parents of all other metals. 
Nor can this remote matter suddenly 
Progress so from extreme xmto extreme. 
As to grow gold, and leap o'er all the means. 
Nature doth first beget the imperfect, then 
Proceeds she to the perfect. Of that airy 



And oily water, mercury is engender'd ; 
Sulphur of the fat and earthy part ; the one. 
Which is the last, supplying the place of male, 
The other of the female, in all metals. 
Some do believe hermaplirodeity, 
That both do act and suffer. But these two 
Make the rest ductile, malleable, extensive. 
And even in gold they are ; for we do find 
Seeds of them, by our fire, and gold in them ; 
And can produce the species of each metal 
More perfect thence, than nature doth in eaith, 
Beside, who cloth not see in daily practice 
Art can beget bees, hornets, beetles, wasps, 
Out of the carcasses and clung of creatures ; 
Yea, scorpions of an herb, being rightly placed ? 
And these are living creatiu'es, far more perfect 
And excellent than metals. 

Mam. Well said, father ! [ment^ 

Nay, if he take you in hand, sir, with an argu- 
He'll bray you in a mortar, 
Sur. Pray you, sir, stay. 
Rather than I'll be bray'd, sir, I'll believe 
That Alchemy is a pretty kind of game, 
Somewhat like tricks o' the cards, to cheat a man 
With charming. 
Sub. Sir ? 

Sur. What else are all your terms, [other ? 
Whereon no one of your Avriters 'grees witli 
Of your elixir, your lac virginis. 
Your stone, your med'cine, and your ehryso- 

sperme, 
Your sal, your sulphur, and your mercury. 
Your oil of height, your tree of life, your blood, 
Your marchesite, your tutie, your magnesia, 
Your toad, your crow, your dragon, and your 

panther ; [adrop, 

Your sun, your moon, your firmament, your 
Your lato, azoch, zernich, chibrit, heautarit, 
And then your red man, and your white woman, 
With all your broths, your menstiires, and ma- 
terials. 
Of piss and egg-shells, women's terms, man's 

blood. 
Hair o* the head, burnt clouts, chalk, merds, 

and clay. 
Powder of bones, scalings of iron, glass. 
And worlds of other strange ingredients. 
Would burst a man to name ? 
Sub- And all these named. 
Intending but one thing : which art our writers 
Used to obscure their art. 

Mam. Sir, so I told him — 
Because the simple idiot should not learn it, 
And make it vulgar. 

Sub. Was not all the knowledge 
Of the iEgyptians writ in mystic symbols ? 
Si^eak not the scriptures oft in parables ? 
Are not the choicest fables of the poets, [dom, 
That were the fountains and first springs of wis- 
Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories ? 

Mam. I urg'd that. 
And clear' d to him, that Sysiphus was damn'd 
To roll the ceaseless stone, only because 
He would have made Ours common. [Dol ap • 

pears at the door.] — Who is this ? 
Sub. 'Sprecious ! — What do you mean ? go 

in, good lady. 
Let me entreat you. [Dol retires.] — Where's 

this varlet i 



SCENE I. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



351 



Re-enfe7' Fa 3E. 

Face. Sir. 

Sub. You Tery knave ! do you use me thus ? 

Face. Wherein, sir ? 

Sub. Go in and see, you traitor. Go ! 

[Exit Face. 

Mam. AVho is it, sir ? 

Sub. Nothing, sir; nothing. 

Ma?n. What's the matter, good sir ? 
I have not seen you thus distemj^er'd : -who is't ? 

Sub. All arts have still had, sir, their adver- 
But ours the most ignorant. — [saries, 

Re-enter Face. 
What now ? 

Face. 'Twas not my fault, sir ; she would 
speak with you. 

Sub. Would she, sir ! Follow me. [Exit. 

Mam. [stopping him.] Stay, Lungs. 

Face. I dare not, sir. 

Ma7i. Stay, man ; what is she ? 

Face. A lord's sister, sir. 

Ma77i. How ! pray thee, staj''. 

Face. She's mad, sir, and sent hither — 
He'll be mad too — 

Ma>n. I warrant thee. — 
Why sent hither ? 

Face. Sir, to be cured. 

Sub. [ivithiii.] Why, rascal ! 

Face. Lo you ! — Here, sir ! [Exit. 

Ma7n. 'Fore God, a Bradamante, a brave piece. 

Su7: Heart, this is a bawdy-house ! I will be 
burnt else. [He's 

Slam. O, by this light, no : do not wrong him. 
Too scrupulous that way : it is his vice. 
No, he's a rare physician, do him right. 
An excellent Paracelsian, and has done 
Strange cures with mineral physic. He deals all 
With spirits, he ; he will not hear a word 
Of Galen, or his tedious recipes. — 

Re-e7iter Face. 
How now. Lungs ! 

Face, Softly, sir ; speak softly. I meant 
To have told your worship all. This must not 
hear. 
Ma77i. No, he will not be " guU'd : " let him 

alone. 
Face. You are very right, sir, she is a most 
rare scholar, [works. 

And is gone mad with studying Broughton's 
If you but name a word toviching the Hebrew, 
She falls into her fit, and will discourse 
So learnedly of genealo'jies, 
.4.S you would run mad too, to hear her, sir. 
Matn. How might on*; do t' have conference 

with her. Lungs ? 
Face, O divers have run mad upon the con- 
ference : 
I do not know, sir. I am sent in haste, 
To fetch a vial. 

Su): Be not gull'd sir Mammon. 
Mam. Wherein .' pray yc, be patient. 
Sur. Yes, as you are, [whores. 

And trust confederate knaves and bawds and 
Mam. You are too foul, believe it. — Come 
One word. [here, Ulen, 

Fac£. I dare not, in good faith. [Goi7i(j, 



Mam. Stay, knave. 

Face. He is extreme angry that you saw 
her, sir. 

3/«»!. Drink that. [Gives hi7n 77ionc]j.] What 
is she when she's out of her fit ? 

Face, O, the most affablest creature, sir ! so 
merry ! [silver, 

So pleasant ! she'll mount you up, like quick- 
Over the helm ; and circulate like oil, 
A very vegetal : discourse of state. 
Of mathematics, bawdry, any thing 

Mam- Is she no way accessible ? no means. 

No trick to give a man a taste of her wit 

Or so ? 

Sub. [ioithi7i,'\ Ulen ! 

Face. I'll come to you again, sir. [Exit. 

Mam. Surly, I did not think one of your 
Would traduce personages of worth, [breeding 

Sur. Sir Epicure, 
Your friend to use ; yet still loth to be guU'd : 
I do not like your pliilosophical bawds. 
Their stone is letchery enough to j)ay for. 
Without this bait. 

Mam. 'Heart, you abuse yourself. 
I know the lady, and her friends, and means, 
The original of this disaster. Her brother 
Has told me all. 

Sur. And yet you never saw her 
Till now ! 

Ma)n. O yes, but I forgot. I have, believe it, 
One of the treacherousest memories, I do think. 
Of all mankind. 

Sur, What call you her brother ? 

Ma>7i, My lord [on't. 

He will not have his name known, now I think 

Sur, A very treacherous memory ! 

Ma77i, On my faith 

Sur, Tut, if you have it not about you, pass it 
Till we meet next. 

Ma77i, Nay, by this hand, 'tis true. 
He's one I honor, and my noble friend ; 
And I respect his house. 

Sur. Heart ! can it be. 
That a grave sir, a rich, that has no need, 
A wise sir, too, at other times, should thus. 
With his own oaths, and arguments, make hard 

means 
To gull himself ? An this be your elixir. 
Your lapis t7ii7ie7-aUs, and your lunary, 
Give me your honest trick yet at primero, 
Or gleek ; and take your lutum sapientis, [you, 
Your me7xst7-uu77i si/njilex ! I'll have gold before 
And with less danger of the quicksilver, 
Or the hot sulphur. 

Re-e7iter Face. 
Face. Here's one from captain Face, sir, [to 
Surly.] 
Desires you meet him in the Temple-church, 
Some half hour hence, and upon earnest busi- 
ness. 
Sir, Uvhispers Mammon.] if you please to quit us, 

now ; and come 
Again within two hours, you shall have 
My master busy examining o' the works ; 
And I will steal you in, unto the party. 
That you may see her converse. — Sir, shall I say, 
You'll meet the captaiia's worship ? 

Sur. Sir, I will. — [Walks aside. 



352 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



But, by attorney, and to a second purpose. 

Now, i am sure it is a bawdy-house ; 

I'll SAvear it, were tlie marshal here to thank me : 

The naming this commander doth confirm it. 

Don Face ! why he's the most authentic dealer 

In these commodities, the superintendent 

To all the quainter traffickers in town ! 

lie is the visitor, and does appoint, 

Who lies with whom, and at what hour ; what 

price ; 
Wliich gown, and in what smock ; what fall ; 

what tire. 
Him will I prove, by a third person, to find 
The subtleties of this dark labyrinth : 
Which if I do discover, dear sir Mammon, 
"you'll give your poor friend leave, though no 
philosopher, [weep. 

To laugh : for you that are, 'tis thought, shall 
Face. Sir, he does pray, you'll not forget. 
Sur. 1 will not, sir. 
Sir Epicure, I shall leave you. [ExU. 

Mam. 1 follow you, straight. 
Face, Eut do so, good sir, to avoid suspicion. 
This gentleman has a parlous head. 

Mam. But wilt thou, Ulen, 
Be constant to thy promise ? 
Face. As my life, sir. 

3Iam. And wilt thou insinuate what I am. 
And say, I am a noble fellow ? [and praise me. 

Face. O, what else, sir ? 
And that you'll make her royal with the stone. 
An empress ; and yourself, king of Bantam, 
Ma}7i. Wilt thou do this ? 
Face. Will I, sir ! 
Main. Lungs, my Lungs ! 
I love thee. 

Face. Send your stuff, sir, that my master 
May busy himself about projection. 

Mam. Thou hast witch'd me, rogue : take, go. 
[Gives him money. 
Face. Your jack, and all, sir. 
Mam. Thou art a villain — I Avill send my 
jack, [ear. 

And the weights too. Slave, I could bite thine 
Away, thou dost not care for me. 
Face. Not I, sir ! 

Mayn. Come, I was born to make thee, my 
good weasel. 
Set thee on a bench, and have thee twirl a chain 
With the best lord's vermin of 'em all. 
Face. Away, sir. 

Mam. A count, nay, a count palatine 

Face. Good, sir, go. 

Mam. Shall not advance thee better : no, nor 
faster. [Exit. 

Re-enter Subtle and Dol. 

Sub. Has he bit ? has he bit ? 

Face. And swallowed too, my Subtle. 
I have given him line, and now he plays, i' faith. 

Sub. And shall we twitch him ? 

Face. Thorough both the gills. 
A wench is a rare bait, with which a man 
No sooner's taken, but he straight firks mad. 

Sub. Dol, my lord What'ts'hums sister, you 
Bear yourself statelich. [must now 

Dol. O let me alone, 
ril not forget my race, I warrant you. 
I'll keep my distance, laugh and tallc aloud ; 



Have all the tricks of a proud scurvy lady, 
And be as rude as her woman. 
Face. Well said, sanguine ! 
Sub. But will he send his widirons ? 
Face. His jack too, 
And's iron shoeing horn ; I have spoke to him. 

Well, 
I must not lose my wary gamester yonder. 
Sub O monsieur Caution, that loillnot be gicll'd. 
Face. Ay, 
If I can strike a fine hook into him, now ! 
The Temple -church, there I have cast mine 
Well, pray for me. I'll about it. [angle. 

[Knocking loithout. 
Sub. What, more gudgeons ! 
Dol, scout, scout ! [DoL goes to the toindotc. 

Stay, Face, you must go to the door, 
'Pray God it be my anabaptist. — Who is't, Dol r 
Dol. I know him not : he looks like a gold- 
end-man. 
Sub. Ods so ! 'tis he, he said he would send 
what call you him ? 
The sanctified elder, that should deal 
For Mammon's jack and andirons. Let him in. 
Stay, help me off, first, with my gown, [Exit 

Face with the gown.] Away, 
Madam, to your withdrawing chamber. [Exit 

DoL.] Now, 
In a new tune, new gesture, but old language, — 
This fellow is sent from one negotiates with me 
About the stone too ; for the holy brethren 
Of Amsterdam, the exiled saints ; that hope 
To raise their discipline by it. I must use him 
In some strange fashion, now, to make liim ad- 
mire me. — 

Enter ANAxi.'is. 
Where is my drudge ? [Aloud 

Re-enter Face. 

Face. Sir ! 

Sub. Take away the recipient. 
And rectify your menstrvie from the phlegma. 
Then pour it on the Sol, in the cucurbite, 
And let them macerate together. 

Face. Yes, sir. 
And save the ground ? 

Sub. No: terra damnata [you? 

Must not have entrance in the work. — Who are 

Ana. A faithful brother, if it please you. 

Sub. What's that ? 
A LuUianist ? a Ripley ? Filius art is ? 
Can you sublime and dulcify ? calcine ? 
Know you the sapor pontic ? sapor stiptic .' 
Or Avhat is homogene, or heterogcne ? 

Ana. I understand no heathen language, truly. 

Sub. Heathen ! you Knipper-doling ? is Ar3 
Or chrysopocia, or spagyrica, [sacra, 

Or the pamphysic, or panarchic knov.'ledge, 
A heathen language ? 

Ana. Heathen Greek, I take it. 

Sub. How ! heathen Greek ? 

Ana. All's heathen but the Hebrew. 

Sub. Sirrah, my varlet, stand you forth and 
speak to him, 
Like a philosopher : answer in the language. 
Name the vexations, and the martyrizations 
Of metals in the work. 

Face. Sii', putrefaction. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



353 



Solution, ablution, sublimation, 
Cohobation, calcination, ceration, and 
Fixation. 

Sub. This is heathen Greek, to you, now ! — 
And when comes vivification r 

Face. After mortification. 

Sub. What's cohobation ? 

Face. 'Tis the pouring on 
Your aqua regis, and then dravv'ing him off, 
To the trine circle of the seven spheres. 

Sub. What's the proj^er passion of metals ? 

Face. Mallcation. 

Sub. What's your uUiinum suppUcium auri? 

Face. Antimonium. 

Sub. This is heathen Greek to you ! — And 
Your mcrcurj^ ? [what's 

Face. A very fugitive, he will be gone, sir. 

Sub. How know you him ? 

Face. By his viscosity. 
His oleosity, and his suscitability. 

Sub. How do you sublime him ? 

Face. With the cake of egg-shells, 
White marble, talc. 

Sub. Your magisterium, now, 
\Yhat's that ? 

Face. Shifting, sir, your elements. 
Dry into cold, cold into moist, moist into hot, 
Hot into dry. 

Sub. This is heathen Greek to you still ! 
Your lapis philosophicus ? 

Face. 'Tis a stone. 
And not a stone ; a spirit, a soul, and a body : 
Which if you do dissolve, it is dissolved ; 
If you coagulate, it is coagulated ; 
If you make it to fly, it liieth. 

Sub. Enough. [Exit Face. 

This is heathen Greek to you ! What are you, 
sir? 

Ana. Please you, a servant of the exiled 
brethren. 
That deal with widows and with orphans' goods ; 
And make a just account unto the saints : 
A deacon. 

Sub. O, you arc sent from master Wholesome, 
Y'our teacher ? 

Ana. From Tribulation Wholesome, 
Our very zealous pastor. 

Sub. Good ! I have 
Some orphans' goods to come here. 

Ana. Of what kind, sir ? 

Sub. Pewter and brass, andirons and kitchen- 
ware, 
Metals, that we must use our medicine on : 
Wherein the brethren may have a jjennyworth, 
For ready money. 

Ana. Were the orphans' parents 
Sincere professors ? 

Sub. Why do you ask ? 

Ana. Because 
Wo then are to deal justly, and give, in truth. 
Their utmost value. 

Sub. 'Slid, you'd cozen else. 
And if their parents were not of the faithful ! — 
I will not trust you, now I think on it, 
Till I have talk'd with your pastor. Have you 
To buy more coals ? [brought money 

Ana. No, surely. 

Sub. No ! how so ? 

Ana. The brethren bid me say unto you, sir, 
23 



Surely, they will not venture any more, 
Till they maj' see projection. 

Sub. How ! 

Ana. You have had, [glasses, 

For the instruments, as bricks, and lome, ana 
Already thirty pound ; and for materials, 
They say, some ninety more : and they have 

heard since. 
That one at Heidelberg, made it of an egg, 
And a small paper of pin-dust. 

Sub. What's your name ? 

Ana. My name is Ananias. 

Sub. Out, the varlet 
That cozen'd the apostles ! Hence, away ! 
Flee, mischief ! had your holy consistory 
No name to send me, of another sound, 
Than mcked Ananias ? send your elders 
Hither to make atonement for you quickly, 
And give me satisfaction ; or out goes [nace, 
The fire ; and down th' alembics, and the fur- 
Piger Henricus, or what not. Thou wretch ! 
Both sericon and bufo shall be lost. 
Tell them. All hope of rooting out the bishops, 
Or the antichristian hierarchy, shall perish. 
If they stay threescore minutes : the aqueity, 
Terreity, and sulphureity 
Shall run together again, and all be annuU'd, 
Thou wicked Ananias ! [Exit Ananias.] This 
will fetch 'em, [more. 

And make them haste towards their gulling 
A man must deal like a rough nurse, and fright 
Those that arc froward, to an appetite.. 

Re-enter Face in his uniform, followed by 

DliVGGE^,. 

Face. He is busy with his spirits, but we'll 
upon him. 

Sub. How now ! what mates, what Baiards 
have we here ? [here's Nab, 

Face. I told you, he would be furious. — Sir, 

Has brought you another piece of gold to look 

on : [prays you, 

— We must appease him. Give it me, — and 

You would devise — what is it. Nab ? 

Drug. A sign, sir. [doctor. 

Face. Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign. 

Sub. I was devising now. 

Face. 'Slight, do not say so. 
He will repent he gave you any more — 
What say you to his constellation, doctor, 
The Balance? 

Sub. No, that way is stale, and common. 
A townsman born in Taurus, gives the bull. 
Or the buU's-head : in Aries, the ram, 
A poor-device ! No, I will have his name 
Form'd in some mystic character ; whose radii, 
Striking the senses of the passers by, 
Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections, 
That may result upon the party owns it : 
As thus 

Face. Nab ! 

Sub. He shall have a bel, that's Abel; 
And by it standing one whose name is Dee, 
In a rug gown, there's D, and Rug, that's drug 
And right anenst him a dog snarling er ; [sign 
There's Drugger, Abel Drugger. That's his 
And here's now mystery and hieroglyphic ! 

Face. Abel, thou art made. 

Drug, Sir, I do thank his worship, 



354 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Face. Six o' thy legs more will not do it, Nab. 
He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, doctor. 

Drur;. Yes, sir : 
I have another thing I would impart 

Face. Out with it, Nab. 

Drwj. Sir, there is lodged, hard by me, 
A rich young widow ■ 

Fa€c. Good ! a bona roba r 

Drug. But nineteen, at the most. 

Face. Very good, Abel. [wears 

Brufj. Marry, she's not iu fashion yet ; she 
A hood, but it stands a cop. 

Face- No matter, Abel. [fucus — 

Drug. And I do now and then give her a 

Face. What ! dost thou deal, Nab ? 

Sab. I did tell you, captain. 

Drug. And physic too, sometime, sir ; for 
which she trvists me [pose 

With all her mind. She's come up here of pur- 
To learn the fashion. 

Face. Good (his match too !) — On, Nab. 

Drug. And she does strangely long to know 
her fortune. [hither. 

Face. Ods lid, Nab, send her to the doctor. 

Drug. Yes, I have spoke to her of his wor- 
ship already ; 
But she's afraid it will be blown abroad. 
And hurt her marriage. 

Face. Hurt it ! 'tis the way 
To heal it, if 'twere hurt ; to make it more 
Follow' d and sought : Nab, tliou shalt tell her 
this. [your widows 

She'll bo more known, more talk'd of; and 
Are ne'er of any price till they be famous ; 
Their honor is their multitude of suitors : 
Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What ! 
Thou dost not know. 

Drug. No, sir, she'll never marry 
Under a knight : her brother has made a vow. 

Face. What ! and dost thou despair, my little 
Nab, 
Knowing what the doctor has set down for thee, 
And seeing so many of the city dubb'd ? 
One glass o' thy water, with a madam I know, 
Will have it done, Nab : what's her brother, a 
knight ? [land, sir, 

Drug, No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in his 
Scarce cold in his one and twenty, that does 
His sister hero ; and is a man himself [govern 
Of some three thousand a j'ear, and is come up 
To learn to quarrel, and to live by his Avits, 
And will go down again, and die in the country. 

Face- How ! to quarrel ? 

Drug. Yes, six, to carry quarrels, 
As gallants do; to manage them by line. 

Face. 'Slid, Nab, the d.octor is the only man 
In Christendom for him. lie has made a table, 
With mathematical demonstrations. 
Touching the art of quarrels : he will give him 
An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them 

both, 
Him an d his sister. And, for thee, with her 
The doctor happ'ly may jjcrsuade. Go to : 
'Shalt give his worship a new damask suit 
Upon the premises. 

Sub. O, good captain ! 

Face. He shall ; 
He is the honestcst fellow, doctor. — Stay not, 
No offers bring the damask, and the parties. 



Drug. I'll try my power, sir. 

Face- And thy will too. Nab. [ounce ? 

Sub. 'Tis good tobacco, this : what is't an 

Face. He'll send you a i^ound, doctor. 

Sub. O no. 

Face. He will do't. 
It is the goodest soul ! — Abel, about it. 
Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone. — 

[Exit Abel. 
A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese, 
And has the worms. That was the cause, in- 
deed, [vate, 
Why he came now : he dealt with me in pri- 
To get a med'cine for thorn. 

Sub. And shall, sir. This works. [Subtle ! 

Face. A wife, a wife for one of us, my dear 
We'll e'en draw lots, and he that fails, shall 
The more in goods, the other has in tail, [have 

Sub. Rather the less : for she may be so light 
She lYiay want grains. 

Face. Ay, or be such a burden, 
A man would scarce endure her for the Avhole. 

Sub. Faith, best let's sec her first, and then 
determine. [on't. 

Face. Content: but Dol must have no breath 

Sub. Mum. 
Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch liim. 

Face. 'Pray God I have not staid too long. 

Sub. I fear it. [Exeunt 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Lane before liOVEwrr's House. 

Enter Tribulatiox, Wholesome, and Ananias. 

Tri. These chastisements are common to the 
And such rebukes, we of the separation [saints, 
Alust bear with willing shoulders, as the trials 
Sent forth to tempt our frailties. 

Ana. In pure zeal, 
I do not like the man, he is a heathen, 
And speaks the language of Canaan, truly 

Tri. I think him a profane person indeed. 

Ana. He bears 
The visible mark of the beast in his forehead. 
And for his stone, it is a work of darkness, 
And with philosophy blinds the eyes of man. 

Tri. Good brother, we must bend unto all 
means 
That may give furtherance to the holy cause. 

Ana. Which his cannot : the sanctilied cause 
Should have a sanctified course. 

Tri. Not always necessary : 
The children of perdition are oft-times 
Made instruments even of the greatest works : 
Beside, we should give somewhat to man's na- 
The place he lives in, still about the fire, [ture. 
And fume of metals, that intoxicate [sion. 

The brain of man, and make him prone to pas- 
Where have you greater atheists than youi 
cooks ? [men : 

Or more profane, or choleric, than your glass- 
More antichristian than your bell-founders ? 
What makes the devil so devilish, I would ask 
Sathan, our common enemy, but Lis being [you, 
Perpetually about the fire, and boiling 
Brimstone and arsenic ? We must give, I say. 
Unto the motives, and the stirrers v.\} 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



355 



Of humors in the blood. It may be so, 
When as the work is done, the stone is made, 
This heat of his may turn into a zeal. 
And stand up for the beauteous discipline, 
Against the mcnstruous cloth and rag of Rome. 
We must av/ait his calling, and the coming 
Of the good spirit. You did fault, t' upbraid 
him [weighing 

With the brethren's blessing of Heidelberg, 
What need we have to hasten on the work, 
For the restoring of the silenced saints, [stone. 
Which ne'er will be, but by the philosopher's 
And so a learned elder, one of Scotland, 
Assured me ; aurum potabile being 
The only med'cino, for the civil magistrate, 
T' incline him to a feeling of the cause ; 
And must be daily used in the disease. 

Ana. I have not edified more, truly, by man ; 
Kot since the beautiful light first shone on me : 
And I am sad my zeal hath so offended. 

Tfi. Let us call on him then. 

Ana. The motion's good. 
And of the spirit ; I Avill knock first. \_Kiiocks.'\ 
Peace be within ! 

\_Tha door is opened, and they enter. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 
Enter Subtle, folhioed by Tuibulatiox and 

AXANIAS. 

Sub. O, are you come ? 'twas time. Your 
threescore minutes [go'^e 

Were at last thread, you see ; and down had 
Farnus acedia;, furris circulator ins : 
Lembec, bolt's-head, retort and pelican 
Had all been cinders. — Wicked Ananias ! 
Art thou return'd ? nay then, it goes down yet. 

Tri. Sir, be appeased ; he is come to humble 
Himself in spirit, and to ask your patience. 
If too much zeal hath carried him aside 
From the due path. 

Sub. Why, this doth qualify ! 

Tri. The brethren had no purpose, verily, 
To give you the least grievance : but are ready 
To lend their willing hands to any project 
The spirit and you direct. 

Sub. This qualifies more ! [valued, 

Tri, And for the orphan's goods, let them be 
Or what is needful else to the holy work. 
It shall be numbered ; here, by n-ie, the saints. 
Throw down their purse before you. 

Sab. Tills qualifies most ! 
Why, thus it should be, now j^ou understand. 
Have I discours'd so unto you of our stone. 
And of the good that it shall bring your cause .' 
Shew'd you (beside the main of hiving forces 
Abroad, drawing the Hollanders, your friends, 
From the Indies, to serve you, with all their 

fieet) 
That even the med'cinal use shall make you a 

faction, 
And party in the realm ? As, pirt the case, 
That some great man in state, he have the gout, 
Why, you but send three drops of yoiir elixir, 
You help him straight : there you have made a 
Another has the palsy or the dropsy, [friend. 
He takes of your incombustible stuff", [friend. 
He's young again : there you have made n 
A lady that is past the feat of body, 



Though not of mind, and hath her face decay'd 
Beyond all cure of paintings, you restore. 
With the oil of talc : there you have made 8 

friend ; 
And all her friends. A lord that is a leper, 
A knight that has the bone-ache, or a squire 
That hath both these, you make them smooth 

and sound, 
With a bare frieace of your med'cine : still 
Y'ou increase your friends. 

Tri. Ay, it is very pregnant. 

Sub, And then the turning of this lawyer's 
pewter 
To plate at Christmas. 

Ana. Christ-tide, I pray you. 

Sub. Yd, Ananias ! 

Ana. I have done. 

Sub. Or changing 
His parcel gilt to massy gold. \''ou cannot 
But raise you friends. Withal, to be of power 
To pay an army in the field, to buy 
The king of France out of his realms, or Spain 
Out of his Indies. What can you not do 
Against lords spiritual or temporal, 
That shall ojjpone you ? 

Tri. Verilj^ 'tis true. 
We may be temporal lords ourselves, I take it. 

Sub. Y''ou may be any thing, and leave off to 
Long-Avinded exercises ; or suck up [mako 

Y''our ha ! and hum ! in a tune. I not deny. 
But such as are not graced in a state, 
May, for their ends, be adverse in religion. 
And get a tune to call the flock together : 
For, to say sooth, a tune does much with w^omen, 
And other phlegmatic people ; it is your bell. 

Ana. Bells are profane ; a tune may be re 
ligious. [patience 

Sub. No wafning with you ! then farewell my 
'Slight, it shall down : I will not be thus tortured 

Tri. I pray you, sir. 

Sub. A.]^ shall perish. I have spoke it. 

Tri. Let me find grace, sir, in your eyes ; the 
He stands corrected : neither did his zeal, [man 
But as your self, allow a tune somewhere. 
Which now, being tow'rd the stone, we shall 
not need. 

Sub. No, nor your holy vizard, to win widows 
To give you legacies ; or make zealous wives 
To rob their husbands for the common cause : 
Nor take the start ot bonds broke but one day, 
And say, they were forfeited by providence. 
Nor shall you need o'er night to eat huge meals, 
To celebrate your next day's fast the bettor ; 
The whilst the brethren and the sisters humbled. 
Abate the stiff'ness of the flesh. Nor cast 
Before your hungry hearers scrupulous bones • 
As whether a Christian maj' hawk or hunt. 
Or whether matrons of the holy assembly 
May lay their hair' out, or wear doublets, 
Or "have that idol starch about their linen. 

Ana. It is indeed an idol. 

Tri. Mind him not, sii'. 
I do command thee, spirit of zeaL but trouble, 
To peace within him ! Pray, you, sir, go on. 

Sab. Nor shall you need to libel 'gainst tho 
prelates. 
And shorten so your ears against the hearing 
Of the next wire-drawn grace. Nor cf necessity 
Eail against plays, to please the aldermau 



356 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Whose daily custard you devour : nor he 
With zealous rage till you arc hoarse. Not one 
Of these so singular arts. Nor call your selves 
By names of Tribulation, Persecution, 
Restraint, Long-patience, and such like, affected 
By the whole family or Avood of you. 
Only for glory, and to catch the ear 
Of the disciple. 

Tri. Truly, sir, they are 
Ways that the godly brethren have invented, 
For propagation of the glorious cause, 
As very notable means, and whereby also 
Themselves grow soon, and profitably, famous. 
Sub. 0, but the stone, all's idle to it ! nothing ! 
The art of angels' nature's miracle. 
The divine secret that doth fly in clouds 
From east to west ; and whose tradition 
Is not from men, but spirits. 
Ana. I hate traditions ; 

I do not trust them. 

Tri. Peace ! 

Ana. They are popish all. 

I will not peace : I will not 

Tri. Ananias ! 

Ana. Please the profane, to grieve the godly ; 

I may not. 
Sub. Well, Ananias, thou shalt overcome. _ 
Tri. It is an ignorant zeal that haunts him, sir ; 
But truly, else, a very faithful brother, 
A botcher, and a man, by revelation, 
That hath a competent knowledge of the truth. 
Sub. Has he a competent sum there in the bag 
To buy the goods within r I am made guardian, 
And must, for charity, and conscience sake. 
Now sec the most be made for my poor orphan ; 
Though I desire the brethren two good gainers : 
There they are within. When you have view'd, 

and bought 'em. 
And ta'en the inventory of what they are. 
They are ready for projection ; there's no more 
To do : cast on the med'cine, so much silver 
As there is tin there, so much gold as brass, 
I'll give't you in by weight. 
Tri. But how long time. 
Sir, must the saints expect yet ? 

Sub. Let me see. 
How's the moon now ? Eight, nine, ten days 

hence, 
He will be silver potato ; then three days 
Before ho citronise : Some fifteen days. 
The magisterium will bo perfected. 

A^ia. About the second day of the third week. 
In the ninth month ? 

Sub. Yes, my good Ananias. 

Tri. What will the orphan's goods arise to, 

think you ? 
Sub. Some hundred marks, as much as fiU'd 
three cars. 
Unladed now : you'll make six millions of 

them. — 
But I mvist have more coals laid in. 
Tri. How ! 

Sub. Another load, [crease 

And then we have finish'd. We must now in- 
Our fire to ignis ardens, we are past 
Fimus equimts, balnei, cineris, 
And all those lenter heats. If the holy purse 
Should with this draught fall low, and that the 
saints 



Do need a present sum, I have a trick 
To melt the pewter, you shall buy now, instantly 
And with a tinctin-c make you as good Dutch 
As any are in Holland. [dollars 

Tri. Can you so ? 

Sub. Ay, and shall 'bide the third examination 

Ana. It will be joyful tidings to the brethren 

Sub. But you must carry it seci'et. 

Tri. Ay ; but stay. 
This act of coining, is it lawful ? 

Ana. Lawful ! 
We know no magistrate ; or, if we did, 
This is foreign coin. 

Sub. It is no coining, sir. 
It is but casting. 

Tri. Ha ! you distinguish well : 
Casting of money may be lawful. 

Ana. 'Tis, sir. 

Tri. Truly, I take it so. 

Sub. There is no scruple. 
Sir, to be made of it ; belicA'e Ananias : 
This case of conscience he is studied in. 

Tri. I'll make a question of it to the brethren 

Ana. The brethren shall approve it lawful, 
doubt not. 
Where shall it be done ? [^Knocking without. 

Sub. For that we'll talk anon. 
There's some to speak with me. Go in, 1 pray 

you. 
And view the parcels. That's the inventory. 
I'll come to you straight. [Exeicnt Trib. and 
Ana.] Who is it ? — Face ! appear. 

Enter F.\CE, in his uniform. 
How now ! good prize ? 

Face. Good j^ox ! yond' costive cheater 
Never came on. 
Sub. How then ? 
Face. 1 have walk'd the round 
Till now, and no such thing. 
Sub. And have you quit him ? 
Face. Quit him ! an hell would quit him too, 
he Avere happy. 
Slight ! would you have me stalk like a milL- 

jade. 
All day, for ono that Avill not yield us grains ? 
I know him of old. 

Sub. O, but to have guU'd him. 
Had been a mastery. 

Face. Let him go, black boy ! 
And turn thee, that some fresh news may pos- 
sess thee. 
A noble count, a don of Spain, my dear 
Delicious compeer, and my party-bawd, 
Who is come hither private for his conscience, 
And brought munition Avith him, six great slops, 
Bigger than three Dutch hoys, beside round 

trunks. 
Furnished Avith pistolets, and pieces of eight, 
Will straight be here, my rogue, to have thy batli, 
(That is the color,) and to make his battery 
Upon our Dol, our castle, our cinque-port. 
Our Dover pier, our what thou Avilt. Where is 

she ? 
She must prepare perfumes, delicate linen, 
The bath in chief, a banquet, and her Avit, 
For she must milk his epididimis. 
Where is the doxy ? 

Sub. I'U send her to thee : 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



357 



And but dispatch my brace of little John Ley- 
And come again my self. [dens, 

Face. Are they within then ? 

Suh. Numbering the sum. 

Face. How much ? 

SiJ). A hundred marks, boy. \Exit. 

Face. Why, this is a lucky day. Ten pounds 
of Mammon ! 
Three of my clerk ! a portague of my grocer ! 
This of the brethren ! beside reversions, 
And states to come in the -^^idow, and my count ! 
My share to-day will not be bought for forty 

Enter Dol. 

Dol. What? 

Face. Pounds, dainty Dorothy ! art thou so 
near ? 

Dol. Yes ; saj', lord general, how fares our 
camp ? 

Face. As with the few that had entrench'd 
themselves 
Safe, by their discipline, against a world, Dol, 
And laugh'd within those trenches, and grew fat 
With thinking on the booties, Dol, brought in 
Daily by their small parties. This dear hour, 
A doughty don is taken with my Dol ; [wilt, 
And thou mayst make his ransom what thou 
Mj"- Dousabel ; he shall be brought here fetter'd 
With thy fair looks, before he sees thee ; and 

thrown 
In a down-bed, as dark as any dungeon ; 
Where thou shalt keep him waking with thy 

drum ; 
Thy drum, my Dol, thy drum ; till he be tame 
As the poor black-birds were in the great frost, 
Or bees are with a bason ; and so hive him 
In the swan-skin coverlid, and cambric sheets. 
Till he v.'ork honey and wax, my little God's- 

Bol. What is he, general ? [gift. 

Face. An adalantado, 
A grandee, girl. Was not mv Dapper here vet ? 

Dol. No. 

Face. Nor my Druggcr ? 

Dol. Neither. 

Face. A pox on 'era. 
They are so long a furnishing ! such stinkards 
Would not be seen upon these festival days. — 

Re-enter Subtle. 
How now ! have you done ? 

Sub. Done. They are gone : the sum 
Is here in bank, my Face. I would we knew 
Another chapman now would buy 'em outright. 

Face. 'Slid, Nab shall do't against he have the 
To furnish household. [widow, 

Suh Excellent, well thought on : 
Pray God he come ! 

Face. I pray he keep away 
Till our new business be o'erpast. 

Sub. But, Face, 
How cam'st thou by this secret don ? 

Face. A spirit 
Brought me th' intelligence in a paper here, 
As I was conjuring yonder in my circle 
For Surly ; I have my flies abroad. Your bath 
Is famous, Subtle, by my means. Sweet Dol, 
You must go tune your virginal, no losing 
O' the least time : and, do you hear ? good action. 
Firkj like a flounder ; kiss, like a scallop, close; 



And tickle him with thy mother-tongue. His 
Verdugoshijo has not a jot of language ; [grea.t 
So much the easier to be cozen'd, my Dolly. 
He will come here in a hired coach, obscure, 
And our own coachman, whom I have sent as 

guide, 
No creature else. [Knocking/ ivithout.] Who's 
that ? [Eji:it DoL. 

Sub. It is not he ? 

Face. O no, not yet this hour. 

Re-enter Dol. 

Sub. Who is't ? 
Dol. Dapper, 
Your clerk. 

Face. God's will then, queen of Fairy, 
On with your tire ; [Exit Dol.] and, doctor, 

with your robes. 
Let's dispatch him for God's sake. 
Sub, 'Twill be long. 

Face. I warrant you, take but the cues I give 
you. 
It shall be brief enough. [Goes to the windo^c,'] 

'Slight, here are more ! 
Abel, and I think the angry boy, the heir. 
That fain would quarrel. 
Sub. And the widow ? 
Face. No, 
Not that I see. Away ! [Exit Sub. 

Enter Dapper. 

— O sir, you are welcome 
The doctor is within a moving for you ; 
I have had the most ado to win him to it ! — 
He swears you'll be the darling of the dice : 
He never heard her highness dote till now. 
Your aunt has given you the most gracious 
That can be thought on. [viords 

Daj). Shall I see her grace ? 

Face. See her, and kiss her too. 

Enter Abel, foUotoed by Kastril. 

What, honest Nab I 
Hast brought the damask ? 
Drug. No, sir ; here's tobacco. 
Face. 'TJs well done. Nab : thou'lt bring the 

damask too ? 
Drug. Yes : here's the gentleman, captain, 
master Kastril, 
I have brought to see the doctor. 
Face. Where's the widow ? 
Drug. Sir, as he likes, his sister, he says, shall 

come. 
Face. O, is it so ? good time. Is your name 

Kastril, sir ? 
Kas. Ay, and the best of the Kastrils, I'd be 
sorry else, 
By fifteen hundred a year. Where is the doctor ? 
My mad tobacco-boy, here, tells me of one 
That can do things : has he any skill ? 
Face. Wherein, sir ? 

Kas. To carry a business, manage a quarrel 
Upon fit terms. [fairly, 

Face. It seems, sir, you are but young 
About the town, that can make that a question. 
Kas. Sir, not so young, but I have heai'd some 
speech 
Of the angry boys, and seen them take tobacco 
And in his shop ; and I can take it too. 



368 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



And I would fain be one of 'cm, and go dorvn 
And xn-actise in the countr)'. 

Face. Sir, for the duello, 
The doctor, I assure you, shall inform you^ 
To the least shadow of a liair ; and show you 
An instrument he has of his own making, 
Wherewith no sooner shall you make report 
Of any quarrel, but he ^^•ill take the height on't 
Most instantly, and tell in what degree 
Of safety it lies in, or mortalitjr. [line, 

And how it may be borne, whether in a right 
Or a half circle ; or may else be cast 
Into an angle blunt, if not acute : 
AU this he will demonstrate. And then, rules 
To give and take the lie by. 

Kas. HoAV ! to take it r 

Face. Yes, in oblique he'll shov/ you, or in 
circle ,; 
But never in diameter. The whole town 
Study his theorems, and dispute them ordinarily 
At the eating academies. 

Kas. But does he teach 
Living by the wits too r 

Face. Any thing whatever. 
You cannot think that subtlety, but he reads it. 
He made me a captain. I was a stark pimp. 
Just of your standing, 'fore I met with him ; 
It is not two months since. I'll tell you his 

method : 
First, he will enter you at some ordinary. 

Kas. No, I'll not come there : you shall par- 

Face. For Avhy, sir ? [don me. 

Kas. There's gaming there, and tricks. 

Face. Why, would yoii be 
A gallant, and not game ? 

Kas. Ay, 'twill spend a man. 

Face. Spend you ! it will repair you when you 
are spent : [vented 

How do they live by their -wits there, that have 
Six times your fortunes ? 

Kas. What, three thousand a-year ! 

Face. Ay, forty thousand. 

Kas. Are there such ? 

Face. Ay, sir, 
And gallants yet. Hero's a young gentleman 
Is born to nothing, — [Points to Dapper.] forty 

marks a-year. 
Which I count nothing : — he is to be initiated, 
And have a fly of the doctor. He will win you, 
By unresistible luck, within this fortnight. 
Enough to buy a barony. They will set him 
Upmost, at the groom porters, all the Christmas : 
And for the whole year through, at everyplace. 
Where there is play, present him with the chair ; 
The best attendance, the best drink ; sometimes 
Two glasses of Canary, and pay nothing ; 
The purest linen, and the sharpest knife, 
The partridge next his trencher : and some- 
where 
The dainty bed, in private, with the dainty. 
You shall have your ordinaries bid for him, 
As play-houses for a poet ; and the master 
Pray him aloud to name Avhat dish he affects, 
Y/hich must be butter'd shrimps: and those 

that drink 
To no mouth else, will drink to his, as being 
The goodly president mouth of all the board, 

Kas. Do you not gull one ? 

Face. 'Ods my life ! do you thlnlc it ? 



You shall have a cast commander, (can but get 
In credit with a glover, or a spurrier, 
For some two pair of cither's ware aforehand,) 
Will, by most swift posts, dealing [but] with 

him. 
Arrive at competent means to keep himself, 
His punk and naked boy, in excellent fashion, 
And be admir'd for't. 

Jiffs. Will the doctor teach this ? 

Face. He Avill do more, sir : when 3"our land 
is gone. 
As men of spii-it hate to keep earth long, 
In a vacation, when small money is stirring, 
And ordinaries suspended till the term. 
He'll shew a i^erspective, Avhere on one side 
You shall behold the faces and the persons 
Of all sufficient young heirs in town. 
Whose bonds are current for commodity ; 
On th' other side, the merchants' forms, and 

others. 
That without heljj of any second broker, 
V/ho would expect a share, Vi'ill trust such 

parcels : 
In the third square, the very street and sign 
Where the commodity dwells, and does but wait 
To be dcliver'd, be it pepper, soap, 
Hops, or tobacco, oatmeal, woad, or cheeses. 
All which you may so handle, to enjoy 
To your own use, and never stand obliged. 

Kas. I'faith ! is he such a fellow ? 

Face. Why, Nab here knows him. 
And then for making matches for rich widows, 
Yoixng gentlewomen, heirs, the fortunat'st man ! 
He's sent to, iav and near, all over England, 
To have his counsel, and to know theii- fortunes. 

Kas. God's will, my suster shall see him. 

Face. I'll tell you, sir, [thing : — • 

What he did tell me of Nab. It's a strange 
By the Avay, you must eat no cheese, Nab, it 

breeds melancholy, 
And that same mclancholj' breeds womis ; but 

pass it : — 
He told me, honest Nab here was ne'er at tavern 
But once iu's life ! 

Drug. Truth, and no more I was not. 

Face. And then he was so sick — 

Drug. Could he tell you that too ? 

Face. How should I know it ? 

Drug. In troth we had been a shooting. 
And had a piece of fat ram-mutton to supper, 
That lay so heavy o' my stomach — 

Face. And he has no head 
To bear any wine ; for what with the noise of 
the fidlers, [rants — 

And care of his shop, for he dares keep no ser- 

Drug. My head did so acli — 

Face. As he M'as fain to be brought home, 
The doctor told me : and then a good old 
Avoman — ' 

Drug. Yes, faith, she dwells iu Sca-coal-lane, 
— did cure me. 
With sodden ale, and pellitory of the wall ; 
Cost me but two-pence. I had another sickness 
Was worse than that. 

Face. Ay, that was with the grief 
Thou took'st for being cess'd at eighteen-penee, 
For the water-work. 

Drug. In truth, and it was like 
T' have cost mo almost my life. 



6CJENE 11- 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



359 



Face. Thy hair went off ? 

Drug. Yes, sir ; 'twas done for spight. 

Face. Nay, so says the doctor. 

Kas. Pray thee, tobacco-boy, go fetch my 
I'll sec this learned boy before I go ; [suster ; 
And so shall she. 

Face. Sir, he is busy now : 
But if j'ou have a sister to fetch hither. 
Perhaps your own pains may command her 
And he bj^ that time will be free. [sooner ; 

Kas. I go. [Exit. 

Face. Drugger, she's thine : the damask ! — 
\_Exit Abel.] Subtle and I 
Must wrestle for her. \_Aside.'\ — Come on, mas- 
ter Dapper, 
You see how I turn clients here away. 
To give your cause dispatch ; have you perform'd 
The ceremonies were enjoin' d you? 

Dap. Yes of the vinegar. 
And the clean shirt. 

Face. 'Tis well : that shirt may do you 
More worship than you think. Your aunt's 
a-fire, [yo^^- 

But that she will not show it, t' have a sight of 
Have you provided for her grace's servants ? 

Dap. Yes l^cre are six score Edward shillings. 

Face. Good ! 

Dap. And an old Harry's sovereign. 

Face. Yery good ! 

Dap. And three James shillings, and an 
Just twenty nobles. [Elizabeth groat, 

Face. O, you are too just. 
I would you had had the other noble in Maries. 

Dap. I have some Philip and Maries. 

Face. Ay, those same 
Are best of all : where are they ? Hark, the 
doctor. 

Enter Subtle, disguised like a priest of Fairy, 
with a stripe of cloth. 

Sub. [In a feigned voice.] Is yet her grace's 
cousin come ? 

Face. He is come. 

Sub. And is he fasting ? 

Face. Y'es. 

Sub. And hath cried hum ? 

Face. Thrice, you must answer. 

Dap. Thrice. 

Sub. And as oft buz r 

Face. If you have, say. 

Dap. I have. 

Sub. Then, to her cuz. 
Hoping that he hath vinegar'd his senses, 
As he was bid, the Fairy queen dispenses, 
By me, this robe, the petticoat of fortune ; 
Which that he straight i^ut on, she doth im- 
portune. 
And though to fortune near be her petticoat, 
Y''et nearer is her smock, the queen doth note : 
And therefore, even of that a piece she hath sent, 
\^Tiich, being a child, to wrap him in was rent ; 
And prays him for a scarf he now ■will wear it. 
With as much love as then her grace did tear it, 
About his eyes, [T/ieij blind him icith the rag,] to 

shew he is fortunate. 
And, trusting unto her to make his state. 
He'll throw away all worldly pelf about him ; 
Which that he will perform, she doth not doubt 
him. 



Face. She need not doubt him, six: Alas, he 
has nothing, 
But what he will part withal as willingly. 
Upon her grace's word — throw away yoiu 

purse — 
As she would ask it; — handkerchiefs and all — 
[Ho throws away, as they bid him. 
She cannot bid that thing, but he'll obey. — 
If you have a ring about you, cast it off, [send 
Or a silver seal at your wrist ; her grace will 
Her fairies here to search you, therefore deal 
Directly with her highness : if they find 
That you conceal a mite, you are undone. 
Dap, Truly, there's all. 
Face. All what ? 
Djp. My monej- ; truly. 
Face. Keep nothing that is transitory about 
you. 
Bid Dol i^lay music. [Aside to Subtle.] — Look, 
the elves are come 

[Doi, plays on the cittern ivithin 

To pinch you, if you tell not truth. Advise you. 

[ They pinch him. 

Dap. O ! I have a paper with a spur-ryal in't 

Face. Ti, ti. 

They knew't, they say. 

Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti. He has more yet. 
Face. Ti, ti-ti-ti. In the other pocket. 

[Aside to Sub. 
Sub. Titi, titi, till, titi, titi. 
They must pinch him or he will never confess, 
they say. [ They pinch him again. 

Dap. O, O ! 

Face. Nay, pray you hold : he is her grace's 
nephew. 
Ti, ti, ti ^ What care you ? good faith, you 

shall care. — 
Deal plainly, sir, and shame the fairies. Shcv.' 
Y'ou are innocent. 

Dap. By this good light, I have nothing. 
Sub. Ti, ti, ti, ti, to, ta. He does equivocate, 
she says : 
Ti, a do ti, ti ti do, ti da ; and swears by the light 
when he is blinded. 
Da^}. By this good dark, 1 have nothing but 
a half-crown 
Of gold about my wrist, that my love gave me ; 
And a leaden heart I wore since she forsook me. 
Face. I thought 'twas something. And would 
you incur 
Your aunt's displeasure for these trifles ? Come, 
I had rather you had thrown away twenty half- 
crowns. [ Takes it off. 
You may wear your leaden heart still. — 

Enter DoL, hastily. 

How now ! 
Sub. What news, Dol r 
Dol. Yonder's your knight, Sir Mammon. 
Face. 'Ods lid, we never thought of him till 
now ! 
Where is he ? 

Dol. Here hard by : he is at the door. 
Sub. And you are not ready, now ! Dol, get 
his suit. [Exit Dol. 

He must not be sent back. 

Face. O by no means. 
What shall we do with this same puffr. here. 
Now he's on the spit ? 



360 



THE ALCIIEillST. 



Sub. Why, lay him back awhile, 
With some device. 

Be-enter Dol, with Face's clothes. 
— Ti, ti, ti, ti, fi, ti. Would her grace speak with 

me? 
I come. — Help, Dol ! [Knoc7ci?i(j without. 

Face. [Spealis through the key-hole.] Who's 
there ? sir Epicure, 
My master's in the way. Please you to walk 
Three or four turns, but till his back be turn'd. 
And I am for you. — Quickly, Dol ! 

Sub. Her grace 
Commends her kindly to you, master Dapper. 

Dap. I long to see her grace. 

Sub. She now is set 
At dinner in her bed, and she has sent you 
From her own private trencher, a dead mouse, 
And a piece of gingerbread, to be merry withal, 
And stay your stomach, lest you faint with 
fasting : [says. 

Yet if you could hold out till she saw you, she 
It would be better for you. 

Face. Sir, ho shall [ness ; 

Hold out, an 'twere this two hours, for her high- 
I can assure j-ou that. We will not lose 
All we have done. 

Sub. He must not see, nor speak 
To any body, till then. 

Face. For that we'll put, sir, 
And stav in's mouth. 

Sab. Of Avhat ? 

Face. Of gingerbread. 
Make yo\i it fit. He that hath pleas'dher grace 
Thus far, shall not now crincle for a little. — 
Gape, sir, and let him fit you. 

[Therj thrust a gag of gingerbread in his mouth. 

Sub. Where shall we now 
Bestow him ? 

Dol. In the privy. 

Sub. Come along, sir, 
I now must shew you Fortune's privy lodgings. 

Face. Are they perfum'd, and his bath ready ? 

Sub. All: 
Only the fumigation's somewhat strong. 

Face. [SjJeaking through the key-hole.] Sir 
Epicure, I am yours, sir, by and by. 

[Exeunt with Dapper. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Lovewit's House. 

Enter Face and Mammon. 

Face. O sir, you are come in the only fiu- 

Mam. Where's master ? [est time. — 

Face. Now preparing for projection, sir. 
Your stuff will be all changed shortly. 

Mam. Into gold ? 

Face. To gold and silver, sir. 

Mam. Silver I care not for. 

Face. Y'es, sir, a little to give beggars. 

Mam. Where's the lady ? 

Face. At hand here. I have told her such 
brave things of you, 
Touching your bounty, and your noble spirit — 

Main. Hast thou ? 

Face. As she is almost in her fit to see you. 



But, good sir, no divinity in your conference, 
But fear of putting her in rage. — 

Mam. I warrant thee. [and then. 

Face. Six men [sir] vnW not hold her down 

If the old man should hear or see you 

Mam. Fear not. [You know it, 

Face. The very house, sir, Avould run mad. 
How scrupulous he is, and violent, [matics, 

'Gainst the least act of sin. Physic, or mathe- 
Poetry, state, or bawdry, as I told you, 
She will endure, and never startle ; but 
No word of controversy. 

Mam. I am school' d, good TJlcn. [ber that 
Face. And you must praise her house, remem- 
And her nobility. 

Mam. Lot me alone : 
No herald, no, nor antiquary. Lungs, 
Shall do it better. Go. 

Face. Why, this is yet 
A kind of modern happiness, to have 
Dol Common for a great lady. [Aside and exit 

Mam. Now, Epicure, 
Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold; 
Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops 
Unto his Danfle ; shew the god a miser, 
Compared with Mammon. What ! the stone 
will do't. [gol<I ; 

She shall feci gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep 
Nay, we will concumbere gold : I will be puissant 
And mighty in my talk to her. — 

Re-enter Face, with Dol richhj dressed. 
Here she comes. 

Face. To him, Dol, suckle him. — This is the 
I told your ladyshij) [noble knight. 

Mam. Madam, with your pardon, 
I kiss your vesture. 

Dol. Sir, I were imcivil 
If I would suffer that ; my lip to you, sir. 

Mam. I hope my lord your brother be in 
health, lady. [sir 

Dol. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady 

Face. Well said, my Guinea bird. [Asidfi 

Mam. Right noble madam 

Face. O, we shall have most fierce idolatry. 

[Aside 

Mam. 'Tis your prerogative. 

Dol. Rather your coiutesy. 

Ma7n. Were there nought else to enlarge 

your virtues to me, [blood. 

These answers speak your breeding and your 

Dol. Blood we boast none, sir, a poor baron's 
daughter. [your father 

Mam. Poor ! and gat you ? profane not. Had 
Slept all the happy remnant of his life 
After that act, lien but there still, and panted, 
He had done enough to make himself, his issue- 
And his posterity noble. 

Dol. Sir, although 
We may be said to want the gilt and trappings, 
The dress of honor, yet we strive to keep 
The seeds and the materials. 

3Iam. I do see 
The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost. 
Nor the drug mcaiey used to make your com- 
pound. 
There is a strange nobility in your ej^e. 
This lip, that chin ! methinks you do resemble 
One of the Austriac princes. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



3G1 



Face. Very like ! 
Her father was an Irish costarmonger. [Aside. 

Mam. The house of Valois just had such a 
And such a forehead yet the Medici [nose, 

Of Florence boast. 

Dol. Troth, and I have been liken'd 
To all these princes. 

Face. I'll be sworn, I heard it. 

Mam. I know not how ! it is not any one, 
But e'en the very choice of all their features. 

Face. I'll in, and laugh. [Aside and exit. 

Mam. A cortaiii touf'h, or air, 
That sparkles a diviniiy, beyond 
An earthly beauty ! 

Dol. 0, you play the courtier. 

Mam. Good lady, give me leave 

Dol. 1\\ faith, I may not, 
To mock me, sir. 

Mam. To burn in this sweet flame ; 
The phoenix never knew a nobler death. 

Dol. Nay, now you court the courtier, and 
destroy [words. 

What 5-0U would build : this art, sir, in your 
Calls your whole faith in question. 

Mam. By my soul 

Dol. Nay, oaths are made of the same air, sir. 

Mam. Nature 
Never bestow'd upon mortality 
A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature ; 
She jjlay'd the step-dame in all faces else : 
Sweet Madam, let me be particular 

Dol. Particular, sir ! I pray you know your 
distance. 

Mam. In no ill sense, sweet lady ; but to ask 
llow your fair graces pass the hours ? I see 
You are lodg'd here, in the house of a rare man. 
An excellent artist ; but what's that to you ? 

Dol. Yes, sir ; I study here the mathematics. 
And distillation. 

Mam. O, I cry your pardon. 
He's a divine instructor ! can extract 
The souls of all things bj' his art , call all 
The virtues, and the miracles of the sun, 
Into a temperate furnaca ; teach dull nature 
What her own forces are. A man, the emperor 
Has courted above Kelly ; sent his medals 
And chains, to invite him. 

Dol. Ay, and for his physic, sir 

Mam. Above the art of iEsculapius, 
That drew the envy of the thunderer ! 
I know all this, and more. 

Dol. Troth, I am taken, sir, ^nature. 

Whole with these studies, that contemplate 

Mam. It is a noble humor ; but this form 
Was not intended to so dark a use. [mould. 
Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse 
A cloister had done well ; but such a feature 
That might stand up the glory of a kingdom. 
To live recluse ! is a mere solcecism, 
Though in a nunnery. It must not be. 
I muse, my lord your brother will permit it : 
You should spend half my land first, were I he. 
Does not this diamond better on my finger, 
Than in the quarry ? 

Dol, Yes. 

Mam. Why, you are like it. 
You were created, lady, for the light. 
Here, you shall wear it ; take it, the first pledge 
Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me. 



Dol. In chains of adamant ? 

Mam. Yes, the strongest bands. 
And take a secret too — here, by your side, 
Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in 

Dol. You are contented, sir ! [Europe. 

Mam. Nay, in true being. 
The envy of princes and the fear of states. 

Dol. Say you so, sir Epicure ? 

Mam. Yes, and thou shalt prove it. 
Daughter of honor. I have cast mine eye 
Upon thy form, and I will rear this beauty 
Above all styles. 

Dol. You mean no treason, sir ? 

Mam. No, I will take away that jealousy. 
I am the lord of the philosopher's stone, 
And thou the lad}'. 

Dol. How sir ! have you that ? 

Mam. I am the master of the mastery. 
This day the good old wretch here o'the house 
Has made it for us ; now he's at projection, [it ,• 
Think therefore thy firs* wish now, let me hcaj 
And it shall rain into thy lap, no shower. 
But floods of gold, whole cataracts, a deluge, 
To get a nation on thee. 

Dol. You are pleased, sir. 
To work on the ambition of our sex. [know, 

Mam. I am i^leascd the glory of her sex should 
This nook, here, of the Friers is no climate 
For her to live obscurely in, to learn 
Physic and surgery, for the constable's wife 
Of some odd hundred in Essex ; but coflie forth, 
And taste the air of palaces ; eat, drink 
The toils of empirics, and their boasted practice 
Tincture of pearl, and coral, gold and amber ; 
Be seen at feasts and triumphs ; have it ask'd, 
What miracle she is ? set all the eyes 
Of court a-fire, like a burning glass. 
And work them into cinders, when the jewels 
Of twenty states adorn thee, and the light 
Strikes out the stars ! that when thy name is 
mention'd, [love, 

Queens may look pale ; and Ave but shewing out 
Nero's Popptea may be lost in story ! 
Thus will Ave have it. 

Dol. I could Avell consent, sir. 
But, in a monarchy, hoAV Avill this be .'' 
The prince will soon take notice, and both seize 
You and your stone, it being a Avealth unfit 
For any private subject. 

Mam. If he kncAV it. 

Dol. Yourself do boast it, sii-. 

Mam. To thee, my life. [end 

Dol. O, but beware, sir ! you may come to 
The remnant of your days in a loth'd prison. 
By speaking of it. 

Mam. 'Tis no idle fear : 
We'll therefore go Avithal, my girl, and live 
In a free state, where Ave Avill eat our mullets, 
Soused in high-country Avines, sup pheasants 

eggs. 
And have our cockles boil'd in silver shells ; 
Our shrimps to swim again, as Avhen they liA''d, 
In a rare butter made of dolphin's milk, [these 
Whose cream does look like opals ; and with 
Delicate meats set ourselves high for pleasure. 
And take us down again, and then renew 
Our youth and strength Avith drinking the elixir, 
And so enjoy a perpetuity [Avardrobe 

Of life and lust ! And thou shalt have thy 



362 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Richer than nature's, still to change thy self, 
And vary oftener, for thy pride, than she, 
Or art, her v.isc and almost-eoual servant. 

Re-enter Face. 
Face. Sir, you are too loud. I hear you every 
Into the laboratory. Some fitter place ; [word 
The. garden, or great chamber above. How like 
you her ? 
Marn. Excellent ! Lungs. There's for thee. 
\^Gwes him money. 
Face. But do you hear ? 
Good sir, beware, no mention of the rabbins. 
Mam. We think not on 'em. 

[Exeunt Mam. and DoL. 
Face. O, it is vrcll, sir. — Subtle ! 

Enter Sujjtle. 

Dost thou not laugh ? 

Sub. Yes ; are they gone ' 

Face. All's clear. 

Sub, The widow is come. 

Face. And your quarrelling disciple ? 

Sub. Ay. 

Face. I must to my captainship again then. 

Sub. Stay, bring them in first. 

Face. So I meant. What is she ? 
A bonnib^l ? 

Sub. I know not. 

Face. We'll draw lots : 
You'll stand to that ? 

Sub. AVhat else ? 

Face. O, for a suit, 
To fall now like a curtain, flap ! 

Sub. To the door, man. 

Face. You'll have the first kiss, 'cause I am 
not ready. [Exit. 

Sub. Yes, and perhaps hit you through both 
the nostrils. 

Face, [loithin.] Who would you speak with ? 

Kas. [within.] Where's the captain .'' 

Face, [within-] Gone, sir, 
About some business. 

Kas. [ivithin.] Gone ! 

Face, [within.] He'll return straight. 
But master doctor, his lieutenant, is here. 

Enter lvA.aTvaL, foUawocl by Dame Pliant. 

Sub. Come near, my worshipful boy, my 
tcrr(Bfili, 
That is, my boy of land ; make thy approaches : 
Welcome ; I know thy lusts, and thy desires, 
And I will serve and satisfy them. Begin, 
Charge me from thence, or thence, or in this 
Here is my centre : ground thy quarrel, [line ; 

Kas. You lie. 

Sub. How, child of wrath and anger ! the 
For what, my sudden boy r [loud lie ? 

Kas. Nay, that look you to, 
I am afore-hand. 

Sub. O, this is no true grammar, 
And as ill logic ! You must render causes, child, 
Your first and second intentions, know your 
caiions [ences, 

And your divisions, moods, degrees, and differ- 
Your predicaments, substance, and accident. 
Scries, extern and intern, with their causes, 
Efficient, material, formal, final, 
And have your elements perfect ? 



Kas. What is this ! 
The angry tongue he talks in r [Aside 

Sub. That fals(; precept. 
Of being afore-hand, has deceived a number, 
And made them enter quarrels, often-times, 
Before they were aware ; and afterward, 
xigainst their wills. 

Kas. How must I do then, sir ? 

Sub. I cry this lady mercy : she should first 
Have been saluted. [Kisses her.] I do call you 

lady. 
Because you are to be one, ere't be long, 
M}' soft and buxom widow. 

Kas. Is she, i'faith ? 

Sub. Yes, or my art is an egregious liar. 

Kas. How know you ? 

Sub. By inspection on her forehead, 
And subtlety oi" her lip, which must be tasted 
Often, to make a judgment. [Kisses her again. 

'Slifj?,'.t, she melts 
Like a rny/obolane : — here is yet a line, 
In rivo frontis, tells me he is no knight. 

Dame P. What is he then, sir ? 

Sub. Let me see your hand. 
O, your lincafortunce makes it plain ; 
And Stella here in monte Veneris. 
But, most of ^\\, junctura annularis. 
He is a soldier, or a man of art, lady. 
But shall have some great honor shortly. 

Dame P. Brother, 
He's a rare man, believe me ! 

Re-enter Face, in his uniform. 
Kas. Hold 3'our peace. 
Here comes the t'other rare man. — 'Save you, 
captain. [sister J 

Face. Good master Kastril ! Is this youi 
Kas. Ay, sir. [her. 

Please you to kuss her, and be proud to know 
Face. I shall be proud to know you, lady. 

[Kisses her. 
Dame P. Brother, 
He calls me lady too. 

Kas. Ay, peace : I heard it, [Takes her aside 
Face. The count is come. 
Sub. Where is he ? 
Face. At the door. 
Sub. Why, you must entertain hjm. 
Face. What will you do 
With these the while ? 

Sub. Wliy, have them u]>, and shew them 
Some fustian book, or the dark glap? 

Face. Fore God, 
She is a delicate dab-chick ! I mnst nave her. 

[Exit. 

Sub. Must you ! ay, if your fortune will, you 

must. — 

Come, sir, the captain will come to us presently : 

I'll have you to my chamber of demonstrations, 

Where I will shew you both the grammar, and 

logic. 
And rhetoric of quarrelling ; my whole method 
DraM-n out in tables ; and my instrument. 
That hath the several scales upon't, shall make 

you 
Able to quarrel at a straw's-breadth by moon- 
light. 
And, lady, I'll have you look in a gloss. 
Some half an hour, but to clear your eyesight., 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



363 



Agamst you see your fortune ; whicli is greater, 
ITian I may judge upon the sudden, trust mo. 
[Exit, followed bjj Kast. and Dame P. 

Re-enter Face. 
Face, Where are you, doctor ? 
Sub. [within.] I'll come to you presently. 
Face. I ■U'ill have this same widoTi", r.ow I have 
On any composition. [seen her, 

Re-enter Subtle. 

Sub. What do you say ? 

Face. Have you disposed of them ? 

Sub. I have sent them up. 

Face. Subtle, in troth, I needs must have this 

Sub. Is that the matter ? [widow. 

Face. Nay, but hear me. 

Sub. Go to. 
If you rebel once, Dol shall know it all : 
Therefore be quiet, and obey your chance. 

Face. Nay, thou art so violent now — Do but 
conceive. 
Thou art old, and canst not serve 

Sub. Who cannot ? I ? 
'Slight, I will serve her with thee, for a 

Fac3. Nay, 
But understand : I'll give you composition. 

Sub. I will not treat with thee ; what ! sell 

my fortune ? [mur : 

Tis better than my birth-right. Do not mur- 

Win her, and carry her. If you grumble, Dol 

Knows it directly. 

Face. Well, sir, I am silent. 
Will you go help to fetch in Don in state ? 

[Exit. 

Sub. I follow you, sir : we must keep Face in 
Or he will over-look us like a tyrant. [awe. 

Re-enter Face, introducing Surly disguised as a 

Spa7iiard. 
Brain of a tailor ! who comes here ? Don John ! 

Sur. Senores, beso las memos a vuesiras mercedes. 

Sub. Would you had stoop'd a little, and kist 

Face, Peace, Subtle. [our anos ! 

Sub. Stab mo ; I shall never hold, man. 
He looks in that deep ruff like a head in a 

platter, 
Serv'd in by a short cloke upon two trestles. 

Face. Or, what do you say to a collar of 
brawn, cut clown 
Beneath the souse, and wriggled Avith a knife ? 

Sub. 'Slud, he does look too fat to be a Span- 
iard. 

Face, Perhaps som.e Fleming or some Hol- 
lander got him 
In d' Alva's time ; count Egmont's bastard. 

Sub. Don, 
Your scurvy, yellow, Madrid face is welcome. 

Sur. Gratia. 

Sub. He speaks out of a fortification. 
Pray God he have no squibs in those deep sets. 

Sur. For dios, senores, muy linda casa ! 

Sub. What says he ? 

Face. Praises the house, I think r 
I know no more but's action. 

Sub. Yes, the casa, 
My precious Diego, will prove fair enough 
To cozen you in. Do you mark ? you shall 
Be cozen'd, Dic<^o. 



Face. Cozen'd, do you see, 
My worthy Donzel, cozen'd. 

Sur. Entiendo. 

Sub. Do you intend it ? so do we, dear Don. 
Have you brought pistolets, or portagues. 
My solemn Don ? — Dost thou feci any ? 

Face. [Feels his 2Mckeis.'\ Full. 

Sub. You shall be emptied, Don, pumped and 
Dry, as they say. [drawn 

Face, Milked, in troth, sweet Den. 

Sab. See all the monsters ; the great lion of 
all, Don. 

Sur. Con licencia, so puede ver a esta seTiora ? 

Sub. What talks he now ? 

Face, Of the sennora. 

Sub. O, Don, 
That is the lioness, Vv'hich you sliall see 
Also, my Don. 

Face. 'Slid, Subtle, how shall we do ? 

Sub. For what ? 

Face. Why Dol's employ'd you know. 

Sub. That's true. [all, 

'Fore heaven, I know not : he must stay, that's 

Face. Stay ! that he must not by no means. 

Sub. No ! why ? [suspect it : 

Face. Unless you'll mar all. 'Slight, he will 
And then he will not pay, not half so well. 
This is a travelled punk-master, and does know 
All the delays ; a notable hot rascal. 
And looks already rampant. 

Sub. 'Sdeath, and Mammon 
Must not be troubled. 

Face. Mammon ! in no case. 

Sub. What shall we do then ? 

Face. Think : you must be sudden. 

Sur. Entiendo que la seTiora es tan hermosa, que 
codicio tan verla, como la bieii aventuranza de mi 
vida. 

Face. Mi vida ! 'Slid, Subtle, he puts me in 
mind o' the widow. 
What dost thou say to draw her to it, ha ! 
And tell her 'tis her fortune ? all our venture 
Now lies upon't. It is but one man more. 
Which of us chance to have her : and beside, 
There is no maidenhead to be fear'd or lost. 
What dost thou think on't, Subtle ? 

Sab. Who, I ? why 

Face. The credit of our house too is engaged. 

Sub. Y'ou made me an offer for my share ere- 
What wilt thou give me, i'faith ? [while. 

Face. O, by that light 
I'll not buy now : Y'ou know your doom to me. 
E'en take your lot, obey your chance, su' ; win 
And wear her out, for me. [hf^r. 

Sub. 'Slight, I'll not work her then. 

Face. It is the common cause ; therefore be- 
think you. 
Dol else must know it, as you said. 

Sub. I care not. 

Sur. Senores, porquc sc tarda tanto ? 

Sub. Faith, I am not fit, I am old. 

Face. That's now no reason, sir. 

Sur. Puede ser de hazer burla de mi amor? ■ 

Face. Y'ou hear the Don too ? by this air, I call. 
And loose the hinges : Dol ! 

Sab. A plague of hell 

Face. Will 3'ou then do ? 

Sub. You are a terrible rogue ! 
I'D. think of this : will you, sir, call the widow { 



364 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Face. Yes, and I'll take her too -^vith all her 
Now I do think on't better. [faults, 

Sub. With all my heart, sir ; 
Am I discharged o' the lot ? 

Face. As you please. 

Sub. Hands. [They take hands. 

Face. Remember now, that upon any change, 
You never claim her. 

Sub. Much good joy, and health to you, sir. 
Marry a Avhore ! fate, let me wed a witch first. 

Sur. For estas honradas barbas 

Sub, He swears by his beard. 
Dispatch, and call the brother too. [Exit Pace. 

Sur. Tcnr/o duda, seTiores, que no me hagan 
alguna traycion. 

Sub. How, issue on ? yes, prtesto, sennor. 
Please you 
Enthratha the chambrafa, worthy don : 
Where if you please the fates, in your bathada. 
You shall be soked, and stroked, and tubb'd, 
and rubb'd, [go. 

And scrubb' d, and fubb'd, dear don, before you 
You shall in faith, my scurvy baboon don. 
Be curried, claw'd and flaw'd, and taw'd, indeed. 
I will the heartlier go about it noAv, 
And make the widow a punk so much the 

sooner, 
To be revenged on this impetuous face : 
The quickly doing of it, is the grace. 

[Exeunt Sub. and Surly. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Face, Kastril, and Dame Pliant. 
Face. Come, lady ; I knew the Doctor would 
not leave. 
Till he had found the very nick of her fortune. 
Kas. To be a countess, say you, a Spanish 

countess, sir ? 
Dame P. Why, is that better than an English 

countess ? 
Face. Better ! 'Slight, make you that a ques- 
tion, lady ? 
Kas. Nay, she is a fool, captain, you must 

pardon her. 
Face. Ask fi-om your courtier, to your inns- 
of-court-man, 
To ji-our mere milliner ; they will tell you all, 
Your Spanish gemiet is the best horse ; your 

Spanish 
Stoup is the best garb : your Spanish beard 
Is the best cut ; your Spanish ruffs are the best 
Wear; your Spanish pavin the best dance; 
Your Spanish titillation in a glove 
The best perfume : and for your Spanish pike. 
And Spanish blade, let your poor captain speak — 
Here comes the doctor. 

Enter Subtle, loith a ^Mper. 
Sub. ^ly most honor'd lady, 
For so I am now to style you, having found • 
By this my scheme, you are to undergo 
An honorable fortune, very shortly, 

What Avill you iay now, if some 

Face. 1 have told her all, sir ; 
And her right worshipful brother here, that she 

shall be 
A countess ; do not delay them, sir : a Spanish 
countess. 



Sub. Still, my scarce -worshipful captain, you 
can keep 
No secret ! Well, since he has told you, madairi. 
Do you forgive him, and I do. 

Kas. She shall do that, .sir , 
I'll look to't, 'tis my charge. 

Sub. Well then : nought rests 
But that she fit her love now to her fortune. 

Dame P. Truly I shall never brook a Spaniard. 

Sub. No ! 

Dame P. Never since eighty-eight could I 

abide them, [in truth. 

And that Avas some three year afore I was bom, 

Sub. Come, you must love him, or be miser- 
Choose which you will. [able. 

Face. By this good rush, persuadr her. 
She will cry strawberries else within this twelve- 
month. 

Sub. Nay, shads and maokarel, which is worse. 

Face. Indeed, sir. 

Kas. Ods lid, you shall love him, or I'll kick 

Dame P. Why, [you. 

I'll do as you will have me, brother. 

Kas. Do, 
Or by this hand I'll maul you. 

Face. Nay, good sir. 
Be not so fierce. 

Sub. No, my enraged child ; [tasf.e 
She will be ruled. What, when she comee to 
The pleasures of a countess ! to be courted 

Face. And kiss'd, and ruffled ! 

Sub. A J', behind the hangings. 

Face. And then come forth in pomp ! 

Sub. And know her state ! 

Face. Of keeping all the idolators of the cham- 
Barer to her, than at their prayers ! jber 

Sub. Is serv'd 
Upon the knee ! 

Face. And has her pages, ushers. 
Footmen, and coaches 

Sub. Her six mares 

Face. Nay, eight ! 

Sub. To hurry her through London, to the 
Bethlem, the china-houses [Exchange, 

Face. Yes, and have 
The citizens gape at her, and praise her tires, 
And my lord's goose-turd bands, that ride with 
her. 

Kas. Most bravo ! By this hand, you are not 
If you refuse. [mj- suster, 

Dame P. I will not refuse, brother. 

Enter Surly. 

Sur. Que es esto, scnores, que no venga? Esf.a 
tardanza me mata ! 

Face. It is the count come : 
The doctor knew he would be here, by his art 

Sub. En gallanta madama, Don ! gallantissima ' 

Sur. Par todos los dioses, la mas acabada hertnc- 
sura, que he visto en mi vida ! 

Face. Is't not a gallant language that they 
speak ? 

Kas. An admirable language ! Is't not French ? 

Face. No, Spanish, sir. 

Kas. It goes like law-French, 
And that they say is the courtliest language 

Face. List, sir. 

Sur. El sol ha perdido su lumbre, con el esplan- 
dor que true esta dama ! Valgame dios ! 



^ 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



365 



Face. He admires j'our sister. 

Kas. Must not she make curt'sy ? 

Sub. Ods will, she must go to him, man, and 
kiss him ! 
It is the Spanish fashion, for the women 
To make first court. 

Face. 'Tis true he tells you, sir : 
His art knows all. 

Sur. Torque no se acude ? 

Kas. He speaks to her, I think. 

Face. That he does, sir. 

Sur. For el amor de dios, qua es esto que se 
tarda ? 

Kas. Nay, see : she will not understand him ! 
Noddy. [gull, 

Dame P. What say you, brother ? 

Kas. Ass, my suster. [you ; 

Go kuss him, as the cunning man Avoiild have 
I'll thrust a pin in your buttocks else. 

Fave. O no, sir. 

Sur. Senora mia, mi j^crsona csta muy iudif/na 
de allerjar a tanta hermosura. 

Face. Does he not use her bravely? 

Kas. Bravely, i'faith ! 

Face. Nay, he will use her bettei'. 

Kas. Do j'ou think so ? 

Sur. Senora, si sera servida, entremonos. 

[Exit with Dame Pliant. 

Kas. Where does he carry her ? 

Face. Into the garden, sir ; 
Take you no thought : I must interpret for her. 

Sub. Give Dol the word. [Aside to Face, who 
goes out.] — Come, my fierce child, ad- 
vance. 
We'll to our quarrelling lesson again. 

Kas. Agreed. 
i love a Spanish boy with all my heart. 

Sub. Nay, and by this means, sir, you shall be 
To a great count. [brother 

Kas. Ay, I knew that at first. [trils. 

This match will advance the house of the Kas- 

Sub. 'Pray God your sister prove but pliant ! 

Kas. Why, 
Her name is so, by her other husband. 

Sub. How ! 

Kas. The widow Pliant. Knew you not that ? 

Sub. No faith, sir ; 
Yet, by erection of her figure, I guest it. 
Come, let's go practise. 

Kas. Yos, but do you think, doctor, 
I e'er shall quarrel well ? 

Sub. I warrant you. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Dol in her fit of raving, foUoioed by Mammox. 

Dol. For after Alexatider's death — 

Mam. Good lady 

Dol. That Perdiccas and Antigonus, were slain, 
The two that stood, Scleuc', and Ptolomee 

Mam. Madam. 

Dol. Made np the two legs and the fourth beast. 
That icas Gog-north, and Egypt-south ; lohich 

after 
Was call'd Gog-iron-lcg, and South-iron-leg 

Mam. Lady 

Dol. And then Gog-horned. So was Egypt too : 
Then Egypt-clay-leg, and Gog-clay-leg 

Mam. Sweet madam. 



Dol. And last Gog-dust, and Egyjjt-dust, lohich 
fall 
In the last link of the fourth chain. And these 
Be stars in story, which none see, or look at 

Mam, What shall I do ? 

Dol. For, as he says, except 
We call the rabbins, and the heathen Greeks — ~ 

Mam. Dear lady. 

Dol. To come from Salem and from Athens, 
And teach the people of Great Britain 

Enter Face, hastily, in his Servant's Dress. 

Face. What's the matter, sir ? 

Dol. To speak the tongue of Eber, and Tavan — 

Mam. O, 
She's in her fit. 

Dol. We shall know nothing 

Face. Death, sir, 
We are undone ! 

Dol. Where then a learned linguist 
Shall see the ancient used communion 
Of voivels and consonants 

Facn- My master will hear. 

Dol, A loisdom, lohich Pythagoras held most 

Mam. Sweet honorable lady ! \hiqh — 

Dol. To cc^iprise 
All sounds of voices, in few marks of letters 

Face. Nay, you must never hope to lay her 
now. [ They all speak together. 

Dol. And so we may arrive by Talmud skill. 
And profane Greek, to raise the building tip 
Of Helen's house against the Ismaelite, 
King of Thogarma, and his habergions 
Brimstony, blue, and fiery ; and the force 
Of king Abaddon, and the beast of Ciltim : 
Which rabbi David Kimchi, Onkelos, 
And Aben Ezra do interpret Borne. 

Face. How did you put her into't ? 

Mam. Alas ! I talk'd 
Of a fifth monarchy I would erect, [she 

With the philosopher's stone, by chance, and 
Falls on the other four straight. 

Face. Out of Broughton ! 
I told you so. 'Slitl, stop her mouth. 

Mam. Is't best ? 

Face. She'll never leave else. If the old man 
We are but fceces, ashes. [hear her, 

Sub. [WitJiin.] What's to do there ? 

Face. O, we are lost ! Now she hears him, 
she is quiet. 

Enter Subtle, they run off different ways. 

Matn. AVherc shall I hide me ! 

Sub. How ! what sight is here ? [light ! 

Close deeds of darkness, and that shun the 
Bring him again. Who is he ? What, my son I 
O, I have lived too long. 

Mam. Nay, good, dear father. 
There was no unchaste purpose. 

Sub. Not ' and flee me, 
When I come in ? 

Mam. That was my error. 

Sub. Error ! 
Guilt, guilt, my son : give it the right namo 

No marvel, 
If I found check in our great work within, 
When such affairs as th(;se were managing \ 

Mam Why, have you so ? 

Sub- It has stood still this half hour : 



SGG 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



And all tlie rest of our less works gone bank. 
Where is the instrument of -wickedness, 
My lewd false drudge ? 

Mam. Nay, good sir, blame not him ; 
Believe me, 'twas against his will or knowledge : 
I saw her by chance. 

Sub. Will you commit more sin. 
To excuse a varlet ? 

Mam. By my hope, 'tis true, sir. 

Sub. Nay, then I wonder less, if you, for whom 
The blessing was prepared, would so tempt 
And lose your fortunes. [heaven 

Mam. Whv, sir ? 

Sub. Tliis will retard 
The work, a month at least. 

Mam. Why, if it do, 
What remedy ? But think it not, good father : 
Our purposes were honest. 

Sub. As they were, 
So the reward Avill prove. — [A loud explosion 

within.] How now ! ah me ! 
God and all saints be good to \is. — 

Re-enter Face. 

What's that ? 

Face. O, sir, wc are defeated ! all the works 
Are flown infunio, every glass is burst : 
Furnace, and all rent down ! as if a bolt 
Of thunder had been driven through the house. 
Retorts, receivers, pelicans, bolt-heads, 
All struck in shivers ! 

\\iiniii.v. falls down as in a sicoon. 
Help, good sir ! alas. 
Coldness, and death invades him. Nay, sir Mam- 
Do the fair offices of a man ! you stand, [mon, 
As you were readier to depart than he. 

[Knocking vsitldn. 
'Who's there ? my lord her brother is come. 

Mam. Ha, Lungs ! [sight, 

Face. His coach is at the door. Avoid his 
For he's as funous as his sister's mad. 

Mam. Alas ! 

Face. !My brain is quite undone with the fume, 
sir. 
I ne'er must hope to be mine own man again. 

Mam. Is all lost. Lungs ? will nothing be pre- 
Of all our cost ? [serv'd 

Face. Faith, very little, sir ; 
A peck of coals or so, which is cold comfort, sir. 

Mam. O my voluptuous mind ! I am justly 

Face. And so am. I, sir. [punish' d. 

Mam. Cast from all my hopes 

Face, '^aj, certainties, sir. 

Mam. By mine own base affections. 

Sub. [Seeming to come to himself.] O, the curst 
fruits of I'ice and lust ! 

Mam. Good father, 
It was my sin. Forgive it. 

Sub. Hangs my roof 
Over us still, and will not fall, O justice. 
Upon us, for this wicked man ! 

Face. Nay, lock, sir. 
You grieve him now with staying in his sight : 
Good sir, the n jbleman will come too, and take 
And that may breed a tragcdj\ [j^^^i 

Mam. I'll go. 

Face. Ay, and repent at home, sir. It may be. 
For some good penance you may have it yet ; 
A hundred pouT^d to the box at Bethlem 



Mam. Yes. 

Face. For the restoring such as — ha^'O their 

Mam. I'll do't. [wits. 

Face. I'll send one to you to receive it. 

Mam. Do. 
Is no projection left ? 

Face. All flown, or stinks, sir. 

Mam. Will nought be sav'd that's good for 
mod' cine, think'st thou ? 

Face. I cannot tell, sir. There will be perhaps, 

Something about the scraping of the shards, 

Will cure the itch, — though not your itch of 

mind, sir. [Aside 

It shall be saved for you, and sent home. Good 

sir. 
This way, for fear the lord should meet ^-ou. 

[Exit Mammon 

Sub. [Baisinq Ji's head.] Face ! 

Face. Ay. 

Sub. Is he gone ? 

Face. Yes, and as heavily 
As all the gold he hoped for were in's blood. 
Let us be light though. 

Sub. [Leaping tip.'] Ay, as balls, and bound 
And hit our heads against the roof for jo}'' : 
There's so much of our care now cast away. 

Face. Now to our don. 

Sub. Y'es, yoiir yoiing widow by this time 
Is made a countess. Face ; she has been in travail 
Of a young heir for you. 

Face. Good sir. 

Sub. Off" with your case, 
And greet her kindly, as a bridegroom should, 
After these common hazards. 

Face, Very well, sir. 
Will you go fetch don Diego oft', the Avhile ? 

Sub. And fetch him over too, if you'll be 
pleased, sir : 
Would Dol were in her place, to j^ick his pock 
ets nov,- ! 

Face. Why, you can do't as well, if you would 
I pray you prove your virtue. [set to't. 

Sub. For your sake, sir. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 
Enter Suely and Dame Pliant. 
Sur. Lad)^ vou see into v/hat hands you are 
fall'n ; " 
'Mongst what a nest of villains ! and hoAV near 
Your honor was t'have catch'd a certain clap, 
Through your credulity, had I but been 
So punctually forward, as place, time, 
And other circumstances would have made a 
man ; [wise too ! 

For you're a handsome v.'oman : would you were 
I am a gentleman come here disguised. 
Only to find the knaveries of this citadel ; 
And where I might have wrong'd your honor, 

and have not, 
I claim some interest in your love. You ai-e, 
They saj-, a widow, rich ; and I'm a batchelor. 
Worth nought : your fortunes may make me a 
man, [upon it, 

As mine have prcserv'd you a ivoman. Think 
And whether I have deserv'd you or no. 

Dame P. I will, sir. [alone 

Sur. And for these household-rof:;ues let me 
To treat with their. . 



I 



% 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



367 



Enter Subtle. 

Sub. How tloth my noble Diego, 
A.nd my dear madam countess ? liath the count 
Been courteous, lady ? liberal, and open ? 
Donzel, mctliinks you look melancholic, 
After your coitum, and sciu-vy : truly, 
I do not like the dulncss of your ej'e ; 
It hath a heavy cast, 'tis upsce Dutch, 
And says you are a lum^jish wliore-master. 
Ec lighter, I will make your pockets so. 

[Attempts to pick them. 

St(>\ [Throtos open his cloa/c] Will 5'ou, don 
bawd and jjick-purse ? [strikes him doton.] 
how now ! reel you ? 
Stand up, sir, j'ou shall find, since I am so heavy, 
I'll give you equal weight. 

Sub. Help ! murder ! 

Sur. No, sir. 
There's no sirch thing intended : a good cart, 
And a clean whip shall ease you of that fear. 
I am the Spanish don that should be co~en'd. 
Do you see, cozen d ! Where's your captain Face, 
That parcel broker, and whole-bawd, all rascal ! 

Enter Face, in his imiform. 
Face. How, Surly ! 

Sar. O, make your approach, good captain. 
1 have found from whence your coppar rings and 

spoons 
Come, now, wherewith j-ou cheat abroad in 

taverns. 
'Twas here you learn'd t' anoint your boot vt'ith 

brimstone. 
Then rub men's gold on't for a kind of touch. 
And say 'twas naught, when you had changed 

the color, [doctor, 

That you might have't for nothing. And this 
Your sooty, smoky-bearded compeei% he 
Will close you so much gold, in a bolt's-head. 
And, on a turn, convey in the stead another 
With sublimed mercury, that shall burst in the 

heat. 
And fly out all infunio ! Then weeps Mammon ; 
Then swoons his worship. [Face slips out.'\ Or, 

he is the Faustus, 
That casteth figures and can conjure, cures 
Plagues, piles, and pox, by the cphcmerides. 
And holds intelligence with all the bawds 
And midwives of three shires : while you send 

in — [child. 

Captain — what ! is he gone ? — damsels with 
Wives that are barren, or the waiting-maid 
With the green sickness. 

[Seizes Subtle as he is retiring. 
Nay, sir, you must tarry, 
Thoirgh he be scaped ; and answer by the ears, 

sir. 

Re-enter Face, icith Kastril. 

Fiice. Why, now's the time, if ever you will 
quarrel 
Well, as they say, and be a true-born child : 
The doctor and j'our sister both are abused. 

Kas. W^here is he ? which is he ? he is a slave, 
V/liatc'er he is, and 'he son of a Avhore. — Are 
The man, sir, I wouM know ? [you 

Sur. I should be loth, sir. 
To confess so muoli. 



A'rts. Then you lie in your throat. 

Sur. How ! 

Face, [to Kastril.] A very errant rogue, sir, 

Employ'd here by another conjurer [and a 

cheater, [him. 

That does not love the doctor, and would cross 

If he knew hoAV. 

Sur. Sir, joxx. are abused. 

Kas. You lie : 
And 'tis no matter. 

Face. Well said, sir ! He is 
The impudent'st rascal 

Sur. You are indeed : Wi^l you hear mo, sir ? 

Face. By no means : bid him. be gone. 

Kas. Begone, sir, quickly. 

Sur. This 's strange ! — Lady, do you inform 
your brother. 

Face. There is not such a foist in all the town, 
The doctor had him presently ; and finds yet. 
The Spanish count will come here. — Bear up. 
Subtle. [Aside. 

Sub. Yes, sir, he must appear within this hour. 

Face. And yet this rogue would come in a dis- 
By the temptation of another spirit, [guise. 

To trouble our art, though ho could not hurt it ! 

Kas. Ay, 
I know— "Away, [to his Sister,] you talk like a 
foolish mauther. 

Sur. Sir, all is truth she says. 

Face. Do not believe him, sir. 
He is the lying'st swabber ! Come your ways, sir 

Sur. You are valiant out of company ! 

Arts. Yes, how then, sir ? 

Enter Deugger, with a piece of damask. 
Face. Naj', here's an honest fellow, too, that 
knows him. 
And all his tricks. Make good what I say, Abel, 
This cheater would have cozen'd thee o' the 
widow. — [Aside to Dkug 

He ovv'cs this honest Druggcr here, seven pound, 
He has had on him, in two-penny' orths of to- 
Drug. Yes, sir. [bacco. 

And he has damn'd himself three terms to pay 
me. 
Face. And what does he ov/e for lotium ? 
Drufj. Thirty shillings, sir ; 
And for six syringes. 
Sur. Hydra of villainy * 
Face. Nay, sir, you must quarrel hira out o' 

the house. 
Kas. I will : 
— Sir," if you get not o' doors, you lie ; 
And you are a pimp. 

Sur. Why, this is madness, sir. 
Not valor in you ; I must laugh at this. 

Arts. It is my humor : you are a pimp and a 
trig. 
And an A7nadis de .Gaul, or a Don Quixote. 

Druij. Or a knight o' the curious coxcomb, 
do you see ? 

E/iter AxANJAS. 

Ana. Peace to the household ! 
Kas. I'll keep peace for no man. 
Ana. Casting of dollars is concluded lawfal. 
Kas. Is he the constable ? 
Sub. Peace. Ananias. 
) Face. No. sit 



368 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Kas. Then you are an otter, and a shad, a whit, 
A very tim. 

Sur. You'll hear me, sir ? 

Kas. I -will not. 

Ana. What is the motive ? 

Sub. Zeal in the young gentleman. 
Against his Spanish slops. 

Ana. They are profane, 
Lewd, superstitious, and idolatrous breeches. 

Sur. New rascals ! 

Kas. "Will you begone, sir ? 

Ana. Avoid, Sathan ! 
Thou art not of the light : That ruff of pride 
About thy neck, betrays thee ; and is the same 
With that -which the unclean birds, in seventy- 
seven, 
Were seen to prank it with on divers coasts : 
Thou look'st like antichrist in that lewd hat. 

Sur. I must give way. 

Kas. Be gone, sir. 

Sur. But I'll take 
A course with you 

A7ia. Depart, proud Spanish fiend ! 

Sur. Captain and Doctor. 

Ana. Child of perdition ? 

Kas. Hence, sir ! [Exit Suely. 

Did I not qiiarrel bravely ? 

Face. Yes, indeed, sir. 

Kas, Nay, an I give my mind to't, I shall do't. 

Face. O, you must follow, sir, and threaten 
He'll turn again else. [him tame : 

Kas. Ill re-turn him then. [Exit. 

[Subtle takes Ananias aside. 

Face. Drugger, this rogue prevented us for 

thee : [come 

We had determin'd that thou shouldst have 

In a Spanish suit, and have carried her so ; 

and he, 
A brokorly slave ! goes, puts it on himself. 
Hast brought the damask ? 

Drug. Yes, sir. 

Face. Thou must borrow 
A Spanish sviit : hast thou no credit with the 
players ? 

Drug. Yes, sir ; did yoii never see me play the 
Fool.? 

Face. I know not. Nab : — Thou shalt, if I 
can help it. — [Aside. 

Hieronimo's old cloak, ruff, and hat will serve ; 
I'U tell thee more when thou bring'st 'em. 

[Exit Dkugger. 

Ana. Sir, I know 
The Spaniard hates the brethren, and hath spies 
Upon their actions : and that this was one 
I make no scruple. — But the holy synod 
Have been in prayer and meditation for it ; 
And 'tis reveal' d no less to them than me. 
That casting of money is most lawful. 

Suh. True, 
But here I cannot do it ; if the house 
Shou'd chance to be suspected, all would out. 
And we be lock'd up in the Tower for ever. 
To make gold there for the state, never come 
And then you are defeated. [out ; 

Ana. I will tell 
This to the elders and the weaker brethren. 
That the whole company of the separation 
May join in humble prayer again, 

Siib- And fasting. 



Ana. Yea, for some fitter place. The peace 
of mind 
Rest with these walls ! \E:dt 

Sub. Thanks, courteous Ananias. 

Face. What did he come for ? 

Sub. About casting dollars, 
Presently out of hand. And so I told him, 
A Spanish minister came here to spy, 
Against the faithful 

Face. I conceive. Come, Subtle, 
Thou art so down upon the least disaster ! 
How wouldst thou ha' done, if I had not help't 
thee out ? 

Sub. I thank thee. Face, for the angry boy 
i'faith. 

Face. Who would have look'd it should have 
been that rascal, [sir. 

Surly ? he had dyed his beard and all. Well, 
Here's Damask come to make you a suit. 

Sub. Where's Drugger ? 

Face. He is gone to borroAV me a Spanish habit ; 
I'll be the count now. 

Sub. But Where's the widow ? 

Face. Within, with my lord's sister : madam 
Is entertaining her. [Del 

Sub. Hy your favor, face, 
Now she is honest, I will stand again. 

Face. You will not offer it. 

Sub. Why ? 

Face. Stand to your word, 
Or — Hero comes Dol, she knows 

Sub. You are tyrannous still. 

Enter Dol, hastily. 

Face. Strict for my right. — IIow now, Dol 
Hast [thou] told her, 
The Spanish count will come ? 

Dol. Yes ; but another is come, 
You little look'd for ! 

Face. Who is that .'' 

Dol. Your master ; 
The master of the house. 

Sub. How, Dol ! 

Face. She lies, [Dorothy 

This is some trick. Come, leave your quiblinu 

Dol. Look out and see. 

[Face goes to the jvindoto 

Sub. Art thou in earnest ? 

Dol. 'Slight, 
Forty o' the neighbors are about him, talking. 

Face. 'Tis he, by this good day. 

Dol. 'Twill prove ill day 
For some on us. 

Face. We are iindone and taken. 

Dol. Lost, I'm afraid. 

Sub. You sfiid he would not come. 
While there died one a week within the liberties. 

Face. No : 'twas within the Aval's. 

Sub. Was't so ! cry your mercy. Face ? 

I thought the liberties. What shall we do now, 

Face. Be silent : 3iot a word, if he call or 
knock. 
I'll into mine old shape again and meet him, 
Of Jeremy the butler. In the mean time. 
Do you two pack up all the goods and purchase, 
That we can carry in the two trunks. I'll keep 

him 
Off for to-day, if I cannot longer : and then 
At night, I'll ship you both away to Batcliif, 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



369 



"Where Ave will meet to-morrow, and there we'll 

share. 
Lot Mammon's brass and pewter keep the cellar ; 
We'll have another time for that. But, Dol, 
Prythee go heat a little water quickly ; 
Subtle must shave me : all my captain's beard 
Must off, to make me appear smooth Jeremy. 
You'll do it ? 

Sub. Yes, I'll shave you, as well as I can. 

Face. And not cut my throat, but trim me ? 

Sub. ITou shall see, sir. \E.ccunt. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Before Lovewit's Door. 

'Enter LovEvriT, loith several of the Neighbors. 

Love. Has there been such resort, say you ? 

1 Noi. Daily, sir. 

2 Nei. And nightlj', too. 

3 Nei. Ay, some as brave as lords. 

4 Nei. Ladies and gentlewomen. 
i5 Nei. Citizens' wives. 

1 Nei. And knights. 
6 Nei. In coaches. 

2 Nei. Y'es, and oyster women. 

1 Nei. Beside other gallants. 
.3 Nei. Sailors' wives. 

* 4 Nei. Tobacco men. 

5 Nei, Another Pimlico ! 

Love. "What should my knave advance, 
To draw this company ? he hung out no banners 
Of a strange calf with five legs to be seen. 
Or a huge lobster with six claws ? 

6 Nei. No, sir. 

3 Nei. "We had gone in then, sir. 
Love. He has no gift 

Of teaching in the nose that e'er I knew of. 
You saw no bills set w-p that promised cure 
Of agues, or the tooth-ach? 

2 Nei. No such thing, sir. 

Love. Nor heard a drum struck for baboons or 

5 Nei. Neither, sir. [puppets ? 
Love. "What device should he bring forth now ? 

1 love a teeming wit as I love my nourishment : 
'Pray God he have not kept such open house. 
That he hath sold my hangings, and my bedding ! 
I left him nothing else. If he have eat them, 
A plague o' the moth, say I ! Sure he has got 
Some bawdy pictures to call all this ging ! 
The friar and the nun ; or the new motion 
Of the knight's courser covering the parson's 

mare ; 
The boy of six year old with the great thing : 
Or 't may be, he has the fleas that run at tilt 
Upon a table, or some dog to dance. 
\Macn saw you him ? 

1 Nei. Who, sir, Jeremy ? 

2 Nei. Jeremy butler ? 
We saw him not this month. 

Love. How ! 

4 Nei. Not these five weeks, sir. 

6 Nei. These six weeks at the least. 
Love. Y'ou amaze me, neighbors ! 

5 Nei. Sure, if your worship know not where 
He's slipt away. [he is, 

6 Nei- Pray God, he be not made away. 

24 



Love. Ha ! it's no time to question, then. 

\K)iocks at the door 

6 Nei. About 
Some three weeks since, I heard a doleful cry, 
As I sat up a mending my wife's stockings. 

Love. 'Tis strange that none will answer ! 
A cry, sayst thou ? [Didst thou hear 

6 Nei. Yes, sir, like unto a man 
That had been strangled an hour, and could not 
speak. 

2 Nei. I heard it too, just this day thre#weeks, 
Next morning. [at two o'clock 

Love. These be miracles, or you make them so ! 
A man an hour strangled, and could not speak, 
And both you heard him cry ? 

3 Nei. Yes, downward, sir. 

Love. Thou art a wise fellow. Give me thy 
What trade art thou on ? [hand, I pray thee 
3 Nei. A smith, an't please your worship. 
Love. A smith ! then lend me thy help to get 

this door open. 
3 Nei. That I will presently, sir, but fetch my 

tools — {Exit. 

1 Nei. Sir, best to knock again, afore you 
Love. [Knocks ar/ain.] I will. [break it. 

Enter Face, in his butler's liverrj. 

Face. What mean you, sir ? 

1, 2, 4 Nei. O, here's Jeremy ! 

Face. Good sir, come from the door. 

Love. Why, what's the matter ? 

Face. Y'et farther, you are too near yet. 

Love. In the name of wonder, 
What means the fellow ! 

Face. The house, sir, has been visited. 

Love. What, with the plague ? stand thou 
then farther. 

Face. No, sir, 
I had it not. 

Love. Who had it then .' I left 
None else but thee in the house. 

Face. Y'es, sir, my fellow, 
The cat that kept the buttery, had it on her 
A week before I spied it ; but I got her 
Convoy'd away in the night : and so I shut 
The house up for a month 

Love. How ! 

Face. Purposing then, sir, 
T'have burnt rose-vinegar, treacle, and tar. 
And have made it sv>'eet, that you shou'd ne'er 
have known it ; [sir. 

Because I knew the news would but afflict you, 

Love. Breathe less, and farther off. Why this 
is stranger : 
The neighbors tell me all here that the doors 
Have still been open 

Face. How, sir ! 

Love. Gallants, men and women. 
And of all sorts, tag-rag, been seen to flock here 
In threaves, these ten weeks, as to a second 
In days of Pimlico and Eye-bright. [Hogsden. 

Face. Sir, 
Their wisdoms will not say so. 

Love. To-day they speak 
Of coaches and gallants ; one in a French hood 
Went in, they tell mc ; and another was seen 
In a velvet gown at the window : divers more 
Pass in and out. 

Face. They did pass through the doors then. 



370 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Or walls, I assure their eye-sights, and their 

spectacles ; 
For here, sir, are the keys, and here have been. 
In this my pocket, now above twenty days : 
And for before, I kept the fort alone there. 
But that 'tis yet not deep in the afternoon, 
I should believe my neighbors had seen double 
Through the black pot, and made these appari- 
tions ! [weeks 
For, on my faith to your worship, for these three 
And uf)wards the door has not been open'd. 
Love. Strange ! 

1 Nei. Good faith, I think I saw a coach. 

2 Nei. And I too, 
I'd have been sworn. 

Love. Do you but think it now ? 
And but one coach ? 

4 Nei. We cannot tell, sir : Jeremy 
Is a very honest fellow. 

Face. Did you see me at all ? 

1 Nei. No ; that we are sure on. 

2 Nei, I'll be sworn o' that. [built on ! 
Love. Fine rogues to have your testimonies 

Re-enter Third Neighbor, loith his Tools. 

3 Nei. Is Jeremy come ! 

1 Nei. O, yes ; you may leave your tools ; 
We were deceived, he says. 

2 Nei. He has had the keys ; 

And the door has been shut these three weeks. 

3 Nei. Like enough. 

Love. Peace and get hence, you changelings. 

Enter Surly r^nd Mammox. 

Face. Surly come ! 
And Mammon made acquainted ! they'll tell all. 
How shall I beat them off ? what shall I do ? 
Nothing's more wretched than a guilty con- 
science. \^Aside. 

Sur. No, sir, he was a great physician. This, 
It was no bawdy house, but a mere chancel ! 
You knew the lord and his sister. 

Mam. Nay, good Surly — 

Sur. The happy word. Be rich — 

Mam. Play not the tyrant. — [friends. 

Sur. Should be to-day pronounced to all your 

And where be j-our andirons now? and j-our 

brass pots, [wedges ? 

That should have been golden flagons and great 

Mam. Let me but breathe. What, thej' have 
shut their doors, 
Me thinks ! 

Sur. Ay, now 'tis holiday with them. 

Mam. Rogues, [He and Surly hnocU. 

Cozeners, impostors, bawds ! 

Face. What mean j'ou, sir ? 

Mam. To enter if we can. 

Face. Another man's house ! 
Here is the owner, sir : turn you to hini, 
And speak your business. 

Ma7n. Are you, sir, the owner ? 

Love. Yes, sir. [cheaters ? 

Mam. And are those knaves within your 

Love. What knaves, what cheaters ? 

Mam. Subtle and his Lungs. 

Face. The gentleman is distracted, sir ! No 
lungs, [weeks, sir. 

Nor lights liave been seen here these tlu'cc 
Within these doors, upon my Avord. 



Sur. Your word, 
Groom arrogant ! 

Face. Yes, sir, I am the housekeeper, [hnnds . 
And know the keys have not been out of my 

Sur. This is a new Face. 

Face. You do mistake the house, sir : 
"SVliat sign was't at ? 

Sur, You rascal ! this is one 
Of the confederacy. Come, let's get officers, 
And force the door. 

Love. 'Pray you stay, gentlemen. 

Sur. No, sir, we'll come with warrant. 

Mam. Ay, and then 
We shall have your doors open. 

[Exeunt Mam. and Sub 

Love. What means this ? 

Face. I cannot tell, sir. 

1 Nei. These are two of the gallants 
That we do think we saw. 

Face. Two of the fools ! 
You talk as idly as they. Good faith, sir, 
I think the moon has crazed 'em all. — O me. 

Enter Kastril. 
The angry boy come too ! He'll make a noise, 
And ne'er away till he have betray'd us all. 

[Aside. 
Kas. [knocki)i(/.] What rogues, bawds, slaves, 
you'll open the door, anon ! 
Punk, cockatrice, my suster ! By this light 
I'll fetch the marshal to you. You are a whore 

To keep your castle 

Face. Who would you speak Avith, sir ? 
Kas, The bawdy doctor, and the cozening 
And puss my suster. [captain. 

Love. This is something, sure. 
Face. Upon my trust, the doors Avere never 
open, sir. [twice over, 

Kas. I have heard all their tricks told nic 
By the fat knight and the lean gentleman. 
Love, Here comes another. 

Enter Ananias and Tribulation. 

Face. Ananias too ! 
And his pastor ! [against u&. 

Tri, [beating at the door.] The doors are shut 

Ana. Come forth, you seed of sulphur, sons 
of fire ! 
Yoiu" stench it is broke forth ; abomination 
Is in the house. 

Kas, Ay, my suster's there. 

Ana. The place. 
It is become a cage of unclean birds. 

Kas. Yes, I Avill fetch the scavenger, and the 

Tri. You shall do avcU. [constable. 

Ana. We'll join to Avced them out. [sister ! 

Kas. You Avill not come then, punk dcA'ise, my 

A?ia, Call her not sister ; she's a harlot verily. 

Kas. I'll raise the street. 

Love. Good gentleman, a Avord. 

Ana, Satan aA^oid, and hinder not oiir zeal ! 
[E.veunt Ana. Trir. and Kast 

Love. Tlie Avorld's turn'd Bethlem. 

Face, These are all broke loose. 
Out of St. Kathorine's, where they use to keep 
The better sort of mad-folks. 

1 Nei. All these persons 
We saAv go in and out here. 

2 Nei. Yes, indeed, sir 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



37] 



3 Nei. These -were the p-artics. 

Face. Peace, you clrunkai-ds ! Sir, 
I wonder at it : please you to give me leave 
To touch the door, I'll try an the lock be 

jLoi'e. It mazes mo ! [chang'd. 

Face. [Goes to the door.] Good faith, sir, I be- 
lieve 
There's no such thing : 'tis all daceptio visas — 
Would I could get him awa3\ [Aside. 

Dap. [irithin.] Master captain ! master doctor ! 

Love. Who's that ? 

Face. Our clerk Avithin, that I forgot ! [Aside.] 
I know not, sir. 

Dap. [icithin.] For God's sake, -(vhen will her 

Face. Ha ! [grace be at leisure ? 

Illusions, some spirit o' the air ! — His gag is 

melted, 
And now he sets out the throat. 

Dap. [wilhi)i.] I am almost stifled 

Face. Would you v.^ere altogether. 

Lovs. 'Tis in the house. 
Ha! list. 

Face. Believe it, sir, in the air. 

Love. Peace, you. [mo well. 

Dap. [within.] Mine aunt's grace does not use 

Sub. [wit/tin.] You fool, 
Peace, you'll mar all. 

Face, [speaks through the key-hole, while LovE- 

wiT advances to the door unobserved-] Or 

you will else, you rogue. 

« Love. O, is it so ? then you converse with 

spirits ! — [Jeremy, 

Come, sir. No more of your tricks, good 

The truth, the shortest waj'. 

Face. Dismiss this rabble, sir. — 
What iihall I do ? I am catch'd. [Aside. 

Love. Good neighbors, 
I thank you all. You may depart. [Excwit 

Neighbors.] — Come, sir. 
You know that I am an indulgent master ; 
And therefore conceal nothing. What's your 

medicine, 
To draw so many several sorts of wild fowl ? 

Fac3. Sir, you were Avont to affect mirth and 
wit — 
But here's no place to talk on't in the street. 
Give me but leave to make the best of my for- 
tune. 
And only pardon me the abuse of your house : 
It's all I beg. I'll help j-ou to a widow, [for. 
In recompence, that you shall give me thanks 
Will make you seven years younger, and a rich 
'Tis but your putting on a Spanish cloak : [one. 
I have her within. You need not fear the house ; 
It was not visited. 

Love. But by me, who came 
Sooner than you expected. 

Face. It is true, sir. 
'Pray you forgive me. 

Love. Well ; let's see your widow. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Rooni in the same. 

Enter Subtli:, leading in Dappek, with his ej/es 
bound as before. 

Sub, How ! have you eaten your gag ? 

Dap. Yes faith, it crumbled 
Away in my mouth. 

Sub. You have spoil'd all then. 



Dap. No ! 
I hope my aunt of Fairy will forgive me. 

Sub. Your aunt's a gracious lady ; but in troth 
You were to blame. 

Dap. The fume did overcome me. 
And I did do't to stay my stomach. 'Pray you 
So satisfy her grace. 

Enter F.vce, in his uniform. 

Here comes the captain. 

Face. How now ! is his mouth down ? 

Sub. Ay, he lias spoken ! 

Face. A pox, I heard him, and you too. — 
He's undone then. — 
I have been fain to say, the house is haunted 
With spirits, to keep churl back. 

Sub. And hast thou done it ? 

Face. Sure, for this night. 

Sub. Why, then triumph and sing 
Of Face so famous, the precious king 
Of present wits. 

Face. Did you not hear the coil 
About the door ? 

Sub. Yes, and I dwindled with it. [patch'd : 

Face. Shew him his aunt, and let him be dis- 
I'U send her to you. [Exit Face. 

Sub. Well, sir, your aunt her grace 
Will give you aiidience presently, on my suit. 
And the captain's word that you did not eat 
In any contempt of her highness. [your gag 
[TJnbinds his eyes. 

Dap. Not I, in troth, sir. 

Enter Dol, like tJie Queen of Fairy. 

Sub. Here she is come. Down o' j^our kneea 
and wriggle : 
She has a stately presence. [Dapper hieels, amt 

shuffles towards her.] Good ! Yet nearer, 
And bid, God save you ! 

Dap. Madam ! 

Sub. And j^our aunt. [your grace. 

Dap. And my most gracious aunt, God save 

Dol. Nephew, we thought to have been angry 
with you ; 
But that sweet face of yours hath turn'd the tide. 
And made it flow M'ith joy, that ebb'd of love 
Arise, and touch our velvet gown. 

Sub. The skirts. 
And kiss 'em. So ! 

Dol. Let me now stroak that head. [spends 
Much, nepheto, shalt thou 'win, much shalt thou 
Much shalt thou give away, much shalt thou lend. 

Sub. Ay, much ! indeed. [Aside.] Why do 
you not thank her grace ? 

Daj). I cannot speak for joy. 

Sub. See the kind Avretch ! 
Your g[i-ace's kinsman right. 

Dol. Give me the bird. [cousin ; 

Here is your fly in a purse, about your neck, 
Wear it, and feed it about this day sev'n-night. 
On your right wrist 

Sub. Open a vein with a pin. 
And let it suck but once a week ; till then. 
You must not look on't. 

Dol. No : and kinsman. 
Bear yourself worthy of the blood you come on 

Sub. Her grace would have you eat no more 
Woolsack pies, 
Nor Dagger frumety. 



372 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



ACT V, 



Dot. Nor break his fast 
' In Heaven and Hell. 

Sub. She's with yoii every Avhere ! 
Nor play with costarmongers, at mum-chance, 
tray-trip. [done it ;) 
God make you rich ; (when as your aunt has 
But keep 
The gallant'st company, and the best games • 

Daj). Yes, sir. [be true to us. 

Suh. Gleek and primero : and what you get, 

Dap. By this hand, I will. 

Suh. You may bring's a thousand pound 
Before to-morrow night, if but three thousand 
Be stirring, an you will. 

Dap. I swear I will then. 

Suh. Your fly will learn you all games. 

Face, [loithiii.] Have you done there ? 

Sub. Your grace will command him no more 

■Dol. No: [duties? 

But come, and see me often. I may chance 
To leave him three or four hundred chests of 

treasure, 
And some twelve thousand acres of fairy land, 
If he game well and comely with good gamesters. 

Sub. There's a kind aunt I kiss her departing 
part. — 
But you must sell your forty mark a year, now. 

Dap. Ay, sir, I mean. 

Sub. Or, give't away ; pox on't ! 

Dap. I'll give't mine aunt : I'll go and fetch 
the writings. [Exit. 

Sub. 'Tis w-ell — away ! 

Bo-enter Face. 

Face. Where's Subtle ? 

Sub. Here : what news ? 

Face. Drugger is at the door, go take his suit, 
And bid him fetch a parson, presently ; [spend 
Say, he shall marry the widow. Thou shalt 
A hundred pounds bj' the service ! [Exit Subtle.] 

Now. queen l)ol. 
Have you pack'd up all ? 

Dol. Yes. 

Face. And how do a'ou like 
The lady Pliant ? 

Dol. A good dull innocent. 

Ite-enter Subtle. 

Sub. Here's your Hieronimo's cloak and hat. 

Face. Give me them. 

Sub. And the ruff" too ? 

Face. Yes ; I'll come to you presently. [Exit. 

Sub. Now he is gone about his project, Dol, 
[ told 3'ou of, for the widow. 

Dol. 'Tis direct 
Against our articles. 

Sub. Well, we will fit him, wench. [lets ? 

Hast thou gull'd her of her jewels or her brace- 

Dol. No ; but I will do't. 

Sui. Soon at night, my Dolly, 
When we are shipp'd, and all our goods aboard. 
Eastward for liatcliff"; we v/ill turn our course 
To Brainford, w'estward, if thou sayst the word. 
And take our leaves of this o'er- weening rascal. 
This peremptory Face. 

Dol. Content, I'm weary of- him. 

Sub. ThoLi'st cause, when the slave will run 

a wiving, Dol, [us. 

Against the instrument that was drawn between 



Dol. I'll pluck his bird as bare as I can. 

Sub. Yes, tell her. 
She must by any means address some present 
To the cunning man, make him amends for 

wronging 
His art with her suspicion ; send a ring 
Or chain of pearl ; she will be tortured else 
Extremely in her sleep, say, and have strange 
Come to her. AVilt thou ? [things 

Dol. Yes. 

Sub. My fine flitter-mouse, [Pigeons, 

My bird o'the night ! we'll tickle it at the 

When we have all, and may unlock the trunks, 

And say, this's mine, and thine ; and thine, and 

mine. [Theij kiss. 

Re-enter Face. 

Face. What now ! a billing ? 

Sub. Yes, a little exalted 
In the good passage of our stock-aff'airs 

Face. Drugger has brought his parson lake 
him in, Svibtie, • 
And send Nab back again to wash his face. 

Sub. I will : and shave himself. [Exit. 

Face. If you can get him. 

Dol. Y''ou are hot upon it, Face, whate'er it is ! 

Face. A trick that Dol shall spend ten pound 
a month bj'. 

Bc-enter Subtle. 
Is he gone ? 

Sub. The chaplain waits you in the hall, sir. 

Face, I'll go bestow him. [Exit. 

Dol. He'll now marry her, instantly. [Dol, 

Sub. He cannot yet, he is not ready. Dear 
Cozen her of all thou canst. To deceive him 
Is no deceit, but justice, that would break 
Such an inextricable tie as otirs was. 

Dol. Let me alone to fit him. 

Re-enter Face. 

Face. Come, my venturers, [bring forth. 

Y'ou have pack'd up all ? where be the trunks i 

Sub. Here. 

Face. Let us see them. Where's the money i 

Sub. Here, 
In this. [fore : 

Face. Mammon's ten pound ; eight score be- 
The brethren's money, this. Drugger's and 
What paper's that ? [Dapper'.s. 

Dol. The jew-ol of the waiting-maid's, 
That stole it from her lady, to know certain — 

Face. If she should have precedence of her 

Dol. Yes. [mistress? 

Face. What box is that ? 

Sub. The fish-wives' rings, I think. 
And the ale-wives' single money. Is't not, Dol ? 

Dol. Yes ; and the whistle that the sailor's 

wife [Ward. 

Brought you to know an her husband were Avith 

Face. We'll wet it to-morrow ; and our silver- 
beakers [coats 

And tavern cups. Where be the French petti 
And girdles and hangers r 

Sub. Hero, in the trunk, 
And the bolts of lawn. 

Face. Is Drugger's damasli there, 
And the tobacco ? 

Sub. Yes. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



373 



Face. Give me the keys. 

Dol. Why you the keys ? 

Sub. No matter, Dol ; because 
We shall not open them before he comes. 

Face. 'Tis true, you shall not open them, 
indeed ; 
Kor have them forth, do you see ? not forth, Dol. 

Dol. No! 

Face. No, my smock rampant. The right is, 
my master 
Knows all, has pardon'd me, and he will keep 
them ; [ures : 

Doctor, 'tis true — you look — for all your fig- 
I sent for him indeed. Wherefore, good partners, 
Both he and she be satisfied ; for here 
Determines the indenture tripartite 
'Twixt Subtle, Dol, and Pace. All I can do 
Is to help you over the wall, o'the back-side, 
Or lend you a sheet to save your velvet gown, 

Dol. 
Here will be officers presently, bethink you 
Of some course suddenly to 'scape the dock : 
For thither you will come else. [Loud knocking.^ 
Hark you, thunder. 

Sub. You are a precious fiend ! 

Offi. [toilJiout.'] Open the door, [hear'st thou .' 

Face. Dol, I am sorry for thee, i'faith; but 
It shall go hard but I will place thee somewhere : 
Thou shalt have my letter to mistress Amo — 

Dol. Hang you ! 

Face. Or madam Ctesarean. 

Dol. Pox upon you, rogue, 
Would I had but time to bent thee ! 

Face. Subtle, [you 

Let's know where you set up next ; I will send 
A customer now and then, for old acquaintance : 
What new course have you ? 

Sub. Rogue, I'll hang myself ; 
That I may walk a greater devil than thou. 
And haunt thee in the flock-bed and the butterj*. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — An outer Room in the same. 

Enter Lovewit in the Spanish dress, with the 
Parson. 

[Loud knocking at the door.'\ 

Love. What do you mean, my masters ? 

Mam. [witJiout.] Open your door. 
Cheaters, bawds, conjurers. 

Offi. [without.] Or we will break it open. 

Love. What warrant have you .'' [not, 

OJft. [without.] Warrant enough, sir, doubt 
If you'll not oj)en it. 

Love. Is there an officer, there ? 

OJi. [ivithout.] Yes, two or three for failing. 

Love. Have but patience. 
And I will open it straight. 

Enter Face, as butler. 

Face. Sir, have you done ? 
Is it a marriage ? perfect ? 

Love. Yes, my brain. [yourself, sir. 

Face. Off with your ruff and cloak then ; be 

Sur. ''■without.] Down with the door. 

Kas. [without.] 'Slight, ding it open. 

Love- [opening the do'?r.] Hold, 
Hold, gentlemen, what means this violence ? 



Mamjion, Surly, Kastril, Ananias, Tribula- 
tion, and Officers, rush in. 

Mam. Where is this collier i 

Sur. And my captain Face ? 

Mam. These day owls. 

Sur. That are birding in men's purses. 

Mam. Madam suppository. 

Kas. Dox}'-, my suster. 

A?ia. Locusts 
Of the foul pit. 

Tri. Profane as Bel and the dragon. 

Ana. Worse than the grasshoppers, or thehce 
of Egypt. [officers, 

Love. Good gentlemen, hear me. Are you 
And cannot stay this violence ? 

1 O^. Keep "the peace. [do you seek? 
Love. Gentlemen, what is the matter ? whom 
Ma?n. The chemical cozener. 

Sur. And the captain pander. 
Kas. The nun my suster. 
Mam. Madam liabbi. 
Ana. Scorpions, 
And caterpillars. 

Love. Fewer at once, I pray you. [jo'^f 

2 Off?,. One after another, gentlemen, I charge 
By virtue of my staff. 

Ana. They are the vessels 
Of pride, lust, and the cart. 

Love. Good zeal, lie still 
A little while. 

Tri. Peace, deacon Ananias. [are (Tpen ; 

Love. The house is mine here, and the doors 
If there be any such persons as you seek for. 
Use your authority, search on o' God's name. 
I am but newly come to town, and finding 
This tumult 'bout my door, to tell you true. 
It somewhat mazed me ; till my man, here, fear- 
My more displeasure, told me he had done [ing 
Somewhat an insolent part, lot out my house 
(Belike, presuming on my known aversion 
From any air o'the town Avhile there was sick- 
ness,) 
To a doctor and a captain : who, what they are 
Or where they be, he knows not. 

Ma)7i. Are they gone ? 

Love. You may go in and search, sir. [Mam- 
mon, Ana. and Trib. go in.] Here, I find 
The empty walls worse than I left them, smoak'd 
A few crack'd pots and glasses, and a furnace 
The ceiling filled with poesies of the candle. 
And madam with a dildo Avrit o'the walls : 
Only one gentlewoman, I met here. 
That is within, that said she was a widow 

Kas. Ay, that's my suster ; I'll go thump her 
Where is she ? [Goes i7i 

Love. And should have married a Spanish 
count, but he. 
When he came to't, neglected her so grossly. 
That I, a widower, am gone through with her. 

Sur. How ! have I lost her then ? 

Love. Were you the don, sir ? [and saya 

Good faith, now, she does blame you extremely, 
You swore, and told her you had taken the pains 
To dye your beard, and umbro o'er your face, 
Borrov.'ed a suit, and ruff, all for her love; 
And then did nothing. What an oversight, 
And want of putting forward, sir, was this ! 
Well fare an old harquebuzier, yet. 



374 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



Could prime liis po\vder, and give fire, and hit, 
Ail in a twinkling ! 

Re-enter Mam^iox. 

Mam The whole nest are fled ! 

Love. What sort of birds Avere they ? 

Mam. A kind of choughs, 
Or thievish daws, sir, that have pick'd my purse 
Of eight score and ten pounds witliin these five 

-weeks, , 
Beside my first materials ; and nry goods, 
That lie in the cellar, which I am glad they have 
I may have home yet. [left, 

Love. Think you so, sir ? 

Mam, Ay. 

Love. By order of law, sir, but not otherwise. 

Mam. Not mine own stuff! 

Love. Sir, I can take no knowledge 
That they are yours, but by public means. 
If you can bring certificate that you were guU'd 
Or any formal writ out of a court, [them, 

That you did cozen your self, I will not hold 

Mam. I'll rather lose them. 

Love. That you shall not, sir. 
By me, in troth; upon these terms, they are 
yours. [gold, all? 

What ! should they have been, sir, turn'd into 

Mam. No, 
I cannot tell — It maybe they should — What 
then ? 

Love. What a great loss in hope have you 
sustain' d ! 

Mam. Not I, the common-wealth has. 

Face. Ay, he would have built 
The city new ; and made a ditch about it 
Of silver, should have run with cream from 
Hogsden ; [ers. 

That, every Sunday, in Moor-fields, the younk- 
And tits and tom-boys should have fed on, 
gratis. [preach 

Mam. I will go mount a turnip-cart, and 
The end of the world, within these two months. 
What ! in a dream ? [Surly, 

Sur. Must I needs cheat myself. 
With that same foolish vice of honesty ! 
Come, let us go and hearken out the rogues : 
That Face I'll mark for mine, if e'er I meet him. 

Face. If I can hear of hiai, sir, I'll bring you 
word, [strangers 

Unto your lodging ; for in troth, they were 
To me, I thought them honest as .my self, sir. 

{Exeunt Mam. and Sun. 

Ee-etiter Ananias and Tribulation. 

Tri. 'Tis well, the saints shall not lose all yet. 
And get some carts [Go, 

Love. For what, njy zealous friends ? 

Ana. To bear away the portion of the right- 
Out of this den of tliicves. [eous 

Love. AVhat is that portion ? 

Ana. The goods sometimes the orphan's, that 
Bought with their silver pence. [the brethren 

Love. What, those in the cellar, 
The knight sir Mammon claims ? 

Ana. I do defy 
The wicked Mammon, so do all the brethren. 
Thou profane man ! I ask thee with what con- 
science 
Thou canst advance that idol against us. 



That have the seal ? wore not the shillings num- 
ber'd, [o\i*. 

That made the pounds ; Avere not the pounds told 
Upon the second day of the fourth week. 
In the eighth month, upon the table dormant. 
The year of the last patience of the saints, 
Six hundred and ten ? 

Love. Mine earnest vehement botcher, 
And deacon also, I cannot dispute with you : 
But if you get you not away the sooner, 
I shall confute you with a cudgel. 

Ana. Sir ! 

Tri. Be patient, Ananias. 

Ana. I am strong. 
And will stand up, well girt, against an host 
That threaten Gad in exile. 

Love. I shall send you 
To Amsterdam, to your cellar. 

Ana. I will pray there. 
Against thy house : may dogs defile thy walls, 
And wasps and hornets breed beneath thy roo^ 
This seat of falsehood, and this cave of cozenage '. 
[Exeunt Ana. ami Tbib, 

Enter Dkuggek. 
Love. Another too ? 
Drug. Not I, sir, I am no brother. 
Love, [beats him.'] Away, you Harry Nicho- 
las ! do you talk ? [Exit Duuo. 
Face. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good 
sir, go, [ To the Parson. 
And satisfy him ; toll him all is done : 
He staid too long a v.-ashing of his face. 
The doctor, he shall hear of him at West- 
chester ; 
And of the captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or 
Some good port-town else, lying for a wind. 

[Exit Parson. 
If you can get off the angry child, now, sir ■ 

Enter Kastril, dragging in his sistei: 
Kas. Come on, you ewe, you have match'd 
most sweetly, have you not ? 
Did not I say, I would never have you tupp'd 
But by a dubb'd boy, to make you a lady-tom? 
'Slight, you are a mammct ! O, I could touse 
Death, mun' you marry, with a pox ! [you, now. 

Love. You lie, boy ; 
As sound as you ; and I'm aforehand with you. 
Kas. Anon ! [3'on, sirrah ; 

Love. Come, will you quarrel ? I will fcice 
Why do you not buckle to your tools ? 

Kas. Od's light. 
This is a fine old boy as e'er I saw ! [proceed, 
Love. What, do you change your copy now : 
Here stands my dove : stoop at her, if you dare. 
Kas, 'Slight, I must love him ! I cannot 
choose, i'faith. 
An I should be hang'd for't ! Suster, I protest, 
I honor thee for this match. 
Love. O, do you so, sir ? 

Kas. Yes, an thou canst take tobacco and 
drink, old boy, 
I'll give her five hundred pound more to ho 
Than her own state. Tmarriagc 

Love. Fill a pipe full, Jeremy. 
Face. Yes ; but go in and take it, sir. 
Love. We will — 
I will be ruled by thee in anything, Jeremy. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 



375 



Kas. 'Slight, thou art not hide-bound, thou 

art a jovy boy ! 
Come, let us in, I pray thee, and take our whiffs. 
Love. Whiff in Avith your sister, brother bo}'. 

[Exeunt Kas. and Dame P.] That master 
That had received such happiness by a servant. 
In such a widow, and Avith so much wealth, 
Were very ungrateful, if he would not be 
A little indulgent to that servant's wit, [strain 
And help his fortune, though Avith some small 
Of his OAvn candor, [cidvanclng.l — Therefore, 

gentlemen. 
And kind spectators, if I have outstript 
All eld man's ffraviti/, or strict cation^ think 



What a young zoife and a good brain may do; 
Stretch age's truth sometimes, and crack it too. 
Speak for thyself, knave. 
Face. So I will, sir. [advancing to the front 
of the stage.] Gentlemen, 
Mg part a little fell in this last scene. 
Yet 'tioas decorum. And though I am clean 
Got off from Subtle, Surlg, Mammon, Dol, 
Hot Ananias, Dap2)er, Drugger, all 
With whom I traded : get I put mg self 
On you, that are mg country : and this pelf. 
Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests 
To feast you often., and invite neio guests, 

(EKeunt 



CATILINE HIS CONSPIRACY. 



TO 'inE GKEAT EXAMPLE OP HONOR AND VIRTUE, THE MOST NOBLE 

WILLIAM, EARL OF PEMBROKE, 

Lord Chamberlain, etc. 

My Lord, — In so thick and dark an ignorance, as now almost covers the age, 1 crave leave to stand near y.ur light, 
and l,y tliat to be read. Posterity may pay your benefit the honor and thanks, when it shall know, that you dare, in 
■:hc.sc jig-given times, to countenance a legitimate Pitan. I call it so, against all noise of opinion ; from whose crude and 
airy reports, I appeal to the great and singular faculty of judgment in your lordship, able to vindicate truth from error. 
It is the first, of this race, tliat ever I dedicated to any person; and had I not thought it the best, it should have been 
laught a less ambition. Now it approacheth your censure cheerfully, and witli ' ' 



appear before a magistrate. 



tlie same assurance that inuocency would 
Your lordship's most faithful honorcr, Ben Jonso.v 



TO THE READER IN ORDINARY. 

The muses forbid tlsat I should restrain your meddling, whom I see already busy with the title, and tricking over 
the leaves ; it is your owiv I departed with my right, when I let it first abroad ; and now, so secure an interpreter I am 
of my chance, that neither praise nor dispraise "from you can affect me. Though you commend the two first acts, with 
the people, because they are the worst ; and dislike the oration of Cicero, in regard you read some pieces of it at school, 
and understand them not yet : I shall find the way to forgive you. Be any thing you will be at your own charge 
Would I had deserved but half so well of it in translation, as that ought to deserve of you in judgment, if you have any. 
I knov/ you will pretend, whosoever you are, to have that, and more : but all pretensions are not just claims. The com- 
mendation of good things may fall within a many, the approbation but in a few ; for the most command out of affection, 
self-tickling, an easiness, or imitation : but men judge only out of knowledge. That is the trying faculty: and to those 
works that will bear a judge, nothing is more dangerous than a foolish praise. You will say, I shall not have youro 
therefore : but rather the contrary, all vexation of censure. If I were not above such molestations now, I had great c-3'istj 
to think unworthily of my studies, or they had so of nie. But I leave you to your exercise. Begin. 



TO THE READER EXTRAO]U)INARY. 

You I would understand to bo the iottcr man, though places in court go otherwise; to you 1 submit myself and wort, 
farewell. Ben Jonson. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Cepariu?. 

C. Cornelius. 

volturtius. 

Cicero. 

Caius Antonius 

Cato. 

Catulus. 

Crassus. 

Cmsku. 

Q.V. Cicero. 

Syllanus. 

(Placcus. 

pomtinius. 



Sylla's Ghost. 
L. Sergius Catiline. 
Publics Lentulus. 
Caius Cetuegus. 
Autronius. 

Q,U1NTUS CuKius. 

Vargunteius. 

Luc.ijs Cassius Longinus 

PORCIUS Lecca. 

FULVIUS. 

-Lucius Bestia. 
Gabinius Cimiser. 
Statilius. 



(l. Fabius Sang a. 
Petreius. 
Senators. 
AUobroges. 

AURELIA OREeTILLA 

Fulvia. 

Sempronia. 

Galla. 

Soldiers, Porters, LictOH, Ser- 
vants, Pages, &c. 
Chorus. 



SCENE, — PAia-LY at Rome, and partly ix FEsuLiE. 



ACT L 

SCENE I. — A Room in Catiline's House, 

The Ghost of Sylla rises. 
Dost thou not feel me, Rome? not yet ! is night 
So heavy on thee, and my iceight so light ? 
Can Sylla's ghost arise loithin thy icalls, 
Less threatening than an eaHhquake, the quick falls 



Of thee and thine? Shake not the frighted heads 
Of thy steep towers, or shrink to their first beds ? 
Or, as their ruin the large Tyber fills, 
Make that sioell xip, anddroion thy seven proud hilla 
Wliat sleej} is this doth seize thee so like death. 
And is not it ? toake,feel her in my breath . 
Behold, I come, sent from the Stygian sound, 
As a dire vapor that had cleft the gromuU 
To ingendcr icith the night, and blast the day ; 
Or like a pestilence that should disjilay 
376 



CATILINE. 



377 



Infection through the loorld : lohich thus I do, — 

[The curtain draws, and Catiline is discovered 
in his study. 

Pluto be at thy counsels, and into 

Thy darker bosom enter Sylla's sjoirit ! 

All that was mine, and bad, thy breast inherit. 

Alas, hoio toeak is that for Catiline ! 

Did I but say — vain voice ! — all that was mine ? — 

All that the Gracchi, Cinna, Marias loould. 

What now, had I a body again, I could, 

Coining from hell, xoliat fiends would wish should be. 

And Hannibal could not have wish' d to sec, 

Think thou, andj'ractise. Let the long-hid seeds 

Of treason in thee, now sJioot forth in deeds 

Ranker than horror ; and thy former facts 

Not fall in mention, but to urge neio acts. 

Conscience of them provoke thee on to more : 

Be still thy incests, murders, rapes, before 

Thy sense ; thy forcing first a vestal mm ; 

Thy parricide, late, on thine own only son. 

After his mother, to malic empty loay 

For thy last loicked nuptials ; loorse than they, 

That blase that act of thy incestuous life, 

Which got thee at once a daughter and a wife. 

I leave the slaughters that thou didst for me. 

Of senators ; fur lohich, I hid for thee 

Thy murder of thy brother, being so bribed, 

And writ him in the list of my proscribed 

After thy fact, to save thy little shame ; 

Thy incest toith thy sister, I not name : 

These are too light ; fate ioill have thee pursue 

Deeds, after which no mischief can be new ; 

The ruin of thy country : Thou wert built 

For such a toork, and born for no less guilt. 

What though defeated once thou'st been, and knoum, 

Tempt it again : That is thy act, or none. 

What all the several ills that visit earth. 

Brought forth by night with a sinister birth. 

Plagues, famine, fre, could not reach unto, 

The sword, nor surfeits ; let thy fury do : 

Make all past, present, futta-e ill thine oxen ; 

And conquer all exampile in thy one. 

Nor let thy thought find any vacant time 

To hate an old, but still a fresher crime 

Droion the remembrance ; let not mischief cease. 

But iohile it is in punishing, increase : 

Conscience and care die in thee ; and be free 

Not Jieaven itself from thy impiety : 

Let night grow blacker loith thy 2ilots, and day, 

At showing but thy head forth, start aicay 

From this half-sphere ; and leave Rome's blinded 

walls 
To embrace lusts, hatreds, slaughters, funerals. 
And not recover sight till their oion flames 
Do light them to their ruins ! All the names 
Of thy confederates too be no less great 
In hell than here : that when we woxdd repeat 
Our strengths in muster, toe may name you all. 
And furies upon you for furies call I 
Whilst what you do may strike them into fears. 
Or make them grieve, andicish your mischief theirs. 

[Sinks. 

Catiline rises, and comes forward. 

Cat. It is decreed : nor shall thy fate, Rome, 
Resist TCij vow. Thougli hills were set on hills, 
And seas met seas to guard thee, I would through ; 
Ay, plough up rocks, steep as the Alps, in dust, 



And lave the Tyrrhene waters into clouds, 
But I would reach thy head, thy head, proud 

city! 
The ills that I have done cannot be safe 
But by attempting greater ; and I feel 
A spirit within me chides my sluggish hands, 
And says, they have been innocent too long. 
AVas I a man bred great as Home herself, 
One form'd for all her honors, all her glories, 
Equal to all her titles ; that could stand 
Close up M'ith Atlas, and sustain her name 
As strong as he doth heaven ! and was I, 
Of all her brood, mark'd out for the repulse 
By her no-voice, v/hen I stood candidate 
To be commander in the Pontic war ! 
I will hereafter call her stop-dame ever. 
If she can lose her nature, I can lose 
My piety, and in her stony entrails 
Dig me a seat ; Avhcre I will live again. 
The labor of her womb, and be a burden 
Weightier than -all the prodigies and morsters 
That she hath teem'd with, since she first knew 

Mars — 

Enter Aurelia Ouestilt-a. 

Who's there ? 
Aur. 'Tis I. 

Cat. Aurelia ? 

Aur. Yes. 

Cat. Appear, 
And break lilie day, my beauty, to this circle : 
Upbraid thy Phoebus, that he is so long 
In mounting to that point, which should give 

thee 
Thy proper splendor. Wherefore frowns my 

sweet ? 
Have I too long been absent from these lips. 
This cheek, these eyes ? [Kisses tJiem.'] What is 
my trespass, speak ? [self. 

Aur. It seems 3'ou know, that can accuse your 

Cat. I will redeem it. 

Aur. Still you say so. When ? 

Cat. When Orestilla, by hep bearing well 
These my retirements, and stol'n times for 

thought. 
Shall give their effects leave to call her queen 
Of all the world, in place of humbled Home. 

Aur, You court me now. 

Cat. As I would always, love, 
Bj' this ambrosiac kiss, and this of nectar, 
Wouldst thou but hear as gladly as I speak 
Could my Aurelia think I meant her less. 
When, wooing her, I first removed a wife, 
And then a son, to make my bed and house 
Spacious and fit to embrace her ? these weru 

deeds 
Not to have begun with, but to end with more 
And greater : He that, building, stays at one 
Floor, or the second, hath erected none. 
'Twas how to raise thee I was meditating. 
To make some act of mine answer thy love ; 
That love, that, when my state Avas now quite 

sunk. 
Came with thy wealth and weigh'd it up again, 
And made mj- emergent fortune once more look 
Above the main ; which now shall hit the stars, 
And stick my Orestilla there amongst them. 
If any tempest can but make the billow. 
And any billow can but lift her greatness. 



378 



CATILINE. 



But I must pray my love, she will put on 
Like habits with myself ; I have to do 
With many men, and many natures : Some 
That must "be blown and sooth'd ; as Lentulus, 
Whom I have heav'd with magnifying his blood, 
And a vain dream out of the Sybil's books, 
That a third man of that great family 
Whereof he is descended, the Cornclii, 
Should be a king in Rome : which I have hired 
The flattering augurs to interpret Him, 
Cinna and Sylla dead. Then bold Cetliegus, 
Whose valor I have turn'd into his poison, 
And praised so into daring, as he would 
Go on upon the gods, kiss lightning, Avrest 
The engine from the Cyclops, and give fire 
At face of a full cloud, and stand his ire, 
When I would bid him move. Others there are. 
Whom envy to the state draws, and puts on 
For contumelies received, (and such a;re sure 

ones,) 
As Curias, and the forenamed Lentulus, 
Both which have been degraded in the senate. 
And must have their disgraces still new rubb'd, 
To make them smart, and labor of revenge. 
Others whom mere ambition fires, and dole 
Of provinces abroad, which they have feign'd 
To their crude hopes, and I as amply promised : 
These, Lecca, Vargunteius, Bestia, Autronius. 
Some whom their wants oppress, as the idle 

captains 
Of Sylla's troops ; and divers Roman knights, 
The profuse wasters of their patrimonies, 
So threaten'd with their debts, as they will noAV 
Run any desperate fortune for a change. 
These, for a time, we must relieve, Arirelia, 
And make our house their safeguard : like for 

those 
That fear the laAV, or stand within her gripe, 
For any act past or to come ; such will, 
From their own crimes, be factious, as from ours. 
Some more there be, slight airlings, Avill be won 
Witli dogs and horses, or perhaps a whore ; 
Which must be had : and if they venture lives 
For us, Amelia, we must hazard honors 
A little. Get thee store and change of women, 
As I have boys ; and give them time and place, 
And all connivance : be thyself, too, courtly ; 
And entertain and feast, sit up, and revel ; 
Call all the great, the fair, and spirited dames 
Of Rome about thee ; and begin a fashion 
Of freedom and community : some will thank 

thee, 
Though the sour senate frown, whose heads 

must ache 
In fear and feeling too. We must not spare 
Or cost or modesty : It can but shew 
Like one of Juno's or of Jove's disguises, 
In cither thee or mo : and will as soon, 
When things succeed, be thrown by, or let fall. 
As is a veil put off, a visor changed. 
Or the scene shifted in our theatres — 

[Noise within. 
Who's that ? It is the voice of Lentulua. 
Aur. Or of Cethegus. 
Cat. In, my fair Aurelia, 
And think upon these arts : they must not see 
How far you're trusted with these privacies. 
Though on theii- shoulders, nocks and heads you 
rise. [Exit AvuTZhU.. 



Enter Lentulus, in discourse with Cethegus. 
Lent. It is, methinks, a morning full of fate ! 
It riseth slowly, as her sullen car [it ' 

Had all the weights of sleep and death hung at 
She is not rosy-fingcr'd, but swoU'n black; 
Her face is like a water turn'd to blood, 
And her sick head is bound about with clouds, 
As if she threaten'd night ere noon of day ! 
It does not look as it would have a hail 
Or health wish'd in it, as on other morns. 

Cct. Why, all the fitter, Lentulus ; our coming 
Is not for salutation, we have business. 

Cat. Said nobly, brave Cethegus ! Where's 
Get. Is he not come ? [Autronius * 

Cat. Not here. 
Cef. Nor Vargunteius ? 
Cat. Neither. 

Cet. A fire in their beds aud bosoms, 
That so will serve their sloth rather than virtue '. 
They are no Romans, — and at such high need 
As now ! 

Len. Both they, Longinus, Lecca, Curius, 
Fulvius, Gabinius, gave me Avord, last night, 
By Lucius Bestia, they would all be here. 
And early. 

Cci. Yes ; as you, had I not called you. 
Come, Ave all sleep, and are mere dormice ; flies 
A little less than dead : more dullness hangs 
On us than on the morn. We are spirit-bound 
In ribs of ice, our Avhole bloods are one stone, 
And honor cannot thaw us, nor our Avants, 
Though they burn hot as fevers to our states. 

Cat. I muse they Avould be tardy at an hour 
Of so great purpose. 

Cet. If the gods had call'd 
Them to a purpose, they Avould just have come 
With the same tortoise speed j that are thus slow 
To such an action, which the gods Avill envy. 
As asking no less means than all their poAvcrs, 
Conjoin' d, to efi'ect ! I Avould have seen Rome 

burnt 
By this time, and her ashes in an urn ; 
The kingdom of the senate rent asunder. 
And the degenerate talking gown run frighted 
Out of the air of Italy. 

Cat. Spirit of men ! 
Thou heart of our great enterprise ! hoAV much 
I love these A^oices in thee ! 

Cef. O, the days 
Of Sylla's SAvay, Avhen the free sword took leave 
To act all that it Avould ! 
Cat. And Avas familiar 
With entrails, as our augurs. 

Oct. Sons kill'd fathers, 
Brothers their brothers. 

Cat. And had price and praise. 
All hate had license given it, all rage reins. 
Cei. Slaughter bestrid the streets, and stretch'd 
himself [thighs 

To seem more huge ; Avhilst to his stained 
The gore he droAV floAv'd up, and carried down 
Whole heaps of limbs and bodies through his 

arch. 
No age Avas spared, no sex. 
Cat. Nay, no degree. 

Cet. Not infants in the porch of life Avere free, 
The sick, the old, that could but hope a day 
Longer by nature's bounty, not let staj . 



CATILINE. 



379 



Virgins, and -wido^.vs, matrons, pregnant -wives, 
All died. 

Cat. 'TAvas crime enough, that they had lives : 
To strike but only those that could do hurt, 
Was dull and poor : some fell to make the num- 
As some the prey. [Ijcr, 

Get. The rugged Charon fainted. 
And ask'd a navy, rather than a boat, 
Jo ferry over the sad world tliat came : 
The maws and dens of beasts could not receive 
The bodies that those souls were frighted from ; 
And e'en the graves Avere fiU'd with men yet 
living, [dead. 

Whose flight and fear had mix'd them with the 

Cat. And this shall be again, and more, and 
Nov/ Lentulus, the third Cornelius, [more. 

Is to stand up in Some. 

Lent. Nay, u^ge not that 
Is so imeeriahi. 

Cat. How! 

Lent. I mean, not clear'd. 
And therefore not to be reflected on. 

Cat. The Sybil's leaves uncertain ! or the 
comments 
Of our grave, deep,, divining men not clear. 

Lent. All prophicics, you know, suffer the 
torture. 

Cat. Eut this already hath confess'd, without : 
And so been v/eigh'd, examined and compared. 
As 'twere malicious ignorance in hira 
N7ould faint in the belief. 

Lent. Do you believe it ? 

Cat. Do I love Lentulus, or pray to see it ? 

Lent. The augxirs all are constant I am meant. 

Cat. They had lost their science else. 

Lent. They count from Cinna. 

Cat. And Sylla next, and so make you the 
third ; 
All th.at can say the sun is risen, must think \t. 

Lent. Men mark me more of late, as 1 eume 
forth. 

Cat. AVhv, what can thev do less ? Cinna and 
Sylla 
Are set and gone ; and we must turn our eyes 
On him that is, and shines. Noble Cethegus, 
But view him with me here ! he looks already 
As if he shook a sceptre o'er the senate. 
And the awed purple dropp'd their rods and 

axes : 
The statues melt again, and household gods 
In groans confess the travail of the city ; 
The very walls sweat blood before the change, 
'ind stones start out to ruin ere it comes. 

Cet. But he, and we, and all arc idle still. 

Lent. I am your creature, Sergius ; and what- 
e'er 
The great Cornelian name shall win to be. 
It is not augury nor the Sybil's books. 
But Catiline that makes it. 

Cat. I am shadow 
To honor' d Lentulus and Cethegus here, 
Who are the heirs of Mars. 

Cet. By Mars himself, 
Catiline is more my parent ; for wdiose virtue 
Eartii cannot make a shado^v great enough, 
Though envy should come too. \_Noise within.] 

O, here they are. 
Now we shall talk more, though we yet do 
nothing. 



Enter Aurnoxius, Vahqunteius, Longinus, Cu« 

Kius, Lecca, Bestia, Fulvius, Gabinius, &c 

and Servants. 

Aiif. Hail, Lucius Catiline. 

Var. Hail, noble Sergius. 

Lon. Hail, Publius Lentulus. 

Cur. Hail, the third Cornelius. 

Lee. Caius Cethegus, hail. 

Cet. Hail, sloth and words. 
Instead of men and spirits ! 

Cat. Nay, dear Caius 

Cet. Are" your eyes yet unseel'd ? dare they 
In the dull face .' [look day 

Cat. He's zealous for the affair, 
And blames your tardy coming, gentlemen. 

Cet. Unless we had sold ourselves to sleep and 
And would be our slaves' slaves — [ease, 

Cat. Pray you forbear. 

Cet. The north is not so stark and cold. 

Cat. Cethegus [us. 

Bes. We shall redeem all if your fire will let 

Cat. You are too full of lightning, noble Caius. 
Boy, see all doors be shut, that nijne approach us 
On this part of the house. [Exit SeiTant.] Go 

you, and bid 
The priest, he kill the slave I mark'd last night, 
And bring me of his blood, when I shall call 

him : 
Till then, wait all without. [Exeunt Servants 

Var. How is't, Autronius ? 

Aut. Longinus ? 

Lon. Curius .'' 

Cm;-. Lecca ? 

Tar. Feel you nothing ? 

Lon. A strange unwonted horror doth invade 

I know not what it is. [me, 

[A darkness comes over the place, 

Lee. The day goes back, 
Or else my senses ! 

Cur. As at Atreus' feast ! 

Ful. Darkness grows more and more ! 

Len. The vestal flame, 
I think, be out. 

[A groan of many 2^eople is heard under rjround 

Gab. What groan Avas that .' 

Cet. Our phant'sies : 
Strike fire out of ourselves, and force a day. 

[A second groan 

Aut. Again it sounds ! 

Bes. As all the city gave it ! 

Cet. We fear what ourselves feign. 

[Afierij light appears, 

Var. What light is this ? 

Cur. Look forth. 

Len. It still grows greater ! 

Lee. From whence comes it ? 

Lon. A bloody arm it is that holds a pine 
Lighted above the capitol ! and now 
It waves unto us ! 

Cat. Brave, and ominous ! 
Our enterjirise is seal'd. 

Cet. In spite of darkness. 
That would discountenance it. Look no more ; 
We lose time and ourselves. To what we came 
Speak, Lucius, we attend you. [for, — 

Cat. Noblest Romans, 
If you were less, or that your faith and virtue 
Did not hold good that title, with your blood, 



380 



CATILINE. 



I should not now unprofitably spend 
My self in words, or catch at empty hope'^, 
By airy ways, for solid certainties ; 
But since in many, and the greatest dangers, 
I still have known you no loss true thaii valiant, 
And that I taste in you the same affections. 
To will or nil, to think things good or bad. 
Alike with me, which argues your firm friend- 
ship ; 
I dare the boldlier with you set on foot, 
Or lead unto this great and goodliest action. 
What I have thought of it afore, you all 
Have heard apart : I then express'd my zeal 
Unto the glory ; now, the need inflames me. 
When I forcthink the hard conditions 
Our states must undergo, except in time 
We do redeem- our selves to liberty, 
And break the iron yoke forged for our necks ; 
For Avhat less can we call it, when we sec. 
The common-wealth engross'd so by a few, 
The giants of the state, that do by turns 
Enjoy her, and defile her ! all the earth, 
Her kings and tetrarchs, are their tributaries ; 
People and nations pay them hourly stipends ; 
The riches of the world flow to their cofl'ers. 
And not to Rome's. While, (but those few,) 

the rest, 
HoT/eYor great we are, honest, and valiant, 
Are herded v/ith the vulgar, and so kept. 
As we were cnly bred to consume corn, 
Or wear out ^col ; to drink the city's water ; 
Ungraccd, without authority or mark. 
Trembling beneath their rods ; to Avhom, if all 
Were well in Ro^e, we should come forth bright 
AH places, honcrc, cliices are theirs, [axes. 



Or where thor 



confer them : they leave us 



The dangers, the repulses, judgments, wants ; 
Wliich hoxi long v/ill you bear, most valiant 

Biiirits r 
Were we not better to fall once vrith virtue, 
Than drav/ a wretched and dishonor'd breath, 
To lose with shame,, when these men's pride will 

laugh ? 
I call the faith of Gods and men to question. 
The power is in our iiands, our bodies able. 
Our minds as strGrg ; o' the contrary, in them 
All things grown aged, with their wealth and 

years ; 
There wants but only to begin the business, 
The issue is ecrt;:in. 

Cet. Lcn. On ! let us go on ! 
Cur. Bes. Go on, brave Sergius ! 
Cat. It doth strike my soul. 
And who can scape the stroke, that hath a soul, 
Or but the smallest air of man Avithin him ? 
To sec them sv.'ell v/ith treasure, which they pour 
Out in their riots, eating, drinking, building, 
Ay, in the sea ! planing of hills with valleys. 
And raising vallej-s above hills ! whilst Ave 
HaA'e not to give ovu- bodies necessaries. 
They ha^/e their change of houses, manors, lord- 
ships ; 
We scarce a fire, or a poor household Lar ! 
They buy rare Attic statues, Tyrian hangings, 
Ephesian pictures, and Corinthian jolate, 
Attalic garments, and now ncAV-found gems, 
Since Pompey Avent for Asia, Avhich they pui-- 

chase 
At price of provinces ! the river Phasis 



Cannot aff"ord them fowl, nor Lucriue lake 
Oysters enow : Circei too is search'd. 
To please the Avitty gluttony of a meal ! 
Their ancient habitations thej^ neglect, 
And set up new ; then, if the echo like not 
In such a room, they pluck doAvn those, build 

ncAver, 
Alter them too ; and by all frantic Avays, 
Vex their Avild Avealth, as they molest the 

people, 
FromAvhom they force it ! Yet they cannot tame, 
Or overcome their riches ! not by making 
Baths, orchards, fish-pools, letting in of seas 
Here, and then there forcing them out again 
With mountainous heaps, for Avhich the earth 

hath lost 
Most of her ribs, as entrails ; being now 
Wounded no less for marble, than for gold ! 
AVe,all this Avhile,like calm benumb'd spectators, 
Sit till our seats do crack, and do not hear 
The thund'ring ruins ; whilst at home our Avants, 
Abroad, our debts do urge us ; our states daily 
Bending to bad, our hopes to AA'orse : and Avhat 
Is left but to be crush'd ? Wake, Avake, brave 

friends, 
And meet the libertj'' you oft haA'e Avish'd for.. 
Behold, reuoAvn, riches, and glory court you ! 
Fortune holds out these to you, as rcAvards. 
Methinks, though I were dumb, the aff'air itsell, 
The opportunity, your needs, and dangers, 
With the braA'C spoil the Avar brings, should in- 

Adte you. 
Use me, your general, or soldier : neither 
My mind nor body shall be Avauting to you : 
And, being consul, I not doubt to eft'ect 
All that 5'ou Avish, if trust not flatter me. 
And you'd not rather still be slaves, than free. 

Cet. Free, Free ! 

Lon. 'Tis Freedom. 

Cur. Freedom Ave all stand for. 

Cat. Why these are noble voices ! Nothing 
A^'ants, then, 
But that Ave take a solemn sacrament, 
To strengthen our design. 

Cet. And most to act it : 
Deferring hurts, Avhere powers are so prepared. 

Aut. Yet, ere Ave enter into open act. 
With favor, 'twere no loss, if't might be inquired, 
What the condition of these arms Avould be. 

Var. Ay, and the means to carry us through. 

Cat. HoAV, friends ! 
Think you that I Avould bid you grasp the Avind, 
Or call you to th' embracing of a cloud ! 
Put your known valors on so dear a business, 
And haA'e no other second than the danger, 
Nor other garland than the loss ? Become 
Your oAvn assurances. And for the means. 
Consider, first, the stark security 
The commonAvcalth is in noAv ; the Avhole senate 
Sleepy, and dreaming no such A'iolent bloAV ; 
Their forces all abroad ; of Avhich the greatest, 
That might annoy us most, is farthest off', 
In Asia, inider Pompey ; those near hand. 
Commanded by our friends ; one army in Spain^ 
By Cneus Piso ; the other in Mauritania, 
By Nucerinus ; both Avhich I haA'^e firm. 
And fast unto our plot. My self, then, standing 
NoAv to be consul, Avith my hoped colleague 
Caius Antonius, one no less engaged 



CATILINE. 



381 



By his wants, than we ; and M-hom I've power 

to melt, 
And cast in any mould : beside, some others. 
That will not yet be named, both sure, and great 

ones, [selves 

Who, Avhcn the time comes, shall declare them- 
Strong for our part}^ ; so that no resistance 
In nature can be thought. For our reward then. 
First, all our debts are paid ; dangers of law. 
Actions, decrees, judgments against us, quitted ; 
The rich men, as in Sylla's times, proscribed, 
And publication made of all their goods : 
That house is yours ; that land is his ; those 

waters, [honor. 

Orchards, and walks, a third's ; ho has that 
And he that office : such a province falls 
To Vargunteius ; this to Autronius ; that 
To bold Cethegus ; Rome to Lentulus. [hoods. 
You share the world, her magistracies, priest- 
Wealth and felicit)% amongst you, friends ; 
And Catiline your servant. Would you, Curius, 
Revenge the contumely stuck upon you, 
In being removed from the senate ? now, 
Now is your time. Would Publius Lentulus 
Strike for the like disgrace ? now is his time. 
Would stout Longinus walk the streets of Rome, 
Facing the Pra;tor ? now has he a time 
To spurn and tread the fasces into dirt. 
Made of the usurers' and the lictors' brains. 
Is there a beauty here in Rome you love ? 
An enemy j-ou would kill ? what head's not 

your's ? [what race, 

Whose wife, which boy, whose daughter, of 
That the husband, or glad parents, shall not 

bring you. 
And boasting of the office ? only spare 
Yourselves, and you have all the earth beside, 
A field to exercise j'our longings in. 
I see you raised, and read your forward minds 
High in your faces. Bring the wine and blood 
Y'ou have prepared there. 

Enter Servants, ivith a bowl. 

Lou. How ! 

Cat. I have kili'd a slave. 
And of his blood caused to be mixed with wine : 
Fill every man his bowl. There cannot be 
A fitter drink to make this sanction in. 
Here I begin the sacrament to all. 
O for a clap of thtinder now, as loud 
As to be heard throughout the universe. 
To tell the world the fact, and to applaud it ! 
Be firm, my hand, not shed a drop ; but pour 
Fierceness into me with it, and fell thirst 
Of more and more, till Rome be left as bloodless 
As over her fears made her, or the sword. 
And when I leave to wish this to thee, step- 
dame, 
Or stop to affect it, with my powers fainting. 
So may my blood be drawn, and so drunk up. 
As is this slave's. [Drinks. 

Lon. And so be m.ine. 

Len. And mine. 

Aid. And mine. 

Var. And mine. [Thoj drink. 

Cot. Swell me my bowl yet fuller. 
Here, I do drink this, as I would do Cato's, 
Or the new fellow Cicero's, with that vow 
Which Catiline hath given. [Drinks. 



Cur. So do I. 

Lee. And I. 

Bes. And I. 

Ful. And I. 

Gab. And all of us. [TheT/ drink 

Cat. Why now's the business safe, and each 
man strengthen'd — 
Sirrah, what ail you? 

Page. Nothing. 

Bes. Somewhat modest. [my foot, 

Cat. Slave, I will strike your soul out with 
Let me but find you again with such a face : 
You whelp 

Bes. Nay, Lucius. 

Cat. Are you coying it, 
When I command you to be free, and geneial 
To all .? 

Bes. Y''ou'll be observed. 

Cat. Arise ! and shew 
But any least aversion in your look [opens. — 
To him that bourds you next ; and your throat 
Noble confederates, thus far is perfect. 
Only your suffrages I will cxiDOct 
At the assembly for the choosing consuis. 
And all the voices you can make by friends 
To my election : then let me work out [rest 
Your fortunes and mine own. Meanwhile, al] 
Seal'd up and silent, as when rigid frosts 
Have bound up brooks and rivers, forced wild 

beasts 
Unto their caves, and birds into the woods. 
Clowns to their houses, and the country sleeps 
That, when the sudden thaw comes, we may 
Ul^on them like a deluge, bearing down [break 
Half Rome before us, and invade the rest 
With cries, and noise, able to wake the ums 
Of those are dead, and make their ashes fear. 
The horrors that do strike the world, should 
come [dumb. 

Loud, and unlock' d for ; till they strike, be 

Cet. Oraculous Sergius ! 

Len. God-like Catiline ! [Exeunt, 

CHORUS. 

Can nothing great, and at the height, 
Remain so lung, but it.s own weight 
Will ruin it.' or is't blind chance, 
That still desires new states to advance. 
And quit the old .■' else why must Homo 
Be by itself now overcome .' 
Hath she not foes enow of those 
Whom she hath made such, and enclose 
Her round about.' cr are they none, 
Except she first become her own : 
O wretchedne.'is of greatest stales, 
To he obuo.\ious to these fates ! 
That cannot keep what they do gain, 
And what thsy raise so ill sustain ! 
Rome now is mistress of the whole 
World, sea and land, to either pole, 
And even that fortune will destroy 
Tlie pow'r that made it : she doth joy 
So much in plenty, wealth, awA ea.se, 
As now th' excess is her disease. 

She builds in gold, and to the stars. 
As if she threaten'd heav'n with wars ; 
And seeks for hell in quarries deep. 
Giving the fiends, that there do keep, 
A hope of day. Her women wear 
The spoils of nations in an ear. 
Changed for the treasure of a shell ; 
And in their loose attires do swell, 
More light than sails, when all winds play, 
Yet are the men mora loose than they 
More kenib'd, and bath'd, and rubb'd, and iriram/d. 
More sleek, more soft, and slacker limb'd ; 



3S2 



CATILINE. 



As prostitute ; so much, tliat kind 

May seek itself there, and not find. 

Tliey eat on beds of silk and gold, 

At ivory tables, or wood sold 

nearer than it ; and leaving plate, 

no drink in stone of higher rate. 

Tlicy bunt all grounds, and draw all seas, 

Fou 1 every brook and bush, to please 

Tlicir wanton taste ; and in request 

Have new and rare things, not the best. 

Hence comes that wild and vast expense, 
That hatli enforced Rome's virtue thence, 
Which simple poverty first made : 
And DOW ambition doth invade 
Her state, with eating avarice, 
Riot, and every other vice. 
Decree? are bought, 'and laws are sold, 
Honors, and offices, for gold ; 
The people's voices, and the free 
Tongues in the senate, bribed be : 
Such ruin of her manners Rome 
Doth suffer now, as she's become 
(Without the gods it soon gainsay) 
Both her own spoiler, and own prey. 

So, Asia, art thou cru'lly even 
With us, for all the blows thee given ; 
When we, whose 7irtue conquer'd thee, 
Thus, by thy vices, ruin'd be. 



ACT 11. 



SCENE I. — A Rooi: 



Fulvia's House. 



Enter Fulyia, Galla, and Servant. 

Fill. Those rooms do smell extremely. Bring 
And table hither. — Galla ! [my glass 

Gal. Madam. 

Fill. Look 
Within, in my blue cabinet, for the pearl 
I had sent me last, and bring it. 

Gal. That from Clodius ? [still, 

Fill. From Caius Caesar, Yon arc for Clodius 
Or Curius. [Exit Galla.] — Sirrah, if Quintus 

Curius come, 
I am not in fit mood ; I keep my chamber : 
Give -warning so without. [Exit Servant. 

Re-enter Galla. 

Gal. Is this it, madam ? 

Fill. Yes ; help to hang it in mine ear. 

Gal. Believe me, 
It is a rich one, madam. 

Fill. I hope so : 
It should not be worn there else. Make an end. 
And bind my hair up. 

Gal. As 'twas yesterday ? [me 

Fid. No, nor the t'other day : wheii know you 
Appear two days together in one dressing ? 

Gal. Will you have't in the globe or spire ? 

Fid. How thou wilt ; 
Any way, so thou wilt do it, good impertinence. 
Thy company, if I slept not very well 
A-nights, would make me an arrant fool, with 

Gal. Alas, madam ■ [questions. 

Fill. Nay, gentle half o'the dialogue, cease. 

Gal. I do it indeed but for your exercise, 
As your physician bids me. 

Fill. How ! does he bid you 
To anger mo for exercise ? 

Gal. Not to anger you, 
But stir your blood a little ; there is difference 
Betvi'cen lukeAvarm and boiling, madam. 

Fid. Jove ! [done. 

She means to cook me, I think . Pray you, have 



Gal. I mean to dress you, madam. 

Fid. O, my Juno, 
Be friend to me ! offering at wit too ? v.'hy, Galla, 
Where hast thou been ? 

Gal. Why, madam ? 

Fid. AVhat hast thou done 
With thy poor innocent self ? 

Gal. Wherefore, sweet madam ? [worm ? 

Fill. Thus to come forth, so suddenly, a wit- 

Gal. It pleases you to flout one. I did dream 
Of lady Sempronia 

Fid. O, the wonder's out ! 
That did infect thee : well, and how ? 

Gal. Methought 
She did discourse the best 

Fid. That ever thou heard' st ? 

Gal. Yes. 

Fid. In thy sleep ! of what Avas her discourse ? 

Gal. Of the republic, madam, and the state, 
And how she was in debt, and where she meant 
To raise fresh sums : she's a great statcswoman ! 

Fid. Thou dream' st all this ? 

Gal. No, but you know she is, madam ; 
And both a mistress of the Latin tongue, 
And of the Greek. 

Fid. Ay, but I never dreamt it, Galla, 
As thou "hast done ; and therefore you must 
pardon me. 

Gal. Indeed you mock me, madam. 

Fid. Indeed, no : Jtoo ? 

Forth with your learned lady. She has a wit 

Gal. A very masculine one. 

Ful. A she-critic, Galla ? [jests, 

And can compose in verse, and make quick 
Modest, or otherwise ? 

Gal. Yes, madam. 

Fid. Slie can sing too ? 
And play on instruments ? 

Gal. Of all kinils, they say. 

Fill. And doth dance i-arely ? 

Gal. Excellent ! so well. 
As a bald senator made a jest, and said, 
'Twas better than an honest woman need. 

Ftd. Tut, she may bear that: few wise v/o- 
men's homesties 
Will do their courtship hurt. 

Gal. She's liberal too, madam. [prithee ? 

Ful. What, of her money or her honor, 

Gal. Of both ; you know not which she doth 

Fid. A comely commendation ! [spare least. 

Gal. Troth, 'tis pity 
She is in vears. 

Fid. Why, Galla? 

Gal. For it is. [reason. 

Fill. O, is that all ! I thought thou'dst had a 

Gal. Why, so I have : she has been a fine 
lady. 
And yet slic dresses herself, except you, madam, 
One of the best in Rome ; and paints, and hides 
Her decays very Avell. 

Ful. They say, it is 
Kather a visor, than a face, she Avears. 

Gal. They wrong her verily, madam ; sha 
doth sleek 
With crumbs of bread and milk, and lies a-nights 

In as neat gloves But she is fain, of kite. 

To seek, more than she's sought to, the fame is, 
And so spends that wav. 

Fill. Thou know'st all ! but, Galla. 



C.VTILINE. 



383 



What say you to Catiline's lady, Orestilla ? 
There is the gallant ! 

Gal. She does avcII. She has 
Very good suits, and very rich ; but then 
She cannot put them on ; she knows not how 
To wear a garment. You shall have her all 
Jewels and gold sometimes, so that her self 
Appears the least part of herself. No, in troth, 
As I live, madam, you put them all down 
With your mere strength of judgment, and do 

draw, too, 
The world of Rome to follow you ! You attire 
Your self so diversly, and Avith that spirit. 
Still to the noblest humors, they could make 
Love to your dress, although your face vv-ere 
awaj', they say. 

FuL And body too, and hare the better 
Say they not so too, Galla ? [match on't. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Now ! Avhat nevi's 
Travails your countenance with ? 

Serv. If't please you, madam, 
The lady Sempronia is lighted at the gate. 
Gal. Castor, my dream, my dream ! 
Serv. And comes to see you. 
Gcd. For Venus' sake, good madam, see her. 

[Exit Serv. 
Fill. Peace, 
The fool is wild, I think. 

Gal. And hear her talk. 
Sweet madam, of state-matters and the senate. 

Enter Sempronia. 

Sem. Fulvia, good wench, hoAV dost thou ? 

Fttl. Well, Sempronia. 
Wliither are you thus early addrest .'' 

Sem. To see 
Aurelia Orestilla : si o sent for mo. 
I came to call thee with me ; wilt thou go ? 

Fid. I cannot now, in troth ; I have some let- 
To write and send awaj'. [ters 

Sem. Alas, 1 pity thee. 
I have been writing all this night, and am 
So very weary, unto all the tribes, 
And centuries, for their voices, to help Catiline 
In his election. Wc shall make him consul, 
I hope, amongst us. Crassus, I, and Ccesar 
AVill carry it for him. 

Fill. Does he stand for it ? 

Sem. lie's the chief candidate. 

Fill. Who stands beside ? — 
Give me some wine and powder for my teeth. 

Sem. Here's a good pearl, in troth. 

FuL A pretty one. [tors, 

Srr/i. A very orient one ! — there are competi- 
Cai us Antonius, Publius Galba, Lucius 
Cassius Longinus, Quintus Cornificius, 
0.ius Licinius, and that talker Cicero. 
Ikit Catiline and Antonius will be chosen ; 
For four of the other, Licinius, Longinus, ' 
Galba and Cornificius, will give way : 
And Cicero they Avill not choose. 

Ful. No ! why ? 

Sem. It will be cross'd by the nobility. 

Gal. How she docs understand the common 
business ! [Aside. 

Sem. Nor were it fit. lie is but a new fellow, 
An inmate here in Rome, as Catiline calls him, 



And the patricians should do very ill 

To let the consulship be so defiled 

As 'twould be, if he obtain'd it ! a mere upstart, 

That has no pedigree, no house, no coat. 

No ensigns of a family ! 

Ful. He has virtue. ['tis vice 

Sem. Hang virtue ! wdiere there is no blood, 
And in him sauciness. Why should he presume 
To be more learned or more eloquent 
Than the nobility ? or boast any quality 
Worthy a nobleman, himself not noble ? 

Fid. 'Twas virtue only, at first, made all men 
noble. [poor ago, 

Sem. I yield you, it might at first, in Rome's 
When both her kings and consuls held the 

plough. 
Or gardcn'd well ; but now we have no need 
To dig, or lose our sweat for't. We have wealth, 
Fortune, and ease : and then their stock to 

spend on. 
Of name, for virtue ; which will bear us out 
'Gainst all new coniers, and can never fail us, 
Vv'hile the succession stays. And we must 

glorify 
A mushroom ! one of yesterday ! a fine speaker ! 
'Cause he has suck'd at Athens ! and advance 

him. 
To our own loss ! no, Fulvia ; there are they 
Can speak Greek too, if need were. Csesar 

and I, 
Have sat upon him ; so hath Crassus too, 
And others. We have all decreed his test, 
For rising farther. 

Gal. Excellent rare lady ! 

Fiol. Sempronia, you are beholden to my 
She does admire you. [woman here, 

Sem. O good Galla, how dost thou .'' 

Gal. The better for your learned ladyship. 

Sem. Is this grey powder a good dentifrice ? 

Fid. You see I iisc it. 

Sem. I have one is whiter. 

Fid. It uiav be so. 

Seyri. Yet this smells well. 

Gal. And cleanses 
Very well, madam, and resists the crudities. 

Sem. Fulvia, I pray thee, who comes to theo 
Which of our great patricians r [now. 

Ful. Faith, I keep 
No catalogue of them : sometimes I have one, 
Sometimes another, as the toy takes their bloods. 

Sem. Thou hast them all. Faith, when was 
Thy special servant, here ? [Quintus Curius, 

Ful. My special servant ! 

Sem. Yes, thy idolater, I call him. 

Ful. He may be yours, 
If you do hke him. 

Sem. How ! 

Ful. He comes not here ; ,!. 

I have forbid him hence. 

Sem. Venus forbid ! 

Ful. Why? 

Sem. Your so constant lover ! 

Fid. So much the rather. [sure ; 

I would have change ; so would you too, I am 
And now you may have him. 

Sem. He's fresh yet, Fulvia ; 
Beware how you do tempt mo, 

Fid. Faith, for me 
He's somewhat too fresh mdeed ; the salt is gone, 



384 



CATILINE. 



That gave him. season : his good gifts are done, 
lie does not yield the crop that he was wont : 
And for the act, I can have secret fellows, 
With backs worth ten of him, and they shall 

please me. 
Now that the land is fled, a myriad better. 

Sem. And those one may command. 

Fill. 'Tis true : these lordlings, 
Your noble Fauns, they are so imperious, saucy, 
lludo, and as boisterous as centaurs, leaping 
A lady at first sight. 

Sem. And must be borne 
Both Avith and out, they think. 

Fill. Tut, I'll observe 
None of them all, nor humor them a jot 
Longer than they come laden in the hand, 
And say, Here's one for t'othci-. 

Sem. Docs Caesar give well ? 

Fill, They shall all give and pay well, that 
come here, 
If they will have it ; and that, jewels, j^earl, 
Plate, or round sums to buy these. I'm not 

taken 
With a cob-swan, or a high-mounting bull, 
As foolish Leda and Europa were ; [price 

But the bright gold, with DanSle. For such 
I would endure a rough, harsh Jupiter, 
Or ten such thund'ring gamesters, and refrain 
To laugh at 'em, till they are gone, with my 
much suffering. [canst make 

Sem. Thou'rt a most happy wench, that thus 
Use of thy youth and freshness, in the season ; 
And hast it to make use of. 

Fid. Which is the happiness. 

Sem. I am now fain to give to them, and keep 
And a continual table to invite them. [music, 

Fid. Yes, and they study your kitchen more 
than you. [too, 

Se7n. Eat myself out with usurj'-, and my lord 
And all my officers, and friends besides, 
To iirocure money for the needful charge 
I must be at, to have them ; and yet scarce 
Can I achieve them so. 

Fill. Why, that's because 
You affect young faces only, and smooth chins, 
Sempronia. If you'd love beards and bristles, 

One with another, as others do, or wrinkles 

[Knocking loithin. 
Who's that r look, Galla. 

Gal. 'Tis the party, madam. 

Fill. What party r has he no name ? 

Gal. 'Tis (iuintus Curius. [chamber ? 

Fill. Did I not bid them say, I kept my 

Gal. Why, so they do. 

Sem. I'll leave you, Fulvia. 

Fill. Nay, good Sempronia, stay. 

Sem. In faith, I will not. 

Fill. By Juno, I would not see him. 

Sem, I'll not hinder you. [madam. 

Gal. Y'ou k]iow he will not be kept out, 

Sem. No, 
Nor shall not, careful Galla, by my means. 

Fill. As I do live, Sempronia 

Sem. What needs this ? 

Fill. Go, say I am asleep, and ill at ease. 

Sem. By Castor, no, I'll tell him, you are 
awake ; 
And very well : stay, Galla ; farewell, Fulvia, 
I know my manners. V/hy do you labor thus, 



With action against purpose ? Quintus Curius, 
She is, i' faith, here, and in disposition. [Exit 
Ful. Spight with your courtesy ! how shall I 
be tortured ! 

Eater Cumus. 

Car. Where are you, fair one, that conceal 
yourself, [here, 

And keep your beauty Avithin locks and bars 
Like a fool's treasure ? 

Ful. True, she Avas a fool. 
When first she show'd it to a thief. 

Cur. HoAV, pretty suUenness, 
So harsh and short ! 

Fill. The fool's artillery, sir. 

Cur. Then take my gOAvn off for the en- 
counter. [ Takes off his gown. 

Ful. Stay, sir, 
I am not in the mood. 

Cur. I'll put you into 't. [and keep 

Ful. Best put yourself in your case again. 
Your furious appetite Avarm against you have 
place for't. 

Cur. What ! do you coy it ? 

Ful. No, sir ; I am not proud. 

Cur. I AAOuld you Avere ! You think this 

state becomes you, [noAV, 

By Hercules, it does not. Look in your glass 

And see how scurvily that countenance shoAvs ; 

Y'ou AA'ould be loth to OAvn it. 

Ful. I shall not change it. [bended broAV ; 

Cur. Faith, but you must, and slack this 
And shoot less scorn : there is a Fortun". 

coming 
ToAvards you, dainty, that Avill take thee thus. 
And set thee aloft, to tread upon the head 
Of her OAvn statue here in Rome. 

Ful. I AA-ondcr [gence • 

Who let this promisor in ! Did you, good dili- 
GIa'c him his bribe again : or, if you had none 
Pray you demand him, Avhy he is so venturous 
To press thus to my chamber, being forbidden, 
Both by myself and serA'ants ? 

Cur, HoAV ! this is handsome, 
And somewhat a ncAV strain ! 

Ful. 'Tis not strain'd, sir ; 
'Tis A'ery natural. 

Cur. I have knoAvn it otherwise 
BetAA'een the parties, though. 

Fill. For your foreknoAvledgc, 
Thank that AA'hich made it : It Avill not be so 
Hereafter, I assure you. 

Cur. No, my mistress ! [terials 

Ful, No ; though you bring the same ma 

Cur. Hear me, 
Y''ou over-act Avhen you should under-do. 
A little your self again, and think. 
If you do this to practise on me, or find [A'ant 
At AA'hat forced distance you can hold your ser 
That it be an artificial trick to inflame. 
And fire me more, fearing my love may need it 
As heretofore you haA'e done, AA'hy, proceed. 
Ful. As I haA'c done heretofore ! 

Cur. Y''es, Avhcn you'd feign 
Your husband's jealousy, your servants' AA'atches 
Speak softly, and run often to the door. 
Or to the AvindoAV, from strange fears that Averc 
As if the pleasure AA'cre less accejotable, [not. 
That were secure. 



CATILINE. 



385 



Fill. Yon arc an impudent follow. 
Car. And, when you might better have done 
To take me in at tlie casement, [it at the gate, 
Ftd. I take you in ! 

Cur. Yes, you, my lady. And then, being 
a-bed with you, [n-iiigi 

To have your well-taught waiter here come run- 
And cry, her lord! and hide me without cause, 
Crush'd in a chest, or thrust up in a chimney : 
When he, tame crow, was winking at his farm ; 
Or, had he been hero, and present, would have 

kept 
Both eyes and beak seel'd up, for six sesterces. 
Fill. You have a slanderous, beastly, unwash'd 
tongue 
h\ your rude mouth, and savoring yourself, 
Unmanner'd lord. 
Car. How now ! 
Ful. It is your title, sir ; 
Who, since you've lost your own good name, 

and know not 
What to lose more, care not whose honor you 

wound, 
Or fame you poison with it. You should go 
And vent your self in the region where you live. 
Among the suburb-brothels, bawds, and brokers, 
Whither your broken fortunes have design'd 
you. 
Cur. Nay, then I must stop your fury, I see ; 
and pluck 
The tragic visor off. Come, lady Cypris, 
Know your own virtues, qviickly. I'll not be 
Put to the wooing of you thus, afresh. 
At every turn, for all the yonus in you. 

Yield, and be i^liant, or by Pollux [ Offers to 

force her, she draios her knife.^ How now ! 
Will Lais turn a Lucrece ? 
Fal. No, but by Castor, 
Hold off your ravisher's hands, I pierce your 

heart else. 
I'll not be put to kill myself, as she did. 
For you, sweet Tarquin. What ! do you fall off? 
Nay, it becomes you graciously ! Put n^t up. 
You'll sooner draw your weapon en me, I 

think it, 
Than on the senate, who have csst you forth 
Disgracefully, to be the common tale 
Of the whole city ; base, iuramous man ! 
For, were you other, you would there employ 
Your desperate dagger. 

Cur. Fulvia, you ao know 
The strengths you have upon me : do not use 
Your power too like a tyrant ; I can bear, 
^most until you break me. 

Fill. I >^lo know, sir, 
So docs the senate too know, you can bear. 
Car. By all the gods, that senate will smart 
deep 
For your upbraidings. I should be right sorry 
To have the moans so to be venged on you, 
At least, the will, as I shall shortly on them. 
But go you on still : fare you well, dear ladj' ; 
You cowld not still be fair, unless you were 
proud. [too : 

You will repent these moods, and ere't be long, 
[ shall have you come about again. 
Fal. Do you think so ? 
Cur. Yes, and I know so. 
Ful. By what augury ? 

25 



Cur. By the fair entrails of the matron's chests, 

Gold, pearl, and jewels here in Rome, which 

Fulvia [shared ; 

Will then, but late, say that she might have 

And grieving miss. 

Ful. Tut, all your promised moimtains, 
And seas, I am so stalely acquainted with 

Cur. But, when you see thg universal flood 
Run by your coffers ; that my lords, the sen- 
ators. 
Are sold for slaves, their wives for bondwomen, 
Their houses, and fine gardens, given away. 
And all their goods, under the spear at outcry. 
And you have none of this, but are still Fulvia, 
Or perhaps less, while you are thinking of it ; 
You will advise then, coyness with your cushion, 
And look on your fingers ; say, how you were 

wished — 
And so he left you. [Exit- 

Ful. Call him again, Galla : [Exit Gali a. 

This is not usual. Something hangs on this 
That I must win out of him. 

Re-enter Cueius. 

Cur. How now, melt you ? 

Ful. Come, you will laugh now, at my easi- 
ness : 
But 'tis no niiracle : doves, they say, will bill. 
After their pecking and their murmuring. 

Cur. Yes, 
And then 'tis kindly. I would have my love 
Angry sometimes, to sweeten off the rest 
Of her behavior. 

Ful. You do see, I study 
How I may please you then. — But yoix think, 

Curitis, 
'Tis covetise hath wrought me ; if you love me. 
Change that unkind conceit. 

Cur. By my loved soul, 
1 love thee, like to it ; and 'tis my study. 
More than mine own revenge, to make thee 
happy. 

Ful. And 'tis that just revenge doth make mc 
happy 
To hear you prosecute ; and Avhich, indeed, 
Hath won me to you, more than all the hope 
Of what can else be promised. I love valor 
Better than any lady loves her face, 
Or dressing — than my self does. Let me grow 
Still where I do embrace. By what good means 
Have 5'ou to effect it ? shall I know your project ? 

Car. Thou shalt, if thou'lt be gracious. 

Ful. As I can be. 

Cur. And wilt thou kiss me then ? 

Ful. As close as shells 
Of cockles meet. 

Cur. And print them deep ? 

Ful. Quite through 
Our subtle lips. 

Cur. And often ? 

Ful. I will sow them 
Faster than you can reap. What is your plot ? 

Cur. ^Yhy now my Fulvia looks like her bright 
And is herself ! [name 

Ful. Nay, answer me, your plot : 
I pray thee tell me, Quintus. 

Cur. Ay, these sounds 
Become a mistress. Here is harmony ! 
When you are harsh, I see the way to bend yo-,i 



S8G 



CATILINE. 



Is not with violence, but service. Cruel, 
A lady is a fire ; gentle, a light. 

Fui. AVill you not tell me what I ask you ? 

[Kisses and flatters him along still. 

Cur. All 
That I can think, sweet love, or my breast holds, 
I'll i^our iuto thee. 

Fat. 'Wliat is your design then ? 

Cur. I'll tell thee ; Catiline shall now be con- 
But you will hear more shortly. [sul : 

Ful. Nay, dear love 

Cur. I'll speak it in thine arms ; let us go in. 
Rome will be sack'd, her wealth will be our 

prize ; 
By public ruin private spirits must rise. [Exeunt. 

CHORUS. 

Great father Mars, and greater Jove, 
By whose high auspice Rome hath stood 
So hing ; and first was built in blood 

Of yonr great nephew that then .strove 

Not with his brotlier, but your rites : 
De present to her now, as then. 
And let not proud and factious men 

Against your wills oppose their mights. 

Our consuls now are to be made ; 

O, put it in the public voice 

To make a free and wortliy choice ; 
Excluding such as would inv.ide 
The commonwealth. Let wlioni we name 

Have (visdom, foresight, fortitude, 

Be more with faith than face endued. 
And study conscience above fame. 

Such as not seek to get the start 
In state, by power, parts or Utibes, 
Ambition's bawds ; but move the tribes 

By virtue, modesty, desart. 

Such as to justice will adhere. 
Whatever great one it offend : 
And from th' embraced truth not bend 

For envy, hatred, gifts or fear ; 

That by their deeds will make it known, 
Vi'hose dignity they do sustain ; 
And life, state, glory, all they gain. 

Count the republic's, not their own. 

Such the old Bruti, Decii were, 
Tlie Cipi, Curtii, who did give 
Themselves for Rome, and would not live 

As men, good only for a year. 

&ucli were tlie great Camilli too ; 

Tlie Fabii, Scipios ; that still thouglit 
No work at price cnouuh was houglit. 

That for tlieir country they could do. 

And to her honor so did knit, 

As all their acts were understood 

The sinews of the public good ; 
And they themselves, one soul with it. 
These men were truly magistrates, 

These neither practised force nor forms ; 

Nor did they leave the helm in storms : 
And such they are make happy states. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Field of Mars. 

Enter Cicero, Cato, Catulus, Antonius, Cra.<)- 
stjs, Cjesar, Lictors, and People. 
Cic. Great honors are great burdens, but on 
whom 
They are cast with envy, he doth bear two loads. 
His cares must still be double to his joys, 
In any dignity ; where if he err. 
He finds no pardon : and foi doing well 



A most small praise, and that wTung out by 

force. 
I speak this, Romans, knowing what the weight 
Of the high charge, you have trusted to me. is : 
Not that thereby I would with art decline 
The good or greatness of your benefit ; 
For I ascribe it to your singular grace, 
And vow to owe it to no title else. 
Except the Gods, that Cicero is your consiil. 
I have no urns, no dusty monuments, 
No broken images of ancestors, 
Wantiiig an ear, or nose ; no forged tables 
Of long descents, to boast false honors from, 
Or be my undertakers to your trust ; 
But a new man, as I am styled in Rome, 
Whom you have dignified ; and more, in whom 
You have cut a way, and left it ope for virtue 
Hereafter to that place : Avhich our great men 
Held, shut up with all ramparts, for themselves. 
Nor have but few of them in time been made 
Your consuls, so ; new men, before me, none : 
At my first suit, in my just year ; prefcrr'd 

To all competitors ! and some the noblest 

Cra. [Aside to Ccesar.] Now the vein swells ! 
Cces. Up, glorj'. 

Cic. And to have [voice?, 

Your loud consents from your own utter' d 
Not silent books ; nor from the meaner tribes, 
But first and last, the universal concourse ! 
This is my joy, my gladness. But my care. 
My industry and vigilance now must work. 
That still your counsels of me be approved. 
Both by yourselves, and those, to Avhom you 
have, [^labor, 

With grudge, prefcrr'd me : Two things I must 
That neither they upbraid, nor you repent you , 
For every lapse of miiie will now be call'd 
Your error, if I make such : but my hope is, 
So to bear through, and oiit, the consulshi]b. 
As spite shall ne'er wound you, though it may 

me. 
And for myself, I have prepared this strength, 
To do so well, as, if there happen ill 
Unto me, it shall make the gods to blush ; 
And be then crime, not mine, that I am envied. 
Cas. O confidence ! more nev/ than is the man. 
Cic. I know v.-eM in what terms I do receive 
The commonwealth, liow vexed, how perplex'd 
In which there's not that mischief, cr ill fate. 
That good men fear not, wv;ked men expect not. 
I knoM', besides, some turbul<mt practices 
Already on foot, and rumors ot more dangers — 
Cras. Or you will make them, if there be 
none. [AsidM 

Cic. Last, [pride 

I know 'twas this, Avhich made the envy and 
Of the great Roman blood bate, and give way 
To my election. 

Cato. Marcus Tullius, true ; 
Our need made thee our consul, and thy virtue. 
Cces. Cato, you will undo him with your praise. 
Cato. Ctesar will hurt himself with his own 

envy. . 

Pdople. The voice of Cato is the voice of Rome. 
Cato. The voice of Rome is the consent of 
heaven ! 
And that hath placed thco, Cicero, at the helm, 
Wlicrc thou must render now tliyself a man, 
And master of.thy art. Each petty hand 



CATILINE. 



387 



Can steer a ship becalm'd ; but he that -will 
Govern and carry her to her ends, must know 
His tides, his currents ; how to shift his sails ; 
What she will bear in foul, what in fair weath- 
ers ; [stop 'em ; 
Where her springs are, her leaks ; and how to 
\Vhat sands, Avhat shelves, Avhat rocks do 

threaten her ; 
The forces and the natures of all winds, 
Gusts, storms, and tempests ; when her keel 

ploughs hell. 
And deck knocks heaven ; then to manage her, 
Becomes the name and office of a pilot. 

Cic. Which I'll perform with all the diligence 
And fortitude I have ; not for my year. 
But for my life ; except ray life bo less, 
And that my j-ear conclude it ; if it must, 
Your will, loved gods. This heart shall yet em- 
A day, an hour- is left me, so for Rome, [ploy 
As it shall spring a life out of my death, 
To shine for ever glorious in my facts : 
The vicious count their years, virtuous their acts. 

Peo2)Ie. Most noble consul ! let us wait him 
home. 
[Exeunt Cato, Cicero, Lictors, and People. 

C(Bs. Most popular consul he is grown, me- 

Cras. How the rout cling to him ! [thinks ! 

C(PS. And Cato leads them ! 

Cras. You, his colleague Antonius, are not 
look'd on. 

An(. Not I, nor do I care. 

Cess. He enjoys rest. 
And case the while : let the other's spirit toil, 
And wake it out, that was inspired for turmoil. 

Catu. If all reports be true yet, Caius Ctesar, 
The time hath need of such a watch and spirit. 

C(ps. Reports ! do you believe them, Catulus ? 
Why,he docs make and breed 'em for the people, 
To endear his service to them. Do you not taste 
An art that is so common ? Popular men, 
They must create strange monsters, and then 
quell them, [have 

To make their arts seem something. Would you 
Such an Herculean actor in the scene, 
.\nd not his hydra ? they must sweat no less 
To fit their properties, than to express their parts. 

Cras. Treasons and guilty men are made in 
Too oft, to dignify the magistrates. [states. 

Cadi. Those states be wretched that are forced 
to buy 
Their rulers fame with their ov>'n infamy. 

Cras. We therefore should provide that o"ars 
do not. 

Go's. That will Antonius make his care. 

Ant. I shall. 

Ccps. And watch the watcher. 

Caht. Here comes Catiline. 
IIov/ does he brook his late repulse ? 

Ca-s. I know not, 
But hardly sure. 

Catti. Longinus too did stand ? 

Ccvs. At first : but he gave way unto his friend. 

Catu. Who's that come ? Lentulus ? 

C(ps. Y'es ; he is again 
Taken into the senate. 

Ant. And made praetor. [consuls. 

Catu. I know't ; he had my suffrage, next the 

C(2s. True, you were there, prince of the sen- 
ate, then. 



Entei' Catiline, Longinus, and Lentulus. 

Cat. Hail, noblest Romans ! The most worthy 
I gratulate your honor. * [consul, 

Ant. I could wish 
It had been happier by your fellowship. 
Most noble Sergius, had it pleased the people. 

Cat. It did not please the Gods, Avho instruct 
the people : 
And their unquestion'd pleasures must be serv'd. 
They know what's fitter for us than ourselves ; 
And 'twere impiety to think against them. 

Catu. You bear it rightly, Lucius ; and it 
To find your thoughts so even. [glads me. 

Cat. I shall still 
Study to make them such to Rome, and heaven. 
I would withdraw with you a little, Julius. 

[Aside to Cesar. 

Ctes. I'll come home to j'ou : Crassus would 
not have you 
To sjDeak to him 'fore Quintus Catulus. [Askh. 

Cat. I apprehend you. No, when they shall 
judge 
Honors convenient for me, I shall have them. 
With a full hand ; I know it. In mean time, 
They are no less part of the commonwealth. 
That do obey, than those that do command. 

Catu. O let me kiss your forehead, Lucius. 
How are you Avrong'd ! 

Cat. By whom ? 

Catu. IPublic report ; 
That gives you out to stomach your repulse, 
And brook it deadly. 

Cat. Sir, she brooks not me. 
Believe me rather, and yourself, now of me : 
It is a kind of slander to trust rumor. 

Caiu. I know it : and I could be angry with it. 

Cat. So may not I : Where it concerns hira- 
YvHio's angry at a slander makes it true. [self, 

Catu. Most noble Sergius ! this your temper 
melts me. [tus ? 

Cras. Will you do office to the consul. Quin- 
ce's. Which Cato and the rout have done the 
other ? [self. 

Catu. I wait when he will go. Be still your- 
Ile wants no state, or honors, that hath virtue. 
[Exeicnt Catulus, Antonius, C-T.sar, Cras- 
sus, Lictors, ^c. 

Cat. Did I appear so tame as this man thinks 
me ! 
Ivook'd I so poor ? so dead ? so like that nothing. 
Which he calls virtuous ? my breast, break 
quickly ; [think 

And shew my friends my in-parts, lest they 
I have betray'd them. [Aside. 

Lon. Where's Gabinius ? 

Leii. Gone. 

Lon. And Vargunteius ? 

Len. Slipt away; all shrunk : 
Now that he miss'd the consulship. 

Cat. I am 
The scorn of bondmen, who are next to beasts. 
What can I worse pronounce myself, that's fitter, 
The owl of Rome, whom boys and girls will hoot ! 
That were I set up for that wooden god 
That keeps our gardens, could not fright the 

crows. 
Or the least bird, from mutinjr on my head ! 

[Asidp.. 



CATILINE. 



Lon. 'Tis strange how he should miss it ! 

Len. Is't not stranger, 
The upstart Cicero should carry it so, 
By all consents, from men so much his masters ? 

Lon. 'Tis true. 

Cat. To what a shadow am I melted ! \_Asicle. 

Lon. Antonius won it but by some few voices. 

Cat. Struck through, like air, and feel it not ! 
My wounds 
Close faster than they're made. \Aside. 

Len. The whole design 
And enterprise is lost by it : all hands quit it, 
Upon his fail. 

Cat. I grow mad at my patience : 
It is a visor that hath poison'd me : 
Would it had burnt me irp, and I died inward, 
My heart first turn'd to ashes ! 

Lon. Here's Cethcgus yet. 

Enter Cethegus. 

Cat. Repulse upon repulse ! an in-mate con- 
sul ! — 
That I could reach the axle, where the pins are 
Which bolt this frame ; that I might pull them 
And pluck all into Chaos, Avith myself ! [out, 

Cet. What ! are we wishing now ? 

Cat. Yes, my Cethegus ; [him ? 

Who would not fall with all the world about 

Oct. Not I, that would stand on it, when it 
falls ; 
And force new nature out to make another. 
These wishings taste of woman, not of Roman ; 
Let us seek other arms. 

Cat. What should we do ? [take not : 

Cet. Do, and not wish ; something that wishes 
So sudden, as the gods should not prevent, 
Nor scarce have time to fear. 

Cat. O noble Caius ! 

Cet. It likes me better that you arc not consul. 
I would not go through open doors, but break 
'em ; [bridge 

Swim to my ends through blood ; or build a 
Of carcasses ; make on upon the heads 
Of men struck down like piles, to reach the lives 
Of those remain and stand : then is't a prey, 
When danger stops, and ruin makes the waj% 

Cat. How thou dost utter me, brave soul, that 
may not 
At all times shew such as I am, but bend 
Unto occasion ! Lentulus, this man, 
If all our fire were out, would fetch down new. 
Out of the hand of Jove ; and rivet him 
To Caucasus, should he but frown ; and let 
His own gaunt eagle fly at him, to tire. 

Len. Peace, here comes Cato. 

Cat. Let him come, and hear ; 
I will no more dissemble. Quit us all ; 
I, and my loved Cethegus here, alone 
Will undertake this giants' war, and carry it. 

Re-enter Cato. 
Len. AVhat needs this, Lucius ? 
Lon. SergiiTS, be more wary. 
Cat. Now, Marcus Cato, our new consul's spy. 
What is your sour austerity sent to explore ? 
Cato. Nothing in thee, licentious Catiline ; 
Halters and racks cannot express from thee 
More than thy deeds : 'tis only judgment waits 
thee 



Cat. Whose ? Cato's ! shall he judge me ? 

Cato. No, the gods, 
Who ever follow those, they go not with ; 
And senate, who with fire must purge sick Kome 
Of noisome citizens, whereof thou art one. 
Be gone, or else let me. 'Tis bane to draw 
The same air with thee. 

Cet. Strike him. 

Leyi. Hold, good Caius. 

Cet. Fear'st thou not, Cato ? 

Cato. Rash Cethegus, no. [thou 

'Twere wrong with Rome, when Catiline and 
Do threat, if Cato fear'd. 

Cat. The fire you speak of. 
If any flame of it approach my fortunes, 
I'll quench it not with water, but with ruin. 

Cato. You hear this, Romans. [Exit. 

Cat. Bear it to the consul. [him. 

Cet. I would have sent away his soul before 
You are too heavy, Lentulus, and remiss ; 
It is for you Ave labor, and the kingdom 
Promised you by the Sybils. 

Cat. AVhich his praitorship, 
And some small flattery of the senate more, 
Will make him to forget. 

Len. You Avrong me, Lucius. 

Lon. He will not need these spurs. 

Cet. The action needs them ; [backward. 

These things, Avhen they proceed not, they go 

Len. Let us consult then. 

Cet. Let us first take arms : 
They that deny us just things now, will give 
All that Ave ask, if once they see our sAvords. 

Cat. Our objects must be sought Avith Avounds, 
not Avords. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Cicero's House. 

Enter Cicero and Fulvia. 

Cic. Is there a heaA^en, and gods ? and can it be 
They should so slowly hear, so sloAA'ly see ! 
Hatii Jove no thunder, or is Jove become 
Stupid as thou art, O near-Avretched Rome, 
When both thy senate and thy gods do sleep, 
And neither thine, nor their oaa'u states do keep ! 
What Avill aAvakc thee, heaven r Avhat can excite 
Thine anger, if this practice be too light ? 
His former drifts partake of former times. 
But this last plot was only Catiline's ; 
O, that it Avere his last ! but he before 
Hath safely done so much, he'll still dare more. 
Ambition, like a torrent, ne'er looks back ; 
And is a SAvelling, and the last aff'ection 
A high mind can put off" ; being both a rebel 
Unto the soul and reason, and snforceth 
All laAvs, all conscience, treads upon religion, 
And off'ereth violence to nature's self. 
But here is that transcends it ! A black purpose 
To confound nature ; and to ruin that. 
Which ncA'er age nor mankind can repair ! — 
Sit doAvn, good lady ; Cicero is lost 
In this your fable : for, to think it true 
Tempteth my reason, it so far exceeds 
All insolent fictions of the tragic scene ! 
The common-Avealth yet panting underneath 
The stripes and Avounds of a late civil war, 
Gasping for life, and scarce restored to hope ; 
To seek t' oppress her Avith n?Av cruelty, 



CATILINE. 



389 



And utterly extinguish her long name, 
With so prodigious and unheard of fierceness ! 
What sink of monsters, Avretches of lost minds, 
Mad after change, and desperate in their states. 
Wearied and gall'd with their necessities, 
For all this I allow them, durst have thought it ? 
Would not the barbarous deeds have been be- 
lieved. 
Of Marius and Sylla, by our children, [them ? 
Without this fact had risse forth greater for 
All that they did was piety to this ! 
They yet but murder' d kinsfolk, brothers, 

parents, 
Ravish'd the virgins, and perhaps somcfmatrons ; 
They left the city standing, and the temples : 
The gods and majesty of Rome were safe yet ! — 
These purpose to fire it, to despoil them, 
(Beyond the other evils) and lay waste 
The far triumphed world : for, unto whom 
Rome is too little, what can be enough ? 

Ful. 'Tis true, my lord, I had the same dis- 
course. 

Cic. And then, to take a horrid sacrament 
In human blood, for execution 
Of this their dire design ; which might be call'd 
The height of wickedness : but that that was 
For which they did it ! [higher, 

Fill. I assure j-our lordshiji, 
The extreme horror of it almost turn'd me 
To air, Avhen first I heard it ; I was all 
A vapor when 'twas told me, and I long'd 
To vent it any whore : 'twas such a secret, 
I thought it A\-oukl have burnt me up. 

Cic. Good Fulvia, 
Fear not your act ; and less repent jo\x of it. 

Ful. I do not, my good lord ; I know to whom 
I've utter' d it., 

Cic. You have discharged it safely. 
Should Rome, for whom you've done the happy 

service. 
Turn mostingrate, yet were your virtue paid 
In conscience of the fact : so much good deeds 
Reward themselves ! 

Ful. My lord, I did it not 
To any other aim but for itself; 
To no ambition. 

Cic. You have learn'd the difference 
Of doing office to the public weal. 
And private friendship : and have shewn it, ladJ^ 
Be still your self, I have sent for Quintus Cu- 

rius. 
And for your virtuous sake, if I can win him 
Yet to the commonwealth, he shall be safe too. 

Ful. I'll undertake, my lord, he shall be won. 

Cic. Pray you join with me then, and help to 
work him. 

Enter a Lictor. 
C/c. How now ! Is he come ? 
Lict. He's here, my lord. 
Cic. Go presently. 
Pray my colleague Antonius I may speak with 

• him. 
About some present business of the state ; 
And, as you go, call on my brother Quintus, 
And pray him, with the tribunes, to come to mo. 
Bid Curius enter. \Exit Lict.] — Fulvia, j'ou will 
aid me ? 
Ful. It is my duty. 



Enter Curius. 
Cic. O, my noble lord ! [hand, — 

I have to chide you, i'faith. Give me your 
Nay, be not troubled ; it shall be gcntl3% Curius. 
You look iipon this lady ? what ! do you guess 
My business yet ? come, if you frown, I thunder ; 
Therefore put on your better looks and thoughts : 
There's nought but fair and good intended to 

you ; 
And I would make those your complexion. 
Would you, of whom the senate had that hope 
As, on my knowledge, it Avas in their purpose, • 
Next sitting to restore you, as they had done 
The stupid and ungrateful Lentulus, — 
Excuse me, that I name you thus together. 
For yet you are not such — would you, I say, 
A person both of blood and honor, stock' d 
In a long race of virtuous ancestors, 
Erabark yourself for such a hellish action. 
With parricides and traitors, men turn'd furies, 
Out of the Avaste and ruin of their fortunes ? 
(For 'tis despair that is the mother of madness,) 
Such as Avant that, A\-hich all conspirators. 
But they, have first, mere color for their mis- 
chief ? [labor 
O, I must blush Avith you. Come, you shall not 
To extenuate your guilt, but quit it clean : 
Bad men excuse their faults, good men Avill leave 

them. 
He acts the third crime that defends the first. 
Here is a lady that hath got the start 
In piety of us all, and for Avhose virtue 
I could almost turn lover again, but that 
Terentia Avould be jealous. What an honor 
Hath she achieved to herself ! Avhat voices. 
Titles, and loud applauses aa-IU pursue her 
Through every street ! Avhat windoAvs Avill bo 
filled, [matrons, 

To shoot eyes at her ! ■ Avhat enA^y anct grief in 
They are not she, when this her act shall seem 
Worthier a chariot, than if Pompey came 
With Asia chain'd ! all this is, Avhile she lives ; 
But dead, her very name Avill be a statue. 
Not Avrought for time, but rooted in the minds 
Of all posterity ; Avhen brass and marble. 
Ay, and the Capitol itself is dust ! 

Fill. Your honor thinks too highly of me. 
Cic. No ; 
I cannot think enough, and I Avould have 
Him emulate you. 'Tis no shame to foUoAV 
The better precedent. She shcAvs you, Curius, 
What claim yovir country lays t-o you, and Avhat 
You OAve to it : be not afraid to break [duty 
With murderers and traitors, for the saving 
A life so near and necessary to you. 
As is your coimtry's. Think but on her right. 
No child can be too natural to his parent : 
She is our common motlier, and doth challenge 
The prime part of us ; do not stop, but give it. 
He that is void of fear, may soon be just ; 
And no religion binds men to be traitors. 

Fill. My lord, he understands it, and Avill fol- 
loAV [him. 

Your savmg counsel ; but his shame yet stays 
I knoAV tliat he is coming. 
Car. Do you knoAV it r 
Ful. Yes ; let me speak Avith you. 

[Takes him aside. 



390 



CATILINE. 



Cur O, j'Ou are 

Fitl. AVhat am I ? 

Cur. Speak not so loiid. 

Fill. I am Avhat you should be. 

[Lowering her voice. 
Come, do you think I'd walk in any plot [me, 
"Where madam Sempronia should take place of 
And Fulvia come in the rear, or on the by ? 
That I would be her second in a business, 
Though it might vantage me all the sun sees ? 
It was a silly phant'sy of yours. Apply 
Yourself to me and the consul, and be wise ; 
.Follow the fortune I have put you into : 
You maj' be something this way, and with safety. 
Cic. Nay, I must tolerate no whisperings, lady. 
Fid. Sir, you may hear : I tell him in the way 
Wherein he was, how hazardous his course was. 
Cic. How hazardous ! how certain to all ruin. 
Did he, or do yet any of them imagine 
The gods would sleep to such a Stygian practice. 
Against that commonwealth which they have 

founded 
With so much labor, and like care have kept, 
Now near seven hundred years ? It is a mad- 
ness, [confound them, 
Wherewith heaven blinds them, when it would 
That they should think it. Come, my Curius, 
I see your nature's right ; 3^ou shall no more 
Be mention'd with them : I will call you mine, 
And trovible this good shame no farther. Stand 
Firm for your country, and become a man 
Ilonor'd and loved : it were a noble life. 
To be found dead, embracing her. KnoAV you 
What thanks, what titles, what rewards the 

senate 
Will heap upon you, certain, for your service ? 
Let not a desperate action more engage you. 
Than safety should ; and wicked friendship force. 
What honest}' and virtue cannot work. 

Fill. He tells you right, sweet friend : 'tis sav- 
ing counsel. 
. Cur. Most noble consul, I am yours and hers, 
I moan my country's ; you have form'd me new. 
Inspiring me with what I should be truly : 
And I entreat, m}' faith may not seem cheaper 
For springing out of penitence. 

Cic. Good Curivxs, 
It shall be dearer rather ; and because 
I'd make it such, hear how I trust you more. 
Keep still your former face, and mix again 
With these lost spirits ; run all their mazes with 

them ; 
For such are treasons : find their windings out, 
And subtle turnings ; watch their snaky ways, 
Through brakes and hedges, into woods of dark- 
ness 
Where they are fain to creep upon their breasts 
In paths ne'er trod by men, but wolves and 

panthers. 
Learn, beside Catiline, Lentulus, and those 
Whose names I have, Avhat new ones thcj- 

draw in ; 
Who else are likely ; what those great ones are 
They do not name ; Avhat ways they mean to 

take ; 
And v.'hcthcr their hopes point to war, or ruin 
By some surprise. Explore all their intents ; 
And Avhat you find may profit the republic, 
^ Acquaint me with it, either by your self. 



Or this your virtuous •friend, on whom I lay 
The care of urging you : I'll see that Rome 
Shall prove a thankful and a bounteous mother- 
Be secret as the niglit. 

Cur. And constant, sir. 

Cic. I do not doubt it, though the time cut off 
All vows : The dignity of truth is lost 
With miich protesting. Who is there ? . 

Enter a Servant. 

This way. 
Lest you be seen and met. And when you come. 
Be this your token [whispers toith him.] to this 
foilow. Light them. 

[Exit Servant loith Cuii. and Fulvia. 

Rome, in what a sickness art thou fallen ! 
How dangerous and deadly, when thy head 
Is drown'd in sleep, and all thy body fevery ! 
No noise, no pulling, no vexation wakes thee. 
Thy letharg}' is such : or if, by chance. 

Thou hcav'st thy eye-lids up, thou dost forget. 
Sooner than thou wert told, thy proper danger. 

1 did unrevcrently to blame the gods, [self. 
Who wake for thee, though thou snore to thy 
Is it not strange thou should'st be so diseased. 
And so secure? but more, that the first symp- 
toms 

Of such a malady should not rise out 

From any worthy member, but a base 

And common strunapet, worthless to be named 

A hair, or part of thee ? Think, think, hereafter. 

What thy needs were, Avhen thou must use such 

means ; 
And lay it to thy breast, how much the gods 
Upbraid thy foul neglect of them, by making 
So vile a thing the author of thy safety. 
They could have wrought by nobler ways, have 

struck • [der ; 

Thy foes with forked lightning, or ramm'd thun- 
Thrown hills upon them in the act ; have sent 
Death, like a damp, to all their families ; 
Or caus'd their consciences to burst them : but 
When they will shew thee what thou art, and 

make 
A scornful difference 'twixt their power and thee, 
They help thee by such aids as geese and harlots-. 

Re-enter Lictor. 
How now, what ansv.'er ? is he come r 

Lict. Your brother 
Will straight be here, and your colleague, An- 

tonius. 
Said coldly he would follow me. [Exit, 

Cic. Ay, that 
Troubles me somewhat, and is worth my fear. 
He is a man 'gairj?t whom I must provide, 
That, as he'll do no good, he do no harm. 
He, though he be not of the plot, will like it, 
And wish it should proceed ; for, unto men 
Prest with their wants, all change is ever wel- 
come. 
I must with offices and patience mn him, 
x.Iake him by art that which he is not born^ 
A friend unto the public, and bestow 
The province on him, which is by the senate 
Decreed to me ; that benefit will bind him : 
'Tis well, if some men will do well for price ; 
So few are virtuous when the reward's away. 
Nor must I be unmindful of my private ; 



CATILINE. 



For whicli I ha.i e called my brother and the trib- 
unes, 
My kinsfolks, and my clients, to be near me. 
He that stands up 'gainst traitors, and their ends, 
Shall need a double guard, of law, and friends 
Especially in such an envious state, 
That sooner will accuse the magistrate. 
Than the delinquent ; and will rather grieve 
The treason is not acted, than believe. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — .-1 Room in Catiline's House. 

Enter C-ESAH and Catilixe. 

Cas. The night groAvs on, and you are for 

your m.eeting ; 
I'll therefore end in few. Be resolute. 
And put your enterprise in act. The more 
Actions of dejjth a^d danger are consider' d. 
The less assuredly they are perform' d : 
And thence it happcneth, that the bravest plots. 
Not executed straight, have been discover'd. 
Say, you are constant, or another, a third, 
Or more ; there may be yet one wretched spirit. 
With whom the fear of punishment shall work 
'Bove all the thoughts of honor and revenge. 
You are not now to think what's best to do, 
As in beginnings, but what must be done. 
Being thus enter'd ; and slip no advantage 
That may secure you. Let them call it mischief ; 
When it is past, and prosper'd, 'twill be virtue. 
They're petty crimes arc punished, great re- 
warded. 
Nor must you think of peril, since attempts 
Begun Vv'ith danger, still do end with glory ; 
And, when need spurs, despair will be call'd 

wisdom. [you ; 

Less ought the care of men, or fame to fright 
For they that win, do seldom receive shame 
Of victory, howe'er it be achieved ; 
And vengeance, least : for who, besieged with 

wants, 
Would stop at death, or anything beyond it ? 
Come, there was never any great thing yet 
Aspired, but by violence or fraud : 
And he that sticks for folly of a conscience 

To reach it 

Cat. Is a good religious fool. 
Cccs. A superstitious slave, and will die beast. 
Good night. You know what Crassus thinks, 

and I, 
By this. Prepare your wings as large as sails. 
To cut through air, and leave no print behind 

you. 
A serpent, ere he comes to be a dragon. 
Does eat a bat ; and so must you a consul. 
That watches. What you do, do quickly, Ser- 

gius. \_Going. 

You shall not stir for me. 

Cat. Excuse me. — Lights there ! 
C(ts. By no means. 

Cat. Stay then. All good thoughts 'to Gassar, 
And like to Crassus. 

CcEs. Mind but your friends' counsels. \Exit. 
Cat. Or I will bear no mind. — 

Enter Aurelia. 

How now, Aurelia ! 

Arc your confederates come, the ladies .' 



Aur. Yes. 

Cat. And is Sempronia there ? 

Aur. She is. 

Cat. That's well. 
She has a sulphurous spirit, and will take 
Light at a spark. Break with them, gentle love 
About the drawing as many of their husbands 
Into the plot, as can ; if not, to rid them : 
That will be the easier practice unto some. 
Who have been tired with them long. Solicit 
Their aids for money, and their servants' help, 
In firing of the city at the time [empires, 

Shall be design'd. Promise them states and 
And men for lovers, made of better clay 
Than ever the old potter Titan knew- 

Enter Lecca, ■ 

Who's that .' O, Porcius Lecca ! Are they met ? 
Leo. They are all here. 
Cat. Love, you have your instructions : 
I'll trust you with the stuff you have to work on, 
You'll form it ! [Exit Aurelia.] Porcius, fetch 

the silver eagle 
I gave you in charge ; and pray 'cm they will 
enter. [Exit Lecca. 

Enter Cethegus, Coraus, Lextulus, Vaugux- 

TEius, LoxGixus, Gabixics, Ceparius, Auteo- 

Nius, <5)-e. 

Cat. O friends, your faces glad me ! This will 
Our last, I hope, of consultation. [be 

Cet. So it had need. 

Cur. We lose occasion daily. [me most 

Cut. Ay, and our means ; whereof one wounds 
That was the fairest : Piso is dead in Spain. 

Cdt. As we are here. 

Lon, And, as 'tis thought, by envy 
Of Pompey's followers. 

Lcn. He too's coming back. 
Now, out of Asia. 

Cat. Therefore, what we intend [hear 

We must be swift in. Take your seats, and 
I have already sent Septimius 
Into the Picene territory, and Julius, 
To raise force for us in Apulia ; 
Manilas, at Fesulaj is by this tim.e up. 
With the old needy troops that foUow'd Sjdla •. 
And all do but expect when we will give 
The blow at home. 

Re-enter P. Lecca loith the eagle. 

Behold this silver eagle, 
'Twas Marius' standard in the Cimbrian war. 
Fatal to Home ; and as our augurs tell me. 
Shall still be so : for which one ominous cause, 
I've kept it safe, and done it sacred rites, 
As to a godhead, in a chapel built 
Of purpose to it. Pledge then all yo'ar hands 
To follow it with vows of death and ruin, 
Struck silently and home. So waters speak 
When they run deepest. Now's the time, this 

year. 
The twentieth from the firing of the Capitol, 
As fatal too to Rome, by all predictions ; 
And in which honc^r'd Lentulus must rise 
A king, if he pursue it. 

Cur. If he do not, 
He is not worthy the great destiny. 

Len- It is too great for me ; but what the gods 



^2 



CATILINE. 



And their great loves decree me, I must not 
Seem careless of. 

Cat. No, nor we envious, 
We have enough beside ; all Gallia, Belgia, 
Greece, Spain and Africk. 

Cur. Ay, and Asia too. 
Now Pompey is returning. 

Cat. Noblest Komans, 
Jlethinks our looks arc not so quick and high, 
As they were wont. 

Ci<r." No ! whose is not ? 

Cat. We have 
No anger in our eyes, no storm, no lightning : 
Our hate is spent, and fumed away in vapor. 
Before our hands be at work : I can accuse 
Not any one, but all, of slackness. 

Cet. Yes, 
And be yourself such, while you do it. 

Cat. Ha ! 
Tis sharply answer'd, Caius. 

Cct. Truly, truly. 

Len. Come, let us each one know his part 

to do, [quarrels. 

And then be accused. Leave these untimely 

Cur. I would there were more Homes than 
one to ruin ! 

Cet. More Homes ! more worlds. 

Cur. Nay then, more gods and natures, 
If they took part. 

Len. When shall the time be first ? 

Cat. I think, the Saturnals ! 

Cet. 'Twill be too long. 

Cat. They are not now far off, 'tis not a month, 

Cet, A week, a da}', an hour is too far off: 
Now were the fittest time. 

Cat. We have not laid 
All things so safe and ready. 

Cet. While we are laying, 
■We shall all lie and grow to earth. Would I 
Were nothing in it, if not now : these things. 
They should be done, ere thought. 

Cat. Nay, now your reason [modity 

Forsakes j'ou, Caius. Think but what com- 
That time will minister ; the city's custom 
Of being then in mirth and feast — 

Len. Loos' d whole 
In pleasure and security 

Aut. Each house 
Resolved in freedom 

Cur. Every slave a master ■ 

Lon. And thej' too no mean aids 

Cur. Made from their hope 
Of liberty 

Len. Or hate unto their lords. 

Var. 'Tis sure, there cannot be a time foimd 
More apt and natural. [out 

Len. Nay, good Cethegus, 
Why do your passions now disturb our hopes ? 

Cet. Why do your hopes delude your cer- 
tainties ? 

Cat. You must lend him his A^'ay. [.ls«fe to 
Lextulus.] Think for the order, 
And process of it. 

Lon. Yes. 

Len. I like not fire, 
Twill too much waste my city. 

Cat. Were it embers, 
There will be wealth enough raked out of them, 
To spring a now. It must bo fire, or nothing. 



Lo7i. What else should fright or terrify them ! 

Var. True. 
In that confusion must be the chief slaughter. 

Cur. Then we shall kill them bravest. 

Cep. And in heaps. 

Aut. Strew sacrifices. 

Cur. Make the earth an altar. 

Lon. And Rome the fire. 

Lcc. 'Twill be a noble night. 

Var. And worth all Sylla's days. 

Cur. When husbands, wives, [^lords, 

Grandsircs, and nephews, servants, and their 
Virgins, and priests, the infant and the nurse. 
Go all to hell together in a fleet. [tilius. 

Cat. I would have you, Longinus and Sta- 
To take the charge o' the firing, which must be, 
At a sign given Avith a ti-umpet, done 
In twelve chief places of the city at once. 
The flax and sulphur are already laid 
In, at Cethegus' house ; so are the weapons. 
Gabinius, you, with other force, shall stop 
The pipes and conduits, and kill those that come 
For water. 

Cur. What shall I do ? 

Cat. All will have 
Employment, fear not : ply the execution. 

Cur. For that, trust me and Cethegus. 

Cat. I will be [scf.pc ■ 

At hand with the army, to meet those that 
And, Lentulus, begirt you Pompey's house, 
To seize his sons alive ; for they are they 
Must make our peace with him : all else cut off", 
As Tarquin did the poppy-heads, or mowers 
A field of thistles ; or else, up, as ploughs 
Do barren lands, and strike together flints 
And clods, th' ungrateful senate and the people ; 
Till no rage gone before, or coming after, 
May weigh with yours, though horror Icap'd 

herself 
Into the scale : but, in your violent acts, 
The fall of torrents and the noise of tempests. 
The boiling of Charybdis, the sea's wildness, 
The eating force of flames, and wings of winds. 
Be all out-wrought by your transcendant furies 
It liad been done ere this, had I been consul ; 
We had had no stop, no let. 

Len. How find j'ou Antonius ? 

Cat. The other has won him, — lost : thai 
Was born to be my opposition, [Cicero 

And stands in all our ways. 

Cur. Remove him first. 

Cei. May that yet be done sooner ? 

Cat. Would it were done. 

Cur. Var. I'll do't. 

Cet. It is my province ; none usurp it. 

Len, What ai-e your means ? 

Cet. Enquire not. He shall die. 
Shall, was too slowly said ; he's dying : that 
Is yet too ^low ; he's dead. 

Cat. Brave, only Roman, 
Whose soul might be the world's soul, were 

that dying ; 
Pi,efuse not yet the aids of these your friends. 

Len. Here's Vargunteius holds good quarter 
with him. 

Cat, And under the pretext of clientele 
And visitation, with the morning bailj 
Will be admitted. 

Cet. What is that to me r 



CATILINE. 



393 



Var. Yes, we may kill him in his bed, and 

safely. 
Cet, Safe is your way then, take it : mine's 
mine own. [Exit. 

Cat. Follow him, Varguntcius, and persuade, 
The morning is the fittest time. 

Lou. The night 
Will turn all into tumult. 

Leu. And perhaps 
Miss of him too. 

Cat- Entreat and conjure him 

In all our names 

Len. Bj' all our vows and friendships. 

[Exit Vaugunteius. 

Enter Sempeonia, Aurelia, and Fulvia. 

Sem. What ! is our council broke up first ? 

Aur. You say, 
Women are greatest talkers. 
[Whis2}ers with Cat. tohiio FuL. takes Cun. aside. 

Sent. We have done. 
And are now fit for action. 

Lon. Which is passion ; 
There is your best activity, lady. 

Senic. How 
Knows your Avise fatness that ? 

Lon. Your mother's daughter 
Did teach me, madam. 

Cat. Come, Sempronia, leave him ; 
He is a giber, and our present business 
Is of more serious consequence. Aurelia 
Tells mo, you've done most masculinelj' within, 
And pi'ay'd the orator. 

Sem. But we must hasten 
To our design as well, and execute ; 
Not hang still in the fever of an accident. 

Cat. You say w'ell, lady. 

Sem. I do like our plot 
Exceeding well ; 'tis sure, and we shall leave 
Little to fortune in it. 

Cat. Your banquet stays. 
Aurelia, take her in. Where's Fulvia ? 

.S'em. O, the two lovers are coirpling. 

Cur. In good faith. 
She's very ill with sitting up. 

Se)7i. You'd have her 
Laugh, and lie down. 

Ftd. No, faith, Sempronia, 
I am not well ; I'll take my leave, it draws 
Toward the morning. Curius shall stay ^\iill 

you. 
Madam, I pray you pardon me ; my health 
I must respect. 

Aur. Farewell, good Fulvia. 

Cur. [Aside to Fulvia.] Make haste, and bid 
him get his guards about him ; 
For Vargunteius and Cornelius 
Have underta'en it, should Cethegus miss : 
Their reason, that they think his open rashness 
Will suffer easier discovery 
Than their attempt, so veiled under friend- 
ship. 
I'll bring you to your coach. Tell him, beside, 
Of Caesar's coming forth here. 

Cat. My sweet madam. 
Will j'ou be gone ? 

FuL I am, my lord, in truth. 
In some indisposition. 

Cat. I do wish 



You had all your health, sweet lady. Lentulus, 
You'll do her service. 

Len. To her coach, — and duty. 

[Exeunt all but Catilixe. 

Cat. What ministers men must for practice use, 
The rash, the ambitious, needy, desperate. 
Foolish and wretched, e'en the dregs of mankind, 
To whores and women ! still it must be so. 
Each have their proper place, and in their rooms 
They are the best. Grooms fittest kindle fires, 
Slaves carry burdens, butchers are for slaughters. 
Apothecaries, butlers, cooks, for poisons ; 
As these for me : dull stupid Lentulus, 
My stale, with whom I stalk ; the rash Cethegus, 
My executioner ; and fat Longinus, 
Statilius, Curius, Ceparius, Cimbei', 
^ly laborers, pioneers, and incendiaries : 
With these domestic traitors, bosom thieves, 
Whom custom hath call'd wives : the readiest 

helps 
To strangle headstrong husbands, rob the easy. 
And lend the moneys on returns of lust. 
Shall Catiline not do now, with these aids, 
So sought, so sorted, something shall be call'd 
Their labor, but his profit ? and make Caasar 
Repent his venturing counsels to a spirit 
So much his lord in mischief ? when all these 
Shall, like the brethren sprung of dragons' teeth* 
Ruin each other, and he fall amongst them. 
With Crassus, Pompey, or who else appeal's 
But like, or near a great one. May my brain 
Resolve to water, and my blood turn phlegm 
]My hands drop off unworthy of my sword. 
And that be inspired of itself to rip 
My breast for my lost entrails, when I leave 
A soul that will not serve ; and who will, are 
The same Avith slaves, such clay I dare not fear. 
The cruelty I mean to act, I Avish 
Should be call'd mine, and tarry in my name ; 
Whilst after-ages do toil out themselves 
In thinking for the like, but do it less : 
And Avere the power of all the fiends let loose, 
With fate to boot, it should be still example, 
AVhen, Avhat the Gaul or Moor could not effect. 
Nor emulous Carthage, Avith their length of 

spight. 
Shall be the Avork of one, and that my night. 

[Exit 

SCENE IV. — A Room in Ciceko's House. 

Enter Cicero, Fula'ia, and Attendant. 
Cic. 1 thank your vigilance. Where's my 
brother Quintus ? 
Call all my servants up ! [Exit Attendant.] Tell 

noble Curius, 
And say it to yourself, you are my saA'ers : 
But that's too little for you ; you are Rome's. 
W^iat could I then hope less ? 

Enter Quixtus Cicero. 

brother ! noAv 
The enginers I told you of are Avorking, 
The machine 'gins to move. Where are your 

Aveapons ? 
Arm all ray household presently, and charge 
The porter, he let no man in till day. . 
Qui. Not clients, and your friends ? 
Cic. They Avear those names, 



394 



CATILINE. 



That coire to murder me. Yet send for Cato, 
And Quintus Catulus ; those I d'are trust ; 
And Flacciis and Pompthiius, the prsetors, 
13 j^ the back waj'. 

Qui. Take care, good brother Marcus, [shoukl ; 
Your fears be not form'd greater than they 
And make yoiir friends grieve, while your ene- 
mies laugh. 

Cic. 'Tis brother's counsel, and worth thanks. 
But do 
As I entreat you. [Exit Quixtus.] I provide, not 
Was Cfesar there, say you ? [fear. — 

Fill. Curius says he met him 
Coming from thence. 

Cic. O, so. And had you a council 
Of ladies too ? who was your si)eaker, madam r 

Ful. She that would be, had there been forty 
more ; 
Sempronia, who had both lier Greek and figures, 
And ever and anon would ask us, if 
The witty consul could have mended that, 
Or orator Cicero could have said it better ? 

Cic. She is my gentle enemy. Would Cethegus 
Had no more danger in him ! But my guards 
Are 3^ou, great Powers, and the unbated 

strengths 
Of a firm conscience, which shall arm each step 
Ta'en for the state ! and teach me slack no pace 
For fear of malice. 

Re-enter Quixtus. 

How now, brother ? 

Qui. Cato, 
And Quintus Catulus Avcro coming to you. 
And Crassus with them. I have let them in 
By the garden. 

Cic. What would Crassus have ? 

Qui. I hear [doubt 

Some whispering 'bout the gate, and making 
Whether it be not yet too early or no ? 
But I do think, they are your friends and clients, 
Are fearful to disturb )-ou. 

Cic. You will change 
To another thought anon. .Have you given the 
The charge I will'd you ? [porter 

Qui. Yes. 

Cic. Withdraw and hearken. [Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — The Street before Ciceeo's House. 

Enter Varguxteius a)\d Coknelius, icith armed 
men. 

Varg. The door's not open yet. 

Cor. You were best to knock. 

Varg. Let them stand close then ; and, Avhen 
we are in, 
E,ash after us. 

Cor. But where's Cethegus .' 

Var. He 
Has left it, since ho might not do't his way. 

[Knocks. 

For. {loithin.'] Who's there ? 

Var. A friend, or more. 

For. \%oithin.] I may not let 
Any man in, till day. 

Var. _ No ! why ? 

Cor. Thy reason ? 

For. licitJiin.l I am commanded so. 



Var. By whom ? 

Cor. I hope 
We are not discover'd. 

Var. Yes, by revelation ! — 
Pray thee, good slave, who has commanded 
thee ? 

For. [unthin.] He that may best, the consul. 

Var. We are his friends. 

For. [within.] All's one. 

Cor. I5est give your name. 

Var. Dost thou hear, fellow ? 
I have some instant business with the consul. 
My name is Vargunteius. 

Cic. [a2}pears at the windotv above, %vith Cato, 
Catulus, and Crassus.] True, he 
knov/s it, 
And for what friendly office you are sent. 
Cornelius too is there — 

Var. Wo are betray'd. 

Cic. And desperate Cethegus, is he not ? 

Var. Speak you, he knows my voice. 

Cic. What say you to't ? 

Cor. You are deceived, sir. 

Cic. No, 'tis you are so ; [pity; 

Poor misled men. Your states are yet worth 
If you would hear, and change yoirr savage 

minds. 
Leave to be mad ; forsake your purposes 
Of treason, rapine, murder, fire, and horror ; 
The commonwealth hath eyes that Avake as 

sharply 
Over her life, as yours do for her ruin. 
Be not deceived, to think her lenity 
Will be perpetual ; or, if men be wanting, 
The gods Avill be to siich a calling cause. 
Consider your attempts, and while there's time, 
Repent you of them. It doth make me tremble, 
There should those spirits yet breathe, that when 

they cannot 
Live honestly, would rather perish basely. 

Cato. You talk too much to 'em, Marcus ; they 
Go forth, and ai^prehend them. [are lost : 

Catu. If yoii prove 
This practice, what should let the commonwealth 
To take due vengeance ? 

Var. Let us shift aAvay ! 
The darkness hath conceal'd us yet. We'll say, 
Some have abus'd our names. 

Cor. Deny it all. [Exeunt below. 

Cato. Quintus, what guards have you ? call 
the tribunes' aid. 
And raise the city. Consul, you are too mild, 
The foulness of some facts takes thence all 

mercy ; 
Report it to the senate. [It thunders and lightens 

violently on a suddcji.] Hear ! the gods 
Grow angry Avith your patience. 'Tis their care, 
And must be yours, that guilty men escape not : 
As crimes do grow, justice should rouse itself. 

[Exeunt above 

CHORUS. 

What is it, heavens, yovi prepare 

With so much swiftness, and so sudden rising.'' 
There are no sons of earth that dare, 

Again, rebellion? or the gods' surprising.' 

The world doth shake, and nature fears ; 

Yet is the tumult and the horror greater 
W^ithin our minds, than in our ears : 

So nmch Rome's faults (now grown her fate) do threat bpr 



CATILINE. 



305 



The priests and people run about, 
Each order, age, and sex ainaz'd at other; 

And at the ports nil thronging out, 
As if their safety were to quit their mother : 

Yet find they the same dangers tliere, 

From which they make such haste to be preserved : 
For guilty states do ever bear 

The plagues about them wliicli tlicy have deserved. 

And till those plagues do get above 
The mountain of our faults, and there do sit, 

Wc see them not: thus still we love 
Til' evil we do, until we suffer ;t. 

Hut mo>t ambition, that near vice 
To virtue, hath the fate of Rome provoked ; 

And made that now Rome's self ['s] no price 
To free her from the death wherewith she's yoked. 

That restless ill tiiat still doth build 

Upon success, and ends not in aspiring : 

But there begins ; and ne'er is fill'd 
While ought remains that seems but wortli desiring. 

Wherein the thought, unlike the eye, 

To which things far seem smaller thati they arc. 
Deems all contentment placed on high ; 

And thinks there's notliing great but wnat is far. 

<), tliat in time Rome did not cast 

Her errors up this fortune to prevent ! 
To have seen her crimes ere they were past. 

And felt her faults before her punishment. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Street at the foot of the Capitol. 

[The Storm continued.] 

Enter the Allohrogian Ambassadors. Divers Sen- 
ators pass by them, quaking and trembling. 

1 Am. Can these men fear, -who are not only 

ours, 
iiut the -world's masters ! Then I see the Gods 
Upbraid our suffrings, or would humble them, 
By sending these affrights ■while we are here ; 
That we might laugh at their ridiculous fear, 
Whose names we trembled at beyond the Alps. 
Of all that pass, I do not see a face 
Worthy a man ; that dares look up and stand 
One thunder out : but downward all, like beasts, 
Running away from every flash is made. 
The falling world could not deserve such base- 
Are wo emjjloycd here by our miseries, [ness. 
Like superstitious fools, or rather slaves. 
To plain our griefs, wrongs, and oppressions. 
To a mere clothed senate, whom our folly 
Hath made, and still intends to keep, our ty- 
It is our base petitionary breath [rants ? 

Tiiat blows them to this greatness ; which this 

prick [Points to his sioord. 

Would soon let out, if we were bold and 

wretched. 
When they have taken all we have, our goods, 
Crop, lands and houses, Ihey will leave us this : 
A weapon and an arm will still be found, 
Though naked left, and lower than the ground. 

Enter Cato, OItulus, and Cicero, 
Cato. Do ; urge thine anger still, good heavou 
and just ! 
Tell guilty men what powers are above them. 
In such a confidence of wickedness. 



'Tv.'as time they should know something fit to 
fear. 
Catu, I never saw a morn more full of horror 
Cato. To Catiline and his : but to just men, 
Though heaven should speak with all his wrath 

at once, 
That with his breath the hinges of the world 
Did crack, we should stand upright and un- 
fear'd. 
Cic, Why so we do, good Cato. Who be these : 
Catu. Ambassadors from the AUobroges, 
I take them, by their habits. 

1 Am. Ay, these men 

Seem of another race ; let's sue to these. 
There's hope of justice with their fortitude. 

Cic. Friends of the senate and of Rome, to-day 
We pray you to forbear us : on the morroAV, 
What suit you have, let us, by Fabius Sanga, 
Whose patronage your state doth use, but know 
And oir the consul's word, you shall receive [it, 
Dispatch, or else an answer worth your patience. 

2 Am. We could not hope for more, most 

worthy consul. 

[Exeunt Cato, Catulus, and Cicero 
This magistrate hath struck an awe into me, 
And by his sweetness won a more regard 
Uiito his place, than all the boist'rous moods 
That ignorant greatness practiseth, to fill 
The large, unfit authority it wears. 
How easy is a noble spirit discern'd 
From harsh and sulphurous matter, that flies out 
In contumelies, makes a noise, and stinks ! [how 
May we find good and great men: that know 
To stoop to wants and meet necessities. 
And will not turn from any equal suits ! 
Such men, they do not succor more the cause 
They undertake with favor and success. 
Than by it their OAvn judgments they do raise, 
In turning just men's needs into their praise. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Temple of Jupiter Stator. 

Enter Cicero, Antonius, Cato, Catui^us, C-^dsar, 

Crassus, and many other Senators, Prtsetor, 

Ofiicers, §-c. 
Pra. Room for the consuls ! Fathprs, tako 

your places. 
Here in the house of Jupiter the Stayer, 
By edict from the consul, Marcus TuUius, 
You're met, a frequent senate. Hear him speak. 
Cic. AVhat may be happy and auspicious still 
To Rome and hers ! 

Honor'd and conscript fathers. 
If I were silent, and that all the dangers 
Threat'ning the state and you, were yet so liid 
In night, or darkness thicker in their breasts, 
That are the black contrivers, so that no 
Beam of the light could pierce them ; yet th« 

voice 
Of heaven, this morning hath spoke loud enough 
T' instruct you with a feeling of the horror, 
And wake you from a sleep as stark as death. 
I have of late spoke often in this senate 
Touching this argument, but still have wanted 
Either your ears or faith ; so incredible 
Their plots have secm'd, or I so vain, to make 
These things for mine own glory and false great- 
As hath been given out. But be it so. [nessj 



396 



CATILINE. 



When they break forth, and shall declare them- 
selves 
By their too foul effects, then, then the envy 
Of my just cares will find another name. 
For me, I am but one, and this poor life. 
So lately aimed at, not an hour yet since, 
They cannot with more eagerness pursue, 
Than I with gladness would lay down and lose 
To buy Rome's peace, if that would purchase it. 
But when I see they'd make it but the step 
To more and greater ; unto yours, Rome's, all ; 
I would with those preserve it, or then fall. 

C(ps. Ay, aj', let you alone, cunning artificer ! 
See how his gorget peers above his gown, 
To tell the people in what danger he was. 
It was absurdly done of Vargunteius, 
To name himself before he was got in. 

[Aside to Crassus. 

Cras. It matters not, so they deny it all : 
And can but carry the lie constantly. 
Will Catiline be here ? 

Cces. I have sent for him. 

Cras. And have yoM bid him to be confident ?. 

Cas. To that his own necessity will prompt 
him. 

Cras. Seem to believe nothing at all that Cicero 
Relates us. 

Cas. It will mad him. 

Cras. O, and help 
The other party. 

Enter Q. Ciceiio, lo'Uh the Tribunes and Guards. 

Who is that, his brother ? 
What new intelligence has he brought him now .' 

Cas. Some cautions from his wife, how to be- 
have him. 

Cie. Place some of them without, and some 
bring in. 
Thank their kind loves : it is a comfort yet. 
That all depart not from their country's cause. 

Cces. How now, what means this muster, con- 
sul Antonius ? 

Ant. I do not know ; ask my colleague, he'll 

tell you. [to. 

There is some reason in state that I must yield 

And I havo promised him ; indeed he has bought 

With giving me the province. [it, 

Cie. I profess. 
It grieves me, fathers, that I am compell'd 
To draw these arms, and aids for your defence ; 
And more, against a citizen of Rome, 
Born here amongst you, a patrician, 
A man, I must confess, of no mean house, 
Nor no small virtue, if he had employ'd 
Those excellent gifts of fortune and of nature. 
Unto the good, not ruin of the state. 
But being bred in his father's needy fortunes. 
Brought up in his sister's prostitution, 
Confirm'd in civil slaughter, entering first 
The commonwealth with murder of the gentry ; 
Since, both by study and custom conversant 
With all licentiousness, what could be hoped 
In such a field of riot, but a course 
Extreme pernicious ? though I must protest, 
I found his mischiefs sooner with mine eyes 
Than with my thought ; and with these hands 
Before they touch'd at my suspicion, [of mine, 

Cess. What are his mischiefs, consul ? yoii 
declaim 



Against his manners, and corrupt your own : 
No wise man should, for hate of guilty men. 
Lose his own innocence. 
Cie. The noble Cnesar 
Speaks god-like truth. Birt when he hears I can 
Convince him, by his manners, of his mischiefs, 
He might be silent ; and not cast away 
His sentences in vain, where they scarce look 
Toward his subject. 

Enter Catiline, and sits doivn by Cato, who quits 
his pl-ace. 

Cato. Here he comes himself. 
If he be worthy any good man's A'oice, 
That good man sit down by him : Cato will not. 

Catu. If Cato leave him, I'll not keep aside. 

\Rises.^ 

Cat. What face is this the senate here puts on 
Against me, fathers ? give my modesty [ness. 
Leave to demand the cause of so much strange- 

Cces. It is reported here, you arc the head 
To a strange faction, Lucius. 

Cie. Ay, and will 
Be proved against him. 

Cat. Let it be. Whj', consul, 
If in the commonwealth there be two bodies, 
One lean, weak, rotten, and that hath a head, 
The other strong and healthful, but hath nous '. 
If I do give it one, do I offend ? 
Restore yourselves unto your temper, fathers. 
And, without perturbation, hear me speak. 
Remember who I am, and of Avhat place, 
Wliat petty fellow this is that opposes ; 
One that hath exercised his eloquence 
Still to the bane of the nobility, 
A boasting, insolent tongue-man ! — 

Cato. Peace, lewd traitor. 
Or wash thy mouth. He is an honest man, 
And loves his country ; would thou didst so too. 

Cat. Cato, you are too zealous for him. 

Cato. No ; 
Thou art too impudent. 

Catu. Catiline, bo silent. 

Cat. Nay then, I easily fear my just defence 
Will come too late to so much prejudice. 

Cces. Will he sit down ? [Aside. 

Cat. Yet let tlie world forsake me. 
My innocence must not. 

Cato. Thou innocent ! 
So are the furies. 

Cie. Yes, and Ate too. 
Dost thou not blush, pernicious Catiline, 
Or hath the paleness of thy guilt drunk up 
Thy blood, and drawn thy veins as dry of that, 
As is thy heart of truth, thy breast of virtue ? 
Whither at length wilt thou abuse ovir patience? 
Still shall thy fury mock us ! to Avhat license 
Dares thy unbridled boldness run itself ! 
Do all the nightly guards kept on the palace, 
The city's watches, with the people's fears. 
The concourse of all good men, this so strong 
And fortified seat here of the senate, [ing ? 

The present looks upon thee, strike thee noth- 
Dost thou not feel thy cgunsels all laid open. 
And see thy wild conspiracy bound in 
With each man's knowledge ? Which of all this 

order 
Canst thou think ignorant, if they will but utter 
Their conscience to the right, of what thou didst 



CATILINE. 



3D7 



Last night, what on the former, where thou wert. 
Whom thou didst call together, what your plots 
were ? 

age and manners ! this the consul sees, 
The senate understands, yet this man lives ! — 
Lives ! ay, and comes here into council with us, 
Partakes the public cares, and with his eye 
Marks and points out each man of us to 

slaughter. 
And we, good men, do satisfy the state. 
If we can shun but this man's sword and mad- 
ness, [men 
There was that virtue once in Rome, when good 
Would, with more sharp coercion, have restrain'd 
A wicked citizen, than the deadliest foe. 
We have that law still, Catiline, for thee ; [ing. 
An act as grave as sharj^ : the state's not want- 
Nor the authority of this senate ; we, 
"Wo that are consuls, only fail ourselves.' 
This twenty days the edge of that decree 
We have let dull and rust ; kei")t it shut up. 
As in a sheath, which drawn, should take thy 

head. 
Yet still thou llv'st : and liv'st not to lay by 
Thy wicked confidence, but to confirm it. 

1 could desire, grave fathers, to be found 
Still merciful, to seem, in these main perils 
Grasping the state, a man remiss and slack ; 
But then I should condemn myself of sloth, 
And treacher)^ Tlieir camp's in Italy, 
Pitch'd in the jaws here of Hetrurla ; [eral 
Their numbers daily increasing, and their gcn- 
Within our walls ; nay, in our council ! plotting 
Hourly some fatal mischief to the public. 

If, Catiline, I should command thee now. 
Here to be taken, kill'd ; I make just doubt, 
Whether all good men Avould not think it done 
Rather too late, than any man too cruel. 

Cato. Except he were of the same meal and 

batch. 
Cic. But that which ought to have been done 

long since, 
I will, and for good reason, yet forbear. 
Then will I take thee, when no man is found 
So lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, 
But shall profess, 'tis done of need and right. 
While there is one that dares defend thee, live ; 
Thou shalt have leave, but so as now thou liv'st ; 
Watch'd at a hand, besieged, and opprest 
Prom working least commotion to the state. 
I have those eyes and ears shall still keep guard, 
And spial on thee, as they've ever done, 
And thou not feel it. What then canst thou 

hope ? 
If neither night can with her darkness hide 
Thy wicked meetings, nor a private house 
Can, in her walls, contain the guilty whispers 
Of thy conspiracy : if all break out. 
All be discover'd, change thy mind at last, 
And lose thy thoughts of ruin, flame, and 

slaughter. 
Remember how I told here to the senate. 
That such a day thy lictor, Caius Manlius, 
Would be in arms. Was I deceived, Catiline, 
Or in the fact, or in the time, the hour ? 
I told too in this senate, that thy purpose 
Was, on the fifth o' the kalends of November, 
To have slaughter' d this whole order : which 

my caution 



Made many leave the city. Canst thou here 
Deny, but this thy black design was hinder'd 
That very day, by me ? thy self closed in 
Within my strengths, so that thou couldst not 

move , 

Against a public reed ; when thou wert heard 
To say upon the parting of the rest, [u5 

Thou wouldst content thee with the murder of 
That did remain ? Iladst thou not hope beside, 
By a surprise by night to take PrBeneste ? 
Where when thou cam'st, didst thou not find 

the place [watches ? 

Made good against thee with my aids, my 
My garrisons fortified it. Thou dost nothing, 

Sergius, 
Thou canst endeavor nothing, nay, not think. 
But I both see and hear it ; and am M'ith thee. 
By and before, about and in thee too. 
Call but to mind thy last night's busine.ss — • 

Come, 
I'll use no circumstance — at Lecea's house, 
The shop and mint of your consjjiracy, 
Among your sword-men, where so many as- 

sociateg 
Both of thy mischief and thy madness met. 
Dar'st tliou deny this ? wherefore art thou silent I 
Speak, and this shall convince thee : here they 

are, 
I see them in this senate, that were with thee. 
O, ye immortal Gods ! in what clime are we, 
What region do we live in, in what air ? 
What commonwealth or state is this we have ? 
Here, here, amongst us, our own number, fathers, 
In this most holy council of the world 
They are, that seek the spoil of me, of you, 
Of ours, of all ; what I can name's too narrow ; 
Follow the sun, and find not their ambition. 
These I behold, being consul : nay, I ask 
Their counsels of the state, as from good patriots : 
Whom it were fit the axe should hew in pieces, 
I not so much as wound yet with my voice. 
Thou wast last night with Lecca, Catiline, 
Your shares of Italy you there divided ; 
Appointed who, and whither each should go ; 
AVhat men should stay behind in Rome, were 

chosen ; 
Your offices set down ; the parts mark'd out, 
And places of the city, for the fire ; 
Thyself, thou afHrm'dst, wast ready to depart. 
Only a little let there was that stay'd thee. 
That I yet lived. Upon the word, stepp'd forth 
Three of thy crew, to rid thee of that care ; 
Two undertook this morning, before day. 
To kill me in my bed. All this I knew. 
Your convent scarce dismiss'd, arm'd all my 

servants, [your clients 

Call'd both my brother and friends, shut out 

You sent to visit me ; whose names I told 

To some there of good place, before they came. 

Cato. Yes, I, and Quintus Catulus can affirm it. 

Cces. He's lost and gone ! His spirits have 

forsook him. [Aside. 

Cic. If this be so, why, Catiline, dost thou 

stay ? 
Go where thou moan'st. The ports are open 

forth ! [long, 

The camp abroad wants thee, their chief too 
Lead with thee all thy troops out ; purge the 

city. 



398 



CATILINE. 



Draw cli-)' that noisome and pernicious sink, 
Which, left behind thee, would infect the world. 
Thou wilt free me of all my fears at once, 
To see a wall between us. Dost thoxi stop 
To do that, now commandied, which, before, 
Of thine own choice, thou Avert prone to ? Go ! 

the consul 
Bids thee, an enemy, to depart the city : 
Whither, thou'lt ask, to exile ? I not bid 
'ITiee that : but ask my counsel, I persuade it. 
What is there here in Rome, that can delight 

thee ? 
Where not a soul, without thine own foul knot. 
But fears and hates thee. What domestic note 
Of private filthiness, but is burnt in 
Into thy life, what close and secret shame. 
But is grown one with thine own infamy ? 
What lust was ever absent from thine eyes, 
What lewd fact from thy hands, what wicked- 
ness [drawn in 
From thy whole body ? where's that youth 
Within thy nets, or catch'd up with thy baits. 
Before whose rage thou hast not borne a sword. 
And to whose lusts thou hast not held a torch ? 
Thy latter nuptials I let pass in silence. 
Where sins incredible on sins Avere heap'd ; 
Which I not name, lest in a civil state 
So monstrous facts should either appear to be, 
Or not to be revenged. Thy fortunes too 
I glance not at, Avhich hang but till next ides. 
I come to that which is more known, more 
The life and safety of us all, by thee [public ; 
Threaten'd and sought. Stood'st thou not in 

the field. 
When Lepidus and TuUus Avere our consuls, 
Upon the day of choice, arm'd, and with forces, 
To take their lives, and our chief citizens ? 
When not thy fear, nor conscience changed thy 

mijid, 
But the mere fortune of the commonAvealth 
Withstood thy active malice r Speak but right. 
How often hast thou made attempt on me ? 
How many of thy assaults have I declined 
With shifting but my body, as we'd say ? 
Wrested thy dagger from thy hand, how oft ? 
How often hath it fallen, or slipt, by chance ? 
Yet can thy side not Avant it : which, hoAV vow'd, 
Or Avith Avhat rites 'tis sacred of thee, I know 
That still thou mak'st it a necessity, [not, 

To fix it in the body of a consul. 
But let me lose this way, and speak to thee, 
Not as one moved Avith hatred, Avhich I ought. 
But pity, of which none is OAving thee. 

Cato. No more than unto Tantalus or Tityus. 
Cic. Thou cam'st crCAvhile into this senate : 

Who 
Of such a frequency, so many friends 
And kindred thou hast here, saluted thee ? 
Were not the seats made bare upon thy entrance ? 
Risse not the consular men, and left their places. 
So soon as thou sat'st doAvn, and fled thy side. 
Like to a plague or ruin, knoAving hoAV oft 
They had by thee been mark'd out for the 

shambles ? 
How dost thou bear this ? Surely, if my slaves 
At home fear'd me Avith half the affright and 
That here thy felloAv-citizens do thee, [horror, 
I should soon quit my house, and think it need 

too. 



Yet thou dar'st tarry here ! go forth at last. 
Condemn thyself to flight and solitude. 
Discharge the commonAvealth of her deep fear.— 
Go ; into banishment, if thou Avait'st the Avord : 
Why dost thou look ? they all consent unto it. 
Dost thou expect the authority of their voices, 
Vv^'hose silent aa'HIs condemn thee ? Avhilc tliey 

sit, [cree it ; 

They approA'e it ; Avhile they suffer it, they de- 
And Avhile they are silent to it, they proclaim it. 
Prove thou there honest, I'll endure the cnv}'. 
But there's no thought thou shouldst be ever he, 
Whom either shame should call from filthiaess, 
Terror from danger, or discourse from fury. 
Go ; I entreat thee : yet AA-hy do I so ? 
When I already know they are sent afore. 
That tarry for thee in arms, and do expect thee 
On the Aurolian Avay. I knoAV the day 
Set doAvn 'tAvixt thee and Manlius, unto Avhom 
The silver eagle too is sent before ; 
Which I do hope shall prove to thee as baneful 
As thou conceiv'st it to the commouAvealth. 
But, may this AAise and sacred senate say. 
What mean'st thou, Marcus TuUius ? if thou 

knoAv'st 
That Catiline be look'd for to be chief 
Of an intestine Avar ; that he's the author 
Of such a Avickedness : the caller out 
Of men of mark in mischief, to an action 
Of so much horror ; prince of such a treason ; 
Why dost thou send him forth ? AA'hy let him 

'scape ? 
This is to give him liberty and poAvcr : 
Rather thou should'st laj" hold upon him, send 

him 
To deserv'd death, and a just punishment. 
To these so holy A'oices thus I ansAver : 
If I did think it timely, conscript fathers, 
To punish him Avith death, I Avould not give 
The fencer use of one short hour to breathe ; 
But Avhen there are in this graA-e order some, 
Y^ho, Avith soft censures, still do nurse his 

hopes ; 
Some that, Avith not belieAdng, have confirm'd 
His designs more, and Avhose authority 
Tlie Aveaker, as the worst men too, have follow' d, 
I Avould now send him Avhere they all should see 
Clear as the light, his heart shine ; Avhere no 
Could be so Avickedly or fondly stupid, [man 
But should cry out, he saw, touch'd, felt, and 

grasp'd it. 
Then, Avhen he hath run out himself, led forth 
His desperate party Avith him, bloAvn together 
Aids of all kinds, both shipAvreck'd minds and 

fortunes ; 
Not only the groAvn evil that nOAv is sprung 
And sprouted forth, Avould be pluck'd up and 

Aveedcd, 
But the stock, root, and seed of all the mischiefs 
Choking the common Avealth : Avherc, should Ave 

take. 
Of such a swarm of traitors, only him. 
Our cares and fears might seem aAvhile relieved. 
But the main peril Avould bide still inclosed 
Deep in the A'cins and bowels of the state. 
As human bodies laboring Avith fevers. 
While they are tost Avith heat, if they do take 
Cold Avater, seem for that short space much 

eased, 



CATILINE. 



399 



But afterward are ten times nmre afflicted. 
Wherefore, I say, let all this wicked crew 
Depart, divide themselves from good men, gather 
Their forces to one head ; as I said oft. 
Let them be sever' d from lis with a wall ; 
Let them leave off attempts upon the consul 
In his own house ; to circle in the prcstor ; 
To gird the court with weapons ; to prepare 
Fire and balls, swords, torches, svilphur, brands ; 
In short, let it be writ in each man's forehead 
What thoughts he bears the public. I here 

premise, 
Fathers conscript, to j'ou, and to myself, 
That diligence in us consuls, for my honor'd 
Colleague abroad, and for myself at home ; 
So great authority in you ; so much 
Virtue in these, the gentlemen of llonie, 
Whojn I could scarce restrain to-day in zeal 
From seeking out the parricide, to slaughter ; 
So much consent in all good men and minds, 
As on the going out of this one Catiline, 
All shall be clear, made plain, opprcss'd, rc- 

veng'd. 
And Avith this omen go, pernicious plague ! 
Out of the citj', to the wisli'd destruction 
Of thee and those, that, to the ruin of her, 
Have ta'en that bloody and black sacrament. 
Thou, Jupiter, whom we do call the Stayer 
Both of this city and this empire, wilt. 
With the same auspice thou didst raise it first, 
Drive from thy altars, and all other temples, 
And buildings of this city, from our walls, 
lives, states and fortunes of our citizens, 
This fiend, this furj', Avith his complices. 
And all th' offence of good men, these known 
Unto their country, thieves of Italy, [traitors 
Join'd in so damn'd a league of mischief, thou 
Wilt with perpetual plagues, alive and dead, 
Punish for Rome, and save her innocent head. 

Cat. If an oration, or high language, fathers. 
Could nrake mo guilty, here is one hath done it : 
Ho haf3 strove to emulate tliis morning's thunder, 
With his prodigious rhetoric. But I hope 
This senate is more grave than to give credit 
Ilashly to all he vomits, 'gainst a man 
Of your own order, a patrician. 
And one Avhose ancestors have more deserv'd 
Of Rome than this man's eloqueirce could utter, 
Turn'd the best way ; as still it is the worst. 

Cafo. His eloquence hath more deserv'd to- 
Speaking thy ill, than all thy ancestors [day, 
Did, in their good ; and that the state will find, 
Which he hath saved. 

Cut. How, he ! were I that enemy 
That he would make me, I'd not Avish the state 
iMore wretched than to need his preservation. 
What do yttu make him, Cato, such a Hercules ? 
An Atlas ? a poor petty inmate ! 

Cato. Traitor ! [Arpinum. 

Cat. He sa\'e the state ! a burgess' son of 
The gods Avould rather twenty Romcs should 

perish 
Than have that contumely stuck upon them, 
That he should share with them in the i3rcserving 
A shed, or sign-post. 

Cato. Peace, thou prodigy ! 

Cat. They AA-ould be forced themselves again, 
and lost. 
in the first ruds and indigested heap. 



Ere such a Avretched name as Cicero 
Should sound Avith theirs. 

Cafu. AAvay, thou impudent head. 

Cat. Do you all back him ? are you silent too? 
Well, I will leave you, fathers, I Avill go. 

[He turns suddenlij on ClCEKO. 
But — my fine dainty speaker 

Cic. What noAV, fury. 
Wilt thou assault me here ? 

Omnes. Help, aid the consul. [end liim ? 

Cat. See, lathers, laugh you not ? Avhothreat- 
In vain thou do&t conceive, ambitious oraior, 
Hope of so brave a death as by this hand. 

Cato. Out of the court Avith the pernicious 
traitor ! 

Cat. There is no title that this flattering senate, 
Nor honor the base multitude can give thee, 
Shall make thee Avorthy Catiline's anger. 

Cato. Stop, 
Stop that portentous mouth. • 

Cat. Or Avhen it shall, 
I'll look thee dead. 

Cato. Yf ill none restrain the monster ? 

Catu. Parricide ! 

Qui. Butcher ! traitor ! leave the senate. 

Cat. I am gone to banishment, to please you, 
Thrust headlong forth ! [fathers, 

Cato. Still dost thou murmur, monster ? 

Cat. Since I am thus put out, and mads a — 

Cic. What? 

Catu. Not guiltier than thou art. 

Cat. I will not burn 
Without my funeral pile. 

Cato. What says the fiend ? 

Cat. I Avill have matter, timber. 

Cato. Sing out, screech-OAvl. 

Cat. It shall be in 

Catu. Speak thy imperfect thoughts. 

Cat. The common fire, rather than mine own 
For fall I Avill Avith all, ere fall alone. 

[^Raslies out of the Senate. 

Cm. He's lost, there is no hope of him. 

[Aside to C-'ESAB 

Cas. Unless 
He presently take arms, and give a bloAV 
Before the consul's forces can be levied. 

Cic. AVhat is your pleasure, fathers, shall be 
done ? [loss. 

Catu. See, that the commonAvealth receive no 

Cato. Commit the care thereof unto the con- 

Cra. 'Tis time. [suls. 

Cas. And need. , [Goes aside with CiiASSUS. 

Cic. Thanks to this frequent senate. 
But AA'hat decree they unto Curius, 
And Fulvia ? 

Catu. What the consul shall think meet. 

Cic. They must receive rCAvard, though it be 
not known ; 
Lest Avhen a state needs ministers, they've none. 

Cato. Yet, Marcus Tullius, do not I believe. 
But Crassus and this Cscsar here ring holloAV. 

Cic. And Avould appear so, if that avc durst 
prove them. [that, 

Cato. Why dare Ave not ? Avhat honest act is 
The Roman senate should not dare and do ! 

Cic. Not an unprofitable dangerous act. 
To stir too many serpents up at once. 
Caesar and Crassus, if they be ill men. 
Are mighty ones ; and Ave must so provide. 



400 



CATILINE. 



That wliile we take one head from this foul 
There spring not twenty more. [liydra, 

Cato. I approve your counseh 
Cic. They shall be -watch'd and look'd to. 
Till they do 
Declare themselves, I ^Yill not put them out 
By any question. There they stand. I'll make 
Myself no enemies, nor the state no traitors. 

^Exeunt- 

SCENE III. — Catiline's House. 

Enter Catiline, Lentulus, Cethegus, Cukius, 
Gabinius, Longinus, and Statilius. 

Cat. False to ourselves ? all our designs dis- 
To this state-cat ? [cover'd 

Cet. Ay ; had I had my Avay, [senate ; 

He had mew'd in flames at home, not in the 
I had singed his furs by this time. 

Cat. Well, there's now 
No time of calling back, or standing still. 
Erieuds, be yourselves ; keep the same Roman 

hearts 
And ready minds you had j-ester-night. Pre- 
pare 
To execute what we resolv'd ; and let not 
Labor, or danger, or discovery fright you. 
I'll to the army ; you, the while, mature 
Things here at home : draw to you any aids 
That you think fit, of men of all conditions, 
Of any fortunes, that may help a war. 
I'll bleed a life, or win an empire for you. 
Within these few days look to see my ensigns 
Here, at the walls : be you but firm within. 
Mean time, to draw an envy on the consul. 
And give a less suspicion of our course, 
Let it be given out here in the city, 
That I am gone, an innocent man, to exile 
Into Massilia ; willing to give way 
To fortune and the times ; being unable 
To stand so great a faction, without troubling 
The commonwealth ; whose i^cace I rather seek, 
Than all the glory of contention. 
Or the support of mine own innocence. 
Farewell the noble Lentulus, Longinus, 
Curius, the rest ! and thou, my better genius, 
The brave Cethegus : when we meet again, 
We'll sacrifice to liberty. 

Cct. And revenge ; 
That we may praise our hands once. 

Len, ye fates, 
Give fortune now her eyes, to see with whom 
She goes along, that she may ne'er forsake him. 

Cur. He needs not her nor them. Go but on, 
Sergius : 
A valiant man is his own fate and fortime. 

Lon. The fate and fortune of us aU go with 

Gab. Sia. And ever guard him ! [him ! 

Cat. I am all your creature. [Exit. 

Len. Now, friends, 'tis left with us. I have 
already 
Dealt by Umbrenus with the AUobroges 
Here rcsiant in Kome ; whose state, I hear, 
Is discontent with the great usviries [plaints 
They are oppress' d Avith : and have made com- 
Divers unto the senate, but all vain. 
These men I have thought (both for their own 

oppressions. 
As also that by nature they're a people 



Warlike and fierce, still watching after change. 
And now in present hatred with our state,) 
The fittest, and the easiest to be drawn 
To our society, and to aid the war : 
The rather for their scat : being next borderers 
On Italy ; and that they abound with horse, 
Of which one want our camp doth only labor : 
And I have found them coming. They will 
meet [pray you 

Soon at Sempronia's house, where I would 
All to be i^rcsent, to confirm them more. 
The sight of such spirits hurts not, nor the store. 

Gab. I Avill not fail. 

Sta. Nor I. 

Cur. Nor I. 

Cet. Would I 
Had somewhat by myself apart to do ; 
I haA^e no genius to these many counsels : 
Let me kill all the senate for my share, 
I'll do it at next sitting. 

Len. Worthy Caius, 
Your presence Avill add much. 

Cet, 1 shall mar more. [Exeunt, 

SCENE IV. — The House of Brutus. 

Enter Cicero and Sanga. 

Cic. The state's beholden to you, Fabiu.s 
Sanga, 
For this great care : and those AUobroges 
Are more than wretched, if they lend a listcninj? 
To such persuasion. 

San. They, most Avorthy consul. 
As men employ' d here from a grieved state, 
Groaning beneath a multitude of Avrongs, 
And being told there was small hope of ease 
To be expected to their evils from hence, 
Were Avilling at the firist to give an ear 
To anything that sounded liberty : [reasons, 
But since, on better thoughts, and my urg'd 
They're come about, and Avon to the true side, 
The fortune of tbe commonwealth has conquer'd. 

Cic. What is that same Umbrenus was the 

San. One that hath had negociation [agent i 
In Gallia oft, and knoAvn unto their state. 

Cic. Are the ambassadors come AA'ithyou ? 

San. Yes. [honest, 

Cic. WoU, bring them in ; if they be firm and 
Never had men the means so to deserve 
Of Rome as they. [Exit Sanga.] A happy 

Avish'd occasion, 
And thrust into my hands for the discovery 
And manifest conviction of these traitors : 
Be thank'd, O Jupiter 1 

Be-cnter Sanga, with the AUobrogian Ambassa- 
dors. 

]My Avorthy lords, 
Confederates of the senate, you are Avelcomc ! 
I understand by Quintus Fabius Sanga, 
Your careful patron here, you haA^e been lately 
Solicited against the commonwealth, 
By one Umbrenus — take a seat, I pray you — 
From Publius Lentulus, to be associates 
In their intended Avar. I could advise. 
That men Avhose fortunes are yet flourishing. 
And are Rome's friends, Avould not AA'ithout a 
cause 



CATILIXE. 



401 



Eecomc her enemies ; and mix themselves 
And their estates with the lost hopes of Catiline, 
Or Lentulus, whose mere dcsjjair doth arm them : 
That were to hazard certainties for air, 
And undergo all danger for a voice. 
Believe me, friends, loud tumults are not laid 
With half the easiness that they are raised : 
All may begin a war, but few can end it. 
The senate have decreed that my colleague 
Shall lead their army against Catiline, 
And have declared both him and ISIanlius 
Metellus Celer hath already given [traitors : 
Part of their troops defeat. Honors are promised 
To all will quit them ; and rewards proposed 
Even to slaves, that can detect their courses. 
Here in the city, I have, by the prnetors 
And tribunes, placed my guards and watches so, 
That not a foot can t^ead, a breath can whisper, 
But I have knowledge. And be sure, the 
senate [ness, 

And people of Rome, of their accustom'd gi'eat- 
Will sharply and severely vindicate 
Not only any fact, but any practice [lords, 

Or purpose 'gainst the state : therefore, my 
Consult of 3'our own ways, and think which 

hand 
Is best to take. You now are present suitors 
For some redress of Avrongs : I'll undertake 
Not only that shall be assured you ; but 
What grace, or privilege else, senate or people 
Can cast upon you worthy such a service, 
As you have now the way and means to do them. 
If but j'our wills consent with my designs. 

1 Amb. We covet nothing more, most worthy 
consul. 
And howsoe'er we have been tempted lately 
To a defection, that not makes us guilty : 
We are not yet so wretched in our fortunes, 
Nor in our wills so lost, as to abandon 
A friendship, prodigally, of that price, 
As is the senate and the people of Home's, 
For hopes that do precipitate themselves. 

Cic. You then are wise and honest. Do but 

this then [rest ? 

When shall you speak with Lentulus and the 

1 A)Hb. We are to meet anon at Brutus' house. 

Cic. Who, Decius Brutus ? he is not in Home. 

San. O, but his wife Sempronia. 

Cic. You instruct me. 
She is a chief. Well, fail not you to meet them. 
And to express the best affection 
You can put on, to all that they intend. 
Like it, applaud it, give the commonwealth 
And senate lost to 'em: promise any aids 
By arms or counsel. What they can desire, 
I would have you prevent. Only say tliis. 
You have had dispatch in private by the consul, 
Of your affairs ; and for the many fears 
The state's now in, you arc will'd by him this 
evening • [means. 

To depart liome : which you, by all sought 
Will do, of reason, to decline suspicion. 
Now for the more authority of the business 
They have trusted to you, and to give it credit 
With your own state at home, you would desire 
Their letters to your senate and your people. 
Which shown, you durst engage both life and 

honov; 
The rest should every way ansvrer their hoiDes. 

26 



Those had, pretend sudden departure, you. 
And as you give me notice at what port 
You will go out, I'll have you intercepted. 
And all the letters taken with you : so 
As you shall be redeem'd in all opinions. 
And they convicted of their manifest treason. 
Ill deeds are well turn'd back upon their 

authors ; 
And 'gainst an injurer the revenge is just. 
This must be done now. ^ 

1 Amb. Cheerfully and firmly. 
We are they would rather haste to undertake it, 
Than stay to say so. 

Cic. With that confidence, go : lSO. 

Make yourselves happy while you make Home 
By Sanga let me have notice from you. 
"l Amb. Yes. [Excuni. 

SCENE V. — .1 Room in Brutus' (SEMPR0NIA'3^ 
House. 

Enter Semphonia ajicl Lentulus. 

Son. When come these creatures, the ambas- 
sadors ? 
I would fain see them. Are they any scholars .' 

Len. I think not, madam. 

Sem. Have they no Greek ? 

Len. No surely. 

Sem. Fie, what do I here waiting on 'em then. 
If they be nothing but mere statesmen ?, 

Len. Yes, 
Your ladyship shall observe their gravity, 
And their reservedness, their many cautions, 
Fitting their persons. 

Sem. I do wonder much, 
That states and commonwealths employ not 

women 
To be ambassadors, sometimes ; we should 
Do as good public service, and could make 
As honorable spies, for so Thucydidcs 
Calls all ambassadors — 

Enter Cethegus. 

Are they come, Cethegus ? 

Cet, Do you ask me ! am I your scout or 

Le7i. O, Caius, it is no such business, [bawd ? 

Cet. No ! 
What does a woman at it then ? 

Sem. Good sir. 
There are of us can be as exqiiisite traitors. 
As e'er a male-conspirator of you,all. 

Cet. Ay, at smock-treason, matron, I believe 
you; 
And if I M-cre your husband ; — but when I 
Trust to your cobweb-bosoms any other, 
Let me there die a fly, and feast you, spider. 

Len. You are too sour and harsh, Cethegus. 

Cet. Yon 
Are kind and courtly. I'd be torn in pieces, 
With wild Hippolytus, nay prove the death 
Every limb over, ere I'd trust a woman 
With wind, could I retain it. 

Sem. Sir, they'U.bo trusted 
With as good secrets yet as you liave any ; 
And carry them too as close and as conceal' d, 
As you shall for your heart. 

Cet. I'll not contend with you 
Either in tongue or carriage, good Calypso. 



402 



CATILINE. 



Enter Loxginus. 
Lon. The ambassadors are come. 
Cct. Thanks to tliee, Mercury, 
That so hast rescued me ! 

Enter Voltubtius, Statilius, and Gabinius, loith 
the AUobrogian Ambassadors. 

Len. How now, Volturtius ? 

Vol. They do desire some speech with you in 
private. 

Len. O ! 'tis about the prophecy belike, 
And promise of the Sibyls. [ He takes them apart. 

Gah. It may be. 

Sem. Shun they to treat with me too ? 

Gah. No, good lady, 
You may partake ; I have told them Avho you 
are. [here too. 

Sem. I should be loth to be left out, and 

Cet. Can these, or such, be any aids to us ? 
Look the)' as they were built to shake the world, 
Or be a moment to our entcrprize ? 
A thousand such as they are, could not make 
One atom of our souls. They should be men 
Worth heaven's fear, that looking up but thus, 
Would make Jove stand upon his guard, and draw 
Himself within liis thunder ; which, amazed. 
He should discharge in vain, and they unhurt : 
Or if they were like Capaneus at Thebes, 
They should hang dead upon the highest spires. 
And ask the second bolt to be thrown down. — 
Why, Lentiilus, talk 5'ou so long ? this time 
Had" beenenouirh to have scatter'd all the stars. 
To have quench'd the sun and moon, and made 

the world 
Despair of day, or any light but ours. [men 

Len. How do you like this spirit ? In such 
Mankind doth live : tlicj' ai'e such souls as these. 
That move the world. 

Sem. Ay, though lie bear me hard, 
I yet must do him right : he is a spirit 
Of the right Martian breed. 

1 A7nb. He is a Mars. 
Would we had time to live here, and admire him ! 

Len. Well, I do see you would prevent the 
consul, 
And I commend your care ; it was but reason. 
To ask our letters, and we had prepared them : 
Go in, and we will take an oath, and seal them. 
You shall have letters too to Catiline, 
To visit him i' the way, and to confirm 
The associatijin. This our friend, Volturtius, 
Shall go along with you. Tell our great general 
That we are ready here ; tliat Lucius Bestia, 
The tribune, is provided of a speech. 
To lay the envy of the war on Cicero ; 
That all but long for his approach and person ; 
And then you are made freemen as ourselves. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE VI. — ui Room in Cicero's House. 

Enter Cicero, Flaccus, and Pomtixius. 
Cic. I cannot fear the war. but to succeed well. 
Both for the honor of the cause, and worth 
Of him that doth command : for my colleague. 
Being so ill affected v.ith the gout, 
Will not be able to be there in person ; 
And then Petrcius, his lieutenant, must 



Of need take charge o' the army ; who is much 
The better soldier, having been a tribune, 
Prsefect, lieutenant, prajtor in the war. 
These thirty years, so conversant in the army, 
As he knows all the soldiers by their names. 

Flac. They'll fight then bravely with him. 

Pom. Ay, and he 
Will lead them on as bravely. 

Cic. They have a fee 
Will ask their braveries, whose necessities 
Will arm him like a fury : but, however, 
I'll trust it to the manage and the fortune 
Of good Petreius, Avho's a worthy patriot : 
Metellus Celer, with three legions too, 
W ill stop their course for G allia. 

Enter Fabius Sanga. 

How now, Fabius ? 
San. The train Lath taken. You must in- 
stantly 
Dispose your guards upon the Milvian bridge, 
For by that way they mean to come. 

Cic. Then thither, 
Pomtinius and Flaccus, I must pray you 
To lead that force you have, and seize them all ; 
Ijet not a person 'scape : the ambassadors 
Will yield themselves. If there be any tumult, 
I'll send you aid. [Exeunt Flaccus and Pom- 
tinius.] I, in mean time, will call 
I/cntulus to me, Gabinius, and Cethegus, 
Statilius, Ceparius, and all these, 
By several messengers : who no doubt will come 
Without sense or suspicion. Prodigal men 
Feel not their own stock wasting. When I have 

them, 
I'll place those guards upon them, that they 
start not. 
San. But what will you do with Sempronia ? 
Cic. A state's anger 
Should not take knowledge cither of fools or 

women. 
I do not know whether my joj'' or care 
Ought to be greater, that I have discover'd 
So foul a treason, or must undergo 
The envy of so many great men's fate. 
But happen what there can, I will be just ; 
M.y fortune may forsake me, not my virtue ; 
That shall go with me, and before me still. 
And glad mo doing well, though I hear ill. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE VII. — The Milvian Bridge. 

Elder Flaccus and Pomtinius, toith Guards, on 

one side, and Volturtius, icith the AUobrogian 

Ambassadors, on the other. 

Flac. Stand ! who goes there ? 

1 Amh. We are the AUobroges, 
And friends of Rome. 

Pom. If you be so, then yield 
Yourselves unto the pra3tors, who in name 
Of the whole senate, and the people of Home, 
Yet till you clear yourselves, charge you of 

practice 
Against the state. 

Vol. Die, friends ; and be not taken. 

Flac. What voice is that ? down with them all. 

1 Amb. We yield. 

Pom. What's he stands out ? Kill him there, 



CATILINE. 



403 



Vol. Hold, hold, hold. 
I yield upon conditions. 

Flac. We give none 
To traitors ; strike him down. 

Vol. My name's Volturtius, 
I know Pomtinius. 

Pom. But he knows not j^ou. 
While you stand out upon these traitorous 
terms. 

Vol, I'll yield upon the safety of my life. 

Po>7i. If it be forfeited, Ave cannot save it. 

Vol. Promise to do your best. I'm not so guilty 
As many others I can name, and will, 
If you will grant me favor. 

Pom. All we can, 
Is to deliver you to the consul. — Take him, 
And thank the Gods that thus have saved 
Rome. [Exeunt. 

CHORUS. 

Now do our ears, before our eyes. 

Like men in mists, 
Discover who'd the state surprise, 

And who resists .'' 

And as these clouds do yield to light, 

Now do we see 
Our thoughts of things, how they did fight, 

Wliich seem'd t' agree ? 

Of what strange pieces are we made, 

Who nothing know ; 
But as new airs our ears invade. 

Still censure so ? 

That now do hope and now do fear, 

And now envy ; 
And then do hate and then love dear, 

But know not why : 

Or if we do, it is so late. 

As our best mood, 
Tliough true, is then thought out of date. 

And empty of good. 

How have we changed and come about 

In every doom, 
Since wicked Catiline went out, 

And quitted Rome? 

One while we thought him innocent ; 

And then we accused 
The consul, fur his malice spent, 

And power abused. 

Since tliat we hear he is in arms. 

We think not so : 
Yet charge the consul with our harms. 

That let liirn go. 

So in our censure of the state, 

We still do wander; 
And make the careful magistrate 

The mark of slander. 

What age is this, where honest men, 

Placed at tlie helm, 
A sea of some foul mouth or pen 

Shall overwhelm ? 

And call their diligence, deceit; 

Their virtue, vice ; 
Their watchfulness, but lying in wait ; 

And blood, the price ? 

O, let us pluck this evil seed 

Out of our spirits : 
And give to eveiy noble deed 

The name it merits. 

Lest we seem fallen, if this endures. 

Into those times. 
To love disease, and brook the cures 

Worse than the crimes. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — ^TiiuRiA. The Country near 
Fesul^. 

Enter Petreius, marching, at the head of his Army . 
Pet. It is my fortune and my glory, soldiers^ 
This day, to lead you on ; the worthy consul 
Kept from the honor of it by disease : 
And I am proud to have so brave a cause 
To exercise your arms in. We not now 
Fight for how longi how broad, how great, and 

large [shall be ; 

Th' extent and bounds o' the people of Home 
But to retain what our great ancestors, 
With all their labors, counsels, arts, and actions, 
For us, were purchasing so many years. 
The quarrel is not now of fame, of tribute, 
Or of wrongs done unto confederates. 
For which the army of the jDOople of Rome 
Was wont to move : but for your own republic. 
For the raised temples of the immortal Gods, 
For all your fortunes, altars, and your fires, 
For the dear souls of your loved wives and 

children. 
Your jjarents' tombs, your rites, laws, liberty, 
And, briefly, for the safety of the world ; 
Against such men, as only by their crimes 
Are known ; thrust out by riot, Avant, or rash- 
ness. 
One sort, Sylla's old troops, left here in Fcsrdee, 
Who, suddenly made rich in those dire times. 
Are since, by their unbounded, vast expense. 
Grown ncedj^ and poor ; and have but left tc 

expect 
From Catiline new bills, and new proscriptions. 
These men, they say, are valiant : yet, I think 

them 
Not worth your pause : for either their old virtue 
Is in their sloth and pleasures lost ; or, if 
It tarry Avith them, so ill match to yours. 
As thej' are short in number or in cause. 
The second sort are of those city-beasts, 
Rather than citizens, A^•ho, AA-hilst they reach 
After our fortunes, haA'e let fly their OAA-n ; 
These Avhelm'd in wine, swell' d up Avith meats, 

and Aveaken'd 
With hourly Avhoredoms, never left the side 
Of Catiline in Rome ; nor here are loosed 
From his embraces : such as, trust me, never 
In riding or in using Avell their arms, 
Watching, or other military labor, 
Did exercise their youth ; but learn' d to loA'e, 
Drmk, dance, and sing, make feasts, and be fine 

gamesters : 
And these Avill wish more hurt to you than they 

bring you. 
The rest are a mixt kind, all sorts of furies, 
Adulterers, dicers, fencers, outlaAvs, thieves, 
The murderers of their parents, all the sink 
And plague of Italy met in one torrent, 
To take, to-day, from us the punishment. 
Due to then- mischiefs, for so many years. 
And Avho in such a cause, and 'gainst sucli 

fiends, [on. 

Would not noAV A\'ish himself all arm and Aveap- 
To cut such poisons from the earth, and let 
Their blood out to be draAvn away in clouds. 



404 



CATILINE. 



And pour'd ou some inhabitable place, 

Where the hot sun and slime breeds nought but 

monsters ? 
Chiefly "*vhen this sure joy shall crown our side, 
That the least man that falls upon our party 
This day, (as some must give their happy names 
To fate, and that eternal memory 
Of the best death, writ with it, for their country,) 
Shall walk at pleasure in the tents of rest ; 
And see far off", beneath him, all their host 
Tormented after life ; and Catiline there 
Walking a Avrotched and less ghost than he. 
I'll urge ho more : move forward with your 
eagles, [heaven. 

And trust the senate's and Rome's cause to 
Omnes. To thee, great father Mars, and great- 
er Jove ! [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — EoiiE. A Street near the Temiik 
of Concord. 

Enter Cjesxu and Crassus. 

Cces. I ever look'd for this of Lentulus, 
When Catiline was gone. 

Ci-as. I gave them lost, 
Many days since. 

Cffs. But wherefore did you bear 
Their letter to the consul, that they sent you 
To warn you from the city ? 

Cras. Did I know 
VVhethcr he made it r it might come from him. 
For aught I could assure me : if they meant 
I should be safe among so many, they might 
Have come as well as writ. 

Cas. There is no loss 
In being secure : I have of late too plied him 
Thick with intelligences, but they have been 
Of things he knew before. 

Cras. A little serves 
To keep a man upright on these state-bridges. 
Although the passage were more dangerous : 
Let us now take the standing part. 

CcBs. We must. 
And be as zealous for't as Cato. Yet, 
I would fain help these Avretched men. 

Cras. You cannot : 
Who would save them, that have betray'd 
themselves ? [Exeimt. 

SCENE III. — Cicero's House. 

Enter Cicero, Q. Cicero, and Cato. 

Cic. I will not bo wrought to it, brother Quin- 
tus. 
There's no man's private enmity shall make 
Me violate the dignity of another. 
If there were proof 'gainst Caesar, or whoever. 
To speak }iim guilty, I would so declare him. 
But Quintus Catulus and Piso both 
Shall know, the consul will not, for their grudge, 
Have any man accused or named falsely. 

Quia. Not falsely : but if any circumstance, 
By the Allobroges, or from Volturtius, 
Would carry it. 

Cic. That shall not be sought by me. 
If it reveal itself, I would not spare 
You, biother, if it pointed at you, trust me. 



Cato. Good Marcus Tullius, which is more thar 
tjrcaf, 
Thou had'st thy education with the Gods. 
Cic. Send Lentulus forth, and bring away the 
rest. 
This office I am sorry, sir, to do you. [Exeimt, 

SCENE IV. — The Temple of Concord. 

Enter Lictors, Cicero, (toith letters,} Cato, Q. 
Cicero, Cesar, Crassus, Syllanus, and other 
Senators. 

Cic. What may be -happy still and fortunate. 
To Home and to this senate ! Please you, fathers.. 
To break these letters, and to view them round. 
If that be not found in them which I fear, 
I yet entreat, at such a time as this. 
My diligence be not contemn'd. — 

[Gives the letters to the Senate. 

Enter {the Prcetors') Flaccus and Pomtinius. 

Have you brought 
The weapons hither from Cethegus' house ? 
Pr<B. They arc without. 
Cic. Be ready, with Volturtius, 
To bring him Avhen the senate calls ; and see 
None of the rest confer together. [Exeunt Pr(c- 

tors.'l — Fathers, 
What do you read ? Is it yet worth your care, 
If not your fear, what you find practised there i 
Cms. It hath a face of horror ! 
Cras. I am amazed ! 
Cato. Look there. 

Sijl. Gods ! can such men draw common air : 
Cic. Although the greatness of the mischief, 
fiithers. 
Hath often made my faith small in this senate, 
Yet since my casting Catiline out, (for now 
I do not fear the envy of the word. 
Unless the deed bo rather to be fear'd. 
That he went hence alive, when those I meant 
Should follow him did not,) I have spent botl. 

days 
And nights in watching what their fury and rage 
Was bent on, that so stay'd against my thought ; 
And that I might but take them in that light, 
Where, when you met their treason with your 

eyes. 
Your minds at length would think for your own 

safety : 
And now 'tis done. There are their hands and 

seals. 
Their persons too are safe, thanks to the Gods ! 
Bring in Volturtius and the Allobroges. 

Re-enter Praetors, with Volturtius and the Allo- 

brogian Ambassadors. 
These be the men were trusted with their letters 

Vol- Fathers, believe me, I knew nothing ; I 
Was travelling for Gallia, and am sorry 

Cic. Quake not, Volturtius ; speak the truth, 
and hope 
Well of this senate, on the consul's word. [in 

Vol. Then, I knew all : but truly, I Avas drawa 
But t'other day. 

Cxs. Say what thou know'st, and fear lot 
Thou hast the senate's faith and consul's word 
To fortify thee. 



CATILINE. 



405 



Vol. [S2}ca7cs with fears and interruptions.'] I 

■(vas sent \Yith letters 

And had a message too from Lcntulus 

To Catiline that he should nse all aids 

Servants or others and come with his army, 

As soon unto the city as he could 

For they were ready, and but stay'd for him 

To intercept those that should flee the fire : 
These men, the AUobrogcs, did hear it too. 

1 Anib. Yes, fathers, and they took an oath 
to us, 
Besides their letters, that we should be free ; 
And urged iis for some present aid of horse. 

[ The weapons and arms are brought in. 

Cic. Nay, here be other testimonies, fathers, 
Cethegus' armory. 

Cras. What, not all these ? 

Cic Here's not the hundred part. Call in 
the fencer. 
That we may know the arms to all these weapons. 

Enter Cethegus, guarded. 
Come, my brave sword-player, to what active 
Was all tliis steel i^rovided ? [use 

Cct. Had you ask'd 
In Sj^Ua's days, it had been to cut throats ; 
But now it Avas to look on only : I loved 
To see good blades, and feel their edge and points. 
To put a helm iipon a block and cleave it. 
And now and then to stab an armor through. 

Cic. Know you that paper ? tliat will stab you 
through. 
Is it your hand ? [Cethegus tears the letters] hold, 

save the pieces. Traitor, 
Hath thy guilt waked thy fury r 

Get. I did writo [tulus 

I know not what, nor care not ; that fool Len- 
Did dictate, and I, t'other fool, did sign it. 

Cic. Bring in Statilius : does he know his 
And Lentulus. [hand too ? 

Enter Statilius, and P. Lentulus, guarded. 
Reach him that letter. 

Stat. I 
Confess it all. 

Cic. Know you that seal yet, Publius ? 

Len. Yes, it is mine. 

Cic. Whose image is that on it ? 

Len. My grandfather's. 

Cic. V/hat, that renown'd good man. 
That did so only embrace his country, and loved 
His fellow citizens ! Was not his picture. 
Though mute, of power to call thee from a fact 
So foul 

Len. As what, impetuous Cicero ? 

Cic. As thou art, for I do not know Avhat's 
fouler. 
Look upon these. [Points to the Allobrogian Am- 
bassadors.] Do not these faces argue 
Thy guilt and impudence ? 

Len. What are these to me ? 
I know them not. 

1 A/nb. No, Publius ! we were with you 
At Brutus' house. 

Vol. Last night. 

Len. AVhat did you there ? 
Who sent for you ? 

1 Amb. Yourself did. We had letters 
■From you, Cethegus, this Statilius here. 



Gabinius Cimber, all but from Longiiius, 
Who would not write, because he Avas to come 
Shortly in person after us, he said. 
To take the charge of the horse, which we should 

Cic- And he is fled to Catiline, I hear. [levy. 

Len. Spies ! spies ! 

1 Amb. You told us too o' the Sibyl's books. 
And hoAV you were to be a king this year. 
The twentieth from the burning of the capitol ; 
That three Cornelii were to reign in Rome, 
Of which you were the last : and praised Cethe- 
gus, 
And the great spirits Averc Avith you in the action. 

Cef. These are your honorable ambassadors, 
My sovereign lord ! 

Cato. Peace, that too bold Cethegus. 

1 Amb. Besides Gabinius, your agent, named 
Autronius, Serviixs Sylla, Vargunteius, 
And divers others. 

Vol. I had letters from you 
To Catiline, and a message, Avhich I've told 
Unto the senate truly Avord for Avord ; 
For AA'hich I hope they Avill be gracious to me. 
I Avas drawn in by that same Avicked Cimber, 
And thought no hurt at all. 

Cic. Volturtius, peace. — 
Where is thy visor or thy voice noAv, Lentulus ? 
Art thou confounded ? Avherefore speak'st thou 

not ? 
Is all so clear, so plain, so manifest, 
That both thy eloquence and impudence, . 
And thy ill nature too, have left thee at once ? 
Take him aside. There's yet one more, Gabin- 
ius, 
The engincr of all. [Gabinius Cimber is broiighl 

in.] ShcAV him that paper, 
If he do knoAv it ? 

Gab. I knoAV nothing. 

Cic. No! 

Gab. No ; neither Avill I know. 

Cato. Impudent head ! 
Stick it into his throat ; Avere I the consul, 
I'd make thee eat the mischief thou hast vented 

Gab. Is there a laAV for't, Cato ? 

Cato. Dost thou ask 
After a law, that Avould'st have broke all laAVS 
Of nature, manhood, conscience, and leligion? 

Gab. Yes, I may ask for't. 

Cato. No, pernicious Cimber. 
The inquiring after good docs not belong 
Unto a wicked person. 

Gab. Ay, but Cato 
Does nothing but by laAV. 

Cras. Take him aside. 
There's proof enough, though he confess not. 

Gab. Stay, [you, 

I will confess. All's true your spies have told 
]\Iake much of them. 

Cet. Yes, and rcAvard them Avell, 
For fear you get no more such. See they do not 
Die in a ditch, and stinlf, noAV you have done 

Avith 'em ; 
Or beg o' the bridges here in Rome, Avhose arches 
Their active industry hath saved. 

Cic. See, fathers, 
What minds and spirits these are, that being 

convicted 
Of such a treason, and by such a cloud 
Of Avitnesscs, dare yet retain their boldness ! 



406 



CATILINE. 



What would their rage have done if they had 

conqvier'd ? 
I thought Avhen I had thrust out Catiline, 
Neither the state nor I should need to have fear'd 
Lentulus' sleep here, or Longinus' fat, 
Or this Ccthegus' rashness ; it was he 
I only watch' d, while he was in our walls, 
As one that had the brain, the hand, the heart. 
But now wo find the contrary ! where was there 
A people grieved, or a state discontent. 
Able to make or help a war 'gainst Home, 
But these, the Allobroges, and those they foiind ? 
Whom had not the just Gods been pleased to make 
I\Iorc friends unto our safety than their own. 
As it then scem'd, neglecting these men's offers, 
"Where had we been, or where the common- 
wealth ? [this man, 
When their great chief had been call'd home ; 
Their absolute king, (whose noble grand-father, 
Arm'd in pursuit of the seditious Gracchus, 
Took a brave wound for dear defence of that 
Which he would spoil,) had gather'd all his aids 
Of ruffians, slaves, and other slaughtermen, 
Given us up for murder to Cethegiis, 
The other rank of citizens to Gabinius, 
The city to be fired by Cassius, 
And Italy, nay the world, to be laid waste 
By ciirsed Catiline and his complices. 
Lay but the thought of it before you, fathers. 
Think but with me you saw this glorious city. 
The light of all the earth, tower of all nations. 
Suddenly falling in one flame ! Imagine 
You view'd your country buried with the heaps 
Of slaughter'd citizens that had no grave ; 
This Lentulus here, reigning, as he dreamt. 
And those his purple senate ; Catiline come 
With his fierce army ; and the cries of matrons. 
The flight of children, and the rape of virgins. 
Shrieks of the living, with the dying groans. 
On every side t' invade your sense ; until 
The blood of Rome were mixed with her ashes ! 
This Avas the spectacle these fiends intended 
To please their malice. 

Cet- Ay, and it would 
Have been a brave one, consvil. But your part 
Had not then been so long as now it is : 
I should have quite defeated your oration. 
And slit that fine rhetorical pipe of yours, 
Li the first scene. 

Cato. Insolent monster ! 

Clc. Fathers, 
Is it your pleasures they shall be committed 
Unto some safe, but a free custody. 
Until the senate can determine farther ? 

Omnes. It pleaseth well. 

Clc. Then, Marcus Crassus, 
Take you charge of Gabinius ; send him home 
Unto your house. You, Caesar, of Statilius. 
Cethegus shall be sent to Cornificius ; 
And Lentulus to Publius Lentulus Spinther, 
Who now is fedilc. 

Cato. It were best, the prastors 
Carried them to their houses, and deliver'd 'em. 

Clc. Let it be so. Take them from hence. 

Ctes. But first 
Let Lentulus put off his praetorship. 

Len. I do resign it here unto the senate. 
[^Exeunt Praetors and Guards, with Lentulus, 
Cethegus, Statilius, and Gabinius. 



Cces. So, now there's no offence done to re- 
ligion. 

Cato. Caesar, 'twas piously and timely urged. 

Cic. What do you decree to the Allobroges, 
That were l2re lights to this discovery r 

Cras. A free grant from the state of all their 
suits. 

Cces. And a reward out of the public treasure. 

Cato. A)% and the title of honest men, to 

Cic. What to Volturtius ? [croM'n them. 

Cces. Life and favor's well. 

Vol. I ask no more. 

Cato. Yes, yes, some money, thou necd'st it : 
'Twill keep thee honest ; want made thee a 
knave. 

%/. Let Flaccus and Pomtinius, the praetors. 
Have public thanks, and Quintus Fabius Sanga, 
For their good service. 

Cras. They deserve it all. 

Cato. But what do we decree unto the consul, 
Whose virtue, counsel, watchfulness, and wis- 
dom [tumult, 
Hath freed the commonwealth, and without a 
Slaughter, or blood, or scarce raising a force, I 
Rescued us all out of the jaws of fate ? 

Cras. We owe our lives unto him, and oui 
fortunes. 

Cces. Our wives, our children, parents and 
our Gods. 

Syl. We all are saved by his fortitude. ■t 

Cato. The commonwealth owes him a civic | 
He is the only father of his country, [garland : 

Ccps. Let there be public prayer to all the 
Made in that name for him. [Gods, 

Cras. And in these Avords : 
For that he hath, by his vigilance, preserv'd 
Rome from the fianic, the senate from the sioorcl, 
And all her citizens from massacre. 

Cic. How are my labors more than paid, grave 
fathers. 
In these great titles, and decreed honors ! 
Such as to me, first of the civil robe. 
Of any man since Rome was Rome, have hap- 
pen'd ; [me, 

And from this frequent senate : wliich more glads 
That I now see you have sense of your own 

safety. 
If those good days come no less grateful to us, 
AVherein we are preserv'd from some great dan- 
ger, [light. 
Than those wherein we're born and brought to 
Because the gladness of our safety is certam. 
But the condition of our birth not so ; 
And that we arc sav'd with jjleasure, but are born 
Without the sense of joy : why should not thea 
This day, to us, and all posterity 
Of ours, be had in equal fame and honor. 
With that Avhen Romidus first rear-'d these walls, 
When so much more is saved, than he built r 

CcBs. It ought. 

Cras. Let it be added to our Fasti. 

\_Noise withovtt 

Cic. What tumult's that ? 

Re-enter Flaccus. 
Flac. Here's one Tarquinius taken, 
Going to Catiline, and says he was sent 
By Marcus Crassus, Avhom he names to be 
Guilty of the conspiracy. 



CATILINE. 



407 



Cic. Some lying varlet. 
Take liim away to prison. 

Cras. Bring him in, 
And let me see him. 

Cic. He is ]iot Avorth it, Crassus. 
Keep him up close and hungry, till he tell 
By whose pernicious counsel he doth slander 
So great and good a citizen. 

Cras. By yours, 
I fear, 'twill prove. [Askle. 

Si/l, Some of the traitors, sure 
To give their action the more credit, bid him 
Name you, or any man. 

Cic. I know myself, 
By all the tracts and courses of this business, 
Crassus is noble, just, and loves his country. 

Flac. Here is a libel too, accusing C'aisar, 
From Lucius A'ectius, and confirmed by Curirrs. 

Cic. Away Avith all, throw it out o' the court. 

Cces. A trick on me too ! 

Cic. It is some men's malice. 
I said to Curius I did not believe him. 

Cces. Was not that Curius your spy, that had 
Howard decreed upon him the last senate, 
With Fulvia, upon yoiir private motion ? 

Cic. Yes. 

Cics. But he has not that reward yet .'' 

Cic. No. 
Let not this trouble you, Ctesar ; none believes it. 

Cces. It shall not, if that he have no roAvard : 
But if he have, sure I shall think myself 
Very untimely and unsafely honest. 
Where such as he is may have pay to accuse me. 

Cic. You shall have no Avrong done you, noble. 
But all contentment. [Csesar, 

Cces. Consul, I am silent. [Exeunt, 

SCENE V. — The Country near Fesvlje. 

Enter Catiline, xoitli his Army, 

Cat. I never yet kneAV, soldiers, that in fight 
Words added virtue unto valiant men ; 
Or that a general's oration made 
An army fall or stand : but hoAv much proAvess, 
Habitual or natural, each man's breast 
Was OAvner of, so much in act it shcAv'd. 
Whom neither glor}', or danger can excite, 
'Tis vain to attempt Avith speech ; for the mind's 

fear 
Keeps all brave sounds from entering at that ear. 
I yet Avould Avarn you some few things, my 

friends. 
And give you reason of my present counsels. 
You knoAv, no less than I, Avhat state, Avhat point 
Our affairs stand in ; and you all have heard 
What a calamitous -misery the sloth 
And sleepiness of Lentulus hath pluck'd 
Both on himself, and us ; how, Avhilst our aids 
There, in the city, look'd for, are defeated. 
Our entrance into Gallia too is stopt. 
Two armies Avait us ; one from Home, the other 
From the Gaul provinces : and where Ave are, 
Although I most desire it, the great Avant 
Of corn and victuals forbids longer stay : 
So that of need avc must remove, but Avhither, 
The SAVord must both direct, and cut the passage. 
I only therefore Avish you, Avhcn you strike. 
To have your valors and your souls about you ; 



And think you carry in your laboring hands 
The things you seek, glory, and liberty, [fates, 
Your country, Avhich you Avant noAV, Avith the 
That are to be instructed by our sAvords. 
If Ave can give the bloAV, all Avill be safe to us, 
We shall not Avant provision, nor sujjplies. 
The colonies and free tOAvns Avill lie open ; 
Where, if Ave yield to fear, expect no place, 
Nor friend, to shelter those Avhom their ovvii 

fortune. 
And ill-used arms, have left AA-ithout protection. 
You might have lived in servitude, or exile. 
Or safe at Rome, depending on the great ones ; 
But that you thought those things unfit for men ; 
And, in that thought, you then Avere valiant : 
For no man ever yet changed peace for Avar, 
But he that meant to conquer. Hold that pur- 
pose. 
There's more necessity you should be such, 
In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. 
He's base that trusts his feet, Avhoso hands are 

arm'd. 
Methinks I sec Death and the Furies Avaiting 
What Ave Avill do, and all the heaven at leisure 
For the great spectacle. UraAv then your swords j 
And if our destiny envy our virtue 
The honor of the day, yet let us care 
To sell ourselves at such a price as may 
Undo the Avorld to buy us, and make Fate, 
While she tempts ours, fear her own estate. 

\_Exeunt marching. 



SCENE YI. 



•Rome. The Temple of Jupite 
Slater. 



Enter JActors, Prajtors, (Pojitinius and Flaccus,) 
Cicero, Syllanus, Ctisaii, Cato, Crassus, 
and other Senators. 

1 Sen. What means this hasty calling of the 

senate ? 

2 San. AVe shall knoAV straight : Avait till the 

consul speaks. 
Pom. Fathers conscript, bethink you of your 

safeties. 
And AA'hat to do Avith these conspirators : 
Some of their clients, their froed-men, and 

slaves, [bawds 

'Gin to make head. There's one of Lentulus' 
Runs up and doAvn the shops, through every 

street. 
With money to corrupt the poor artificers. 
And needy tradesmen, to their aid ; Cethegus 
Hath sent too to his servants, AA'ho are many. 
Chosen and exercised in bold attemptings. 
That fortliAvith they should arm themselves and 

prove 
His rescue : all Avill be in instant uproar, 
If you prevent it not Avith present counsels. 
We ha\'e done Avhat Ave can to meet the fury. 
And Avill do more : be you good to yourselves. 

Cic. What is your pleasure, fathers, shall be 
Syllanus, you are consul next design'd ; [done : 
Your sentence of these men. 

Syl. 'Tis short, and this. [Rome 

Since they have sought to blot the name of 
Out of the Avorld, and raze this glorious empire 
With her OAvn hands and arms turn'd on herself, 
I think it fit they die : and could my breath 



408 



CATILINE. 



Now execute 'em, they should not enjoy 
An article of time, or eye of light, 
Longer to poison this our common air. 

1 Sen. I think so too. 

2 Sen. And I. 

3 Sell. And I. 

4 Sen. And I. 

Cic. Your sentence, Caius Caesar. 
Ccps. Conscript fathers, 
In great affairs, and doui)tful, it behoves 
Men that are ask'd their sentence, to be free 
From either hate or love, anger or pity : 
For where the least of these do hinder, there 
The mind not easily discerns the truth. 
I speak this to you in the name of Rome, 
For Avhom you stand ; and to the present cause : 
That this foul fact of Lentulus, and the rest, 
Weigh not more ^^■ith you than your dignity ; 
And you be more indulgent to your passion, 
Than to your honor. If there could be found 
A pain or punishment equal to their crimes, 
I would devise and help : but if the greatness 
Of what they have done exceed all man's in- 
vention, 
I think it fit to stay where our laws do. 
Poor petty states may alter upon humor, [it. 
Where, if they offend with anger, few do know 
Because they are obscure ; their fame and for- 
Is equal and the same : but they that are [tune 
Head of the world, and live in that seen height, 
All mankind knows their actions. So we see, 
The greater fortune hath the lesser license. 
They mvist not favor, hate, and least be angry ; 
For what with others is call'd anger, there 
Is cruelty and pride. I know Syllanus, 
AVlio spoke before me, a just, valiant man, 
A lover of the state, and one that would not. 
In such a business, use or grace or hatred ; 
I know too, A\'ell, his manners and his modesty ; 
Nor do I think his sentence cruel, (for 
'Gainst such delinquents what can be too 

bloody ?) 
But that it is abhorring from our state ; 
Since to a citizen of Rome offending, 
Our laws give exile, and not death. Why then 
Decrees he that ? 'twere vain to think, for fear ; 
When by the diligence of so worthy a consul, 
All is made safe and certain. Is't for punish- 
ment ? 
Why, death's the end of evils, and a rest 
Pi,ather than torment : it dissolves all griefs ; 
And beyond that, is neither care nor joy. 
You hear my sentence would not have them die. 
How then ? set free, and increase Catiline's 
army ? [fathers. 

So will they, being but banish' d. No, grave 
I judge them, first, to have their states con- 
fiscate ; 
Then, that their persons remain prisoners 
In the free towns, far off from Ilome,and sever'd ; 
Where they might neither have relation. 
Hereafter, to the senate or the people. 
Or, if they had, those towns then to be mulcted. 
As enemies to the state, that had their guard. 
Omnes. 'Tis good, and honorable, CiEsar hath 

utter'd. 
Cic. Fathers, I see j-^our faces and your,eyes 
All bent on me, to note, of these two censures. 
Which I incline to. Either of them are grave, 



And answering the dignity of the speakers. 
The greatness of the affair, and both severe. 
One urgeth death ; and he may well remember 
This state hath punish'd wicked citizens so : 
The other, bonds, and those perpetual, which 
He thinks found out for the more singulai 
plague. [consul, 

Decree v/hich you shall jilcase : you have a 
Not readier to obey, than to defend, 
Whatever you shall act for the republic ; 
And meet with willing shoulders any burden, 
Or any fortune, with an even face, 
Though it were death ; which to a valiant man 
Can never happen foul, nor to a consul 
Be immature, nor to a wise man wretched. 

Si/l. Fathers, I spake but as I thought the 
Of the commonwcaltli required. [needs 

Caio. Excuse it not. 
Cic. Cato, speak you your sentence. 
Cato. This it is. 
You here dispute on kinds of punishment, 
And stand consulting what you should decree 
'Gainst those of Avlidm you rather should be 

ware : 
This mischief is not like those common facts, 
Which when they're done, the laws may prose- 
cute ; 
But this, if you provide not ere it happen, 
When it is happen'd, will not wait your judg- 
ment. 
Good Caius Csesar here hath very well, 
And subtlely discours'd of life and death. 
As if he thought those things a pretty fable 
That are dehver'd us of hell and furies. 
Or of the divers ways that ill men go 
From good, to filthy, dark, and ugly places : 
And therefore he would have these live, and 

long too ; 
But far from Rome, and in the small free towns, 
Lest here they might have rescue : as if men 
Fit for such acts were only in the city, 
And not throughout all Italy ; or, that boldness 
Could not do more, where it found least resist- 
ance ! 
'Tis a vain counsel, if he think them dangerous : 
Which if he do not, but that he alone, 
In so great fear of all men, stand unfrighted, 
He gives me cause, and you too, more to fear 

him. 
I am plain, fathers. Here you look about 
One at another, doubting what to do, 
With faces, as you trusted to the gods, [but 
That still have saved you ; and they can do it : 
They are not wishings, or base womanish pray'rs, 
Can draw their aids ; but vigilance, counsel, 

action ; 
Which they Avill be ashamed to forsake. 
'Tis sloth they hate, and cowardice. Here you 

have 
The traitors in your houses ; yet you stand 
Fearing what to do with them ; let them loose. 
And send them hence with arms too, that your 

mercy 
ilay turn your misery, as soon as 't can ! — 
O, but they are great men, and have offended 
But through ambition ; we would spare theii 

honor. 
Ay, if themselves had spared it, or their fame, 
Or modesty, or either god or man ; 



CATILINE. 



409 



Then I would spare them. But as things now 

stand, 
Fathers, to spare these men, were to commit 
A greater wickedness than you would revenge. 
If there had been but time and place for you 
To have repair'd this fault, you should have 
made it ; [felt 

It should have been yoiir punishment, to have 
Your tardy error : but necessity 
Now bids me say, let them not live an hour, 
If you mean Rome should live a day. I have 
done. 
Oinnes. Cato hath spoken like an oracle. 
Cras. Let it bo so decreed. 
Sen. We all Avere fearful. 
Sijl. And had been base, had not his virtue 

raised us. 
Sen. Go forth, most worthy consul, well as- 
sist 5'ou. 
Cces. I am not yet changed in my sentence, 
Cato. No matter. [fathers. 

Enter a ilessenger toith letters. 
What be those ? 
1 Sen. Letters for Ctcsar ! 
Cato. From Avhom ? let them be read in open 
senate. 
Fathers, they come from the conspirators, 
I crave to have them read, for the republic. 

C(Es. Cato, read you it. 'Tis a love-letter, 
From your dear sister to mc : though j'ou hate 

me. 
Do not discover it. [Aside to Cato. 

Cato. Hold thee, drunkard. — Consul, 
Go forth, and confidently. 

Cics. You'll repent 
This rashness, Cicero. * 

Fro;. Cccsar shall repent it. 

[T/ie Prastors attempt to seize him. 
Cic. Hold, friends ! 

Fr(s. He's scarce a friend unto the public. 
Cic. No violence. Caesar, be safe. \_They all 
rise.'] — Lead on. 
^VTiere are the public executioners ? 
Bid them wait on us. On to Spinther's house. 
Bring Lentulus forth, [//e is brought out.] — 

Here, you, the sad revengers 
Of capital crimes against the public, take 
This man unto your justice ; strangle him. 
Len, Thou dost well, consul. 'Twas a cast at 
dice, 
In fortune's hand, not long since, that thyself 
Should'st have heard these, or other words as 
■ fataL [Exit Len. guarded. 

Cic. Load on to Quintus Cornificius' house. 
Bring forth Cethcgus. [He is brought out.] — 

Take him to the due 
Death that he hatu descrv'd, and let it be 
Said, he was once. 

Cet. A beast, or what is worse, 
A slave, Cethegus. Let that be the name 
For all that's base, hereafter ; that would let 
This worm pronounce on him, and not have 
trampled 

His body into Ha ! art thou not moved ? 

Cic. Justice is never angry. Take him hence. 

Cet. O, the Avhore Fortune, and her bawds 

the Fates, [way 

That put these tricks on men, Avhich knew the 



To death by a sword ! strangle me, I may sleep ; 

I shall grow angry with the gods else. 

[Exit, guarded. 
Cic. Lead 
To Caius Csesar, for Statilius. 
Bring him and rude Gabinius out. [The g are 

brought out.] — Here, take them 
To your cold hands, and let them feel death 
from you. 
Gab. 1 thank you, you do me a pleasure. 
Stat. And me too. 

[Exe. Gab. a7id Stat, guarded., 
Cato. So, Marcus TuUius, thou may'st now 
stand up. 
And call it happy Rome, thou being consul. 
Great parent of thy country ! go, and let 
The old men of the citj% ere they die. 
Kiss thee, the matrons dwell about thy neck. 
The youths and maids lay up, 'gainst they are 
old, [nephews. 

What kiird of man thou Avert, to tell their 
When, such a year, they read, Avithin our Fasti, 
Thy consulship — 

Enter Pj^treius. 

Who's this ? Petrcius ! 
Cic. AVelcome, 
Welcome, renoAvned soldier. What's the news ? 
This face can bring no ill Avith 't unto Rome 
Hovv^ does the Avorthy consul, my colleague ? 
Pet. As Avell'as A'ictory can make him, sir. 
He greets the fathers, and to me hath trusted 
The sad relation of the civil strife ; 
For, in such Avar, the conquest still is black. 
Cic. Shall Ave A^•ithdra\v into the house o? 

Concord ? 
Cato. No, happy consul ; here let all cars take 
The benefit of this tale. If he had voice 
To spread unto the poles, and strike it through 
The centre to the antipodes, it Avould ask it. 
Pet. The straits and needs of Catiline being 

such. 
As he must fight Avith one of the two armies. 
That then had ne'er inclosed him ; it pleased 

fate 
To make us the object of his desperate choice, 
Wherein the danger almost poised the honor : 
And as he rose, the day groAV black Avith him. 
And Fate descended nearer to the earth. 
As if she meant to hide the name of things 
Under her Avings, and make the Avorld her 

quarry. 
At this Ave roused, lest one small minute's stay 
Had left it to be inqiured, Avhat Rome Avas ; 
And, as Ave ought, arm'd in the confidence 
Of our great cause, in form of battle stood ; 
AVhilst Catiline came on, not Avith the face 
Of any man, but of a loublic ruin. 
His countenance Avas a ciA'il Avar itself. 
And all his host had standing in their looks' 
The paleness of the death that Avas to come , 
Yet cried they out like vultures, and urged on- 
As if they would precipitate our fates. 
Nor stay'd Ave longer for them : but himself 
Struck the first stroke ; and Avith it fled a life. 
Which cut, it seem'd a narroAV neck of land 
Had broke betAveen tAvo mighty seas, and either 
FloAv'd into other ; -for so did the slaughter; 
And Avhirl'd about, as Avhen two \-iolent tidcii 



410 



CATILINE. 



Meet, and not yield. The Furies stood on hills, 
Circlinf; the pfaco, and trembling to see men 
Do more than they ; Avhilst Piety left the field. 
Grieved for that side, that in so bad a cause 
They knew not what a crime their valor was. 
The sun stood still, and was, behind the cloud 
The battle made, seen sweating, to drive up 
His frighted horse, whom still the noise drove 

backward. 
And now had fierce Enyo, like a flame. 
Consumed all it could reach, and then itself, 
Had not the fortune of the commonwealth 
Come, Pallas-like, to every Homan thought : 
Which Catiline seeing, and that now his troops 
Cover' d that earth they had fought on, Avith 

their trunks, 
Ambitious of great fame to crown Ins ill, 
Collected all his fury, and ran in, 
Arm'd with a glory high as his despair. 
Into our battle, like a Libj-an lion 
Upon his hunters, scornful of our weapons, 
Careless of wounds, plucking down lives about 

him, 
Till he had circled in himself with death : 
Then fell he too, t' embrace it where it lay. 
And as in that rebellion 'gainst the gods, 
Minerva holding forth Medusa's head, 
One of the .giant-brethren felt liiinself 



Grow marble at the killing sight, and now 
Almost made stone, began to inquire, what flint, 
What rock it was, that crept through all his 

limbs. 
And ere he could think more, was that he fear'd ; 
So Catiline, at the sight of Rome in us, 
Became his tomb : yet did his look retain 
Some of his fierceness, and his hands still moved, 
As if he labor'd yet to grasp the state 
With those rebellious parts. 

Cato. A brave bad death ! 
Had this been honest now, and for his country, 
As 'twas against it, who had e'er fall'n greater ? 

Clc. Honor'd Petreius, Rome, not I, must 
thank you. 
How modestly has he spoken of himself! 

Cato. He did the more. 

Clc. Thanks to the immortal gods, 
Romans, I now am paid for all my labors, 
My watchings, and my dangers ! here conclude 
Your praises, triumphs, honors, and rewards. 
Decreed to me : only the memory 
Of this glad day, if I may know it live 
Within your thoughts, shall much affect my 

conscience. 
Which I mvist always study before fame. 
Though both be good, the latter yet is worst, 
jiad over is ill got, without the first. ^ExeiuU 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR, 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



John Little wir, a Proctor. 

Zeal-of-the-Land Busy, Suitor to Dame Pure- 
graft, a Banbiirij Man. 

WiNWIFE, his rival, a Ocnlleman. 

Tom Quarlous, compaition to WlNWIFE, a Game- 
ster. 

Bartholomew Cokes, an Esquire of Harrow. 

Humphrey Waspe. his Man. 

Adam Overdo, a. Justice of Peace. 

Lanxhorn Leatherhead, a Hobb\j-Horse Seller, 
(Tuyman). 

Ezechiel, Edgworth, a Cutpursc. 

Nightingale, a Ballad-Singer. 

Mooncalf, Tapster to Ursula. 

Dan. Jordan KNOCKEl\I,a Horse-Courser, and a Ran- 
ger of Turnbull. 

Val. Cutting, a Roarer, or Bully. 

Captain Whit, a Bated. 

Trouble-all, a Madman. 



IValchmen. 



Door-keepers to the Puppet- Shoil}. 



Bristle, 

Haggise. 

Pochv:r, a Beadle. 

Filcher, I 

Sharkwell, [ 

Solomon, Littlewit's Man. 

Northern, a Clothier, (a jSTorthcrn Man). 

Puppy, a Wrestler, (a Ifestern Man). 

Win-the-Figiit Littlevvit. 

Dame Purecraft, her Mother, and a Widow. 

Dame Overdo. 

Grace Wellborn, Ward to JyisWcc Overdo. 

Joan Trash, a Gingerbread- Woman. 

Ursula, a Pig-Woman. 

Alice, Mistress o' the Game. 

Costard-Monger, Mousetrap-Man, Corn-Cutter, Watcli. 
Porters, Puppets, Passengers', Mob, Boys &c 



PROLOGUE. 



TO THE KINO 3 MAJESTY. 



I'our Majesty is toelcome to a Fair ; 

Such place, such men, such language, and sicch 

ware 
You must expect : with these, the zealous noise 
Of your land' s faction, scandalized at toys, 
As babies, hobby-horses, 2n(ppet-2)lays, 
And such like rage, lohcreof the petulant xoays 



Yourself have known, and have been vext mth 

long. 
These for your sport, without particular wrong. 
Or just complaint of any private man, 
Who of himself, or shall think 70ell, or can, 
The tnaker doth present : and hopies, to-night 
To give you for a fairing, true delight. 



THE INDUCTION. 



THE STAGE. 

Enter the Stage-keeper. 

Stage. Gentlemen, have a little patience, they 
are e'en upon coming, instantlj-. He that should 
begin the play, master Littlcwit, the proctor, 
has a stitch new fallen in his black silk stocking ; 
'twill be drawn up ere you can tell twenty : he 
plays one o* the Arches that dwells about the 
hospital, and he has a very pretty part. But for 
the whole play, will you have the truth on't ? — I 
am looking, lest the poet hear me, or his man, 
master Brome, behind the arras — it is like to be 
a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English. 
Whou't comes to the Fair once, you were e'en as 
good go to Virginia, for anything there is of 
Smithiield. He has not hit the humors, he does 
not know them : he has not conversed with the 
Bartholomew birds, as they say ; he has ne'er a 
sword and buckler-man in his Fair ; nor a little 
Davy, to take toll o' the bawds there, as in my 
time ; nor a Kindheart, if any body's teeth should 
chance to ache in his play ; nor a juggler with a 
well-educated ape, to come over the chain for a 



king of England, and back again for the iDrince, 
and sit still on his arse for the pope and the king 
of Sj)ain. None of these fine sights ! Nor has he 
the canvas-cut in the night, for a hobby-horse- 
man to creep into his she-neighbor, and take his 
leap there. Nothing ! No : an some writer that 
I know had had but the jjenning o' this matter, 
he Avould have made you such a jig-a-jog in the 
booths, you should have thought an earthquake 
had been in the Fair ! But these master poets, 
they -N^-ill have their own absurd com-ses ; they 
will be informed of nothing. He has (sir rev- 
erence) kick'd me three or four times about the 
tiring-house, I thank him, for but offering to put 
in Avith my experience. I'll be judged by you, 
gentlemen, now, but for one conceit of mine : 
would not a fine pomp upon the stage have done 
well, for a property now ? and a punk set under 
upon her head, with lier stern upv^ard, and have 
been soused by my witty young masters o' the 
Inns of Court ? What think you of this for a 
show, now ? he will not hear 6' this ! I am an 
ass ! I ! and yet I kept the stage in mastei 
Tarleton's time, I thank my stars. Ho ! an 
that man had lived to have played in Bar- 

411 



412 



bae,tholo:mew fair. 



tholomcw Fair, you should have seen him have 
come in, and have been cozcn'd in the cloth- 
quarter, so finely ! and Adams, the rogue, have 
leaped and cajDcred upon him, and have dealt 
his vermin about, as though they had cost him 
nothin"' ! and then a substantial watch to have 
Btolcn fn upon them, and taken them away, with 
mistaking words, as the fashion is in the stage- 
practice. 

Eater the Bookholder xvith a Scrivener. 

Booli. How now ! what rare discourse are you 
fallen vipon, ha ? have you found any familiars 
here, that you are so free ! what's the business ? 

Stage. Nothing, but the understanding gentle- 
men o' the ground here ask'd my judgment. 

Book. Your judgment, rascal ! for what ? 
sweeping the stage, or gathering up the broken 
apples for the bears within ? Away, rogue, it's 
come to a fine degree in these spectacles, 
when such a youth as you pretend to a judg- 
ment. [Exit Stage-Keeper.] — And yet he may, 
in the most of this matter, i' faith : for the au- 
thor has writ it just to his meridian, and the 
scale of the grounded judgments here, his play- 
fellows in wit. — Gentlemen, [comes forward] not 
for want of a prologue, but by way of a new one, 
I am sent out to you here, with a scrivener, and 
certain articles drawn out in haste between our 
author and you ; which if you please to hear, 
and as they appear reasonable, to approve of; 
the play will follow presently. — Head, scribe ; 
give me the counterpane. 

Scriv. Articles of agreement, indented, betioeen 
the spectators or hearers, at the Hojw on the Bank- 
side in the coiintg of Surry, on the one party ; and 
the author of Bartholomew Fair, in the said place 
and county, on the other iiarty : the one and thir- 
tieth day o/' October, 1614, and in the twelfth year 
of the reign of our sovereign lord, James, by the 
grace of God, king of England, France, and Ire- 
land, defendsr of the faith ; and of Scotland the 
seven and fortieth. 

Imprimis. li is covenanted and agreed, by and 
between the parties aforesaid, and the said specta- 
tors and hearers, as well the curious and envious, 
as the favoring and judicious, as also the gt'ounded 
judgments and understandings, do for tliemselves 
severally covenant and agree to remain in the 
places their money or friends have put them in, 
with patience, for the space of tico hours and an half, 
and somewhat more. In which time the author 
promiseth to present them by us, ivith a new sufficient 
play, called Bartholomew Fair, merry, and as full 
of noise, as sport : made to delight all, and to offend 
none ; provided they have either the wit or the hon- 
esty to think tcell of themselves. 

It is further agreed, that every jierson here have 
Ms or t/ieir free-ioiU of cciisure, to like or dislike 
at theiy own cJiarge, the autlior having noio departed 
with his right : it shall be lawful for any man to 
judge his sixpen' ivorth, his twelve-pen' worth, so to 
his eighteen-pence, two shillings, half a crown, to 
the value of his p)lace ; prooided always his place 
get not above his wit. And if he 2^ail fir half a 
dozen, he may censure for all them too, so that he 
will undertake that they shall be silent. He shall 
put in for censures here, as they da fir lots at the 
lottery : marry, if he drop but six 2^ence at the door. 



and will censure a crown' s-xoorth , it is thought t'wrc 
is no conscience or justice in that. 

It is also agreed, that every man here exercise 
his own judgment, and not censure by contagion, or 
upon trust, from another's voice or face, that sits 
by him, be he never so first in the Commission of 
ivit ; as also, that he bo fixed and settled in his 
censure that what he approves or not approves 
to-day, he will do the same to-morrow ; and if to- 
morroio, the next day, and so the next week, if 
need be : and iwt to be brought about by any that 
sits on the bench loith him, though they indite and 
arraign 2}la.ys daily. He that icill swear, Jeron- 
imo or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall 
jMss unoxcepted at here, as a man tohose judgment 
shows it is constant, and hath stood still these fve- 
and-tioenty or thirty years. TJwugh it be an igno- 
rance it is a virtuous and staid ignorance ; and 
next to truth, a confirmed error does toell ; such a 
one the author knows where to find him. 

It is further covenanted, concluded, and agreed. 
That how great soever the expectation be, no pcr- 
son here is to expect more than he knoics, or better 
ware than a fair icill afford : neither to look back 
to the sword and buckler age of Smithfeld, bxtt 
content himself ivith the jvesent. Instead of a little 
Davy, to take toll o' the baiods, tlie author doth 
^promise a strutting horse- cotirser, with a her drunk- 
ard, two or three to attend him, in as good equipage 
as you would tvish. And then for Kindheart the 
tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman ivith her tap- 
ster, to bid you loelcome, and a consort of roarers 
for musick. A loise justice of peace meditant, in- 
stead of a juggler toith an cyje. A civil cutpurse 
searchant, A sweet singer of neio ballads allur- 
ant : and as fresh an hypom-ite, as ever teas broaclied, 
rampant. If tJiere be never a servant-monster in 
tJiefair, who can help it, he says, nor a nest of an- 
tiques ? he is loth to make nature afraid in his 
plays, like those that beget tales, tempests, and such 
like drolleries, to mix his head icith other men's 
heels ; let the concupiscence cf jigs and dances reign 
as strong as it will amongst you : yet if the piuppets 
will please any body, tliey shall be intreated to 
come in. 

In consideraii'M of which, it is finally agreed, 
by the aforesaid Iiearers and spectators. That they 
neither in themselves conceal, nor- suffer by them to 
be concealed, any state-decypherer, or 2>olitic pick- 
lock of tlie scene, so solemnly ridiculous, as to search 
out, who was meant by the gingerbread-woman, 
who by the Iwbby-horso man, who by the costard- 
monger, nay, who by their loai'cs. Or that ioill 
2n'etend to affirm on his oicn inspired ignorance, 
ichat Mirror of Magistrates is meant by the justice, 
what great lady by the 2ng-woman, what concealed 
states7nan by the seller of mousetraps, and so of the 
rest. But that such 2}erson, or p/et'sons, so found, be 
left discovered to the mercy of the autlior, as a for- 
feiture to the stage, and your laughter aforesaid. 
As also such as shall so desperately, or ambitiously 
play the fool by Ids place aforesaid, to challenge the 
author of scurrility , because the langua.ge somewhere 
savors of Smithfeld, the booth, and the 2^igbroth, 
cr of jvofcmencss, because a madman cries, God 
c[uit you, or bless you ! In ivitncss wliereof, as 
you have ]yre2)osterously put to your seals cdready, 
lohich is your money, you to ill noio add the other 
2Mrt of ouffrage, yo-ur handi, Thj} play shall pres ■ 



BAETHOLOMEW FAIH. 



413 



enthj begin. And though the Fair bs not hcpt in 
the same region that some here, ^Krhaps, tooiild have 
it ; yet think, that therein the author hath observed 
a s])ecial dccormn, the place being as dirty as Sinith- 
Jield, and as stinking every xohit, 

Hoiosocvcr, he 2nvys you to believe, his loare is 
still the same, else you will ntake him justly suspect 
that he that is so loth to look on a baby or an hobby- 
horse here, toould be glad to take up a, commodity of 
them, at any laughter or loss in another place. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT I. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Littleavit's House. 

Enter Little-\vit, icith a licohein his hand. 
Lit. A prettjr conceit, and -worth the finding ! 
I have such luck to spin out these fine things 
Btill, and, Hke a silk-worm, out of my self. 
Here's master Bartholomew Cokea, of Harrow 
o' the Hill, in the county of Middlesex, esquire, 
takes forth his license to marry mistress Grace 
Wellborn, of the said place and county : and 
when docs he take it forth ? to-day ! the four 
and twentieth of August ! Bartholomew-day ! 
Bartholomew upon Bartholomew ! there's the 
device ! who would have marked such a leap- 
frog chr.ncc now ! A very less than ames- 

ace, on two dice ! Well, go thy ways, John Lit- 
tlewit, jaroctor John littlewit : one of the pretty 
wits of Paul's, the Littlewit of London, so thou 
art called, and something beside. When a quirk 
or a quiblin does 'scape thee, and thou dost not 
watch and apprehend it, and bring it afore the 
constable of conceit, (there now, I speak quib 
too,) let them carry thee out o' the archdeacon's 
court into his kitchen, and make a Jack of thee, 
instead of a Jolm. There I am. again la ! — 

Enter Mrs. Littlewit. 
Win, good-morrow. Win ; ay, marry, Win) now 
you look finely indeed, Win ! this cap does con- 
vince ! You'd not have worn it. Win, nor have 
had it velvet, but a rough country beaver, with 
a copper band, like the coney-skin woman of 
Budge-row ; sweet Win, let me kiss it ! And 
iicr fine high shoes, like the Spanish lady ! Good 
Win, go a little,! would fain see thee pace, pretty 
Win ; by th's fine cap, I could never leave kiss- 
ing on't. 

Mrs. Lit. Come indeed la, vou are such a fool 
still ! 

Lit. No, but half a one. Win, you are the 
t'other half: man and wife make one fool, AVin. 
Good ! Is there the proctor, or doctor indeed, 
in the diocese, that ever had the fortune to win 
him such a Win ! There I am again ! I do feel 
conceits coming upon me, more than I am able 
to turn tongue to. A pox o' these pretenders to 
wit ! your Three Cranes, Mitre and Mermaid 
men ! not a corn of true salt, not a grain of right 
mustard amongst them all. Thej^ may stand for 
places, or so, again the next wit-fall, and pay 
two-pence in a quart more for their canary than 
other men. But give me the man can start up 
a justice of wit out of six shillings beer, and 
give the law to all the poets and poet-suckers in 
tov/n : — because they are the player's gossips ! 



'Slid ! other men have A\-ives as fine as the play- 
ers, and as well drest. Come hither. Win ! 

[Kisses her. 

Enter Winwife. 

Wimv. Why, how now, master Littlewit i 
measuring of liiJS, or moulding of kisses ? which 
is it? 

Lit. Troth, I am a little taken with my Win's 
dressing here : does it not fine, master Winwife ? 
How do you apprehend, sir ? she would not have 
worn this habit. I challenge all Cheapside to 
shcAv such another : Moor-fields, Pimlico-path, 
or the Exchange, in a summer evening, with a 
lace to boot, as this has. Dear Win, let master 
Winwife kiss you. He comes a wooing to our 
mother. Win, and may be our- father perhaps, 
Win. There's no harm in him. Win. 

Winio. None in the earth, master Littlewit. 

[Kisses her. 

Lit. I envy no man my delicatcs, sir. 

Winic. Alas, you have the garden Avhere they 
grow still ! A wife here A^'ith a strawberry 
breath, cherry-lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft 
velvet head, like a mclicotton. 

Lit. Good, i'faith ! now dulness upon me, that 
I had not that before him, tliat I should not 
light on't as well as he ! velvet head ! 

Winw. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends 
to fruit of a later kind ; the sober matron, your 
wife's mother. 

Lit. Ay, we know you are a suitor, sir ; Win 
and I both wish you well : Ey this license here, 
would you had her, that your two names were 
as fast in it as here are a couple ! Win would 
fain have a fine young father i' law, with a 
feather ; that her mother might hood it and 
chain it witl-i mistress Overdo. But you do not 
take the right course, master Winwife. 

Winie. No, master Littlewit, why ? 

Lit. You are not mad enough. 

Wimv. How ! is madness a right course ? 

Lit. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You 
have a friend, one master Quaiious, comes here 
sometimes. 

Winn: Why, he makes no love to her, does 
he? 

Lit. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I as- 
sure you : but 

Winio. What? 

Lit. He is the more mad- cap of the two. You 
do not apprehend me. 

Mrs. Lit, You have a hot coal in your mouth, 
now, you cannot hold. 

Lit. Let me out with it, dear Win. 

Mrs. Lit. I'll tell him myself. 

Lit. Do, and take all the thanks, and much 
good do thy pretty heart. Win. 

Mrs. Lit. Sir, my mother has had her nativ- 
ity-water cast lately by the cunning-men in 
Cow-lane, and they have told her her fortune, 
and do ensure her, she shall never have happy 
hour, unless she marry within this sen' night; 
and when it is, it must be a madman, they say. 

Lit. Ay, but it must be a gentleman madman. 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, so the t'other man of Moor- 
fields says. 

Winw. But does she believe them ? 

Lit. Yes, and has been at Bedlam twice sineo 



414 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



every day, to inquire if any gentleman be there, 
or to come there mad. 

IVinw. Why, this is a confederacy, a mere 
piece of practice upon lier by these impostors. 

LU. I tell her so ; or else, say I, that they 
mean some young madcap gentleman ; for the 
devil can equivocate as well as a shop keeper : 
and therefore would I advise you to be a little 
madder than Master Quarlous hereafter. 
Winw. Where is she, stirring yet ? 

Lit. Stirring ! yes, and studying an old elder 
come from Banbury, a suitor that piits in here 
at meal tide, to praise the painful brethren, or 
pray that the sweet singers may be restored ; 
says a grace as long as his breath lasts him ! 
Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it 
gets quite out of him, and then my mother, or 
Win; are fain to fetch it again with malmsey or 
aqua cojlestis. 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, indeed, we have such a tedious 
life with him for his diet, and his clothes too ! he 
breaks his buttons, and cracks seams at every 
Baying he sobs out. 

Lit. He cannot abide my vocation, he says. 

Mrs. Lit. No ; he told my mother, a proctor 
was a claw of the beast, and that she had little 
less than committed abomination in marrying 
me so as she has done. 

Lit. Every line, he says, that a proctor writes, 
when it comes to be read in the bishop's court, 
is a long black hair, kemb'd out of the tail of 
Antichrist. 

Winio. When came this proselyte ? 

Lit. Some three daj^s since. 

Enter Quaulous. 

Qtiar. O sir, have you ta'en soil here ? It's 
well a man may reach you after three hours' 
running yet ! What an unmerciful companion 
art thou, to quit thy lodging at such ungentle- 
manly hours ! none but a scattered covey of 
lidlers, or one of these rag-rakers in dunghills, 
or sorae marrow-bone man at most, Avould have 
been up when thou wert gone abroad, by all 
description. I pray thee what ailest thou, thou 
canst not sleep ? hast thou thorns in thy eye- 
lids, or thistles in thy bed ? 

Winw. I cannot tell : it seems you had neither 
in j'our feet, that took this pain to find me. 

Quar. No, an I had, all the lime hounds o' the 
city should have drawn after you by the scent 
rather. Master John Littlewit ! God save you, 
sir. 'Twas a hot night with some of us, last 
night, John : shall we pluck a hair of the same 
•A^olf to-day, proctor John ? 

Lit. Do you remember, master Quarlous, what 
we discoursed on last night ? 

Quar. Not I, John, nothing that I either dis- 
course or do ; at those times I forfeit all to for- 
getfulness. 

Lit. No ! not concerning Win ? look you, there 
she is, and drest, as I told you she should be : 
hark you, sir, [lohispers him.] had you forgot ? 

Quar. By this head I'll beware how I keep 
you company, John, when I [am] drunk, an you 
have this dangerous memory : that's certain. 

Lit. Why, sir ? 

Quar. Why ! we were all a little stained last 
night, sprinkled with a cup or two, and I agreed 



with proctor John here, to come and do some- 
what Avith AVin (I know not what 'twas) to-day ; 
and he puts me in mind on't now ; he says he 
was coming to fetch me. Before truth, if you 
have that fearful quahty, John, to remember 
when you are sober, John, what you promise 
drunk, John ; I sh«ll take heed of you, John. 
For this once I am content to Avink at you. 
Where's your wife ? come hither, Win. 

[Kisses her. 

Mrs. Lit. Why, John ! do you see this, John ? 
look you ! help me, John. 

Lit. O Win, he, what do you mean. Win ? be 
womanly. Win ; make an outcry to your mother. 
Win ! master Quarlous is an honest gentleman, 
and our worshipful good friend, Win ; and he is 
master Winwife's friend too : and master Win- 
wife comes a suitor to your mother. Win ; as I 
told you before, Win, and may perhaps be out 
fathe^-, Win : they'll do you no harm, Win ; 
they are both our worshipful good friends. 
^Master Quarlous ! you must know master Quar- 
lous, Win ; you must not quarrel with mastei 
Quarlous, Win. 

Quar. No, we'll kiss again, and fall in. 

[Kisses her again. 

Lit. Yes, do, good Win, 

Mrs. Lit. In faith you are a fool, John. 

Lit. A fool-John, she calls me ; do you mark 
that, gentlemen : pretty Littlewit of velvet ! a 
fool-John. 

Quar. Slie may call you an apple- John, if you 
use this. [jdsiVfe.] [A'j'mcs Jier again. 

Winw, Pray thee forbear, for my respect, some- 
what. 

Quar. Hoy-day ! how respective you are be- 
come o' the sudden ? I fear this family Avill turn 
you reformed too ; pray you come about again. 
Because she is in possibiUty to be your daugh- 
ter-in-law, and may ask 5'ou blessing here- 
after, when she courts it to Totenham to eat 
creain ! Well, I will forbear, sir ; but i'faith, 
would thou wouldst leave thy exercise of widow- 
hunting once ; this drawing after an old rev- 
erend smock by the splay-foot ! There cannot 
be an ancient tripe or trillibub in the town, but 
thou art straight nosing it, and 'tis a line occupa- 
tion thou'lt confine thyself to, Avhen thou hast 
got one ; scrubbing a piece of buff, as if thou 
hadst the perpetuity of Pannier-ally to stink in ; 
or joerhaps worse, currying a carcass that thou 
hast bound thyself to alive. I'll be sworn, some 
of them that thou art, or hast been suitor to, are 
so old, as no chaste or married pleasure can ever 
become them ; the honest instrument of procre- 
ation has forty years since left to belong to them ; 
thou must visit them as thou wouldst do a tomb, 
with a torch or three handfuls of link,* flaming 
hot, and so thou may'st hap to make them feel 
thee and after come to inherit according to thy 
inches. A sweet course for a man to waste the 
brand of life for, to be still raking himself a for- 
tune in an old woman's embers ! AVe shall 
have thee, after thou hast been but a month mar- 
ried to one of them, look like the quartan ague 
and the black jaundice met in a face, and walk 
as if thou hadst borrow'd legs of a spinner, and 
voice of a cricket. I would endure to hear fif- 
teen sermons a week for her, and such coarse 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



415 



and loud ones, as some of them must be ! 1 
would e'en desire of fate, I might dwell in a 
drum, and take in my sustenance with an old 
broken tobacco-pipe and a straw. Dost thou 
e\er think to bring thine cars or stomach to the 
patience of a dry grace, as long as thy table- 
cloth ; aud droned out by thy son here (that 
mii^ht be thy father) till all the meat on tlry board 
has forgot it was that day in the kitchen ? or to 
brook the noise made in a question of predes- 
tination, by the good laborers and painful eaters 
assembled together, put to them by the matron 
your spouse ; who moderates witli a cup of wine, 
ever and anon, and a sentence out of Knox be- 
tween ? Or the perpetual spitting before and 
after a sober-drawn exhortation of six hours, 
whose better part was the hum-ha-hum ? or to 
hear prayers, groaned out over thy iron chests, 
as if they wore charms to break tliera ? And all 
this for the hope of two apostle-spoons, to suf- 
fer ! and a cup to eat a caudle in ! for that will 
be tliy legacy. She'll have convey'd her state 
safe enough from thee, an she be a right widow. 

Wimo. Alas, I am quite off that scent now. 

Quar. How so ? 

Wiiiio. Put off by a brother of Banbury, one 
that, tliey saj, is come here, and governs all al- 
ready. 

Quar. What do 5'ou call him ? I knew divers 
of those Banburians when I was in Oxford. 

fVi/uo. Master Littlewit can tell us. 

Lit. Sir ! — Good Win go in, and if master 
Bartholomew Cokes, his man, come for the li- 
cense, (the little old fellow,) let him sj^eak with 
me. [Exit Mrs. Littlewit.] — What say you, 
gentlemen ? 

Wimo. What call you the reverend elder you 
told me of, your Banbury man ? 

Lit. Rabbi Busj'-, sir; he is more than an el- 
der, he is a prophet, sir. 

Quar. O, I know him ! a baker, is he not ? 

Lit. He was a baker, sir, but he does dream 
now, and see visions ; he lias given over his 
trade, 

Qnar. I remember that too ; out of a scruple 
he took, that, in spiced conscience, those cakes 
he made, were served to bridals, may-poles, 
morrices, and such profane feasts and meetings. 
His christian-name is Zeal-of-the-land. 

Lit. Yes, sir ; Zcal-of-the -land Busy. 

Wimo. How ! what a name's there ! 

Lit. they have all such namos, sir ; he was 
witness for Win here, — they will not be call'd 
godfathers — and named her Win-thc- fight : you 
thought her name had been Winnifred, did you 
not? 

Winw. I did indeed. 

Lit. He wotdd have thought liinisolf a stark 
reprobate, if it had. 

Quar. Ay, for there was a blue-starch woman 
of the name at the same time. A notable hyp- 
ocritical vermin it is ; I know him. One that 
stands upon his face, more than liis faith, at all 
times : ever in seditious motion, and reproving 
for vain-glory ; of a most lunatic conscience and 
spleen, and affects the violence of singularity in 
all he does : he has undone a grocer here, in 
Newgate-market, that broke with him, trusted 
him with currants, as arrant a zeal as he, that's 



by the way : — By his profession he will ever he 
in the state of innocence though, and childhood • 
derides all antiquity, defies any other learning 
than inspiration ; and what discretion soever 
years should afford him, it is all prevented in his 
original ignorance : have not to do with him, 
for he is a fellow of a most arrogant and invin- 
cible dulness, I assure you. — Who is this ? 

Re-enter Mrs. Littlewit with Waspb. 

Waspe. By your leave, gentlemen, with all my 
heart to you ; and God give you good morrow ! — 
master Littlewit, my business is to you : is this 
license ready ? 

Lit. Here I have it for you in my hand, mas- 
ter Humphrey. 

Wasjyo- That's well : na^f, never open or read 
it to me, it's labor in vain, you kno.w. I am no 
clerk, I scorn to be saved by ray book, i'faith, 
I'll hang first ; fold it up on your word, and 
give it me. What must you have for it ? 

Lit. We'll talk of that anon, master Hum- 
phrey, 

Waspe. Now, or not at all, good master Proc- 
tor ; I am for no anons, I assure you. 

Lit. Sweet Win, bid Solomon send mcthe lit- 
tle black-box within in my study. 

Waspe. Ay, quickly, good mistress, I pray you ; 
for I have both eggs on the spit, and iron in the 
fire. [Exit Mrs. Littlewit.] — Say what you 
must have, good master Littlewit. 

Lit. Why, you know the price, mastCi- Nuinps, 

Waspe. I know ! I know nothing, I : what 
tell you me of knowing ? Now I am in haste, 
sir, I do not know, and I will not know, and I 
scorn to know, and yet, now I think on't, I will, 
and do know as well as another ; you must have 
a mark for your thing here, and eight-pence for 
the Dox ; I could have saved two-pence in that 
an I had bought it myself ; but here's fourteen 
shillings for you. Good Lord, how long youi 
little M'ife staj's ! pray God, Solomon, your clerk, 
be not looking in the wrong box, master proctor. 

Lit. Good i' faith ! no, 1 warrant you Solomon 
is wiser than so, sir. 

V/aspe. Fie, fie, fie, by your leave, master Lit- 
tlewit, this is scurvy, idle, foolish, and abomi- 
nable, with all my heart ; I do not like it. 

\Walks aside. 

Wimo. Do you hear ! Jack Littlewit,. what 
business does thy ijretty head think this fellow 
may have, that he keeps such a coil with ? 

Quar. More than buying of gingerbread in 
the cloister here, for that we allow him, or a gilt 
pouch in the fair ? 

Lit. Master Quarlous, do not mistake him ; he 
is his master's both-hands, I assure you. 

Quar. What ! to pull on his boots a mornings, 
or his stockings, does he ? 

Lit. Sir, if you have a mind to mock him 
mock him softly, and look t'other way : for if 
he apprehend you flout him once, he will fly at 
you presently. A terrible tcstj" old fellow, and 
his name is Waspe too. 

Quar. Pretty insect ! make much on him. 

Waspe. A plague o' this box, and the pox too, 
and on him that made it, and her that went for't, 
and all that should have sought it, sent it, 01 
brought it ! do you see, sir. 



416 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



Lit. Nay, good master Waspe. 

Waspe. Good master Hornet, t — in your teeth, 
hold you your tongue : do not I know you ? 
your father was a 'pothocarj^ and sold clysters, 
more than he gave, I wusse : and t — in your 
little wife's teeth too — hero she comes — 

Re-enter ^Irs. LixxLEvriT, xvith the box. 
'twill make her spit, as fine as she is, for all her 
relvet custard on her head, sir. 
Lit. 0, be civil, master Numps. 

Waspe. Why, say I have a humor not to be 
civil ; how then ? who shall compel me, jom ? 

Lit. Here is the box now. 

Waspe. Why, a pox o' your box, once again ! 
let j'our little wife stale in it, an she will. Sir, 
I would have jow to understand, and these gen- 
tlemen too, if they please 

Wimo. With all our hearts, sir. 

Was2)e. That I have a charge, gentlemen. 
Lit. They do apprehend, sir. 

Was2)e. Pardon me, sir, neither they nor you 
can apprehend me yet. You are an ass. — I 
have a young master, he is now upon his making 
and marring ; the whole care of his Avell- doing 
is now mine. His foolish schoolmasters have 
done nothing but run up and down the country 
with him to beg puddings and cake -bread of his 
tenants, and almost spoiled him ; he haslearn'd 
nothing but to sing catches, and repeat Battle 
bladder, rattle ! and O Madr/e .' I dare not let him 
walk alone, for fear of learning of vile tunes, 
which he will sing at supper, and in the sermon- 
times ! If he meet but a carman in the street, 
and I find him not tallc to keep him oS on him, 
he will Nvhistle him and all his tunes over at 
night in his sleep ! He has a head full of bees ! 
I am fain now, for this little time I am absent, 
to leave him in charge with a gentlewoman : 
'tis true she is a justice of peace his wife, and a 
gentlewoman of the hood, and his natural sister ; 
but what may happen under a woman's govern- 
ment, there's the doubt. Gentlemen, you do 
not know him ; he is another manner of piece 
than you think for : but nineteen years old, and 
yet he is taller than either of you by the head, 
God bless him ! 

Quar. Well, methinks this is a fine fellow. 

Wtmv. He has made his master a finer by this 
descrijition, I should think. 

Quar. 'Faith, much about one, it is cross and 
pile, whether for a new farthing. 

Waspe. I'll tell you, gentlemen 

Lit. Will't please you drink, master Waspe? 

Waspe. Why, I have not talke'd so long to be 
dry, sir. You see no dust or cobwebs come out 
o' my mouth, do you ? you'd have me gone, 
would you ? 

Lit. No, but you were in haste e'en now, mas- 
ter Numps. 

Waspe. What an I v>-erc ! so I am still, and 
yet I will stay too ; meddle you with your 
match, your Win there, she has as little Avit as 
her husband, it seems : I have others to talk to. 

Lit. She's my matcli indeed, and as little wit 
as I, good"'! 

Waspe. We have beea but a day and a half in 
town, gentlemen, 'tis true ; and yesterday in the 
afternoon we walked London to shew the citv 



to the gentlewoman he shall marry, mistresd 
Grace; b^^t afo);e I will endure such another 
half day with him, I'll be drawn with a good 
gib-cat, through the great pond at home, as his 
uncle Hodge was. Why, we could not meet 
that heathen thing all the daj^, but staid him ; 
he woirld name you all the signs over, as he 
went, aloiid : and where he spied a parrot or a 
monkey, there he was pitched, with all the little 
long coats about him, male and female ; no get- 
ting him away ! I thought he would have run 
mad o' the black boy in Bucklersbury, that takes 
the scurvy, roguy tobacco thei'c. 

Lit. You say true, master Numps ; there's 
such a one indeed. 

Waspe. It's no matter whether there be or no, 
what's that to you ? 

Quar. He will not allow of John's reading at 
any hand. 

Enter Cokes, Mistress Overdo, and Grace. 

Cokes. O Numps ! are you here, Numps r 
look where I am, Numps, and mistress Grace 
too ! Na}', do not look angerly, Numps : my 
sister is here and all, I do not come without her. 

Waspe. What the mischief do you come with 
her ; or she with you ? 

Cokes. We came all to seek you, Numps. 

Waspe. To seek me ! why, did you all think 
I was lost, or run away with your fourteen shil- 
lings worth of small ware here ? or that I had 
changed it in the fait for hobby-horses ? S'prc- 
cious to seek me ! 

Mrs. Over. Nay, good master Numps, do you 
show discretion, though he be exorbitant, as 
master Overdo says, and it be but for conserva- 
tion of the peace. 

IVaspe. Marry gip, goody She-justice, mistress 
Fronchhood ! t — in your teeth, and t — in your 
Frenchhood's teeth too, to do you service, do 
you see ! Must you quote your Adam to me ! 
you think you are madam Regent still, mistress 
Overdo, when I am in place ; no such matter, I 
assure you, your reign is out, when I am in, 
dame. 

Mrs. Over. I am content to be in abeyance, 
sir, and be governed by you ; so should he too, 
if he did well ; but 'twill be expected you should 
also govern your passions. 

Was2)e. Will it so, forsooth ! good Lord, how 
sharp you are, with being at Bedlam yesterday ! 
Whetstone has set an edge upon you, has he ? 

Mrs. Over. Nay, if you know not what be- 
longs to your dignity, I do yet to mine. 

Waspe. Very well then. 

Cokes, Is this the license, Numps ? for love's 
sake let me sce't ; I never saw a license. 

Waspe. Did you not so ? Vidiy, you shall not 
sec't then. 

Cokes. An you love me, good Numps. 

Waspe, Sir, I love you, and yet I do not love 
you in these fooleries : set j^our heart at rest, 
there's nothing in it but hard words ; — and what 
would you see it for ? 

Cokes. 1 would see the length and the breadth 
on't, that's all ; and I will see it now, so I will, 

Waspe. You shall not see it here. 

Cokes. Then I'll see it at home, and I'll look 
upon the case here. 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



417 



Was2)e- Why, do so ; a man must give way to 
him a little in trifles, gentlemen. These are 
errors, diseases of youtl. ; which he will mend 
when he comes to judgment and knowledge of 
matters. I pray you conceive so, and I thank 
you : and I pray you pardon him, and I thank 
you again. 

Qiiar. Well, this dry niu-se, I say still, is a 
delicate man. 

Mrs. Lit. And I am, for the cosset his charge : 
ciid you ever see a fellow's face more accuse him 
for an ass ? 

Queer. Accuse him ! it confesses him one with- 
out accusing. Wiiat pity 'tis yonder wench 
should marry such a Cokes ! 

Wimc. 'Tis true. 

Qtiar. She seems to be discreet, and as sober 
as she is handsome. 

Wiiiiv. Ay, and if you mark her, what a 
restrained scorn she casts upon all his behavior 
and speeches ? 

Cokes. Well, Numps, I am now for another 
piece of business more, the Fair, Numps, and 
then 

Waspe. Bless me ! deliver me ! help, hold 
me ! the Fair ! 

Cokes. Nay, never fidge up and down, Numps, 
and vex itself. I am resolute Bartholomew in 
this ; I'll make no suit on't to you ; 'twas all 
the end of my journey indeed, to shew mistress 
Grace my Fair. I call it my Fau-, because of 
Bartholomew : you know my name is Bartholo- 
mew, and Bartholomew Fair. 

Lit. That was mine afore, gentlemen; this 
morning. I had that, i'faith, upon his license, 
believe me, there he comes after me. 

Quar. Come, John, this ambitious wit of yours, 
I am afraid, will do you no good in the end. 

Lit. No ! Avhy, sir ? 

Quar. You grow so insolent with it, and over- 
doing, John, that if you look not to it, and tie it 
up, it will bring you to some obscure place in 
time, and there 'twill leave j'ou. 

Winw. Do not trust it too much, John, be 
more sparing, and use it but now and then ; a 
wit is a dangerous thing in this age ; do not 
over-buy it. 

Lit. Think you so, gentlemen ? I'll take heed 
on't hereafter. 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, do, John. 

Cokes. A pretty little soul, this same mistress 
Littlewit, would I might marrj- her ! 

Grace. So would I ; or any body else, so I 
might scape you. [Aside. 

Cokes. Numps, I will see it, Numps, 'tis de- 
creed : ■ never be melancholy for the matter. 

Waspe. Why, see it, sir, sec it, do, see it : who 
hinders you ? why do you not go see it ? 'slid 
see it. 

Cokes. The Fair, Numps, the Fair. 

Waspe. Would the Fair, and all the drums 
and rattles in it, were in your belly for me ! they 
are already in your brain. He that had the 
means to travel j'our head now, should meet 
finer sights than any are in the Fair, and make 
a finer voyage on't ; to see it all hung with 
cockle shells, pebbles, fine wheat straws, and 
here and there a chicken's feather, and a cobweb. 

Quar. Good faith, he looks, mcthinks, an you 
27 



mark him, like one that were made to catch flies, 
with his sir Cranion-legs. 

Winw. And his Numps, to flap them away. 

Waspe. God be wi' you, sir, there's your bee 
in a box, and much good do't you. 

[Giees Cokes the box. 

Cokes. Why, your friend, and Bartholomew ; 
an you be so contumacious. 

Quar. What mean you, Numps ? 

[ Takes Waspe aside as he is going out. 

Waspe. I'll not be guilty, I, gentlemen. 

Over. You will not let him go, brother, and 
lose him ? 

Cokes. Who can hold that will away ? I had 
rather lose him than the Fair, I wusse. 

Waspe. You do not know the inconvenience, 
gentlemen, you persuade to, nor Avhat trouble I 
have with him in these humors. If he go to the 
Fair, he will buy of every thing to a baby there ; 
and household stuff for that too. If a leg or an 
arm on him did not grow on, he A^'ould lose it in 
the press. Pray heaven I bring him off with one 
stone ! And then he is such a ravener after fruit ! 
— you will not believe what a coil I had t'other 
day to compound a business between a Cather'- 
nepear woman, and him, about snatching : 'tis 
intolerable, gentlemen. 

Winio. O, but you must not leave him now to 
these hazards, Numps. 

Waspe. Nay he knows too well I will not leave 
him, and that makes him presume : Well, sir, 
will you go now ? if you hare such an itch in 
your feet, to foot it to the Fair, why do you stop, 
am I [o'J j'our tarriers ? go, will you go, sir ? 
why do you not go ? 

Cokes. O Numps, have I brought you about ? 
come mistress Grace, and sister, I am resolute 
Bat, i'faith, still. 

Gra. Trul}-, I have no such fanc)' to the Fair, 
nor ambition to see it ; there's none goes thither 
of any quality or fashion. 

Cokes. O Lord, sir ! you shall pardon me, mis- 
tress Grace, we are enoAV of ourselves to make it 
a fashion ; and for qualities, let Numps alone, 
he'll find qualities. 

Quar. What a rogue in apprehension is this, 
to understand her language no better ! 

Winw. Ay, and offer to marry her ! Well, I 
will leave the chase of my widow for to-day, and 
directly to the Fair. These Hies cannot, this hot 
season, but engender us excellent creeping sport. 

Quar. A man that has but a spoonful of brain 
would think so. — Farewell, John. 

[Exeunt Quarlous and Winwife. 
Lit. Win, you see 'tis in fashion to go to the 
Fair, Win , Ave must to the Fair too, you and I, 
Win. I have an affair in the Fair, Win, a puppet- 
plaj" of mine own rnaking, say nothing, that I 
writ for the motion-man, Avhich you must sec, 
Win. 

3L's. Lit. I would I might, John ; but my 
mother will never consent to such a profane 
motion, she will call it. 

Lit. Tut, we'll have a device, a dainty one : 
Now Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit come, eome 
good Wit, an it be thy will ! I have it, Win, I 
have it, i'faith, and 'tis a fine one. Win, long to 
eat of a pig, sweet Win, in the Fair, do you see, 
in the^heart of the Fair, not at Pye-corncr, Your 



418 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



mothor will do any thing. Win, to satisfy your 
longing, you know ; pray thee long presently ; 
ancf be^sick o' the sudden, good Win. I'll go in 
and toll her ; cut thy lace in the mean time, and 
play the hypocrite, sweet Win. 

Mrs. I./U. No, I'll not make me unready for it : 
I can be hypocrite enough, though I were never 
so strait-laced. 

Lit. You say true, you have been bred in the 
family, and brought up to't. Our mother is a 
most elect hypocrite, and has maintained us all 
this seven year with it, like gentlefolks. 

Mrs. Lit. Ay, let her alone, John, she is not a 
wise wilful widow for nothing ; nor a sanctified 
sister for a song. And let me alone too, I have 
somewhat of the mother in me, you shall see : 
fetch her, fetch her — {Exit Littlewit.] Ah ! 

{Seems to sivoon. 

Re-enter Littlewit ivith Dame Purecraft. 

Pare. Now, the blaze of the beauteous disci- 
pline, fright away this evil from our house ! how 
now, Win-the-light, child ! how do you ? sweet 
child, speak to mc, 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, forsooth. 

Pure. Look up, sweet Win-thc-fight, and 
suffer not the enemy to enter you at this 
door, remember that your education has been 
with the purest : What polluted one was it, 
that named first the unclean beast, pig, to vou, 
child ? 

Mrs. Lit. Uh, uh ! 

Lit. Not I, on my sincerity, mother ? she 
longed above three hours ere she would let me 
Know it. — Who was it. Win ? 

Mrs. Lit. A profane black thing with a beard, 
John. 

Pure. O, resist it, Win-the-fight, it is the 
tempter, the wicked tempter, you may know it hj 
the fleshly motion of pig ; be strong against it, 
and its foul temptations, in these assaults, where- 
by it broacheth flesh and blood, as it were on the 
weaker side ; and pray against its carnal provo- 
cations ; good child, sweet child, pray. 

Lit. Good mother, I pray you, that she may 
eat some pig, and her belly full too ; and do not 
you cast away your own child, and perhaps one 
of mine, with your tale of the tempter. How 
do you do, Win, are you not sick ? 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal, John, uh, uh ! 

Pure. V/hat shall we do ? Call our zealous 
brother Busy hither, for his faithful fortification 
in this charge of the adversary. \ Exit Little- 
wit.] Child, my dear child, you sliall eat pig ; 
be comforted, my sweet child. 

Mrs. Lit. A.y, but in the Fair, mother. 

Pure. I mean in the Fair, if it can be any way 
made or found lawful. — 

Re-enter LixiXEwrr. 
Where is our brother Busy ? will ho not come ? 
Look up, child. 

Lit. Presently, mother, as soon as he has 
cleansed his board. I found him fast by the 
teeth in the cold turkey-pie in the cupboard, 
•with a great white loaf on his left hand, and a 
glass of malmsey on his right. 

Pure. Slander not tl c brethren, wicked one. 

Lit. Here he is now, purified, mother. • 



Enter Zeal-of-the-land Busy. 

Pure. O brother Busy ! your help here, to 
edify and raise us up in a scruple : my daughter 
Win-the-fight is visited with a natural disease 
of women, called a longing to eat pig. 

Lit. Ay sir, a Bartholomew pig ; and in the 
Fair. 

Pure. And I would be satisfied from you, re- 
ligiously-wise, w'hether a widow of the sanctified 
assembl)', or a widow's daughter, may commit 
the act ^yithout offence to the weaker sisters. 

Busy. Verily, for the disease of longing, it is 
a disease, a carnal disease, or appetite, incident 
to women ; and as it is carnal and incident, it is 
natural, very natural : now pig, it is a meat, and 
a meat that is nourishing and may be longed for^ 
and so consequently eaten ; it may be eaten ; 
very exceeding well eaten ; but in the Fair, and 
as a Bartholomew pig, it cannot be eaten ; for 
the very calling it a Bartholomev.^ pig, and to 
eat it so, is a spice of idolatry, and you make 
the Fair no better than one of the high-places. 
This, I take it, is the state of the question : a 
high-place. 

Lit. Ay, but in state of necessity, place should 
give place, master Busy. I have a conceit 
left yet. 

Pure. Good brother Zeal-of-the-land, think to 
make it as lawful as you can. 

Lit. Yes, sir, and as soon as you can ; for it 
must be, sir : you see the danger my little wife 
is in, sir. 

Pure. Truly, I do love my child dearly, and I 
would not have her miscarry, or hazard her first- 
fruits, if it might be otherwise. 

Busy. Surely, it niay be otherwise, but it is 
subject to construction, subject, and hath a face 
of offence with the weak, a great face, a foul 
face ; but that face may have a veil put over it, 
and be shadowed as it wore ; it may be eaten, 
and in the Fair, I take it, in a booth, the tents 
of the wicked : the place is not much, not very 
much, yvc maj'- be religious in the midst of the 
profane, so it be eaten with a reformed mouth, 
with sobriety and humbleness ; not gorged in 
with gluttony or greediness, there's the fear : 
for, should she go there, as taking pride in the 
place, or delight in the unclean dressing, to feed 
the vanity of the eye, or lust of the palate, it 
were not well, it were not fit, it were abomina- 
ble, and not good. 

Lit. Nay, 1 knew that afore, and told her on't ; 
but courage. Win, we'll bo humble enough, 
we'll seek out the homeliest booth in the Fair, 
that's certain ; rather than fail, we'll eat it on 
the ground.. 

Pure. Ay, and I'll go with j-ou myself, Win- 
the-fight, and my brother Zeal-of-the-land shall 
go with us too, for our better consolation. 

Mrs. Lit. Uh, uh ! 

Lit. Ay, and Solomon too, AVin, the more 
the merrier. Win, we'll leave Rabbi Busy in a 
booth. [Aside to Mrs. Lit.] — Solomon ! my cloak 

Enter Solomox with the ctoak. 
Sol. Here, sir. 

Busy. In the way of comfort to the Avcak, I will 
go and eat. I will eat exceedingly, and proph- 



BARTIIOLOilEW FAIR. 



419 



esy ; there may be a good iise made of it too, 
now I think, on't : by the public eating of swine's 
flesh, to profess our hate and loathing of Juda- 
ism, whereof the brethren stand tax'd. I will 
therefore cat, yea, I will eat exceedingly. 

Lit. Good, i'faith, I Avill eat heartily too, bo- 
cause I will be no Jew, I coiild never away with 
that stiff-necked generation : and truly, I hope 
my little one will be like me, that cries for pig 
60 in the mother's belly. 

Busy. Very likely, exceeding likely, very ex- 
ceeding likel)'. [Exeunt. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Tho Fair. 

A number of Booths, Stalls. &c. set uxit. 
Laxtuoun Leatherhead, Joan Trash, and 

others, sitting by their loares. 
Enter Justice Overdo, at a distance, in disguise. 
Over. Well, in justice name, and the king's, 
and for the commonwealth ! defy all the world, 
Adam Overdo, for a disguise, and all story ; for 
thou hast fitted thyself, I swear. Fain Avould I 
meet the Linceus now, that eagle's eye, that 
piercing Epidaurian serpent (as my Quintus 
Horace calls him) that could discover a justice 
of peace (and lately of the Quorum) under this 
covering. They maj' have seen many a fool in 
the habit of a justice ; but never till now, a jus- 
tice in the habit of a fool. Thus must we do 
though, that wake for the public good ; and thus 
hath the wise magistrate done in all ages. There 
is a doing of right out of wrong, if the way be 
found. Never shall I enough commend a worthy 
worshipful man, sometime a capital member of 
this city, for his high wisdom in this point, who 
would take you now the habit of a porter, now 
of a carman, now of the dog-killer, in this month 
of August ; and in the winter, of a seller of 
tinder-boxes. And what would he do in all 
these shapes ? marry, go you into every ale- 
house, and down into every cellar ; measure the 
length of puddings ; take the gage of black pots 
and cans, ay, and custards, with a stick ; and 
their circumference with a thread ; weigh the 
loaves of bread on hi^ middle finger ; then would 
he send for them home ; give the puddings to 
the poor, the bread to the hungry, the custards 
to his children ; break the pots, and burn the 
cans himself: he would not trust his corrupt 
ofRcors, he would do it himself. Would all men 
in authority would follow this worthy prece- 
dent ! for alas, as wo are public persons, what 
do we know ? nay, what can we know ? we hear 
with other men's ears, we see with other men's 
eyes. A foolish constable or a sleepy watch- 
man, is all our information ; he slanders a gen- 
tleman by the virtue of his place, as he calls it, 
and we, by the vice of ours, must believe him. 
As, a while agone, they made me, yea me, to 
mistake an honest zealous pursuivant for a 
seminary ; and a proper young bachelor of 
musick, for a bawd. This we are subject to that 
live in high place ; all our intelligence is idle, 
and most of our intelligencers knaves ; and, by 
jo\ir leave, ourselves thought little better, if not 



arrant fools, for believing them. I, Adam Over- 
do, am resolved therefore to spare spy-money 
hereafter, and make mine own discoveries. Many 
are the yearly enormities of this Fair, in Avliose 
courts of Pie-poudres I have had the honor, 
during the three days, sometimes to sit as judge. 
But this is the special day for detection of those 
foresaid enormities. Here is my black book for 
the puri:)ose ; this the cloud that hides nie; un- 
der this covert I shall see and not be seen. On, 
Junius Brutus. And as I began, so I'll end; 
in justice name, and the king's, and for the com- 
monwealth ! 

[Advances to the Booths, and stands aside. 

Leath. The Fair's pestilence dead methinks ; 
people come not abroad to-day, whatever the 
matter is. Do you hear, sister Trash, lady of 
the basket ? sit farther with your gingerbread 
progeny there, and hinder not the prospect of 
my shop, or I'll have it proclaimed in the Fair, 
what stuff they are made on. 

Trash. Why, •Avhat stuff are they made on, 
brother Leatherhead ? nothing but what's whole- 
some, I assure you. 

Leath. Yes, stale bread, rotten eggs, musty 
ginger, and dead honey, you know. 

Over, Ay ! have I met with enormity so soon ? 

[Aside. 

Leath. I shall mar your market, old Joan. 

Trash. Mar my market, thou too-proud ped- 
lar ! do thy worst, I defy thee, I, and thy stable 
of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well 
as thou dost : and thou wrong'st mo, for all thou 
art parcel-poet, and an inginer, I'll find a friend 
shall right mc, and make a ballad of thee, and 
thy cattle all over. Are you puft up with the 
pride of j'our wares ? your arsedine ? 

Leath. Go to, old Joan, I'll talk with you 
anon; and take you down too, afore justice 
Overdo : he is the man must charm you, I'll 
have j'ou in the Pie-poudres. 

Trash. Charm me ! I'll meet thee face to face, 
afore his worship, when thou darest : and though 
I be a little crooked o' my body, I shall be found 
as upright in my dealing as any Avoman in 
Smithfield, I ; charm me ! 

Over. I am glad to hear my name is their 

terror yet, this is doing of justice. [Aside, 

[A number of Peojile pass over the Stage. 

Leath. What do you lack ? what is't you buy ? 
Avhat do you lack : rattles, drums, halberts, 
horses, babies o' the best, fiddles of the finest ? 

Enter Costard-monger, followed hy Nightingale. 
Cost. Buy any pears, pears, fine, very fine pears ! 
Trash. Buy any gingerbread, gilt gingerbread ! 
Night. Hey, [Sings. 

Now tlie Fair's a filling ! 

O, for a tune to startle 

Tlie birds o' the booths here billing, 

Yearly with old saint Bartle ! 

Tlie drunkards they are wadin^, 

Tlie punks and chapmen trading ; 

Who'd see the Fair without his lading.'' 

Buy any ballads, new ballads ? 

Enter Ursula, from her Booth. 
JJrs. Fie upon't : who would wear out their 
youth and prime thus, in roasting of pigs, that 



120 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



had any cooler vocation ? hell's a kuid of cold 
cellar to"t, a very fine vault, o' ray conscience ! 

- What, Mooncalf ! 

Moo)i. [icithln.] Here, mistress. 

Night. How now Ursula ? in a heat, in a heat ? 

TJrs. My chair, you false faucet you ; and my 
inorning's draught, quicklj', a bottle of ale, to 
quench me, rascal. I am all fire and fat. Night- 
ingale, I shall e'en melt away to the first wo- 
man, a rib again, I am afraid. I do water the 
ground in knots, as I go, like a great garden 
pot ; you may follow me by the SS. I make. 

Night. Alas, good Urse ! was Zekicl here this 
morning ? 

Urs. Zekiel ? what Zekiel ? 

Night. Zekiel Edgworth, the civil cutpurse ; 
you know him well enough ; he that talks 
bawdy to you still : I call him my secretary. 

Urs. He promised to be her« this morning, I 
remember. 

Night. When he comes, bid him stay : I'll be 
back again presently. 

Urs. Best take your morning dew in your 
belly. Nightingale. — 

Enter Mooxcalf, loith the Chair. 
Come sir, set it here ; did not I bid you should 
get a chair let out o' the sides for me, that my 
liips might play ? you'll never think of anything, 
tiU your dame be rump-gall'd ; 'tis well, change- 
ling : becaxise it can take in your grasshopper's 
thighs, you care for no more. Now, you look 
as you had been in the corner of the booth, 
fleaing vour breech with a candle's end, and set 
fire o' the Fair. Fill, Stote, fill. 

Over. This pig-woman do I know, and I will 
put her in, for my second enormity ; she hath 
been before me, punk, pinnace, and bawd, any 
time these two and twenty years upon record 
in the Pie-poudrcs. [Aside. 

Urs. Fill again, you unlucky vermin ! 
Moon. 'Pray you be not angry, mistress, I'll 
have it widen'd anon. 

Ui-s. No, no, I shall e'en dwindle away to't, 
ere the Fair be done, you think, now you have 
heated me : a poor vex'd thing I am, I feel my- 
self dropping already as fast as I can ; two stone 
o' suet a day is my proportion. I can but hold 
life and soul together, with this, (here's to you, 
Nightingale,) and a whiif of tobacco at most. 
Where's my pipe now ? not fiU'd ! thou arrant 
incubcc. 

Night. Nay, Ursula, thou'lt gall between the 
tongue and the teeth, with fretting, now. 

Urs. How can I hope that ever he'll discharge 
Ms place of trust, tapster, a man of reckoning 
under me, that remembers nothing I say to him ? 
\Exit Night.] but look to't sirrah, you. were 
best. Three-pence a pipe full, I will have made, 
of all my "whole half-pound of tobacco, and a 
quarter of pound of colts-foot mixt with it too, 
to [eke] it out. I that have dealt so long in the 
fire, will not be to seek in smoke, now. Then 
six and twenty shillings a barrel I will advance 
on my beer, and fifty shillings a hundred on my 
bottle ale ; I have told you the ways how to 
raise it. Froth your cans well in the filling, at 
length, rog\ie, and jog your bottles o' the but- 
tock, sirrah, then skink out the first glass ever, 



and drink with all companies, though you be 
sure to be drunk ; you'll misreckon the better, 
and be less ashamed on't. But your true trick, 
rascal, must be, to be ever busy, and mistake 
away the bottles and cans, in haste, before they 
be half drunk off", and never hear any body call, 
(if they should chance to mark you,) till you 
have brought fresh, and be able to forswear 
them. Give me a drink of ale. 

Over. This is the very Avomb and bed of enor- 
mity ! gross as herself ! this must all down for 
enormity, all, every A^'hit on't, [Aside. 

[Knocking loithin. 

Urs. Look who's there, sirrah : five shilliTigs 
a pig is my price, at least ; if it be a sow pig, 
sixpence more ; if she be a great-bellied wife, 
and long for't, sixpence more for that. 

Over. O temporal O mores! I would not have 
lost my discovery of this one grievance, for my 
place, and worship o' the bench. IIow is the 
poor subject abused here ! Well, I will fall in 
with her, and with her ilooncalf, and win out 
wonders of enormity. [Cotnes forward.'\ — By 
thy leave, goodly woman, and the fatness of the 
Fair, oily as the king's constable's lamp, and 
shining as his shooing-horn ! hath thy ale virtue, 
or thy beer strength, that the tongue of man 
may he tickled, and his palate pleased in the 
morning? Lot thy pretty nepliew here go 
search and see. 

Urs. What new roarer is this ? 

Moon. Lord ! do you not know him, mis- 
tress ? 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes 
the orations. — Brave master, old Arthur of 
Bradley, how do you ? welcome to the Fair ! 
when shall we hear you again, to handle your 
matters, with, your back against a booth, ha ? 
I have been one of your little disciples, in my 
days. 

Over. Let me drink, boy, with my love, thy 
aunt, here ; that I may be eloquent : but of thy 
best, lest it be bitter in my mouth, and my 
words fall foul on the Fair. 

Urs. Why dost thou not fetch him drink, and 
off'er him to sit ? 

Moon. Is it ale or beer, master Arthur ? 

Over. Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best ; the 
same thy dove drinketh, and thou drawcst on 
holydays. 

Urs. Bring him a sixpenny bottle of ale : they 
say, a fool's handsel is lucky. 

Over. Bring both, child. [Sits dmvn in the 
booth.] Ale for Arthur, and 13eer for Bradley. 
Ale for thine aunt, boy. [Exit Moox.] — My 
disguise takes to the very wish and reach of it. 
I shall, by the benefit of this, discover enough, 
and more : and yet get off Avith the reputation 
of what I would be : a certain middling thing, 
between a fool and a madman. [Aside. 

Enter Knockeji. 

Knock. What ! my little lean Ursula ! my 
she-bear ! art thou alive yet, with thy litter of 
pigs to grunt out another Bartholomew Fair ? ha 

Urs. Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair 
is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the 
heavy hill 

Knock. Of Holbourn, Ursula, meanst thou so ' 
for what, for -what, pretty Urse ? 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



421 



Urse. For cutting halfpenny purses, or steal- 
ing little penny dogs out o' the Fair. 

Knock. O ! good words, good words, Urse. 

Oue): Another special enormity. A cutpurse 
of the sword, the boot, and the feather ! those 
are his marks. [Aside. 

Re-enter Mooncalf, loith the ale, S^c. 

Urs. You are one of those horse-leaches that 
gave out I was dead, in Turnbull-street, of a 
Burfoit of bottle-ale and tripes ? 

Knock. No, 'twas better meat, Urse : cows 
udders, cows udders ! 

Urs. Well, I shall be meet with your mum- 
bling mouth one day. 

Knock. What ! thou'lt poison me with a newt 
in a bottle of ale, wilt thou ? or a spider in a 
tobacco-pipe, Urse r Come, there's no malice in 
these fat folks, I never fear thee, as I can scape 
thy lean Mooncalf here. Let's drink it out, 
good Urse, and no vapors ! [Exit Uesula. 

Over. Dost thou hear, boy ? There's for thy 
ale, and the remnant for thee. — Speak in thy 
faith of a faucet, now ; is this goodly person 
before us here, this A'apors, a knight of the 
knife ? 

Moon. What mean you bv that, master Ar- 
thur ? 

Over. I mean a child of the horn-thumb, a 
babe of booty, boy, a cutpurse. 

Moon. O Lord, sir ! far from it. This is mas- 
ter Daniel Knockem Jordan : the ranger of Turn- 
bull. He is a horse-courser, sir. 

Over. Thy dainty dame, though, call'd him 
cutpurse. 

Moon. Like enough, sir ; she'll do forty such 
things in an hour (an you listen to her) for her 
recreation, if the toy take her in the greasy ker- 
chief : it makes her fat, you see ; she battens 
with it. 

Over. Here I might have been deceived now, 
and have put a fool's blot upon myself, if I had 
not played an after game of discretion ! [Aside. 

Re-enter Ursula, dro2Jping. 

Knock. Alas, poor Urse ! this is an ill season 
for thee. 

Urs. Hang yourself, hackney-man ! 

Knock. How, how, Urse ! vapors ? motion 
breed vapors ? 

Urs. Vapors ! never tusk, nor twirl your dib- 
ble, good Jordan, I know what you'll take to a 
very drop. Though you be captain of the roar- 
ers, and fight well at the case of piss-pots, you 
shall not fright me with your lion-chap, sir, nor 
your tusks ; you angry ! you are hungry. Come, 
a pig's head will stop your mouth, and stay your 
Btomach at all times. 

Knock. Thou art such another mad, merrj- 
Urse, still ! troth I do make conscience of vexing 
thee, now in the dog-days, this hot weather, for 
fear of foundering thee in the body, and melting 
down a pillar of the Fair. Pray thee take thy 
chair again, and keej) state ; and let's have a 
fresh bottle of ale, and a pipe of tobacco ; and 
no vapors. I'll have this belly o' thine taken 
up, and thy grass scoured, wench. — 



Enter Edgworth. 
Look, here's Ezekiel Edgworth ; a fine boy of 
his inches, as any is in the Fair ! has still money 
in his purse, and will pay all, with a kind heart, 
and good vapors. 

Ed(]. That I will indeed, willingly, master 
Knockem ; fetch some ale and tobacco. 

[Exit Moon. — Peojjle cross the stagCs 

LeatJi. What do you lack, gentlemen .'' maid, 
see a line hobby-horse for your young master ; 
cost you but a token a-week his provender. 

Re-enter Nightingale, with Corn-cutter, and 
Mousetrap-man. 

Corn. Have you any corns in your feet and 
toes ? 

Mouse. Buy a mousetraji, a mousetrap, or a 
tormentor for a flea ? 

Trash. Buy some gingerbread ? 

Night. Ballads, ballads ! fine new ballads: 
Hear for your love, and buy for your money. 
A delicate ballad o' the ferret and the coney. 
A ^preservative again the 2^unk's evil. 
Another of goose-green starch, and the devil. 
A dozen of divine points, and the godly garters : 
TJie fairing of good counsel, of an ell and three, 

quarters. 
What is't you buy ? 

The windmill blown doicn by the witcK s fart. 
Or saint George, that,, O! did break the dragon's 
heart. 

Re-enter Mooncalf, tvith ale and tobacco. 

Edg. Master Nightingale, come hither, leave 
your mart a little. 

Night. O my secretary ! what says my secre- 
tary ? [They walk into the booth. 

Over. Child of the bottles, what's he ? what's 
he? [Poi?its to 'Edgworth. 

Moon. A civil young gentleman, master Ar- 
thur, that keeps company with the roarers, and 
disburses all still. He has ever money in his 
purse ; he pays for them, and they roar for him ; 
one does good offices for another. They call 
him the secretar}-, but he serves nobody. A 
great friend of the ballad-man's, they are never 
asunder. 

Over. What pity 'tis, so civil a j'oung man 
should haunt this debauched company r here's 
the bane of the youth of our time apparent. A 
proper penman, I see't in his countenance, he 
has a good clerk's look with him, and I warrant 
him a quick hand. 

Moon. A very quick hand, sir. [Exit. 

Edg. [Whispering with l>imnTi'!iGA.-L-E and Ub- 
SULA.] All the purses, and purchase, I give you 
to-day by conveyance, bring hither to Ursula's 
presentl5^ Here we will meet at night in her 
lodge, and share. Look you choose good places 
for your standing in the Fair, when you sing. 
Nightingale. 

Urs. Ay, near the fullest passages ; and shift 
them often. 

Edg. And in yoxLV singing, you must use your 
hawk's eye nimbly, and fly the purse to a mark 
still, where 'tis worn, and on which side ; that 



422 



BARTHOLOMEW FAJU. 



you may give me the sign with your licak, or 
hang your head that way in the tune. 

Urs'. Enough, talk no more on't : your friend- 
shijj, masters, is not now to begin. Drink your 
draught of indenture, your sup of covenant, and 
aM-ay : the Fair fills apace, company begins to 
come in, and I have ne'er a pig ready yet. 

Knock. Well said ! fill the cups, and light the 
tobacco : lets give fire in the works, and noble 
vapors. 

Edrj. And shall we have smocks, Ursula, and 
good whimsies, ha ! 

Urs. Come, you are in your bawdy vein ! — 
the best the Fair will afford, Zekiel, if bawd 
Whit keep his word. — 

Re-enter MooxcALF. 
How do the pigs, Mooncalf? 

Moon. Very passionate, mistress, one of 'em 
has wept out an eye. Master Arthur o' Bradley 
is melancholy here, nobody talks to him. Will 
you any tobacco, master Arthur ? 

Over. No, boy ; let my meditations alone. 

Moon. He's studying for an oration, now. 

Over. If I can with this day's travail, and all 
my policy, but rescue this youth here out of the 
hands of the lewd man and the strange woman, 
I will sit down at night, and say Vv'ith my friend 
Ovid, 

Jamque ojms exegi, quod nee Jovis ira, ncc ignis, &c. 

[Aside. 

Knock. Here, Zekiel, here's a health to Ursula, 
and a kind vapor ; thou hast money in thy purse 
still, and store ! how dost thou come by it ? 
pray thee vapor thy friends some in a courteous 
vapor. 

Edg. Half I have, master Dan. Knockem, is 
always at your service. \_PuUs out his 2nirse. 

Over. Ha, sweet nature ! what goshawk would 
prey upon such a lamb r [Aside. 

Knock. Let's see what 'tis, Zekiel ; count it, 
come, fill him to pledge me. 

Enter Winwife and Quaelous. 

Wimv. We are here before them, mcthinks. 

Quar. All the better, we shall see them come 
in now. 

Leath. WUat do you lack, gentlemen, what 
is't you lack ? a fine horse ? a lion ? a bull ? a 
bear ? a dog, or a cat ? an excellent fine Bar- 
tholomew-bird ? or an instrument ? what is't you 
lack ? 

Quar. 'Slid ! here's Or^Dheus among the beasts, 
with his fi.ddle and all ! 

Trash. Will you buy any comfortable bread, 
gentlemen ? 

Quar. And Ceres selling her daughter's pic- 
ture, in ginger-work. 

Wimo. That these people should be so igno- 
rant to think us chapmen for them ! do we look 
as if we would buy ginger-bread, or hobby- 
horses ? 

Quar. Why, they know no better ware than 
they have, nor better customers than come : and 
our very being here makes us fit to be demanded, 
as well as others. Would Cokes would come ! 
there were a true customer for them. 

Knock, [to Edgworth.] How much is't? thir- 
ty shillings? Who's yond« ! Ned Wimvife 



and Tom Quarlous, I think ! yes : (give me it 
all, give it me all.) — - Master Winwife ! Master 
Quarlous ! will you take a pipe of tobacco v;ith 
us r — Do not discredit me now, Zekiel. 

[Edgworth gives him his purse. 

Wimv. Do not see him : he . is the roaring 
horse-courser, pray thee let's avoid hirn : turn 
down this way. 

Quar. 'Slud, I'll see him, and roar with him 
too, an he roared as loud as Neptune ; pray thee 
go with me. 

Wimo. You may draw me to as likely an in- 
convenience, when you please, as this. 

Quar. Go to then, come along ; we have noth- 
ing to do, man, but to see sights now. 

[ Theg advance to the booth. 

Knock. Welcome, master Quarlous, and mas- 
ter Winwife ; will you take any froth and smoke 
Avith us ? 

Quar. Yes, sir ; but you'll pardon us if wo 
knew not of so much familiarity between us 
afore. 

Knock. As what, sir ? 

Quar. To be so lightly invited to smoke and 
froth. 

Knock. A good vapor ! will you sit down, sir ? 
this is old Ursula's mansion ; how like you her 
bower ? Here you may have 3'our punk and 
your pig in state, sir, both piping hot. 

Quar. I had rather have my punk cold, sir. 

Over. There's for me : punk ! and pig ! [Aside. 

Urs, [within.] What, Mooncalf, you rogue ! 

Moon. By and by, the bottle is almost off, 
mistress ; here, master Arthur. 

Urs. [within.] I'll part you and your play-fel- 
low there, in the garded coat, an you sunder not 
the sooner. 

Knock. Master Winwife, you are proud, me- 
thinks, you do not talk, nor drink ; are you 
proud ? 

Wimo. Not of the company I am in, sir, nor 
the place, I assure you. 

Knock. You do not except at the company, do 
you ! are you in vapors, sir ? 

Moon. Naj', good master Daniel Knockem, re- 
spect my mistress's bower, as you call it ; for the 
honor of our booth, none 0' your vapors here. 

Enter Ursula with ajlre-brand. 

Urs, Wh}', you thin, lean polecat you, an they 
have a mind to be in their vapors, must you hin- 
der 'em ? What did you know, vermin, if they 
would have lost a cloke, or such trifle ? must you 
be drawing the air of pacification here, while I 
am tormented within i' the fire, you weasel ? 

[Aside to Mooncalf. 

Moon. Good mistress, 'twas in behalf of your 
booth's credit that I spoke. 

Urs. Why ! would my booth have broke, if 
they had fallen out in't, sir? or would their heat 
have fired it ? In, you rogue, and wii^O the pigs, 
and mend the fire, that they fall not, or I'll both 
baste and roast you 'till your eyes drop out like 
them. — Leave the bottle behind yoii, and bo 
curst awhile ! [Exit Moon. 

Qua}-. Body o' the Fair ! what's this ? mothci 
of the bawds ? 

Knock. No, she's mother of the pigs, sir, 
mother of the pigs. 



BARTHOLOMEV/ FAIR. 



423 



Wimo. Mother of the furies, I think, by her 
firo-bvand. 

Qiiar. Nay, she is too fat to be a fury, sure 
some walking sow oi tallow ! 

Wing. An inspired vessel of kicthen stuff ! 

Quar. She'll make excellent ^ncic for the 
coach-makers here in Smithfield, to anoint 
wheels and axletrees with. 

[S/(e drinks this while. 

Urs. Ay, ay, gamesters, mock a plain plump 
soft wench of the suburbs, do, because she's 
juicy and wholesome ; you must have your thin 
pinched ware, pent up in the compass of a dog- 
collar, (or 'twill not do) that looks like a long 
laced conger, set upright, and a green feather, 
like fennel in the joU on't. 

Knock. Well said, Urse, my good Urso ! to 
'em, Urse ! 

Quar. Is she your quagmire, Daniel Knock- 
em ' is this your bog ? 

Night. ^Ve shall have a quarrel presently. 

Knock. How ! bog ! quagmire ! foul vapors ! 
humph ! 

Quar. .Yes, he that would venture for't, I as- 
sure him, might sink into her and be drown'd a 
week ere any friend he had could find where he 
were. 

Winw. And then he would be a fortnight 
weighing up again. 

Quar. 'Twere like falling into a whole shire 
of butter ; they had need be a team of Dutch- 
men should draw him out. 

Knock. Answer 'em, Urso : where's thy Bar- 
tholomew wit now, Urse, thy Bartholomew 
wit? 

Urs. Hang 'em, rotten, roguy cheaters, I hope 
to see them plagued one day (pox'd they are 
already, I am sure) with lean playhouse poultrj-, 
that has the bony rump, sticking out like the 
ace of spades, or the point of a partizan, that 
every rib of them is like the tooth of a saw ; and 
will so grate them with their hips and shoulders, 
as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie 
yviih a hurdle. 

Quar. Out upon her, how she drips ! she's able 
to give a man the sweating sickness with looking 
on her. 

Urs. Marry look off, with a patch on your face, 
and a dozen in your breech, though they be of 
scarlet, sir ! I have seen as fine outsides as 
either of yours, bring lousy linings to the bro- 
kers, ere now, twice a week. 

Quar. Do you think there may be a fine nov/ 
cucking-stool in the Fair, to be purchased ; one 
large enough, I mean? I knov,- there is a pond 
of capacity for her. 

Urs, For your mother, you rascal ! Out, you 
rogue, you hedge-bird, you pimp, you pannier- 
man's bastard, you ! 

Quar. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Urs. Do you sneer, you dog's-head, you tren- 
dle-tail ! you look as you were begotten a top 
of a cart in harvest time, when the whelp was 
hot and eager. Go, snuff after your brother's 
bitch, mistress Commodity ; that's the livery 
you v.'ear, 'tvill be out at the elbows short- 
ly. It's time you went to't for the t'other 
remnant. 



KnocJi. Peace, Ursa, peace, Ursa ; — they'll 
kill the poor whale, and make oil of her. Pray 
thee, go in. 

Urs. I'll see them pox'd first, and piled, and 
double piled. 

Winic. Let's away, her language grows grea- 
sier than her pigs. 

Urs. Does it so, snotty-nose ? good lord ! are 
you snivelling ? You were engendered on a she- 
beggar in a barn, when the bald thrasher, your 
sire, was scarce warm. 

Winio. Pray thee let's go. 

Quar. No, faith ; I'll stay the end of her now ; 
I know she cannot last long : I find by her smiles 
she wanes apace. 

Urs. Does she so ? I'll set you gone. Give 
me my pig-pan hither a little : I'll scald you 
hence, an you will not go. [Exit. 

Knock. Gentlemen, these are very strange va- 
pors, and very idle vapors, I assure you. 

Quar. You arc a very serious ass, we assure 
you. 

Knock. Hump, ass ! and serious ! nay, then 
pardon me my vapor. I have a foolish vapor, 
gentlemen : Any man that does vapor me the 
ass, master Quarlous — 

Quar. What then, master Jordan ? 

Knock. I do vapor him the lie. 

Quar. Faith, and to any man that vapors me 
the lie, I do vapor that. [Strikes him. 

Knock. Nay then, vapors upon vapors. 

[Thegjlght. 

lie-enj^r Uksula, with the dripjiing-pan. 

Edg. Night. 'Ware the pan, the pan, the pan ! 
she comes with the pan, gentlemen ! [Ursula 
falls loith the pan.\ — God bless the woman. 

Urs. Oh ! [Exeunt Quahlous and Wixtv'ife. 

Trash, [runs in.] What's the matter r 

Occr. Goodly woman ! 

Moon. Mistress ! 

Urs. Curse of hell ! that ever I saw these 
fiends ! oh ! I have scalded my leg, my leg, my 
leg, my leg ! I have lost a limb in the service ! 
run for some cream and sallad-oil, quickly. Are 
you under-peering, you baboon ? rip off my hose, 
an you be men, men, men. 

Moon. Bun you for some cream, good mother 
Joan. I'll look to your basket. [Exit Trash. 

Death. Best sit up in your chair, Ursula. Help, 
gentlemen. 

Knock. Be of good cheer, Urse ; thou hast 
hindered me the currying of a couple of stal- 
lions here, that abused the good race-bawd of 
Smithfield ; 'twas time for them to go. 

Night. I'faith, when the pan came, — they 
had made you run else. This had been a fine 
time for purchase, if you had ventured. 

[Aside to Edgworth. 

Edg. Not a whit, these fellows were too fine 
to carry money. 

Knock. Nightingale, get some help to carry 
her leg out of the air : take off her shoes. Body 
o' me ! she has the mallandors, the scratches, 
the crown scab, and the quitter bone in the 
t'other leg. 

Urs. Oh, the pox! why do you put me in. 
mind of my leg thus, to make it ]:)iick and shoot ? 



424 



BAHraOLOMEW FAIE. 



Would you have me in the hospital afore my 
time ? 

Knock. Patience, Urse, take a good heart, 'tis 
but a blister as big as a windgall. I'll take it 
away with the white of an egg, a little honey 
and hog's grease, have thy pasterns well roU'd, 
and thou shalt pace again by to-morrow. I'll 
tend thy booth, and look to thy affairs the 
while : thou ahalt sit in thy chair, and give di- 
rections, and shine Ursa major. 

[Exeunt Knockeji and Mooncalf, xoith 
Uesula in her chair. 

Over. These are the fruits of bottle-ale and 
tobacco ! the foam of the one, and the fumes of 
the other ! Stay, j-oung man, and despise not 
the wisdom of these few hairs that are grown 
grey in care of thee. 

Edg. Nightingale, stay a little. Indeed I'll 
hear some of this ! 

Enter Cokes, with his box, Waspe, Mistress Over- 
do, ami Grace. 

Cokes, Come, Numps, come, where are you ? 
" Welcome into the Fair, mistress Grace. 

Edff. 'Slight, he will call company, you shall 
sec, and put us into doings presently. 

Ooer. Thirst not after that frothy liquor, ale ; 
for who knows when he opencth the stopple, 
what may be in the bottle ? Hath not a snail, a 
spider, yea, a newt been found there r thirst not 
after it, youth ; thirst not after it. 

Cokes. This is a brave fellow, Numps, let's 
hear him. 

Waspe. 'Sblood ! how brave is he } in a gard- 
ed coat ! You were best truck with him ; e'en 
strip, and truck presently, it will become you. 
Why will j'OU hear him ? because he is an ass, 
and may be a-kin to the Cokeses ? 

Cokes. O, good Numps. 

Over. Neither do thou lust after that tawney 
weed tobacco. 

Cokes. Brave words ! 

Over. Whose comi^lexion is like the Indian's 
that vents it. 

Cokes. Arc thej' not brave words, sister ? 

Over. And who can tell, if before the gather- 
ing and making iip thereof, the Alligarta hath 
not piss'd thereon? 

Waspe. 'Heart ! let 'em be brave words, as 
brave as they will ! an they were all the brave 
WQi-ds in a country, how then ? Will you away 
yet, have you enough on him ? Mistress Grace, 
come you away; I i^ray you, bo not you 
accessary. If you do lose your license, or 
somewhat else, sir, with listening to his fables, 
say Numps is a -vvitch, with all my heart, do, 
say so. 

Cokes, Avoid in your satin doublet, Numps. 

Over, The creeping venom of which subtle 
serpent, as some late writers affirm, neither the 
cutting of the perilous plant, nor the drying of 
it, nor the lighting or burning, can any way per- 
sway or assuage. 

Cokes. Good, i'faith ! is it not, sister P 

Over. Hence it is that the lungs of the tobac- 
conist are rotted, the liver spotted, the brain 
smoked like the backside of the pig- woman's 



booth here, and the whole body within, black aa 
her pan you saw e'en now, without. 

Cokes. A fine similitude that, sir ! did you see 
the pan ? 

Edg, Yes, sir. 

Over, Nay, the hole in the nose here of some 
tobacco -takers, or the third nostril, if I may so 
call it, which makes that they can vent the to- 
bacco out, like the ace of clubs, or rather the 
flower-de-lis, is caused from the tobacco, the 
mere tobacco ! when the poor innocent pox, 
having nothing to do there, is miserably and 
most unconscionably slandered. 

Cokes. Who would have missed this, sister ' 

Mrs. Over. Not anybody but Numps. 

Cokes: He does not understand. 

Edg. [Picks Cokes' S20ocket of Ms pztrse.'] Nor you 
feel. [Aside. 

Cokes. What would you have, sister, of a fel- 
low that knows nothing but a basket-hilt, and 
an old fox in't ? the best musick in the Fair will 
not move a log. 

Edg. [Gives the purse aside to Nighf.] In, to 
Ursula, Nightingale, and carry her comfort : see 
it told. This fellow was sent to us by Fortune, 
for our first fairing. [Ejyif Night 

Over. But what speak I of the diseases of the 
body, children of the Fair ? 

Cokes. That's to us, sister. Brave, i'faith ! 

Over. Hark, O you sons and daughters of 
Smithfield ! and hear what malady it doth the 
mind : it causeth swearing, it causeth swagger- 
ing, it causeth snuffling and snarling, and nov/ 
and then a hurt. 

Mrs. Over. He hath something of mastei 
Overdo, methinks, brother. 

Cokes. So methought, sister, veiy much of 
my brother Overdo : and 'tis when he speaks. 

Over. Look into any angle of the town, the 
Streights, or the Bermudas, where tlie quarrel- 
ling lesson is read, and how do they entertain 
the time, but with bottle- ale and tobacco ? Tlie 
lecturer is o' one side, and his pupils o' the oth- 
er ; but the seconds are still bottle-ale and to- 
bacco, for which the lecturer reads, ancl the nov- 
ices pay. Thirty pound a week in bottle- ale I 
forty in tobacco ! and ten more in ale again. 
Then for a suit to drink in, so much, and, that 
being slaver' d, so much for another suit, and 
then a third suit, and a fourth suit ! and still 
the bottle-ale slavereth, and the tobacco stink- 
eth. 

Waspe. Heart of a madman ! are you rooted 
here ? will you never away ? what can any man 
find out in this bawling fellow, to grov/ here 
for ? He is a full handfuU higher sin' he heard 
him. Will you fi.x here, and set up a booth, 
sir ? 

Over. I will conclude briefly 

Waspe. Hold your peace, you roaring rascal, 
111 run my head in your chaps else. You were 
best build a booth, and entertain him ; make 
your will, an you say the word, and him your 
heir ! heart, I never knew one taken with a 
mouth of a peck afore. By this light, I'll carry 
you away on my back, an you will not come. 

[He gets Cokes tip on pick-back. 

Cokes. Stay, Numps, stay, set me down : 1 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



425 



have lost my purse, Numps. O my purse ! One 
of my fine purses is <^one ! 

Mrs. Over. Is it indeed, brother ? 

Cokes. Aj% as I am an honest man, would I 
were an arrant rogue else ! a plague of all 
roguy damn'd cut-purses for me. 

[Examines his pockets. 

Wasps. Bless 'em with all my heart, with all 
my heart, do j^ou see ! now, as I am no infidel, 
that I know of, I am glad on't. Ay, I am, (here's 
my witness,) do you see, sir ? I did not tell you 
of his fables, I ! no, no, I am a dull malt horse, 
I, I knoAV nothing. Are you not justly served, 
in your conscience, now, speak in your con- 
science? Much good do you with all my heart and 
his good heart that has it, with all my heart again. 

Edg. This fellow is very charitable, would he 
had a purse too ! but I must not be too bold all 
at a time. \^Aside. 

Cokes. Nay, Numps, it is not my best purse. 

Waspe. Not your best ! death ! wlij' should 
it be your worst ? why should it be any, indeed, 
at all ? answer me to that, give me a reason from 
you, why it should be any ? 

Cokes. Nor my gold, Numps ; I have that ye.t, 
look here else, sister. [Shews the other purse. 

Waspe. Why so, there's all the feeling he has ! 

BIrs. Over. I pray you, have a better care of 
that, brother. 

Cokes. Naj', so I will, I warrant you ; let him 
catch this that catch can. I would fain see him 
get this, look you here. 

WasjK. So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so ! very good. 

Cokes. I would have him come again now, 
and but off'er at it. Sister, will you take notice 
of a good jest ? I will piit it just where the 
other was, and if we have good luck, you shall 
see a delicate fine trap to catch the cut-purse 
nibbling. 

Ed(j. Faith, and he'll try ere you be out o' the 
Fair. [Aside. 

Cokes. Come, mistress Grace,- prithee be not 
melancholy for my mischance ; sorrow will not 
keep it, sweet heart. 

Grace. I do not think on't, sir. 

Cokes. 'Twas but a little scurvy white money, 
hang it ! it may hang the cut-piirse one day. I 
have gold left to give thee a fairing yet, as hard 
as the world goes. Nothing angers me but that 
no body here look'd like a cut-purse, unless 
'twere Numps. 

Waspe. How ! I, I look like a cut-purse ? 
death ! your sister's a cut-purse ! and your 
mother and father, and all your kin were cut- 
purses ! and hero is a rogue is the bawd o' the 
cut-purses, whom I will beat to begin with. 

[Beats Overdo. 

Over. Hold thy hand, child of wrath, and 
heir of anger, make it not Childermas day in 
thy fury, or the feast of the French Bartholo- 
mew, parent of the massacre. 
Cokes. Numps, Numps ! 

Mrs. Over. Good master Humphrey ! 
Waspe. You are the Patrico, are you ? the pa- 
triarch of the c>it-purses ? You share, sir, they 
Bay ; let them share this with you. Are you in 
your hot fit of preaching again ? I'll cool you. 
[Beats him again. 
Over. Murther, murther, murther ! [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Fair. 

Lanthokn Leathekhead, Joan Tkask, and 
others, sitting bij their wares, as before. 

Enter Val. Whit, Haggise, a7id Bristle. 

Whit. Nay, tish all gone, now ! dish tish, 
phen tou wilt not be phitin call, master offisher, 
phat ish a man te better to lishen out noyshes 
for tee, and tou art in an oder orld, being very 
shufRshient noyshes and gallantsh too ? one o' 
their brabblcsh would have fed ush 'all dish 
fortnight, but tovi art so bushy about beggersh 
still, tou hast no leshure to intend shentlemen 
and't be. 

Hag. Why, I told you, Davy Bristle. 

Bri. Come, come, you told me a pudding, 
Toby Haggise ; a matter of nothing ; I am sure 
it came to nothing. You said, let's go to Ursu- 
la's, indeed ; but then you met the man with 
the monsters, and I could not get you from him. . 
An old fool, not leave seeing yet ! 

Hag. Wh)', who would have thought any body 
would have quarrell'd so early ; or that the ale 
o' the fair would have been up so soon ? 

Whit. Phj% phat a clock toest tou tink it ish 
man ? 

Hag. I cannot tell. 

Whit. Tou art a vish vatchman, i' 'te mean 
teem. 

Had. Wh3% should the watch go by the clock, 
or the clock by the watch, I pray ? 

Bri. One should go by another, if they did well. 

Whit. Tou art right now ! phen didst tou ever 
know or hear of a shufRshient vatchment, but 
he did tell the clock, jjhat bushincss soever he 
had ? 

Bri. Nay, that's most true, a sufficient watch- 
man knows what a clock it is. 

Whit. Shleeping or vaking : ash well as to 
clock himshelf, or te Jack dat shtrikes him. 

Bri. Let's enquire of master Lcatherhead, 
or Joan Trash here. — Master LeatherheacT, do 
you hear, master Leatherhead ? 

Whit. If it be a Leddorhead, tish a very tick. 
Ledderhead, tat sho mush noish vill not piersh 
him. 

Leath. I have a little business now, good 
friends, do not trouble me. 

Whit. Phat, because o' ty wrought neot-cap, 
and ty phelvet sherkin, man ? phy ! I have 
sheene tee in ty ledder sherkin, ere now, mash- 
ter o' de hobby-horses, as bushy and stately as 
tou sheemest to be. 

Trash. Why, what an you have, captain Whit i 
he has his choice of jerkins, you may .see by 
that, and his caps too, I assure you, when he 
pleases to be either sick or employed. 

Leath. God-a-niercy Joan, answer for me. 

Whit. Away, be not sheen in my company, 
here be shentlemen, and men of vorship. 

[Exeunt Haggise and Bristle. 

Enter Quaelous and Wixwife. 
Quar. We had wonderful-ill luek, to miss this 
prologue o' the purse : but the best is, we shall 



426 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



have five acts of him ere night : he'll be spec- 
tacle enough, I'll answer for't. 

IV/i't. O creesh, duke Quarlons, how closht 
tou ? toil dosht not know nic, I fear : I am te 
vishosht man, but justish Overdo, in all Bar- 
tholomew Fair now. Give me twelve pence 
from tee, I vill help tee to a vife vortli forty 
marks for't, and't be. 

Qhcd: AAvay, rogue ; pimp, away. 

W/iit. And she shall shew tee as line cutorkc 
for't in her shmock too as tou cansht vish i' faith ; 
vilt tou have her, vorshipful Vinvife ? I vill help 
tee to her here, bo an't be, into pig-quarter, gi' 
me ty twelve pence from tee. 

W'imv. Why, there's twelve pence, pray thee 
wilt thou begone ? 

Whit. Tou art a vorthy man, and a vorshipful 
man still. 

Qnar. Get you gone, rascal. 

Whif. I do mean it, man. Prinsh Quarlous, 
if tou hasht need on me, tou shnlt find me here 
at Ursla's, I vill sec phat ale and punque ish i' 
te pigsty for tee, bless ty good vorship. . [Exit. 

Quar. Look! who comes here : John Littlewit ! 

Winw. And his wife, and my widov»', her 
mother : the whole family. 

Quar. 'Slight, you must give them all fairings 
now. 

Winw. Not I, I'll not sec them. 

Quar. They are going a feasting. What 
School-ma?ter's that is with 'em ? 

Winuj. That's m.y rival, I believe, the baker. 

Enter Rabbi Busy, Dama Purechaft, Jokn 
IjIttlewit, and BIrs. Littlewit. 

Busij. So, walk on in the middle way, fore- 
right, turn neither to the right hand nor to the 
left ; let not your eyes be drawn aside with 
vanity, nor your ear with noises. 

Quar. O, I know him by that start. 

Leaih. Vv^hat do you lack, what do you buy, 
mistress ? a fine hobby-horse, to make yoiir son 
a tilter ? a drum to make him a soldier ? a fiddle 
to make him a reveller ? what is't you lack ? 
little dogs for your daughters ? oiobabies, male 
or female ? 

Busy. Look not toward them, hearken not ; 
the place is Smithfield, or the field of smiths, 
the grove of hobby-horses and trinkets, the 
wares are the wares of devils, and the whole 
Fair is the shop of Satan : they are hooks and 
baits, very baits, that are hung out on every 
side, to catch you, and to hold you, as it were, 
by the gills, and by the nostrils, as the fisher 
doth ; therefore you must not look nor turn to- 
ward them. — The heathen man could stop his 
ears with wax against the harlot of the sea ; do 
you the lilce with your fingers against the bells 
of the beast. 

V/inw. What flashes come from him ! 

Qnar. 0, he has those of his oven ; a notable 
hot baker 'twas when he plied the peel : he is 
leading his flock into the Fair now. 

Wimo. Rather driving them to the pens ; for 
ne -wtW let them look upon nothing. 

Enter Kxockem and Wiirr from Uksula's booth. 

Knock. Gentlewomen, the weather's hot ; 

vs-liither walk you ? have a care of your fine 



velvet caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet 
delicate booth, with boughs, here in the waj', 
and cool .yourselves in the shade ; you and your 
friends. The best pig and bottle-ale in the Fair, 
sir. Old Ursula is cook, there you may read • 
[Points to the sign, a imi's head, unth a large torit 
ing under it.] the pig's head speaks it. Poor 
soul, she has had a string-halt,the maryhinchco ; 
but she's prettily amended. 

Whit. A delicate show-pig, little mistress, 
with shweet sauce, and crackling, like de bay- 
leaf i' de fire, la ! tou shalt ha' de clean side o' 
de table-clot, and di glass vasli'd with phatcrsh 
of dame Annesh Clearo. 

Lit. [Gazing at the {nscri2}tion.'] This is fine 
verilj'. Here be the best pigs, and she does roast 
them as ivell as ever she did, the pig's head says. 

Knock. Excellent, excellent, mistress ; with 
fire o' juniper and rosemarj^ branches ! the ora- 
cle of the pig's head, that, sir. 

Pure. Son, were j'ou not warn'd of the vanity 
of the eye ? have you forgot the wholesome ad- 
monition so soon ? 

Lit- Good mother, how shall we find a pig, if 
we do not look about for't : will it run ofi" o' the 
spit, into our mouths, think you, as in Lubber- 
land, and cry, icee, icee ! 

Busy. No, but your mother, religiously-wise, 
conceiveth it may oft'er itself by other means to 
the sense, as by way of steam, which I think it 
doth here in this place — huh, huh — yes, it 
doth. [He sconts after it like a hound.] And it 
were a sin of obstinacy, great obstinacy, high 
and horrible obstinacy, to decline or resist the 
good titillation of the famelic sense, which is 
the smell. Therefore be bold — huh, huh, huh 
— follow the scent : enter the tents of the un- 
clean, for once, and satisfy your wife's frailty. 
Let your frail wife be satisfied ; your zealous 
mother, and my sufl"cring self, will also be sat- 
isfied. 

Lit. Come, Win, as good winny here as go 
farther, and sec nothing. 

Busy. We scape so much of the other vani- 
ties, by our early entering. 

Pure, It is an edifying consideration. 

Mrs. Lit. This is scurvy, that we must como 
into the Fair, and not look on't. 

Lit. Win, have patience, Win, I'll tell you 
more anon. 

[Exeunt, info the booth, Littlewit, Mi-s 
Littlewit, Busy, and Puixecraft. 

Knock. Mooncalf, entertain within there, the 
best pig in the booth, a pork-like pig. These 
are Banburj'-bloods, o' the sincere stud, come a 
pig-hunting. Whit, Avait, Whit, look to j'our 
charge. [Exit Wiirr. 

Busy, [within.] A pig prepare presently let a 
pig be prepared to us. 

Enter Mooncalf and Up.sula. 

Moon. 'Slight, who be these? 

Urs. Is this the good service, Jordan, you'd 
do me ? 

Knock. Why, Urse, why, TJrse ? thou'lt have 
vapors i' thy leg again presently, pray thee go 
in, it may turn to the scratches else. 

Urs. Hang your vapors, they are stale, and 
stink like you ! Are these the guests o'lho 



BAETHOLOilEW FAIR. 



427 



game you promised to fill my pit withal to- 
ilay ? 

Kiiocli. Ay, what ail they, Urse ? 

TJrs. Ail they ! they arc all sippcrs, sippers o' 
the city ; they look as they would not drink 
off two pcn'orth of bottle-ale amongst 'era. 

Moon. A body may read that in their small 
printfed ruffs. 

Knock. Away, thou art a fool, Urse, and thy 
Mooncalf too : in your ignorant vapors now ! 
hence ! good guests, I say, right hypocrites, 
good gluttons. In, and set a couple o' pigs on 
the board, and half a dozen of the biggest bot- 
tles afore 'em, and call Whit. \Exit Mooncalf.] 
I do not love to hear innocents abused ; fine 
ambling hypocrites ! and a stone jiurltan with a 
sorrel head and beard ! good mouth'd gluttons ; 
two to a pig, away. 

TJrs. Are you sure they arc such ? 

Knock. 0' the right breed, thou shalt try 'em 
by the teeth, Urse ; where's this Whit ? 

Re-enter Whit. 
Whit. Behold, man, and see, 

What a xoorthy man am ee ! 

With the funj of my swcrd, 

And the shaldng of my beard, 

I icill make ten thousand men afcard. 

Knock. Well said, brave Whit ! in, and fear 
the ale out o' the bottles into the belUes of the 
brethren, and * * * the sisters drink to the cause, 
and pure A'apors. 

\Exeunt Knockem, AVhit, and Ursula. 

Quar. My roarer is turn'd tapster, methinks. 
Now were a fine time for thee, Winwife, to lay 
aboard thy widow, thou'lt never be master of 
a better season or place ; she that will venture 
herself into the Fair and a pig-box, will admit 
aiw assault, be assured of that. 

Wimc. I love not enterprises of that sudden- 
ness though. 

Quar. I'll warrant thee, then, no v>ife out of 
ihe widow's hundred : if I had but as much title 
to her, as to have breathed once on that straight 
stomacher of hers, I woidd now assure myself 
to carry her, yet, ere she Avent out of Smith- 
field ; or she should carry me, which were the 
fitter sight, I confess. But you are a modest 
undertaker, by circumstances and degrees ; come, 
'tis disease in thee, not judgment ; I should 
offer at all together. — 

Enter Overdo- 
Look, here's the poor fool again, that v/as stung 
by the Waspe erewhile. 

Ocer. I will make no more orations, shall draw 
on these tragical conclusions. And I begin now 
to think, that by a spice of collateral justice, 
Adam Overdo deserved this beating ; for I, the 
Gaid Adam, was one cause (a by-cause) why the 
piirse was lost ; and my wife's brother's purse 
too, which they know not of yet. But I shall 
make very good mirth with it at supper, that 
will be the sport, and put ray little friend, master 
Humphrey Waspe's choler quite out of counten- 
ance : when, sitting at the i;j)per end of my table, 
as I use, and drinking to my brother Cokes, and 
mistress Alice Overdo, as I will, my wife, for 



their good affection to old Bradley, I deliver to 
them, it was I that was cudgeled, and show them 
the marks. To see what bad events may peep 
out o' the tail of good purposes 1 ihe care I had 
of that civil young man I took fancy to this 
morning, (and have not left it 3'et,) drew me to 
that exhortation, which drew the company in- 
deed ; which drew the cut-purse ; which drew 
the money ; which drew my brother Cokes hie 
loss ; which drew on Waspe's anger ; which 
drew on my beating : a pretty gradation ! and 
they shall have it in their dish, i'faith, at night 
for fruit ; I love to be merry at my table. I had 
thought once, at one special blow he gave me, 
to have revealed myself ; but then (I thank thee, 
fortitude) I remembered that a wise man, and 
who is ever so great a part of the commonwealth 
in himself, for no particular disaster ought to 
abandon a public good design. The husband- 
man ought not, for one unthankful year, to for- 
sake the plough ; the shepherd ought not, for 
one scabbed sheep, to throw by his tar-box ; the 
pilot ought not, for one leak in the poop, to quit 
the helm ; nor the alderman ought not, for one 
custard more at a meal, to give up his cloke ; 
the constable ought not to break his staff, and 
forsAvear the watch, for one roaring night ; nor 
the piper of the parish, iit jjarvis componere 
magna, solcbani, to piit up his pipes for one rainy 
Sunday. These are certain knocking conclu- 
sions ; out of which, I ani resolved, come what 
come can, come beating, come imprisonment, ' 
come infamy, come banishment, nay, come the 
rack, come the hurdle, (welcome all,) I Avill not 
discover who I am, till my due time ; and yet 
still, all shall be, as I said ever, in justice name, 
and the king's, and for the commonwealth. 

Winw. What does he talk to himself, and act 
so seriously, poor fool ! 

Quar. No matter what. Here's fresher argu 
ment, intend that. 

Enter Cokes, Mistress Overdo, and Grace Well- 
BORX,ybWoiyefZ by Waspe, loaded icith toys. 

Cokes. Come, mistress Grace, come, sister 
here's more fine sights yet, i'faith. Od's 'lid 
Avhere's Numps ? 

heath. What do you lack, gentlemen? what 
is't you buy .' fine rattles, drums, babies, lit- 
tle dogs, and birds for ladies ? what do you lack \ 

Cokes. Good honest Numps, keep afore, I am 
so afraid thou'lt lose somewhat; my heart was 
at my mouth, Avhcn I mist thee. 

Was'pe. You v>cve best buy a whip in your 
hand to drive me. 

Cokes. Naj', do not mistake, Numps ; thou art 
so apt to mistake ! I vrould but watch the goods. 
Look you now, the treble fiddle was e'en almost 
like to be lost. 

Waspe. Pray you take heed you lose no t your- 
self ; your best way were e'en get up and ride for 
more surety. Buy a token's worth of great pins, 
to fasten yourself to my shoulder. 

Lcalh. What do you lack, gentlemen ? fine 
purses, pouches, pin-cases, pipes ? what is't you 
lack ? a pair o' smiths to wake you in the morn- 
ing ? or a fine whistling bird ? 

Cokes. Numps, here be finer things than any 
we have bought by odds i and more delicate 



428 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



horses, a great deal ; good Numps, stay, and come 
hither. 

Waspe, Will you scourse with him r you are 
in Smithfield, you may fit yourself with a fine 
easy going street-nag, for your saddle, again 
Michaelmas term, do : has he ne'er a little odd 
cart for you to make a caroch on, in the country, 
with four pied hobby-horses ? Why the measles, 
should 3-0U stand here, with your train, chcap- 
ning of dogs, birds, and babies ? you have no 
children to bestow them on, have you ? 

Cokes. No, but again I have children, Numps, 
that's all one. 

Waspe. Do, do, do, do ; how many shall you 
have, think you ? an I were as you, I'd buy for 
all my tenants too, they are a kind of civil sav- 
ages, that will part with their children for rat- 
tles, pipes, and knives. You were best buy a 
hatchet or two, and truck with 'em. 

Colies^ Good Numps, hold that little tongue o' 
thine, and save it a labor. I am resolute Batj 
thou know'st. 

Waspe. A resolute fool you are, I know, and 
a very sufficient coxcomb ; with all my heart ; 

— nay you have it, sir, an you be angry, t 

in your teeth, twice ; if I said it not once afore, 
and much good do you. 

Winio. Was there ever such a self- affliction, 
and so impertinent ? 

Quar. Alas, his care will go near to crack 
him ; let's in and comfort him. 

[ Thai/ come forward. 

Waspe. Would I had been set in the ground, 
all but the head on me, and had my brains 
bowled at, or threshed out, when first I under- 
went this plague of a charge ! 

Quar. How now, Numps ! almost tired in your 
protectorship ? ovcrparted, overparted ? 

Waspe. Why, I cannot tell, sir, it may be I 
am ; does it grieve you ? 

Quar. No, I swear does't not, Numps ; to sat- 
isfy you. 

Waspe. Numps ! 'sblood, you are fine and 
familiar : how long have we been acquainted, I 
pray you ? 

Quar. I think it may be remembered, Numps, 
that; 'twas since morning, sure. 

Waspe. Why, I hope I know't well enough, 
eir ; I did not ask to bo told. 

Quar. No ! why, then r 

Waspe. It's no matter why; you see with j'our 
eyes now, Avhat I said to you to-day : you'll be- 
lieve me another time ? 

Quar. Ai-e j-ou removing the Fair, Numps ? 

WasjJe. A i^retty question, and a civil one ! yes 
faith, I have my lading, you sec, or shall have 
anon ; you may know whose beast I am by my 
burden. If the pannicrman's jack were ever 
better known by his loins of mutton, I'll be 
flayed, and feed dogs for him -s^'hen his time 
comes. 

Winw. How melancholic mistress Grace is 
yonder ! pray thee let's go enter ourselves in 
grace with her. 

Cokes. Those si.K horses, friend, I'll have • 

Waspe. How ! 

Cokes. And the three Jews-trumps ; and half 
a dozen o' birds, and that drum, (I have one 
drum already) and your smiths ; I like that de- 



vice of your smiths, very pretty well ; and foiTr 

halberts and, let me see, that fine painted 

great lady, and her three women for state, I'll 
have. 

Waspe. No, the shop ; buy the whole shop, it 
will be best, the shop, the shop ! 

Leath. If his worship please. 

Waspe. Yes, and keep it during the" Fair, 
Bobchin. 

Cokes. Peace, Numps. — Friend, do not med- 
dle with him, an you be wise, and Avould shew 
your head above board ; he will sting thorough 
your Avrought night-cap, believe me. A set of 
these violins I would buy too, for a delicate 
young noise I have in the country, that are every 
one a size less than another, just like your fid- 
dles. I Avonld fain have a fine young masque 
at my marriage, now I think on't : but I do 
want such a number of things ! — Ai"kd Numps 
will not help me now, and I dare not speak to 
him. 

Trash. AVill your worship buy any ginger- 
bread, very good bread, comfortable bread ? 

Cokes. Gingerbread ! yes, let's see. 

[Runs to her stop. 

Waspe. There's the t'other springe. 

Leath. Is this well, goody Joan, to inteiTupt 
my market in the midst, and call away my cus- 
tomers ? can you answer this at the pie-poudres ? 

Trash. Why, if his mastership has a mind to 
bu}^ I hope mj^ ware lies as open as another's ; 
I may shew my ware as well as you yours. 

Cokes. Hold your peace ; I'll content j^ou 
both : I'll buy up his shop, and thy basket. 

Waspe. Will you, i' faith ? 

Leath. Why should you put him from it, 
friend ? 

Waspe. Cry you mercy ! you'd be sold too, 
would you ? what's the price on you, jerkin and 
all, as you stand ? have you any qualities ? 

Trash. Yes, good-man, angry-man, you shall 
find he has qualities, if you cheapen him. 

}]'aspe. Od's so, you have the selling of him ! 
What are they, will they be bought for love or 
monej' ? 

'Trash. No indeed, sir. 

Waspe. For what then, victuals ? 

Trash. He scorns victuals, sir ; he has bread 
and butter at home, thanks be to God ! and yet 
he will do more for a good meal, if the toy take 
him in the belly ; marry then they must not set 
him at lower ends, if they do, he'U go away, 
though he fast : but put him a-top o' the table, 
where his place is, and he'll do you forty fine 
things. He has not been sent for, and sought 
out for nothing, at your great city-suppers, to 
put down Coriat and Cokely, and been laughed 
at for his labor ; he'll play you all the puppets 
in the town over, and the playei-s, every com- 
panj', and his own company too ; he spares no- 
iDody. 

Cokes. V faith? 

Trash. He was the first, sir, that ever baited 
the fellow in the bear's skin, an't like your wor- 
ship : no dog ever came near him since. And 
for fine motions ! 

Cokes. Is he good at those too ? can he set out 
a masque, trow ? 

Trash. O lord, master ! sought to far and neai 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR 



429 



for his inventions ; and he engrosses all, he 
makes all the puppets in the Fair. 

Cokes. Dost thou, in troth, old velvet jerkin ? 
give me thy hand. 

Trash. Nay, sir, you shall see him in his vel- 
vet jcikin, and a scarf too at night, when you 
hear him interpret master Littlewit's motion. 

Cokes. Speak no more; but shut up shop prcs- 
' cntly, friend, I'll buy both it and thee too, to 
carry down with me ; and her hamper beside. 
Thy shop shall furnish out the masque, and her's 
the banquet : I cannot go less, to set out any- 
thing with credit. What's the price, at a word, 
of thy whole shop, case and all as it stands ? 

Leath. Sir, it stands me in six and twenty 
shillings seven-pence halfpenny, besides three 
shillings for my ground. 

Cokes. Well, thirty shillings will do all, then ! 
and what comes yours to ? 

Trash. Four shillings and eleven-pense, sir, 
ground and all, an't like your worship. 

Cokes. Yes, it does like rcy worship very well, 
poor woman ; that's five shillings more : what a 
masque shall I furnish out, for forty shillings, 
twenty pound Scotch, and a banquet of ginger- 
bread ! there's a stately thing ! Numps ? sister ? 
— and my wedding gloves too ! that I never 
thought on afore ! All my wedding gloves gin- 
gerbread ? O me ! what a device will there be, 
to make 'em eat their fingers ends ! and delicate 
brooches for the bridcmen and all ! and then I'll 
liavo this poesie put to them. For the best grace., 
meaning mistress Grace, my wedding poesie. 

Grace. I am beholden to you, sir, and to your 
Bartholomew wit. 

Waspe. You do not mean this, do you ? Is 
this your first purchase ? 

Cokes. Yes, faith : and I do not think, Numps, 
but thou'lt say, it was the wisest act that ever I 
did in my wardship. 

Waspe. Like enough ! I shall say any thing, I ! 

Enter Edgworth, Nightingale, and Veople, fol- 
lowed, at a distance, by Ovekdo. 

Over. I cannot beget a project, with all my 
political brain yet : nry project is how to fetch 
ofi' this proper young man from his debauched 
company. I have followed him all the Fair over, 
and still I find him with this songster, and I be- 
gin shrewdly to suspect their familiarity; and 
the 5'oung man of a terrible taint, poetry ! with 
which idle disease if he be infected, there's no 
hope of him, in a state-course. Actum est of him 
for a commonwealth's-man, if he go to't in 
rhyme once. \_Aside, 

Edg. \_To Nightingale.] Yonder he is buying 
of gingerbread ; set in quickly, before he part 
with too much of his money. 

Night. [Advancing and singing.] My masters, 
(aid friends, and good people, draio near 

Cokes. [Runs to the Ballad-man.'] Ballads ! 
hark ! hark ! pray thee, fellow, stay a little ; 
good Ntunps, look to the goods. What ballads 
hast thou ? let me see, let me see myself. 

Waspe. Why so ! he's floAvn to another lime- 
bush, there he will flutter as long more ; till he 
have ne'er a feather left. Is there a vexation 
like this, gentlemen ? will you believe m° now, 
hereafter, shall I have credit with 3'ou ? 



Quar. Yes, faith shalt thou, Numps, and thou 
art worthy on't, for tliou sweatest for't. I never 
saw a young pisip-errant and his squire better 
match'd. 

Winio. Faith, the sister comes after them well 
too. 

Grace. Nay, if you saw the justice her hus- 
band, my guardian, you Avere fitted for the mess, 
he is such a wise one his way 

Winu). I wonder we see him not here. 

Grace. O ! he is too serious for this place, and 
yet better sport then than the other three, I as- 
sure you, gentlemen, wherever he is, tho\i(jh it 
be on the bench. 

Cokes. How dost thou call it ? A caveat against 
cut-purses/ a good jest, i'faith, I would fain see 
that demon, yoiir cut-purse you talk of, that 
delicate handed devil ; they say he wallis here- 
about ; I would see him walk now. Look you, 
sister, here, here. [He sheivs his purse boastingly.] 
let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, 
does any cut-purses haunt hereabout ? pray thee 
raise me one or two ; begin, and shew me one. 

Night. Sir, this is a spell against them, spick 
and span new ; and 'tis made as 'twere in mine 
own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. 
But 'twill cost a penny alone, if you buy it. 

Cokes. No matter for the price ; thou dost not 
know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholomew. 

Mrs. Over. Has it a fine picture, brother ? 

Cokes. O, sister, do you remember the ballads 
over the nursery chimney at home o' my own 
pasting up ? there be brave pictures, other man- 
ner of pictures than these, friend. 

Waspe. Yet these will serve to pick the pic- 
tures out of your pockets, you shall see. 

Cokes. So I heard them say ! Pray thee mind 
him not, fellow ; he'll have an oar in every thing. 

Night. It was intended, sir, as if a purse should 
chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be 
blameless though ; as by the sequel will more 
plainly appear. 

Cokes. We shall find that in the matter: pray, 
thee begin. 

Night. To the tune of Paggington's pound, sir. 

Cokes. [Sings.] Fa, la la la, la la la, fa, la la la ! 
Nay, I'll put thee in tune and all ! mine own 
country dance ! Pray thee begin. 

Night. It is a gentle admonition, you must 
know, sir, both to the purse-cutter and the purse- 
bearer. 

Cokes. Not a word more out of the tune, an 
thou lov'st me ; Fa, la la la, la la la, fa, la la la. 
Come, when ? 

Night, [sings.] My masters, and friends, and 
good 2}eo2}le, draw near. 
And look to your pyurses, for that I do say ; 

Cokes. Ha, ha, this chimes ! Good counsel ?.t 
first dash. 

Night. And tho' little money in them you do bear. 
It costs more to get, than to lose in a day. 

Cokes. Good ! 

Night. You oft have been told. 

Both the young and the old, 
And bidden beioare of the cut-jmrse so bold ; 

Cokes. Well said ! he were to blame that 
would not, i'faith. 

Night. Then if you take heed not, free me from 
the curse. 



430 



BARTHOLOMEW PAIR. 



Who both (five you tcarnincj, for and tlie cut-purse. 
Youth, youth, thou had'st better been staro'd by thy 

nurse, 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. 

Co'iies. Good i' faith ; how say you, Numps, is 
there any harm in this ? 

Night. It hath been u^ibraided to men of my trade, 
That oftentimes ice are the cause of this crime ; 

Cokes. The more coxcombs they that did it, I 
wusse. 

Night. Alack and for pity, why should it be said ? 
As if they regarded or pilaces or time ! 
Examples have been 
Of some that icere seen 
In Westminster-hall, yea the ptleadcrs between; 
Then tvhy should the judges be free from this curse. 
More than my poor self, for cutting the purse ? 

Cokes. God a mercy for that ! why should they 
be more free indeed ? 

Night. Youth, youth, thou had'st better been 
starv'd by thy morse. 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. 

Cokes. That again, good ballad-man, that again. 
[He sings the burden with him.] O rare ! I would 
lain rub mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out 
my hand. — On I pray thee ; he that made this 
ballad shall be poet to my masque. 

Night. At Worc'ster 'tis known well, and even 
in the jail, 
A knight of good v>orship did there shew his face. 
Against the foul sinners, in zeal for to rail. 
And lost ipso facto his jncrse in the p>lace. 

Cokes. Is it possible ? 

Night. Nay, once from the seat 
Of judgment so great, 
A judge there did loss a fair pouch of velvite. 

Cokes. I'faith .'' 

Night. O Lord for thy mercy, hoio wicked or 
toorse, 
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse ! 
Youth, youth, thou had'st better been starv'd by 

thy nurse, 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a pnirse. 

Cokes. [Sings after him.] Youth, youth, 8jc. — 
Pray tliee, stay a little, friend. Yet, o' thy con- 
science, Numps, speak, is there any harm in 
this? 

Waspe. To tell you true, 'tis too good for you, 
less you had grace to follow it. 

Over. It doth discover enorraitj^, I'll mark it 
more : I have not liked a paltry piece of poetry 
60 well a good while. [uiside. 

Cokes. Youth, youth, ^c. ; where's this youth 
now ? a man must call upon him for his own 
good, and yet he will not appear. Look here, 
here's for him ; [Sheics his purse.'] handy dandy, 
which hand will he have ? On, I pray thee, 
with the rest ; I do hear of him, but I cannot 
Bee him, this master youth, the cut-purse. 

Night. At pfov.s, and at sermons, and at the 
sessions, 
' Tis daily their practice such booty to make. 
Yea under the gallows at executions. 
They stick not the stare-abouts purses to take. 
Nay one without grace. 
At a [far] better ptlace. 
At court, and in Christmas, before the king's face. 

Cokes. That was a fine fellow ! I would have 
iiim now. 



Night. Alack then for pity must I hear the curse, 
That only belongs to the cunning cut-purse ? 

Cokes. But where's their cunning now, when 
they .should use it ? they are all chain' d now, I 
warrant you. [Sings.] Youth, youth, thou hadst 
better — The rat-catchers' charms are all fools and 
asses to this : a po.x: on them, that they ^\-ill not 
come ! that a man should have such a desire to 
a thing, and want it ! 

Quar. 'Pore God I'd give half the Fair, an 
'twere mine, for a cut-purse for him, to save his 
longing. 

Cokes. Look you, sister, [Shews his 27urse 
again.] here, here, Avhereis't now ? which pocket 
is't in, for a wager ? 

Waspe. I beseech you leave your wagers, and 
let him end his matter, an't may be. 

Cokes. O, are you edified, Numps ! 

Over. Indeed he does interrupt him too much : 
there Numps spoke to purpose. [Aside. 

Cokes. Sister, I am an ass, I cannot keep my 
purse ! [Shews it again, and pints it «;?.] — Oil, 
on, I pray thee, friend. 

Night. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been 
starv'd by thy nurse. 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. 
[As Nightingale sings, Edgworth gets up to 

Cokes, and tickles him in the ear with a straw 

twice to draic his hand out of his pocket. 

Winio. Will you see sport ? look, there's a 
fellow gathers up to him, mark. 

Quar. Good, i' faith ! O he has lighted on the 
wrong pocket. 

Winw. He has it ! 'fore God, he is a brave fel- 
low : pity he should be detected. 

Night. But O, you vile nation of cut-purses all-. 
Relent and repent, and amend and be sound. 
And knoio that you ought not, by honest men's fall. 
Advance your own fortunes, to die above ground ; 
And though you go gay 
In,silks, as you may, 
It is not the highivay to heaven (as they say.') 
Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse. 
And kiss not the gallows for cutting a jmrse. 
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy 

nurse. 
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. 

All. An excellent ballad ! an excellent ballad ! 

Edg. Friend, let me have the first, let me 
have the first, I pray you. 

\_As NiGHTiNG.VLE reaches out the ballad, Edg- 
woiiTH slips the purse info his hand. 

Cokes. Pardon me, sir ; first come first serv'd ; 
and I'll buy the whole bundle too. 

Winw. That conveyance was better than all, 
did you see't ? he has given the purse to ihe 
ballad-singer. 

Quar. Has he ? 

Edg. Sir, I cry you mercy, I'll not hinder 
the poor man's profit ; pray you, mistake me not. 

Cokes. Sir, I take you for an honest gentleman, 
if that be mistaking ; I met you to-day afore : 
ha ! humph ! O Lord ! my piirse is gone, my 
purse, my purse, my purse ! 

Waspe. Come do not make a stir, and cry 
yourself an ass through the Pair afore your 
time. 

Cokes. Why, hast thou it, Numps ? good 
Numps, how came you by it, I marie ? 



BAUTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



431 



Waspe. I pi'ay you seek some other gamester i 
to play the fool vv'ith ; you may lose it time 
enough, for all your Fair wit. 

Cokes. By this good hand, glove and all, I 
have lost it already if thou hast it not ; feel 
else, and mistress Grace's handkerchief too, out 
of the t'other pocket. 

Waspe. Why, 'tis well, very well, exceeding 
pretty and -well. 

Ed{/. Are you sure you have lost it, sir ? 
Cokes. O Lord ! yes ; as I am an honest man, 
I had it but e'en nbvf, at Youth, youth. 
Night. I hope you suspect not me, sir ? 
Edg. Thee ! that Avere a jest indeed ! dost 
thou think the gentleman is foolish ? where 
hadst thou hands, I pray thee ? Away, ass, away ! 

[Exit Night. 
Over. I shall be beaten again, if I be spied. 

\_Aside, retiring. 
Edg- Sir, I suspect an odd fellow, yonder, is 
stealing away. 

Mrs. Over. Brother, it is the preaching fellow : 
you shall suspect him. He was at your t'other 
purse, you know ! [Seizes Overdo.] — Nay, stay, 
sir, and view the work you have done ; an you 
be beneficed at the gallows, and preach there, 
thank your o\^'n handy-work. 

Cokes. Sir, you shall take no pride in your 
preferment, you shall be silenced quicklj'. 

[They seize Overdo. 
Ooer. "What do you mean, sweet buds of gen- 
tility ? 

Cokes. To have my pennyworths out on you, 
bud. No less than tv/o purses a day serve you ! 
I thought you a simple fellow, when my man 
Numps beat you in the morning, and pitied 
you. 

Mrs. Over. So did I, I'll be sworn, brother ; 
but now I sec he is a lewd and pernicious enor- 
mity, 0(5 master Overdo calls him. 

Over. Mine own words turn'd upon me like 

swords ! [Aside. 

Cokes. Cannot a man's purse be at quiet for 

you in the master's pocket, but you must entice 

it forth, and debaivch it ! [Overdo is carried off. 

Waspe. Sir, sir, keep your debauch, and your 

fine Bartholomew terms to yourself, and make 

as much on 'em as you please. But give me this 

from you in the mean time ; I beseech you, see 

if I can look to this. 

Cokes. Why, Numps ? 

Waspe. Why '. because you are an ass, sir, 
there's a reason the shortest way, an you will 
needs have it : nov/ you have got the trick of 
losing, you'd lose your breech an 'twere loose, 
[know you. si- < ome, deliver, [Takes the box 
from him,] you'll go and crack tlie vermin you 
breed now, will you? 'tis very fine; will you 
have the truth on't ? they are such retchless 
flics as you are, that blow cut-purses abroad in 
every corner ; your foolish having of money 
makes tiiem. An there were no wiser than I, 
sir, the trade should lie open for you, sir, it 
should, i' faith, sir. I would teach your wit to 
come to your head, sir, as well as your land to 
come into your hand, I assure you, sir. 
Wi:iw, Alack, good Numps ! 
Waspe. Nay, gentlemen, never pity me, I am 
not worth it : Lord send me at home once to 



Harrow o' the Hill, again, if I travel any more, 
call me Coriat with all my heart. 

[Exeunt Waspe, Cokes, and Mrs. Over- 
do, followed by Edgworth. 

Quar. [Stops Edgworth.] Stay, sir, I must 
have a word witli you in private. Do you 
hear ? 

Edg. With me, sir ! Avhat's your pleasure, 
good sir ? 

Quar. Do not deny it, you are a cut-purse, sir, 
this gentleman here and I saw you : nor do we 
mean to detect you, though we can sufficiently 
inform ourselves toward the danger of conceal- 
ing you ; but you must do us a piece of service. 

Edg. Good gentlemen, do not undo me ; I aw 
a civil young man, and but a beginner indeed. 

Quar. Sir, your beginning shall bring on your 
ending for us : we are no catchpoles nor con- 
stables. That you are to undertake is this : you 
saw the old fellow with the black box here ? 

Edg. The little old governor, sir ? 

Quar. That same : I see you have flown him 
to a mark already. I would have you get away 
that box from him, and bring it us. 

Edg. Wou'd you have the box and all, sir, or 
only that that is in't ? I'll get you that, and 
leave him the box to play with still, which Avill 
bo the harder of the two, because I would gain 
your worship's good opinion of me. 

Winw. He says well, 'tis tlie greater mastery, 
and 'twill make the more sport when 'tis mist. 

Edg. Ay, and 'twill be the longer a missing, 
to draw on the sport. 

Quar. But look you do it now, sirrah, and 
keep your word, or 

Edg. Sir, if ever I break my word with a 
gentleman, may I never read word at my need. 
Where shall I find you r 

Quar. Somewhere i' the Fair, hereabouts : dis- 
patch it quickly. [Exit Edgworth.] I woidd 
fain see the careful fool deluded ! Of all beasts, 
I love the serious ass ; he that takes pains to be 
one, and plays the fool witli the greatest dili- 
gence that can be. 

Grace. Then you would not choose, sir, but 
love my guardian, justice Overdo, who is an- 
swerable to that description in every hair of 
him. 

Quar. So I have heard. But how came you, 
mistress Wellborn, to be his ward, or have rela- 
tion to him at first ? 

Grace. Faith, through a common calamity, he 
bought me, sir ; and nov/ he will marry me to 
his wife's brotlier, this wise gentleman that you 
see ; or else I must pay value o' my land. 

Quar. 'Slid, is there no device of disparage- 
ment, or so ? talk with some crafty fellow, some 
picklock of the law : would I had studied a 
year longer in the Inns of court, an't had been 
but in your case. 

Winw. Ay, master Quarlous, are you profFer- 
iiitr ! [Aside. 

Grace. You'd bring but little aid, sir. 
Wi7iio. I'll look to you, in faith, gamester. -^ 
[Aside.] An unfortunate foolish tribe you are 
fallen into, lady, I worider you can endure 
them. 

Grace. Sir, they that cannot v/ork their fetters 
off must wear them. 



132 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIll. 



Wl)ur. You see what care they have on you, 
to leave you thus. 

Grace. .Faith, the same they have of them- 
selves, sir. I cannot greatly complain, if this 
were all the pica I had against them. 

Winiv. 'Tis true : but will you please to with- 
draw with vis a little, and make them think 
they have lost you. I hope our manners have 
been such hitherto, and our langviage, as will 
give you no cause to doubt yourself in our com- 
pany. 

Grace. Sir, I will give myself no cause ; I am 
so secure of mine own mianners, as I suspect 
not yours. 

Quar. Look where John Littlewit comes. 

Winw. Awaj', I'll not be seen by him. 

Quar. No, you were not best, he'd tell his 
mother, the widow. 

Wimv. Heart ! what do you mean ? 

Quar. Cry you mercy, is the wind there ? 
must not the widow be named ? [Exeunt. 

Enter Littlewit from Ursula's booth, foUotccd 
by Mrs. Litti.ewit. 

Lit. Do you hear, Win, AVin ? 

Mrs. Lit. What say you, John ? 

Lit. While they arc paying the reckoning, 
"Win, I'll tell you a thing, Win ; we shall never 
sec any sights in the Fair, Win, except you long 
still, Win : good Win, sweet Win, long to se(j 
some hobby-horses, and some drums, and rat- 
tles, and dogs, and fine devices. Win. The 
bull with the five legs, Win ; and the great 
hog. Now you have begun with pig, you may 
long for any thing. Win, and so for my motion, 
Wf<.i. 

Mrs. Lit. But we shall not cat of the bull and 
the hog, John ; how shall I long then ? 

Lit. O yes. Win : you may long to see, as 
well as to taste, Win : how did the pothecary's 
wife, that longed to see the anatomy. Win ? or 
the lady, Win, that desired to sjnt in the great 
lawyer's mouth, after an eloquent pleading : I 
assure you, they longed, Win ; good Win, go in, 
and long. 

[Exeunt Littlewit and Mrs. Littlewit. 

Trash. I think we are rid of our new custom- 
er, brother Leatherhead, we shall hear no more 
of him, 

Leath. All the better ; let's pack up all and 
begone, before he find us. 

Trash. Stay a little, yonder comes a company ; 
it may be we may take some more money. 

Enter K\ociCEMrt«rf Busy. 

Etwck. Sir, I will take your counsel, and cut 
my hair, and leave vapors : I see that tobacco, 
and bottle-ale, and pig, and Whit, and very Ur- 
£ila herself, is all vanity. 

Busy. Only pig' was not comprehended in my 
admonition, the rest were : for long hair, it is an 
ensign of pride, a banner ; and the world is full 
of those banners, very full of banners. And 
bottle-ale is a drink of Satan's, a diet-drink of 
Satan's, devised to puff us up, and make us 
swell in this latter age of vanity ; as the smoke 
of tobacco, to keep us in mist and error : but 
the fleshly woman, which you call Ursla, is above 
all to be avoided, having the marks upon her 



of the three enemies of man ; the world, as be- 
ing in the Fair ; the devil, as being in the firo ; 
and the ilcsh, as being herself. 

Enter Mrs. Puiieckaft. 

Pure. Brother Zeal-of-the-land ! what shall 
Ave do ? my daughter Win-the-fight is fallen 
into her fit of longing again. 

Busy. For more pig ! there is no more, is 
there ? 

Pure. To see some sights in the Fair. 

Busy. Sister, let her fly the impurity of the 
place swiftly, lest she partake of the j^itch there- 
of. Thou art the seat of the beast, O Smith- 
field, and I will leave thee ! Idolatry peepeth 
out on every side of thee. [Goes forward 

Knock. An excellent right hypocrite ! now 
his belly is full, he falls a railing and kicking, 
the jade. A A'ery good vapor ! I'll in, and joj* 
Ursla, with telling how her pig works ; two and 
a half he eat to his share ; and he has drunk a 
a pailfuU. He eats with his eyes, as well as his 
teeth. [Exit. 

Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen .' what 
is't you buy ? rattles, drums, babies , 

Busy. Peace, with thy apocryphal Avarcs, thou 
profane publican ; thy bells, thy dragons, and 
thy Tobie's dogs. Thy hobby-horse is an idoL, 
a very idol, a fierce and rank idol ; and thou, 
the Nebuchadnezzar, the proud Nebuchadnez- 
zar of the Fair, that sctt'st it up, for children tc 
fall down to, and worship, 

Leath. Cry you mercy, sir ; Avill you buy a 
fiddle to fill up your noise ? 

Re-enter Littlewit and his Wife. 

Lit. Look, Win, do, look a God's name, and 
save your longing. Here be fine sights. 

Pure. Ay, child, so you hate them, as our 
brother Zeal docs, you may look on them. 

Leath. Or what do you say to a drum, sir ? 

Busy. It is the broken belly of the beast, and 
thy bellows there are his lungs, and these pipes 
are his throat, those feathers arc of his tail, and 
thy rattles the gnashing of his teeth. 

Trash. And what's my gingerbread, I pray 
you ? 

Busy. The provender that pricks him up. 
Hence Avith thy basket of popery, thy nest of 
images, and Avholc legend of ginger-AVork. 

Leath. Sir, if you be not quiet the quicklier. 
I'll have you clapp'd fairly by the heels, for dis- 
turbing the Fair. 

Busy. The sin of the Fair provokes me, I can- 
not be silent. 

Pure. Good brother Zeal ! 

Leath. Sir, I'll make you silent, believe it. 

Lit. I'd give a shilling you could, i'faith, 
friend. [Aside to Leatiieiiuead. 

Leath. Sir, give me your shilling, I'll give you 
my shop, if I do not ; and I'll leave it in pawn 
Avith you in the mean time. 

Lit. A match, i'faith ; but do it quickly then 
\Exit Leatherhead. 

Busy, [to Mrs. Purecraft.] Hinder me not, 
AA'oman. I Avas moved in spirit, to be here this 
day, in this Fair, this Avicked and foul Fair ; and 
fitter may it be called a Foul than a Fair ; to 
protest against the abuses of it, tlie foul abuses 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



433 



of it, in regard of the afflicted saints, that are 
troubled, very much troubled, exceedingly trou- 
bled, with the opening of the merchandise of 
Eabylou again, and the peeping of popery upon 
the stalls liere, here, in the high places. See 
you not Goldyloc'ks, the purple strumpet there, 
in her yellow gown and green sleeves ? the pro- 
fane pipes, the tinkling timbrels ? a shop of rcl- 
icks ! [Attempts to seize the toys. 

Lit. Pray you forbear, I am put in trust with 
them. 

Bus;/. And this idolatrous grove of images, 

this flasket of idols, which I will pull down 

[Ooerthroivs the giii'jerbread basket. 

Trash. O my ware, my ware ! God bless it ! 

liusij. In my zeal, and glory to be thus exer- 
cised. 

Re-enie)- LE.vriiEuiiEA.i), 7ci(h Bhistle, IIaogise, 
and other Oificers. 

Lcalh. Here he is, pray j'ou lay hold on his 
zeal ; we cannot sell a whistle for him in tune. 
Stop his noise first. 

Bmij, Thou canst not ; 'tis a sanctified noise : 
I will make a loud and most strong noise, till I 
have daunted the profane enemy. And for this 
cause 

Leath. Sir, here's no man afraid of you, or 
your cause. You shall swear it in the stocks, 
fair. 

Busy. I vvill thrust myself into the stocks, 
upon the jukes of the land. [They seize him. 

Leath. ('arry him away. 

Pure. What do you mean, wicked men ? 

Busy. Let tlicm alone, I fear them not. 

[Exeunt Officers %oith Busy, folloioed by 
Dame Pukecuaft. 

Lit. Was not this shilling well ventured, Win, 
for our liberty ? now we may go play, and see 
over the Fair, where wc list ourselves : my 
mother is gone after hina, and let her e'en go, and 
lose us. 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, John ; but I know not what 
to do. 

Lit. For what. Win ? 

Mrs. Lit. For a thing I am ashamed to tell 
you, i'faith ; and 'tis too far to go home. 

Lit. I pray tlice be not ashamed. Win. Come, 
i'faith, thou shalt not be ashamed : is it any 
thing about the hobby-horse man ? an't be, speak 
freely. 

Mrs. Lit. Hang him, base Bobchin, I scorn 
him ; no, I have very great what sha' call 'um, 
John. [Whispers him. 

Lit. O, is that all. Win ? we'll go back to cap- 
tain Jordan, to the pig-woman's. Win, he'll help 
us, or she, with a dripping-pan, or an old kettle, 
or something. The poor greasy soul loves you, 
Win ; and after we'll visit the Fair all over, 
AVin, and see my puppet-play, Win ; you know 
it's a fine matter, Win. 

[Exeunt LiTTLEwiT and Mrs. Littlewit. 

Leath. Let's away ; I counsell'd you to pack 
up afore, Joan. 

Trash. A pox of his bedlam purity ! He has 
spoiled half my ware : but the best is, we lose 
nothing if we miss our first merchant. 

Leath. It shall be hard for him to find or know 
us, when we are translaiod, Joan. [E.teunt. 

28 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The Fair. 
Booths, Stalls, a pair of Stocks, &c. 

Enter Cokes, Bristle, IlAoaisK, and Pockek, 
with OvEB.BO, followed by Tuounr.EALii. 

Tra. My masters, I do make no doubt, but 
you are officers. 

Bri. What then, sir _? 

Tro. And the king's loving and obedient sub- 
jects. 

Bri. Obedient, friend ! take heed what you 
speak, I advise you ; Oliver Bristle advises you. 
His loving subjects, wc grant you ; but not his 
obedient, at this time, by your leave ; we know 
ourselves a little better than so ; we are to coiu- 
mand, sir, and such as you arc to be obedient. 
Here's one of his obedient subjects going to the 
stocks ; and we'll make you such another, if you 
talk. 

Tro. You are all wise enough in your places, 
I know. 

Bri. If you know it, sir, why do you bring it 
in question ? 

Tro. I question nothing, pardon me. I do 
only hope you have warrant for what you do. 
and so quit you, and so multiply you. [Exit 

Hay. What is he ? — Bring him up to the 
stocks there. Why bring you him not lip ? 

[OvEiibo is brought forward. 

Re-enter Trouisi-eall. 

Tro. If you have justice Overdo's v/arrant, 
'tis well ; you arc safe : that is the warrant of 
warrants. I'll not give this button for any mans 
warrant else. 

Bri. Like enough, sir ; but let me tell 5'ou, an 
you play away your buttons thus, you will want 
them ere night, for any store I see about j'ou ; 
you might keep them, and save pins, I wuss. 

[Exit TuOUIiLEALL. 

Over. What should he be, that doth so es- 
teem and advance my warrant ? he seems a so- 
ber and discreet person : It is a comfort to a 
good conscience to be followed with a good fame 
in his suff'erings. The world will have a pretty 
taste by this, how I can bear adversity ; and it 
will beget a kind of reverence towards inc here- 
after, even from mine enemies, when they shall 
see, I carry my calamity nobly, and that it dotli 
neither break me, nor bend me. [Aside. 

Hag. Come, sir, here's a place for you to 
preach in. Will you put in your log ? 

Over. That I will, cheerfully. 

[They put him in the Stocks. 

Bri. O' my conscience, a seminary ! he kisses 
the stocks. 

Cokes. Well, my masters, I'll leave him with 
you ; now I see him bestowed, I'll go look for 
my goods, and Numps. 

Hag. You may, sir, I warrant you ; where's 
the t'other bawler ? fetch him too, you shall 
find them both fast enough. [Exit Cokes. 

Over. In the midst of this tumult, I will yet 
be the author of mine own rest, and not mind- 
ing their fury, sit in the stocks in that calm aa 
shall be able to trouble a triumph. [A.sidc. 



4S4 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



Jle-e?iter Tiioubleall. 

Tro. Do you assure me upon your words ? 
May I undertake for yoii, if I be asked the ques- 
tion, tliat you have this warrant ? 

Haa. What's this fellow, for God's sake ? 

Tro. J3o but shew me Adam Overdo, and I 
am satisfied. [Exit. 

Bri. He is a fellow that is distracted, they 
Bay ; one Troubleall : he was an ofRcer in the 
court of pic-poudres here last year, and put out 
of his place by justice Overdo. 

Over. Ha! [Aside. 

Bri. Upon Avhich he took an idle conceit, and 
is run mad upon't : so that ever since he will do 
nothing but by justice Overdo' s warrant ; he 
will not eat a crust, nor drink a little, nor make 
him in his apparel ready. His Aviie, sir-rever- 
ence, cannot get him make his water, or shift 
his shirt, without his warrant. 

Over. If this be true, this is my greatest dis- 
aster. How am. I bound to satisfy this poor 
man, that is of so good a nature fc me, out of 
his wits ! where there is no room left for dis- 
sembling. [Aside. 
Bc-entcr Troubleall. 

Tro. If you cannot shew mo Adam Overdo, 
I am in doubt of you ; I am afraid you cannot 
answer it. [Exit. 

Hag. Before me, neighbor Bristle, — and now 
I think on t better, — justice Overdo is a very 
parantory person. 

Bri. O, are you advised of that ! and a severe 
justicer, by your leave. 

Over. Do I hear ill o' that side too ? [Aside. 

Bri, He will sit as upright on the bench, 
an you mark him, as a candle in the socket, and 
give light to the whole court in every business. 

Hag. But he will burn blue, and swell like a 
boil, God bless us, an he be angry. 

Bri. Ay, and he will be angry too, when he 
lists, that's more ; and when he is a^igry, be it 
right or wrong, he has the law on's side ever : 
I mark that too. 

Over. I will be more tender hereafter. I see 
compassion may become a justice, though it be 
a weakness, I confess, and nearer a vice than a 
vu'tue. [Aside. 

Hag. Well, take Mm out o' the stocks again ; 
we'll go a sure way to work, we'll have the ace 
of hearts of our side, if we can. 

[They take Overdo out. 

Enter Pocher, and Officers with Busy, followed 
by Mrs. Purecraft. 

Poch. Come, bring him away to his follow 
there. — Master Busy, we shall rule your legs, 
I hope, though we cannot rule your tongue. 

Busy. No, minister of darkness, no ; thou 
canst not rule my tongue ; my tongue it is mine 
own, and with it I -\\-ill both knock and mock 
down your Bartholomew abominations, till you 
be made a hissing to the neighboring parishes 
round about. 

Hag. Let him alone, we have devised better 
ftpon't. 

Pure. And shall he not into the stocks then ? 

Bri. No, mistress, we'll have them both to 



justice Overdo, and let him do over 'em as is 
fitting : then I, and my gossip Haggise, and my 
beadle Pocher, are discharged. 

Pure. O, I thank you, blessed honest men ! 

Bri. Nay, never thank us ; but thank thia 
madman that comes here ! he put it in our heads 

' Re-enter Troubleall. 

Pure. Is he mad? now heaven increase hi,3 
madness, and bless it, and thank it. — Sir, yoiir 
poor handmaid thanks you. 

Tro. Have you a warrant ? an you have a 
warrant, shew it. 

Pure. Yes, I have a warrant out of the word, 
to give thanks for removing any scorn intended i 
to the brethren. [Exeuni all but 'i!vi.ov\ir,iih.j,j.. I 

Tro. It is justice Overdo's warrant that I look 
for ; if you have not that, keep your word, I'll 
keep mine. Quit ye, and miiltiply ye. 

Enter Edgworth and Nightingale. ■ 

Edg. Come away. Nightingale, I pray thee. 

Tro. "Whither go you ? where's your warrant! 

Edg. Warrant ! for what, sir ? 

Tro. For what you go about, you know how 
fit it is ; an you have no warrant, bless you, I'll 
pray for you, that's all I can do. [Exit. 

Edg. What means he ? 

Night. A madman that haunts the Fair ; do • 
you not know him ? It's marvel he has not | 
more followers after his ragged heels. 

Edg. Beshrew him, he startled me : I thought 
he had knovvm of our plot. Guilt's a terrible 
thing. Have you prepared the costard-monger ? 

Night. Yes, and agreed for his basket of pears • 
he is at the corner lierc, ready. And your prize, 
he comes down sailing that way all alone, with- 
out his jirotector ; he is rid of him, it seems. 

Edg. Ay, I know ; I should have followed 
his protectorship, for a feat I am to do upon 
him : but this offered itself so in the way, I 
could not let scape : here he comes, whistle ; bo 
this sport call'd Dorring the Dotterel. 

Re-enter Cokes. 
Night. Wh, Avh, wh, wh, &c. [ Whistles- 

Cokes. By this light, I cannot find my ginger- 
bread wife, nor my hobby-horse man, in all the 
Fair now, to have my money again : and I do 
not know the Avay out on't, to go home for more. 
Do you hear, friend, j'ou that whistle r what 
tune is that you whistle ? 

Night. A new tune I am practising, sir. 
Cokes. Dost thou know where I dwell, I pray 
thee ? nay, on with thy tune ; I have no such 
haste for an answer : I'll practise with thee. 

Enter Costard-moxger, icith a Basket of Pears. 

Cos. Buy any pears, very fine pears, pears fine ! 
[Nightixgale sets his foot afore him, and 
he falls loith his Basket. 

Cokes. Ods so ! a muss, a muss, a muss, a 
muss ! [Fails a scrambling for the Pears. 

Cos. Good gentlemen, my ware, my ware ; I 
am a poor man. Good sir, my Avare. 

Night, Let me hold your sword, sir, it troubles 
you. 

Cokes. Do, and my cloke an thou wilt, and 
my hat too. 

Edg, A delicate great boy ! mcthijika he out- 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



436 



Bcrarables them all. I cannot persuade mj'sclf, 
but he goes to grarnmar-school yet, and plays 
the truant to-daj\ 

Night. Would lie had another purse to cut, 
Zekiel. 

Ed(f. Purse ! a man might cut out his kidnej's, 
I think, and he never feel 'em, he is so earnest 
at the sport. 

Night. His soul is half v.'ay out on's body at 
the game. 

Edg. Awajr, Nightingale ; that way. 

[Nightingale runs off loith his sword, cloke, 
and hat. 

Cokes. I think I am furnish'd for cather'ne 
pears, for one under-meal : Give me my cloke. 

Cos. Good gentleman, give me my ware. 

Cokes. Where's the fellow I gave my cloke 
to ? my cloke and my hat ; ha ! ods 'lid, is he 
gone ? thieves, thieves ! help me to crj% gentle- 
men. [Exit Ivjbstihj. 

Edg. Away, costardmonger, come to us to 
Ursula's. [Exit Cost.] Talk of him to have a 
soul ! "heart, if he have any more than a thing 
given him instead of salt, only to keep him from 
stinking, I'll be hang'd afore my time, presently : 
where should it be, trow ? in his blood ? he has 
not so much toward it in his whole body as Avill 
maintain a good flea ! and if he take this course, 
he will not have so much land left as to rear a 
calf, within this twelvemonth. Was there ever 
green plover so pull'd ! that his little overseer 
had been here now, and been but tall enough to 
see him steal pears, in exchange for his beaver- 
hat anc' liis cloke thus ! I must go j&nd liim out 
next, f ,1 his black box, and his patent, it seems, 
he has of his place ; which I think the gentle- 
man would have a reversion of, that spoke to 
me for it so earnestly. [Exit. 

Re-enter Cok.es. 
Cokes. Would I might lose my doublet, and 
hose, too, as I am an honest man, and never 
stir, if I think there be arvj thing but thieving 
and cozening in this whole Fair. Bartholomew 
Fair, quoth he ! an ever any Bartholomew had 
that luck ia't that I have had, I'll be martyr'd 
for him, and in Smithfield too. I have paid for 
my pears, a rot on 'era ! I'll keep them no 
longer ; [throws awag his 2}sars.] joxi were choke- 
pears to me : I had been better have gone to 
mum-chance for you, I wuss. Methinks the 
Fau' should not have used me thus, an 'twere 
but for my name's-sake : I would not have used 
a dog o' the name so. O, Numps will triumph 
now ! — 

Enter Tiioubleall. 

Friend, do you know who I am, or where I lie ? 
I do not myself, I'll be sworn. Do but carry 
mo home, and I'll please thee ; I have money 
enough there. I have lost mj'self, and my 
cloke, and ray hat, and my fine sword, and my 
Bister, and Numps, and mistress Grace, a gen- 
tlewoman that I should have married, and a 
cut-svork handkerchief she gave me, and two 
purses, to-day ; and my bargain of hobby-horses 
and gingerbread, which grieves me worst of all, 
Tro. By whose warrant, sir, have you done 
all this ? 



Cokes. Warrant ! thou art a wise fellow in- 
deed ; as if a man need a warrant to lose any 
thing with. 

Tro. Yes, Justice Overdo's Avarrant, a man 
may get and lose with, I'll stand to't. 
• Cokes. Justice Overdo ! dost thou know him ? 
I lie there, he is my brother-in-law, he married 
my sister : pray thee shew me the way ; dost 
thou know the house ? 

Tro. Sir, shew me your warrant : I know 
nothing without a warrant, pardon me. 

Cokes. Why, I Avarrant thee ; come along : 
thou shalt sec I have wrought pillows there, 
and cambric sheets, and sweet bags too. Pray 
thee guide me to the house. 

Tro. Sir, I'll tell you ; go you thither your- 
self first alone, tell your worshipful brother 
your mind, and but bring me three lines of his 
hand, or his clerk's, with Adam Overdo under- 
neath, (here I'll stay you,) I'll obey you, and 
I'll guide you presently. 

Cokes. 'Slid, this is an ass, I have found him: 
pox upon me, what do I talking to such a dull 
fool ! farewell ! you are a very coxcomb, do you 
hear ? 

Tro. I think I am ; if justice Overdo sign to 
it, I am, and so we are all : he'll quit us alj, 
multiply us all. [Exeunt. 

SCENE n. — Another part of the fair. 

Enter Gkace, Quarlous, a7id Winwife, with 
their sioords draicn. 

Grace. Gentlemen, this is no way that you 
take ; you do but breed one another trouble 
and offence, and give me no contentment at all. 
I am no she that affects to be quarrcll'd for, or 
have my name or fortune made the question of 
men's swords. 

Quar. 'Sblood, we love you. 

Grace. If you both love me, as you pretend, 
your own reason Avill tell you, but one can en- 
joy me: and to that point there leads a directer 
line, than by my infamy, which must follow, if 
5'ou fight. 'Tis true, I have profest it to you 
ingenuously, that rather tlran to be yoked with 
this bridegroom is appointed me, I would take 
up any husband almost upon any trust ; though 
subtlety would say to me, I know, he is a fool, 
and has an estate, and I might govern him, and 
enjoy a friend beside : but these are not my 
aims ; I must have a husband I must love, or 1 
cannot live with hira. I shall ill make one of 
these politic wives. 

Winw. Why, if you can like either of us, 
lady, say, Avhich is he, and the other shall swear 
instantly to desist. 

Quar. Content, I accord to that willingly. 

Grace. Sure you think me a woman of an ex- 
treme levity, gentlemen, or a strange fancy, 
that, meeting you by chance in such a place as 
this, both at one instant, and not yet of two 
hours acquaintance, neither of you deserving 
afore the other of me, I should so forsake my 
modest}' (though I might affect one more par- 
ticularly) as to say, this is he, and name him. 

Quar. AVhy, wherefore should you not ? what 
should hinder you ? 



436 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



Grace. If you would not give it to my mod- 
esty, allow it yet to my wit ; give me so mi;ch 
of woman and cunning, as not to betray myself 
impertinently. How can I judge of you, so far 
as to a choice, without knowing you more ? 
You arc both equal, and alike to me yet, and so 
indifferently affected by me, as each of you 
might be the man, if the other were away : for 
you are reasonable creatures, you have under- 
standing and discourse; and if fate send me an 
understanding husband, I have no fear at all but 
mine own manners shall make him a good one. 

Quar. Would I were put forth to making for 
you then. 

Grace. It may be you are, you know not what 
is toward you : will you consent to a motion of 
mine, gentlemen ? 

Winw. Whatever it be, we'll presume reason- 
ableness, coming from you. 

Quar. And fitness too. 

Grace. I saw one of you buy a pair of tables, 
e'en now. 

Winw. Yes, here they be, and maiden ones 
too, unwritten in. 

Grace. The fitter for what they may be em- 
ployed in. You shall write either of you here 
a word or a name, what you like best, but of 
two or three syllables at most ; and the next 
person that comes this way, because Destiny has 
a high hand in business of this nature, I'll de- 
mand which of the two words he or she doth 
approve, and, according to that sentence, fix my 
resolution and affection without change. 

Quar. Agreed ; my word is conceived already. 

Winw. And mine shall not be long creating 
after. 

Grace. But you shall promise, gentlemen, not 
to be curious to know which of you it is, taken ; 
but give me leave to conceal that, till you have 
brought me cither home, or where I may safely 
tender myself. 

Wimv. Why, that's but equal. 

Quar. We are pleased. 

Grace. Because I will bind both your endeav- 
ors to work together friendly and jointly each to 
the other's fortune, and have myself fitted with 
eome means, to make him that is forsaken a part 
of amends. 

Quar. These conditions are very courteous. 
Well, my word is out of the Arcadia, then ; 
Ar gains. 

Wimc. And mine out of the play Palemon. 

{They xcrite. 

Enter Troubleall. 

Tro. Have you any warrant for this, gentle- 
men .'' 

Quar. Wimo. Ha ! 

Tro. There must be a warrant had, believe it. 

Wimc. For what ? 

Tro. For whatsoever it is, any thing indeed, 
no matter what. 

Qiiar. 'Slight, here's a fine ragged prophet 
dropt down i' the nick ! 

Tro. Heaven quit you, gentlemen ! 

Quar. Nay, stay a little : good lady, put him 
to the question. 

Grace. You are content then ? 

Winw, Quar. Yes, yes. 



Grace. Sir, here are two names written — — 

Tro. Is justice Overdo one? 

Grace. How, sir ! I pray j^ou read them to 
yourself; it is for a wager between those gentle- 
men ; and with a stroke, or any difference, mark 
which you approve best. 

Tro. They may be both worshipful names for 
aught I know, mistress ; but Adam Overdo had 
been worth three of them, I assure you in this 
place, that's in plain English. 

Grace. This man amazes me : I pray you like 
one of them, sir. 

Tro. [Marks the book.] I do like him there, 
that has the best warrant, mistress, to save your 
longing, and (multiply him) it may be this. But 
I am still for justice Overdo, that's my con- 
science ; and cjuit you. 

Winw. Is it done, lady ? 

Grace. Ay, and strangely, as ever I saw : what 
fellow is this, trow ? 

Quar. No matter what, a fortune-teller wc 
have made him : which is it, which is it ? 

Grace, Nay, did you not promise not to in- 
quire ? 

Enter Edqworth. 

Quar. 'Slid, I forgot that, pray you pardon 
me. — Look, here's our Mercury come ; the 
license arrives in the finest time too ! 'tis Out 
scraping out Cokes his name, and 'tis done. 

Wimo. How now, lime-tAvig, hast thou 
touch' d ? 

Edff. Not yet, sir ; except j'ou would go with 
me and see it, it is not worth speaking on. The 
act is nothing without a witness. Yonder he is, 
your man with the box, fallen into the finest 
company, and so transported with vapors ! they 
have got in a northern clothier, and one Puppy, 
a western man, that's come to wrestle before 
my lord mayor anon, and captain Whit, and 
one Val. Cutting, that helps captain Jordan to 
roar, a circling boy ; with whom your Numps 
is so taken, that you may strip him of his clothes, 
if you will. I'll undertake to geld him for you, 
if 5'ou had but a surgeon ready to sear him. 
And mistress Justice there, is the goodest 
woman ! she does so love them all over in terms 
of justice and the stjde of authority, with her 
hood upright that — I beseech you come away, 
gentlemen, and see't. 

Quar. 'Slight, I would not lose it for the Fair ; 
what will you do, Ned ? 

Wimo. Why, stay hereaboat for you : mistress 
Wellborn must not be seen. 

Quar. Do so, and find out a priest in the mean 
time ; I'll bring the license. — Lead, which way 
is't ? 

Edff. Here, sir, you are on the back o' the 
booth already ; you may hear the noise. 

[Exeunt 

SCENE III. —Another part of the Fair. 
TJesula's Booth as before. 

Knockem, Whit, Northern, Puppt, Cutting, 
Waspe, and Mrs. Overdo, discovered, ail 
in a state of intoxication. 
Knock. Whit, bid Val. Cutting continue the 

vapors for a lift, Whit, for a lift. [Aside to Whit 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



437 



Nor. I'll ne mare, I'll ne mare ; the eale's too 
meeghty. 

Knoch. How now ! my galloway nag the stag- 
gers, ha ! Whit, give him a slit in the forehead. 
Chear up, man ; a needle and thread to stitch his 
ears. I'd cure him now, an I had it, with a little 
butter and garlick, long pepper and grains. 
Where's my horn ? I'll give him a mash pres- 
entl}', shall take away this dizziness. 

Piqo. AVhj', M'here are you, zurs ? do you 
vlinch, and leave us in the zuds now ? 

Nor. I'll no mare, I is e'en as vull as a paiper's 
bag, by ray troth, I. 

Pup. Do my northern cloth zhrink i' the wet- 
ting, ha? 

Knock. Why, well said, old flea-bitten ; thou'lt 
never tire, I see. \They fall to their vapors again. 

Cut. No, sir, but he may tire if it please 
him. 

Whit. Who told dee sho, that he vuld never 
teer, man? 

Cut. No matter who told him so, so long as he 
knows. 

Knock. Nay, I know nothing, sir, pardon me 
there. 

Enter behind, Edgwortk tvith Quarlous. 

Ed(/. They are at it still, sir ; this they call 
vapors. • 

Whit. He shall not pardon dec, captain : dou 
shalt not be pardoned. Pre' dee, shweet-heart, 
do not pardon nim. 

Cat. 'Slight, I'll pardon him, an I list, Avhoso- 
ever says nay to't. 

Quar. Where's Numps ? I miss him. 

Waspe. Why, I say nay to't. 

Quar. O, there he is. 

Knock. To what do you say nay, sir ? 

Waspe. To any thing, Avhatsocver it is, so long 
as I do not like it. 

Whit. Pardon me, little man, dou must like 
it a little. 

Cut. No, he must not like it at all, sir : there 
you are i' the wrong. 

Whit. I tink I bee ; he musht not like it indeed. 

Cut. Nay, then he both must and will lilve it, 
sir, for all you. 

Knock. If he have reason, he may like it, sir. 

Whit. By no meensh, captain, wpon reason, he 
may like nothing upon reason. 

Waspe. I have no reason, nor I A^ill hear of 
no reason, nor I will look for no reason, and he 
is an ass that either knows any, or looks for't 
from me 

Cut. les, in some sense you may have rea- 
son, sir. 

Waspe. Ay, in some sense, I care not if I grant 
you. 

TT7(/i;. Pardon me, thou ougsht to grant him 
nothing in no shensh, if dou do love dyshelf, 
angry man. 

Waspe. Why then, I do grant him nothing ; 
and I have no sense. 

Cut. 'Tis true, thou hast no sense indeed. 

Waspe. 'Slid, but I have sense, now I think 
on't better, and I will grant him any thing, do 
you see. 

Knock. He is in the right, and does utter a 
Sufficient vajDor. 



Cut. Nay, it is no sufficient vapor neither, I 
deny that. 

Knock. Then it is a sweet vapor. 

Cut. It may be a sweet vapor. 

Waspe. Nay, it is no sweet vapor neither, sir, 
it stinks, and I'll stand to it. 

Whit. Yes, I tink it dosh shtink, captain : all 
vapor dosh shtink. 

Waspe. Nay, then it docs not stink, sir, and 
it shall not stink. 

Cut. By your leave it may, sir. 

Waspe. Ay, by my leave it may stink, I know 
that. 

Whit. Pardon me, thou knoAvesht nothing, it 
cannot by thy leave, angry man. 

Waspe. How can it not ? 

Knock. Nay, never question him, for he is in 
the right. 

Whit. Yesh, I am in de right, I confesh it, so 
ish de little man too. 

WasjK. I'll have nothing confest that concerns 
me. I am not in the right, nor never was in the 
right, nor never will be in the right, while I am 
in my right mind. 

Cut. Mind ! why, here's no man minds you, 
sir, nor any thing else. [They drink again. 

Pup. Vriend, will you mind this that we do ? 
[Offering Northern the cup. 

Quar. Call you this vapors ! this is such 
belching of quarrel as I never heard. WiU you. 
mind j^our business, sir ? 

Edg. You shall see, sir. [Goes up to Wa-spe. 

Nor. I'll ne mare, my waimb werkes too mickle 
with this auready. 

Edg. Will 3^ou take that, master Waspe, that 
nobody should mind you ? 

Waspe. Why, what have you to do ? is't and 
matter to you ? 

Edg. No, but mcthinks you should not be 
unminded, though. 

Wccs^je. Nor I wu' not be, now I think on't. 
Do you hear, new acquaintance ? does no man 
mind me, say you ? 

Cut. Yes, sir, every man here minds you, but 
how ? 

Waspe. Nay, I care as little how as you do ; 
that was not my question. 

Whit. No, noting was ty question, tou art a 
learned man, and I am a valiant man, i'faith 
la, tou shalt speak for me, and I will fight 
for tee. 

Knock. Fight for him, Whit ! a gross vapor, 
he can fight for himself. 

Waspe. It may be I can, but it may be I wu' 
not, how then ? 

Cut. Why then you may choose. 

Was2ie. Why, then I'll choose whether I 
choose or no. 

Knock. I think you may, and 'tis true ; and I 
allow it for a resolute vapor. 

Waspe. Nay then, I do think you do not think, 
and it is no resolute vapor. 

Cut. Yes, in some sort he m.ay allow you. 

Knock. In no sort, sir, pardon me, I can allow- 
him nothing. You mistake the vapor. 

Wasjje. He mistakes nothing, sir, in no sort. 

Whit. Yes I pre dee now, let him mistake. 

Waspe. A t — in your teeth, never pro dee 
me, for I will have nothing nistaken. 



438 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



Knoch. T — ! ha, t — ? a noisome vapor : 
strike, Whit. [Aside to AVhit. 

\They fall together by the ears, while Edg-\vorth 
steah the license out of the box, and exit. 

Mrs. Over. Why gentlemen, why gentlemen, 
I charge you upon my authoritj', conserve the 
peace. In the king's name, and my husband's, 
put up your weapons, I shall be driven to com- 
mit you myself, else. 

Qiiar. Ha, ha, ha ! 

IVaspe. Why do you laugh, sir ? 

Quar. Sir, you'll allow me my christian liber- 
ty. I may laugh, I hope. 

Cut. In some sort you maj', and in some sort 
you may not, sir. 

Knock. Nay in some sort, sir, he may neither 
laugh nor hope in this company. 

Was2)e. Yes, then he may both laugh and hope 
m any soi-t, an't please him. 

Quar. Faith, and I will then, for it doth please 
me exceedingly. 

Waspe. No exceeding neither, sir. 

Knock. No, that vapor is too lofty. 

Quar. Gentlemen, I do not play well at your 
game of vapors, I am not very good at it, but 

Cut. [draws a circle on the ground.] Do you 
hear, sir ? I would speak with you in circle. 

Quar. In circle, sir ! what would you with me 
in circle ? 

Cut. Can you lend me a piece, a Jacobus, in 
circle ? 

Qiuir. 'Slid, your circle will prove more costly 
than your vapors, then. Sir, no, I lend you none. 

Cut. Your beard's not well turn'd up, sir. 

Quar. Hov>', rascal ! are you playing with my 
beard r I'll break circle with you. 

[They all draio and fight. 

Pup. Nor. Gentlemen, gentlemen ! 

Knock. [Aside to Whit.] Gather up, Whit, 
gather up, Whit, good vapors. 

[Exit, xohile Whit takes up the sioords, 
clokes, S^c., and conceals them. 

Mrs, Over. What mean 5'ou ? are you rebels, 
gentlemen? shall I send out a Serjeant at arms, 
or a writ of rebellion, against j'ou ? I'll commit 
you upon my woman-hood, for a riot, upon my 
justice-hood, if you persist. 

[Exeunt Quarloxjs and Cutting. 

Waspe. Upon my justice-hood ! marry s — o' 
your hood : you'll commit ! spoke like a true 
justice of peace's wife indeed, and a fine female 
lawyer ! t — in your teeth for a fee, now. 

Mrs. Ocer. Why Numps, in master Overdo's 
name, I charge you. 

Waspe. Good mistress Underdo, hold your 
tongue. 

Mrs. Over. Alas, poor Numps ! 

Waspe. Alas ! and Avhy alas from you, I be- 
seech you ? or Avhy poor Numps, goody Rich r 
Am I come to be pitied by your tuft-taffata now ? 
Why, mistress, I knew Adam the clerk, your 
husband, when he was Adam Scrivener, and writ 
for two-pence a sheet, as high as he bears his 
head now, or you your hood, dame. — 

Enter Bristle and other Watchmen. 
What are you, sir ? 

Bri. We be men, and no infidels ; what is the 
matter here, and the noises, can you tell ? 



Waspe. Heart, what ha' you to do ? cannot a 
man quarrel in quietness, but he must be put 
out on't by you ! what are you ? 

Bri. Why, we be tis majesty's watch, sir. 

Waspe. Watch! 'sblood, you are a sweet watch 
indeed. A body would think, an you watch'd 
well a nights, you should be contented to sleep 
at this time a day. Get you to your fleas and 
your fiock-beds, you rogues, your kennels, and 
lie down close. 

Bri. Down ! 5'es, we will down, I warrant 
you : down with him, in his majesty's name, 
down, down with him, and carrj' him away to 
the pigeon-holes. 
[Sotne of the Watch seize Waspe, and carry him off. 

Mrs. Over. I thank you, honest friends, in the 
behalf o' the crown, and the peace, and in master 
Overdo's name, for suppressing enormities. 

Whit. Stay, Bristle, here ish anoder brash of 
drunkards, but very quiet, special drunkards, 
will pay de five shillings very well. [Points to 
Northern and Puppy, drunk, and asleep, on the 
bench.'] Take 'em to de, in de graish o'God ; one 
of hem do's change cloth for ale in the Fair, 
here ; te toder ish a strong man, a mighty man, 
my lord mayor's man, and a wrastler. He has 
wrashled so long with the bottle here, that the 
man with the beard hash almost streek up hish 
heelsh. • 

Bri. 'SUd, the clerk o' the market has been to cry 
him all the Fair over here, for my lord's service. 

Whit. Tcre he ish, pre de talk Jsim hensh, and 
make ty best on him. [Exeunt Biustle and the 
rest of the Watch with Northern and Puppy.1 
— How now, woman o'shilk, vat ailsh ty shweei 
faish? art tou melancholy? 

Mrs. Over. A little distempered with these 
enormities. Shall I entreat a courtesy of you, 
captain ? 

Whit. Entreat a hinidred, velvet voman, I vil 
do it, shpcak out. 

Mrs. Over. I cannot with modesty speak it 
out, but -^ ' [W}iispc7-s him. 

Whit. I vil do it, and more and more, for de. 
What Ursla, an't be bitch, an't be bawd, an't be ! 

Enter Ursula. 

Urs. Hosy now, rascal ! what roar you for, old 
pimp ? 

Whit. Here, jDut up de clokcs, Ursh ; de pur- 
chase. Pre de now, shweet Ursh, help dis good 
brave voman to a Jordan, an't be. 

Urs. 'Slid call your captain Jordan to her, can 
you not ? 

Whit. Nay, pre de leave dy consheits, and 
bring the velvet woman to de 

Urs. I bring her ! hang her : heart, must I 
find a common pot for every punk in your pur- 
lieus ? 

Whit. O good voordsh, Ursh, it ish a guest o' 
velvet, i' fait la. 

Urs. Let her sell her hood, and buy a spunge, 
with a pox to her ! my vessel is employed, sir. 
I have but one, and 'tis the bottom of an old 
bottle. An honest proctor and his wife are at it 
within ; if she'U stay her time, so. [Exit. 

Whit. As soon as tou cansht, shwcct Ursh, 
Of a valiant man I tink I am te patientsh man i' 
the world, or in all Smithficld. 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



439 



Re-entir Knockem. 

Knock. How now, Whit ! close vapors, steal- 
ing your leaps ! covering in corners, ha ! 

Whit. No, fait, captain, dough tou becsht a 
vish man, cly vit is a mile hence novv. I vas pro- 
curing a shmall courtesie for a woman of fashion 
here. 

Mrs. Over. Yes, captain, though I am a justice 
of peace's wife, I do love men of war, and the 
sons of the sword, when they come before my 
husband. 

Knock. Say'st thou so, filly ? thou shalt have 
a leap presently, I'll horse thee myself, else. 

Urs. [Within.] Come, will you bring her in 
now, and let her take her turn ? 

WAii. Gramcrcy, good Ursh, I tank de. 

Mrs. Over. Master Overdo shall thank her. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Viisvhx, followed by Littlev/it, and ^Ixs. 

LiTTLEWIT. 

Lit. Good ga'raere Urse, Win and I are ex- 
ceedingly beholden to you, and to captain Jor- 
dan, and captain Whit. — Win, I'll be bold to 
leave you, in this good company, Win ; for half 
an hour or so. Win ; while I go and see how my 
matter goes forward, and if the puppets be per- 
fect ; and then I'll come and fetch you, Win. 

Mrs. Lit. Will you leave me alone with two 
men, John ? * 

Lit. Ay, they are honest gentlemen, Win, 
captain Jordan and captain Whit ; they'll use 
YOU very civilly. Win. God be wi' you. Win. 

[Exit. 

Urs, What, is her husband gone ? 

Knock. On his false gallop, Urse, away. 

Urs. An you be right Bartholomew birds, now 
show yourselves so : we are undone for want of 
fowl in the Fair, here. Here will be Zekiel 
Edgworth, and three or four gallants with him 
at night, and I have neither plover nor quail for 
them : persuade this between you two, to be- 
come a bird o' the game, while I work the vel- 
vet woman within, as you call her. 

Knock. I conceive thee, Urse : go thy wajs. 
[Exit Ursula.] — Dost thou hear, Whit ^ is't 
not pity, my delicate dark chestnut here, with 
the line lean head, large forehead, round eyes, 
even mouth, sharp ears, long neck, thin crest, 
close withers, plain back, deep sides, short fillets, 
and full Hanks ; Avith a round belly, a plump 
buttock, large thighs, knit knees, strait legs, 
short pasterns, smooth hoofs, and short heels, 
should lead a dull honest woman's life, that 
might live the life of a lady ? 

Whit. Yes, by my fait and trot it is, captain ; 
de honest woman's life is a scurvy dull life in- 
deed, la. 

Mrs. Lit. How, sir, is an honest woman's life 
a scurvy life ? 

Whit. Yes, fait, shwect heart, believe him, de 
leef of a bond-woman ! but if dou vilt hearken 
to me, I vill make tee a free woman and a lady ; 
dou shalt live like a lady, as to captain saish. 

Knock. Ay, and be honest too sometimes ; 
have her wires and her tires, her green gowns 
and velvet petticoats. 

Wkit. Ay, and ride to Ware and Rumford in 



dy coash, slice de plaj'ers, be in love vit 'cm 
sup vit gallantsh, bo drunk, and cost de noting 

Knock. Brave vapors ! 

Whit. And lie by twcntj' on 'em, ii&oM pleash, 
shweet heart. 

Mrs. Lit. What, and be honest still ! that were 
fine sport. 

Whit. Tish common, shweet heart, tou may'st 
do it by my hand : it shall be justified to thy 
husband's faish, now : tou shalt be as honesht 
as the skin between his hornsh, la. 

Knock. Yes, and wear a dressing, top and top- 
gallant, to compare with e'er a husband on 'em 
all, for a foretop : it is the vapor of spirit in the 
Avife to cuckold now a days, as it is the vapor of 
fashion in the husband not to suspect. Your 
prying cat-eyed citizen is an abominable vapor 

Mrs. Lit. Lord, what a fool have I been ! 

Whit. Mend then, and do every ting like a 
lady hereafter ; never know ty husband from 
another man. 

Knock. Nor any one man from another, but in 
the dark. 

Whit. Ay, and then it ish no disgrash to know 
any man. 

Urs. [ Within.'] Help, help here 1 

Knock. How now ? what vapor's there ? 

Re-enter Uhsul-^.. 
Urs. O, you are a sweet ranger, and look Avell 
to your walks ! Yonder is your punk of Turn- 
bull, ramping Alice, has fallen upon the poor 
gentlewoman within, and puU'd her hood over 
her ears, and her hair through it. 

Enter Alice, beatinrj and driving in Mrs. Ovekdo 

Mrs. Over. Help, help, in the king's name ! 

Alice. A mischief on you, they are such as 
you are that undo us and take our trade from 
us, with your tuft-taifata haunches. 

Knock. How now, Alice ! 

Alice. The poor common whores can have no 
traffic for the privy rich ones ; your caps and 
hoods of velvet call away our austomers, and 
lick the fat from us. 

Urs. Peace, you foul ramping jade, you 

Alice. Od's foot, you bawd in grease, are you 
talking ? 

Knock. Why, Alice, I say. 

Alice. Thou sow of Smithfield, thou ! 

Urs. Thou tripe of TurnbuU ! 

Knock. Cat-a-mountain vapors, ha ! 

Urs. You know Avhcre you were taw'd lately ; 
both lash'd and slash'd you were in Bridewell. 

Alice. Ay, by the same token you rid that 
week, aiid broke out the bottom, of the cart, 
night-tub. 

Knock. Why, lion face, ha ! do you know Avho 
I am ? shall I tear ruflT, slit Avaistcoat, make rags 
of petticoat, lia ! go to, vanish for fear of vapors. 
Whit, a kick, Whit, in the parting vapor. [They 
kick out Alice.] Come, brave Avoman, take a 
good heart, thou shalt bo a lady too. 

Whit. Yes, fait, dey shall all both be ladies, 
and Avrite madam : I vill do't myself for dem. 
Do is the Avord, and D is the middle letter of 
madam, DD, put 'em together, and make deeds, 
without Avhich all Avords are alike, la. 

Knock. 'Tis true : Ursula, take them in, open 



440 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



thy -wardrobe, and fit them to their calling. 
Green gowns, crimson petticoats, green women, 
my lord mayor's green women ! guests o' the 
game, true bred. I'll provide you- a coach to 
take the air in. 

Mrs. Lit. But do you think you can get one ? 

Knock. O, they are common as wheelbarrows 
where there are great dunghills. Every petti- 
fogger's wife has 'em ; for first he buys a coach 
that he may marry, and then he marries that he 
may be made cuckold in't : for if their wives 
ride not to their cuckolding, they do them no 
credit. \^Exeimt Ursula, Mrs. Littlewit, and 
Mrs. Overdo.] — Hide and he Jiidden, ride and be 
ridden, says the vapor of experience. 

Enter Troubleall. 

Tro. By what warrant does it say so ? 

Knock. Ha, mad child o' the pie-poudres ! art 
thou there ? fill us a fresh can, Urse, we may 
drink together. 

Tro. I may not drink withovit a warrant, captain. 

Knock. 'Slood, thou'lt not stale without a war- 
rant shortly. Whit, give me pen, ink, and paper, 
I'll draw liim a warrant presently. 

Tro. It must be justice Overdo's. 

Knock. I know, man ; fetch the drink, Wliit. 

Whit. I pro dee now, be very brief, captain ; 
for the new ladies stay for dee. 

[Exit, and re-enters tciih a can. 

Knock. O, as brief as can be, hero 'tis already. 
[Gioes Troubleall a paper.] Adam Overdo. 

Tro. Why now I'll pledge you, captain. 

Knock. Drink it off, I'll come to thee anon 
again. [Exeimt. 

SCENE IV. — T/is back of Ursula's Booth. 

Overdo in the stocks. People, &c. 

Enter Quarlous icith the license, and Edgworth. 

Quar. Well, sir, j-'ou are now discharged ; be- 
ware of being spied hereafter. 

Edff. Sir, will it please you, enter in here at 
Ursula's, and take part of a silken gown, a velvet 
petticoat, or a wrought smock ; I am promised 
such, and I can spare a gentleman a moiety. 

Quar. Keep it for your companions in beastli- 
ness, I am none of them, sir. If I had not already 
forgiven you a greater trespass, or thought you 
yet -worth my beating, I would instruct your 
manners, to whom you made your offers. But 
go your ways, talk not to mc, the hangman is 
only fit to discourse with yovi ; the hand of bea- 
dle is too merciful a punishment for your trade 
of life. [Exit Edgworth.] — I am sorry I em- 
ploy'dthis fellow, for he thinks me such ifaciims 
quos inquinat, cequat. But it was for sport ; and 
would I make it serious, the getting of this 
license is nothing to me, Avithout other circum- 
stances concur. I do think how impertinently 
I labor, if the word be not mine that the ragged 
fellow mark'd : and what advantage I have 
given Ned Winwife in this time now of working 
her, thovigh it be mine. He'll go near to form 
to her what a debauched rascal I am, and fright 
ner out of all good conceit of mc : I should do so 
by him, I am sure, if I had the opportunity. But 
my hope is in her temper yet ; and it must needs 



be next to despair, that is grounded on any part 
of a woman's discretion. I would give, by mv 
troth now, all I could spare, to my clothes" and 
my sword, to meet my tatter'd soothsaj'cr again, 
Avho was my j udge in the question, to know cer- 
tainly whose Avord he has damn'd or saved ; for 
till then I live but under a reprieve. I must 
seek him. Who be these ? 

Enter Bristle and some of the Watch, loith 
Waspe. 

Wasjic. Sir, you are a Welsh cuckold, and a 
prating runt, and no constable. 

Bri. You say A'ery Avell. — Come, put in his leg 
in the middle roundel, and let him hole there. 
[ The 1/ put him in the stocks. 

Waspe. You stink of leeks, methegiin, and 
cheese, you rogue. 

Bri. Why, Avhat is that to you, if you sit 
SAveetly in the stocks in the mean time ? if you 
haA'C a mind to stink too, your breeches sit close 
enough to your bum. Sit you merry, sir. 

Quar. How noAV, Numps ? 

Waspe. It is no matter how ; pray you look off. 

Quar. Nay, I'll not offend you, Numps ; I 
thought you had sat there to be seen. 

Waspe. And to be sold, did you not ? pray 
you mind your business, an you haA'e any. 

Quar. Cry you mercy, Numps ; docs your leg 
lie high enough ? 

Enter Haggise. 

Bri. HoAV now, neighbor Haggise, Avhat says 
justice Overdo's Avorship to the other offend- 
ers ? 

Haij. Why, he says just nothing ; what should 
he say, or Avhere should he say ? He is not to bo 
found, man ; he has not been sficn in the Fair 
here all this live-long day, never since seven a 
clock i' the morning. His clerks know not Avhat 
to think on't. There is no court of pie-poudres 
yet. Here they be return' d. 

Enter others of the Watch ioith Busi'. 

Bri. What shall be done Avith them, then, in 
your discretion ? 

Hag. I think avo Avere best put them in the 
stocks in discretion (there they Avill be safe in 
discretion) for the valor of an hour, or such a 
thing, till his Avorship come. 

Bri. It is but a hole matter if avo do, neigh- 
bor Haggise ; . come, sir, [to Waspe.] here is 
company for you ; heave up the stocks. 

[As they ojjon the stocks,.'WASVTipufs his shoe on 
his hand, and slipis it infer his leg. 

Waspe. I shall put a trick upon your Welsh 
diligence perhaps. [Aside. 

BrL Put in your leg, sir. [ To Busi. 

Quar. What, rabbi Busy ! is he come ? 

Busy. I do obey thee ; the lion may roar, but 
he cannot bite. I am glad to be thus separated 
from the heathen of the land, and put apart in 
the stocks, for the holy cause. 

Waspe. What are you, sir ? 

Busy. One that rcjoiceth in his affliction, and 
sittcth hero to prophesy the destruction of fairs 
and May-games, Avakes and Whitson-ales, and 
doth sigh and groan for the reformation of thesi 
abuses. 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



441 



Waspe. [to OvEiiDO.] And do you sigh and 
groan too, or rejoice in your affliction ? 

Over. I do not feel it, I do not think of it, it 
is a thing withovit mo : Adam, thou art above 
these batteries, these contumelies. In te maiica 
ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace says ; thou art 
one, Quein neque jmiqieries, neguc mors, neque 
vinculo,, terrent. And therefore, as another friend 
of thine says, I think it be thy friend Persius, 
Non te quccsiveris extra. 

Quar. What's here ! a stoic in the stocks ? the 
fool is turn'd philosopher. 

Busy. Friend, I will leave to communicate my 
spirit witli you, if I hear any more of those su- 
perstitious relics, those lists of Latin, the very 
rags of Homo, and patches of poper)^. 

Waspe. Nay, an you begin to quarrel, gentle- 
men, I'll leave you. I have paid for quarrelling 
too lately : look you, a device, but shifting in a 
hand for a foot. God be \vi' you. 

[Slips out his hand. 

Busy. Wilt thou then leave thy brethren in 
tribulation ? 

Waspe. For this once, sir. [^ExU, running. 

Busy. Thou art a halting neutral ; stay him 
there, stop him, that -will not endure the heat 
of persecution. 

Bri. How now, what's the matter ? 

Busy. He is lied, he is fied, and dares not sit 
it out. 

Bri. What, has he made an escape ! which 
way ? follow, neighbor Haggise. 

[Exeunt Haggise and Watch; 

Enter Dame Purecuaft. 

Pure. O me, in the stocks ! have the wicked 
prevail' d ? 

Busy. Peace, religious sister, it is my calling, 
comfort yourself; an extraordinary calling, and 
done for vay better standing, my surer standing, 
hereafter. 

Enter Thoubleall, with a can. 

Tro. By whose warrant, by whose warrant, 
this ? 

Quar. O, here's my man dropt in I look'dfor. 

Over. Ha! 

Pure. O, good sir, they have set the faithful 
here to bo wonder'd at ; and provided holes for 
the holy of the land. 

Tro. Had they warrant for it ? shew'd they 
justice Overdo's hand ? if they had no warrant, 
thp/y shall answer it. 

Re-enter Haggise. 

Bri. Hure you did not lock the stocks suf- 
ficiently, neighbor Toby. 

Hay. No ! see if you can lock them better. 

Bri. They are very sufficiently lock'd, and 
truly ; yet something is in the matter. 

Tro. True, your warrant is the matter that is 
in question ; by what warrant ? 

Bri. Madman, hold your peace, I will put you 
in his room else, in the very same hold, do you see ? 

Quar. How, is he a madman ! 

Tro. Shevv' me justice Overdo's warrant, I 
obey you. 

Hay. You are a mad fool, hold your tongue. 
[Exeunt Haggise and Bristle. 



Tro. In justice Overdo's name, I drink to you, 
and here's my warrant. [Shetcs his can 

Over. Alas, poor wretch ! how it yearns my 
heart for him ! [Aside. 

Quar. If he be mad, it is in vain to question 
him. I'll try him though. — Friend, there was 
a gentlewoman shew'd you two names some 
hours since, Argalus and Palemon, to mark in a 
book ; which of them was it you mark'd ? 

Tro. I mark no name biit Adam Overdo, that 
is the name of names, he only is the sufficient 
magistrate ; and that name I reverence, shew 
it me. 

Quar. This fellow's mad indeed : I am further 
off now than afore. 

Occr. I shall not breathe in peace till I have 
made him some amends. [Aside. 

Quar. Well, I will make another use of him is 
come in my head : I have a nest of beards in my 
trunk, one something like his. 

Re-enter Bristle and Haggise. 

Jiri. This mad fool has made me that I know 
not whether I have lock'd the stocks or no ; 1 
think I lock'd them. [Tries the locks 

Tro. Take Adam Overdo in your mind, and 
fear nothing. 

Bri. 'Slid, madness itself! hold thy peace, 
and take that. [Strikes him. 

Tro. Strikest thou without a warrant ? take 
thou that. 
[They fiyht, and leave open the stocks in the scuffle. 

Busy. We are delivered by miracle ; fellow in 
fetters, let us not refuse the means ; this madness 
was of the spirit : the malice of the enemy hath 
mock'd itself. [Exeunt Busy and Overdo. 

Pure. Mad do they call him ! the world is mad 
in error, but he is mad in truth : I love him o' the 
sudden (the cunning man said all true) and shall 
love him more and more. How well it becomes 
a man to be mad in truth ! O, that I might be 
his yoke-fellow, and be mad with him, what a 
many should we draw to madness in truth with 
us ! [Exit. 

Bri. How now, all 'scaped ! where's the 
woman ? it is witchcraft ! her velvet hat is a 
witch, o' my conscience, or my key ! the one. — 
The madman Avas a devil, and I am an ass ; so 
bless me, my place, and mine office ! 

[Exeunt, affrighted 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The Fair as before. 
A Booth. 

Lanthorn LeatheTvUEAD, dressed as a puppet- 
shoio man, Filcher, and Sharkwell loith a flay. 
Leaih. Well, luck and Saint Bartholomew ! 
out with the sign of our invention, in the name 
of wit, and do you beat the drum the while : 
all the foul i' the Fair, I mean all the dirt in 
Smithfield, — that's one of master Littlewit's 
carwitchets now — will be thrown at our banner 
to-day, if the matter does not please the people. 
the motions that I Lanthorn Leatherhead 
have giv en light to, in my time, since my master 
Pod died ! Jerusalem was a stately thing, and 



142 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



so was Nineveh, a^id tlic city of Norwich, and 
Sodom and Gomorrah, with the rising of the 
prentices, and pulling down the bawdy-houses 
there iipon Shrove-Tuesday ; but the Gun- 
powder plot, there was a gct-penny ! I have 
presented that to an eighteen or twenty pence 
audience, nine times in an afternoon. Your 
home-born projects prove ever the best, they are 
so easy and familiar ; they put too much learning 
in their things now o'days : and that I fear will 
be the spoil of this. Littlewit ! I say, Mickle- 
wit ! if not too mickle ! look to your gathering 
there, goodman Filcher. 

Filch. I warrant you, sir. 

Leath. An there come any gentlefolks, take 
two-pence apiece, Sharkwell. 

Shark. I warrant you, sir, three-pence an we 
can. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 11. — Another 2Mr( of the Fair. 

Enter Oveudo, disguised like a Forcer. 
Over. This latter disguise, I have borrow'd llf 
a porter, shall carry me out to all my great and 
good ends ; which however interrupted, were 
never destroyed in me : neither is the hour of 
my severity yet come to reveal myself, wherein, 
cloud-like, I will break out in rain and hail, 
lightning and thunder, upon the head of enor- 
mit)-. Two main works I have to prosecute : 
first, one is to invent some satisfaction for the 
poor kind" wretch, Avho is out of his wits for my 
sake, and yonder I see him coming, I will walk 
aside, and project for it. 

Enter Winwife and Grace. 

Wimo. I wonder where Tom Quarlous is, that 
he returns not : it may be he is struck in here 
to seek us. , 

Grace. See, here's our madman again. 

Enter Qitarlous, in Troueleall's clothes, followed 
by Dame Purecraft. 

Quar. I have made myself as like him, as his 
gown and ca^o will give me leave. 

Fure. Sir, I love you, and would be glad to 
be mad with you in truth. 

Wimo. How ! my widow in love with a mad- 
man ? 

Pure. Verily, I can be as mad in spirit as you. 

Quar. By whose warrant ? leave your cant- 
ing. Gentlewoman, have I found you ? [ To mis- 
tress Grace.] save yc, quit ye, and multiply ye ! 
Where's yowc book ? 'twas a sufficient name I 
mark'd, let me see't, be not afraid to shew't me. 

Grace. What would you with it, sir ? 

Quar. Mark it again and again at your service. 

Grace. Here it is, sir, this was it you mark'd. 

Quar. Falemon ! fare jon well, fare you well. 

Wimo. How, Palemon ! 

Grace. Yes, faith, he has discovered it to you 
now, and therefore 'twere vain to disguise it lon- 
ger ; I am yours, sir, by the benefit of your fortune. 

Wimo. And you have him, mistress, believe 
it, that shall never give you cause to repent her 
benefit : Ijut make you rather to think that in 
this choice she had both her eyes. 

Grace. I desire to put it to no danger of prot- 
estation. '{Exeunt Grace and Winwife. 



Quar. Palemon the word, and Winwife the 
man ! 

Fure, Good sir, vouchsafe a yoke-fellow in 
your madness, shun not one of the sanctified 
sisters, that would draw with you in truth. 

Quar. Away, you are a herd of hypocritical 
l^roud ignorants, rather wild than mad ; fitter for 
woods, and the society of beasts, than houses, 
and the congregation of men. You are the 
second part of the society of canters, outlaws 
to order and discipline, and the only privileged 
church-robbers of Christendom. Let me alone : 
Falemon the word, and Winwife the man ! 

Fure. I must uncover myself unto him, or I 
shall never enjoy him, for all the cunning men's 
promises. [Aside.'\ Good sir, hear mo, I am worth 
six thousand pound, my love to j-ou is become 
my rack ; I'll tell you all and the truth, since 
you hate the hypocrisy of the party-colored 
brotherhood. These seven years I have been a 
wilful holy widow, only to draw feasts and gifts 
from my entangled suitors : I am also by office 
an assisting sister of the deacons, and a dovour- 
er, instead of a distributor of the alms. I am 
a special maker of marriages for our dcca3'ecl 
brethren with our rich widows, for a third part 
of their wealth, when they are married, for the 
relief of the poor elect : as also our poor hand- 
some young virgins, with our wealthy bachelors 
or Avidowers ; to make them, steal from their 
husbands, when I have confirmed them in the 
faith, and got all put into their custodies. And 
if I have not my bargain, they may sooner turn 
a scolding drab into a silent minister, than make 
me leave pronouncing reprobation and damna- 
tion unto them. Our elder, Zeal-of-the-land, 
would have had me, but I know him to be the 
capital knave of the land, making himself rich, 
by being made a feoffee in trust to deceased 
brethren, and cozening their heirs, by swearing 
the absolute gift of their inheritance. And thus 
having cased my conscience, and utter' d my 
heart with the tongue of my love ; enjoy all 
my deceits together, I beseech you. I should 
not have revealed this to you, but that in time 
I think you are mad, and I hope you'll think me 
so too, sir ? 

Quar. Stand aside, I'll answer you presently. 
[He walks bij.\ Why should I not marry this six 
thousand pound, now I think on't, and a good 
trade too that she has beside, ha ? Tlie t'other 
wench Winwife is sure of ; tiicre's no expecta- 
tion for me there. Here I may make myself 
some saver yet, if she continue mad, there's the 
question. It is money that I Avant, Avhy should 
not I marry the money v/lien 'tis off'ered me ? 
I have a license and all, it is but razing out one 
name, and putting in another. There's no play- 
ing Avith a man's fortune ! I am resolved : I 
Avere truly mad an I Avould not ! — Well, come 
your Avays, foUoAV me, an you Avill be mad, I'll 
sheAV you a Avarrant ! [Takes her along with him. 

Fure. Most zealously, it is that I zealously de- 
sire. 

Over. [Stopping him.] Sir, let me speak Avitb 
you. 

Quar. By whose Avarrant ? 

Over. The Avarrant that you tender, and re- 
spect so ; Justice Overdo's. I am the man, friend 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



443 



Troubleall, though thus disguised (as the care- 
ful magistrate ought) for the good of the repub- 
lic in the J'air, and the weeding out of enormi- 
ty. Do you want a house, or meat, or drink, or 
clothes ? speak whatsoever it is, it shall be sup- 
plied you ; what want you ? 

Quar. Nothing but your warrant. 

Over. My warrant ! for what ? 

Quar. To be gone, sir. 

Over. Nay, I pray thee stay ; I am serious, 
and have not many Avords, nor much time to 
exchange M-ith thee. Think what may do thee 
good. 

Quar. Your hand and seal will do me a great 
deal of good ; nothing else in the whole Fair that 
I know. 

Over. If it v/ere to any end, thou shouldst 
have it willingly. 

Quar. Why, it will satisfy me, that's end 
enough to look on ; an you will not give it me, 
let me go. 

Over. Alas! thou shalt have it presently ; I'll 
but step into the scrivener's here by, and bring 
it. Do not go awaj% [Exit, 

Quar. Why, this madman's shape will prove 
a very fortunate one, I think. Can a ragged 
robe produce these effects ? if this be the wise 
justice, and he bring me his hand, I shall go 
iiear to make some use on't. 



Re-enter Overdo. 
He is come already ! 

Over. Look thee ! here is my hand and seal, 
Adam Overdo ; if there be any thing to be writ- 
ten above in that paper that thou want'st now, 
or at any time hereafter, think on't, it is my 
deed. I deliver it so ; can your friend write ? 

Quar. Hor hand for a witness, and all is well. 

Over. With all my heart. 

[lie urges lier to sign it. 

Quar. Why should not I have the conscience 
to make this a bond of a thousand pound now, 
or v/hat I would else ? [Aside. 

Over. Look you, there it is, and I deliver it 
as mj^ deed again. 

Quar. Let us now proceed in madness. 

[E.reuut Quarlous and Dame Purecraft. 

Over. Well, my conscience is much eased ; I 
nave done my part, though it doth him no good, 
yet Adam hath offered satisfaction. The sting 
is removed from hence ! Poor man, he is much 
altered with his aftiiction, it has brought him 
low. Now for my other work, reducing the 
young man, I have followed so long in love, 
from the brink of his bane to the centre of safe- 
ty. Here, or in some such like vain place, I 
shall be sure to find him. I will wait the good 
time. [Exit. 

SCENE III. — Another part of the Fair. 
The Puppet-show Booth, as before. 

Enter Sharkwell and Filcher, with bills, and 

CoiCES in his doublet and hose, followed bg the 

Bogs of the Fair. 

Cokes. How now ! what's here to do, friend ? 
art thou the master of the monuments ? 

Shur. 'Tis a motion, an't please your worship. 



E)itcr Overdo behind. 

Over. My fantastical brother-in-law, master 
Bartholomew Cokes ! 

Cokes. A motion ! what's that ! [Reads.'] The 
ancient modern historg of Hero and Learuler, other' 
wise called the Touchstone of true Love, with a$ 
true a trial of friendship between Damon and Pgth- 
ias, two faithful friends o' the Bank-side. Pret- 
ty, i'faith, what's the meaning on't ? is't an in- 
terlude, or -what is't ? 

Filch. Yes, sir, please you come near, we'll 
take your money within. 

Cokes. Back with these children ; ^'hey do so 
follow me up and down ! 

Enter Littlewit. 

Lit. By your leave, friend. 

Filch. You must pay, sir, an you go in. 

Lit. Who, I ! I perceive thou know'st not 
me ; call the master of the motion. 

Shark. What, do j'ou not know the author, 
fellow Filcher ? You must take no money of 
him ; he must come in gratis : master Littlewit 
is a voluntary ; he is tlie author. 

Lit. Peace, speak not too loud, I would not 
have any notice taken that I am the author, tiH 
we see how it passes. 

Cokes. ^Master Littlewit, how dost thou ? 

Lit. Master Cokes ! j'ou are exceeding well 
met : what, in your doublet and hose, Avithout 
a cloke or a hat ? 

Cokes. I would I might never stir, as I am mi 
honest man, and by that fire ; I have lost all in 
the Fair, and all my acquaintance too : didst 
thou meet anj'- body that I know, master Little- 
wit ? my man Numps, or my sister Overdo, or 
mistress Grace ? Pray thee, master Littlewit. 
lend me some money to see the interlude here ; 
I'll pay thee again, as I am a gentleman. If 
thou'lt but carry me home, I have money enough 
there. 

Lit. O, sir, you shall command it ; what, will 
a crown serve you ? 

Cokes. I think it will ; wliat do v/e pay foi 
coming in, fellows ? 

Filch. Two-pence, sir. 

Cokes. Two-pence ! there's twelve-pence, 
friend : nay, I am a gallant, as simple as I look 
now ; if you see me with my man about me, 
and my artillery again. 

Lit. Your man was in the stocks e'en now, 
sir. 

Cokes. Who, Numps ? 

Lit. Yes, faith. 

Cokes. For what, i'faith? I am glad o' that; 
remember to tell me on't anon ; I have enough 
now. What manner of matter is this, mastei 
Littlewit ? what kind of actors have you ? ai-e 
the}' good actors ? 

Lit. Pretty youths, sir, all children both old 
and young ; here's the master of 'em 

Enter Leatherhead. 

Leath. [rwjrfe to Littlewit.] Call me not Leath- 
erhead, but Lantern. 

Lit. Master Lantern, that gives light to the 
business. 

Cokes. In good time, sir ! 1 would fain sea 



iU 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



them. I would be glad to drink with the young 
company ; -"vhich is the tiring-house ? 

Leath. Iroth, sir, our tiring-house is some- 
what little • we are but beginners yet, pray par- 
don us ; you cannot go upright in't. 

Cokes. No ! not now my hat is off ? what 
would you have done with me, if you had had 
me feather and all, as I was once to-day ? Have 
you none of your pretty impudent boys now, to 
bring stools, fill tobacco, fetch ale, and beg mon- 
ey, as they have at other houses ? Let me see 
some of your actors. 

Lit. Shew him them, shew him them. Mas- 
ter Lantern, this is a gentleman that is a favorer 
of the qualitj-. [Exit Leatiierhead. 

Over. Ay, the favoring of this licentious 
quality is the consumption of many a young 
gentleman ; a pernicious cnormitj'. \_Aside. 

Re-enter Leatheriiead, tcith a basket. 

Cokes. What ! do they live in baskets ? 

Leath. They do lie in a basket, sir, they are 
o' the small players. 

Cokes. These be players minors indeed. Do 
you call these players ? 

Leath. They are actors, sir, and as good as 
any, none dispraised, for dumb shows : indeed, I 
am the mouth of them all. 

Cokes. Thy mouth Avill hold tlicm all. I think 
one tailor Avould go near to beat all this compa- 
ny with a hand bound behind him. 

Lit. Ay, and eat them all too, an they were 
in cake-bread. 

Cokes. I thank you for that, master Littlewit ; 
a good jest ! Which is your Burbage now ? 

Leath. What mean you by that, sir ? 

Cokes. Your best actor, your Field ? 

Lit. Good, i'faith ! you are even with me, sir. 

Leath. This is he, that acts young Leander, 
sir : he is extremely beloved of the womenkind, 
they do so affect his action, the green gamesters, 
that come here ! and this is lovely Hero ; this 
with the beard, Damon ; and this pretty Pythi- 
as : this is the ghost of king Dionysius in the 
habit of a scrivener ; as you shall see anon at 
large. 

Cokes. Well, they are a civil company, I like 
em for that ; they offer not to fleer, nor jeer, 
nor break jests, as the great players do : and 
then, there goes not 20 much charge to the feast- 
ing of them, or making them drunk, as to the 
other, by reason of their littleness. Do tliey 
use to play perfect ? arc they never iiustcr'd ? 

Leath. No, sir, I thank my industry and poli- 
cy for it ; they are as well govern' d a company, 
though I say it And here is young Lean- 
der, is as proper an actor of his inches, and 
Bhakes his head like an hostler. 

Cokes. But do you play it according to the 
printed book ? I have read that. 

Leath. By no means, sir. 

Cokes. No ! how then ? 

Leath. A better Avaj', sir ; that is too learned 
and poetical for our audience : what do they 
know Avhat Hellespont is, guilty of true love's 
Hood .? or what Abijdos is ? or the other, Sestos 
Mght f 

Cokes. Thou art in the right ; I do not know 
myself. 



Leath. No, I have entreated master Littlewit 
to take a little pains to reduce it to a more 
familiar strain for our people. 

Cokes. How, I pray thee, good master Little- 
wit ? 

Lit. It pleases him to make a matter of it, sir ; 
but there is no such matter, I assure you : I 
have only made it a little easy, and modern for 
the times, sir, that's all. As for the Hellespont, 
I imagine our Thames here ; and then Leander 
I make a dyer's son about Puddle-wharf: and 
Hero a wench o' the Bank-side, who going over 
one morning to Old Fish-street, Leander spies 
her land at Trig-stairs, and falls in love with 
her. Now do I introduce Cupid, having meta- 
morphosed himself into a drawer, and he strikes 
Hero in love with a pint of sherry ; and other 
l^retty passages there are of the friendship, that 
will delight j'ou, sir, and please you of judg- 
ment. 

Cokes. I'll be sworn they shall : I am in love 
with the actors already, and I'll be allied to 
them presently. — They respect gentlemen, these 
fellows : — Hero shall be my fairing : but which 
of ray fairings ? — let me see — i'faith, my fid- 
dle ; and Leander my fiddle-stick : then Damon 
my drum, and Pythias my pipe, and the ghost 
of Dionysius my hobby-horse. All fitted 

Eater Winwife and Gkace. 

Wimo. Look, yonder's your Cokes gotten in 
among his play-fellows ; I thought we could not 
miss him at such a spectacle. 

Grace. I/Ct him alone, he is so busy, he will 
never spy us. 

Leath. Naj"-, good sir ! 

[ To Cokes, %vho is handling the puppets. 

Cokes. I warrant thee I will not hurt her, 
fellow ; Avhat, dost thou think me uncivil ? I 
pray thee be not jealous ; I am toward a Avife. 

Lit. Well, good master Lantern, make ready 
to begin that I may fetch my wife ; and look you 
be perfect, you undo me else, in my reputation. 

Leath. I warrant you, sir, do not you breed 
too great an expectation of it among your 
friends ; that's the hurter of these things. 

Lit. No, no, no. [Exit. 

Cokes. I'll stay here and see ; pray thee let me 
see. 

Winw. How diligent and troublesome he is ! 

Grace. The place becomes liim, methinks. 

Over. My ward, mistress Grace, in the com- 
pany of a stranger ! I doubt I shall be com- 
pell'd to discover myself before my time. 

[Aside. 

Enter Knockem, Edgworth, and Mrs. Little 

'WIT, followed bg Whit supporting Mrs. Overdo, 

masked. 

Filch. Two-pence apiece, gentlemen, an ex- 
cellent motion. 

Knock. Shall we have fine fire-works, and 
good vapors .' 

Shark. Yes, captain, and water- works too. 

Whit. I pree dee take care o' dy shmall lady 
there, Edgworth ; I will look to dish tall lady 
myself. 

Leath. Welcome, gentlemen, wi-leome, gentle 
men. 



BAETHOLOMEW FAIR. 



445 



W/ut. I'xedec mashter o' the monshtersh, help 
a very sick lady here to a chair to shit in. 

Leath. Preaciitly, sir. 

\_A chair is brought in for Mrs. Oveedo. 

Whit. Good fait now, Ursula's ale and acqua- 
vitfe ish to blame for't ; shit down, shweet-heart, 
Khit down and sleep a little. 

Edg. [ To Mrs. Littleavit.] Madam, you are 
very welcome hither. 

Knock. Yes, and you shall see very good 
vapors. 

Over. Here is my care come ! I like to see 
him in so good company : and yet I wonder that 
persons of such fashion should resort hither. 

{Aside. 

Edg. There is a very private house, madam. 

Leath. Will it jjlease your ladj'-ship sit,madam ? 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, goodman. They do so all-to- 
be-madam mo, I think they think me a very 
lady. 

Edg. "What else, madam ? 

Mrs. Lit. Must I put off my mask to him r 

Edg. O, by no means. 

Mrs. Lit. How should my husband know me 
then? 

Knock. Iluriband ! an idle vapor ; he must not 
knosv you, nor you him : there's the true vapor. 

Over. Yea ! I will observe more of this. 
'Aside.\ Is this a lady, friend ? 

Whit. Ay, and dat is anoder lady, shweet- 
neart ; if dou hasht a mind to 'en\, give me 
twelve-pence from tee, and dou shalt have eder 
oder on 'em. 

Over. Ay, this will prove my chiefest enor- 
mity ; I will follow this. [Aside. 

Edg. Is not this a finer life, lady, than to be 
clogg'd with a husband ? 

Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal. When will they 
begin, trow, in the name o' the motion ? 

Edg. By and by, madam ; they stay but for 
company. 

Knock. Do you hear, puppet-master, these are 
tedious vapors, when begin you ? 

Leath. We stay but for master Littlewit, the 
author, M'ho is gone for his wife : and we begin 
presently. 

Mrs. Lit. That's I, that's I. 

Edg. That was you, lady; but now you are 
no such poor thing. 

Knock. Hang the author's wife, a running 
vapor ! here be ladies will stay for ne'er a Delia 
of them all. 
I Whit. But hear me now, here ish one o' de 

ladish ashleep, stay till shee but vake, man. 

Enter Waspe. 

Was2>e. How now, friends ! what's here to 
do? 

Filch. Two-pence apiece, sir, the best motion 
in the Fair. 

Wasiie. I believe you lie ; if you do, I'll have 
my money again, and beat you. 

Mrs. Lit. Nuraps is come ! 

Waspe. Did yon see a master of mine coraoin 
here, a tall young 'squire of Harrow o' the Hill, 
master Bartholomew Cokes ? 

Filch. I t'nink there be such a one within. 

Waspe. Look he be, you Avere best : but it is 
very likely : I wonder I found him not at all the 



rest. I have been at the Eagle, and the Black 
Wolf, and the Bull with the five legs and two 
pizzles : — he was a calf at Uxbridge fair two 
years agone — and at the dogs that dance the 
morrice, and the hare of the Tabor ; and mist 
him at all these ! Sure this must needs be some 
fine sight that holds him so, if it have him. 
Cokes. Come, come, are you ready now ? 

Leath. Presently, sir. 

Was2)e. Hoyday, he's at work in his doublet 
and hose ! do you l\par, sir, are you employ'cL, 
that you are bare-headed and so busy ? 

Cokes. Hold your peace, Numps ; you have 
been in the stocks, I hear. 

Waspe. Does he know that ! nay, then the 
date of my authority is out ; I must think no 
longer to reign, mj government is at an end. 
He that will correct another must want fault in 
himself. 

Wi?iiij. Sententious Numps ! I never heard so 
much from him before. 

Leath. Sure master Littlewit will net come ; 
please you take your place, sir ; we'll begin. 

Cokes. I pray thee do, mine ears long to be at 
it, and my ej'es too. O Numps, in the stocks. 
Numps ! Avhere's your sword, Numps ? 

Was2)e. I pray you intend your game, su', let 
me alone. 

Cokes. Well then, we are quit for all. Come, 
sit down, Numps ; I'll interpret to thee ; did 
you see mistress Grace ? It's no matter; neither, 
now I think on't, tell me anon. 

V/inw. A great deal of love and care lie ex- 
presses ! 

Grace. Alas, would you have him to expres.'* 
more than he has ? that were tyranny. 

Cokes. Peace, ho ! now, now. 

Leath. Gentles, that «o longer your expectations 
may tvander, 
Behold our chief actor, ainorous Leander. 
With a great deal of cloth, lappd about him like a 

scarf, 
For he yet serves his father, a dyer at Puddle- 

toharf; 
Which j)lace we'll make bold with, to call it out 

Abydus, 
As the Bankside is our Sestos ; and let it not be 

deny'd us. 
Noio as he is beating to make the dye take the fuller. 
Who chances to come by, but fair Hero in a scuUor ; 
And seeing Leander s naked leg and goodly calf. 
Cast at him from the boat a sheep's eye and an half. 
Now she is landed, and the sculler come back. 
By and by you shall see what Leander doth lack. 

Lean. Cole, Cole, old Cole! 

Leath. That is the sculler's name toitlmut con- 
troul. 

Lean, Cole, Cole, I say, Cole ! 

Leath. Wo do hear you. 

Lean. Old Cole. 

Leath. Old Cole ! is the dyer turn'd collier f 
how do you sell ? 

Lean. A pox o' your -manners, kiss my hole here^ 
and smell. 

Leath. Kiss your hole and sn-,ell ! there's man- 
ners indeed. 

Lean. Why, Cole, I say. Cole ! 

Leath. Is't the sculler you need? 

Lean. Ay, and be hang'd. 



■14 'J 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



Leath, Bs hang'cl ! looJi you yond-er. 
Old Cole, you must go hang with master Leaiider. 

Cole, if^iei-e is he ? 

Lean. Rcre, Cole : what fairest affairs, 
Was that fare that thou landedst but now at Trig- 
stairs f 

Cokes. What Avas that, fellow ? pray thee tell 
ine, I scarce understand them. 

Leath. Leandcr does ask, sir, what fairest of 
fairs. 
Was the fare he landed but now at Trig-stairs? 

Cole. It is lovely Hero. 

Lean. Nero? 

Cole. No, Hero. 

Leath. It is Hero 
Of the Bankside, he saith, to tell you truth loitlwut 
erring, [herring. 

Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh 
Leandar says tio more, but as fast as he can. 
Gets on all his best clothes, and loill after to the 
Swan, 

Cokes. Most admirable good, is't not ? 

Leath. Stay, sculler. 

Cole. What say you ? 

Leath. You must stay for Leander, 
And carry him to the icenck. 

Cole. You rogue, I am 7io pander. 

Cokes. He says he is no pander. 'Tis a fine 
language ; I understand it now. 

Leath. Are you no pander, goodman Cole? here's 
no man says you are ; 
You'll grow a hot cole, it seems ; jiray you stay for 

Cole. Will he come away ? \your fare, 

Leath. What do you say ? 

Cole. I'd have him C07ne away. 

Leath. Would you have Leander come atcay? 

xohy, pray sir, stay, \inaid 

You are angry, goodman Cole ; I believe the fair 

Came over toith you a' trust : tell us, sculler, are 

you paid ? 

Cole. Yes, goodman Hogrubber of Pickthatch. 

Leath. How, Hogrubber of Pickthatch. 

Cole. Ay, Hogrubber of Pickthatch, Take you 
lliat, [Strikes him over the pate. 

Leath. O, my head ! 

Cole. Harm watch, liarm catch ! 

Cokes. Harm watch, harm catch, he says ; very 
good, i' faith : the sculler had like to have 
knock'd you, sirrah. 

Leath. Yes, but that his fare call'd him away. 

Lean. Row a]yace, row apace, row, row, roic, 
roio, rote. 

Leath. You are knavishly loaden, sculler, take 
heed where you go. 

Cole. Knave in your face, goodman rogue. 

Lean. Roio, row, rote, row, row. 

Cokes. He said, knave in yotir face, friend. 

Leath, Ay, sir, I heard him; but there's no 
talking to these watermen, they will have the 
last word. 

Cokes. Od's my life ! I am not allied to the 
sculler yet ; ho shall be Dauphin my boy. But 
my fiddle-stick does fiddle in and out too much : 
I pray thee speak to him on't ; tell him I would 
have him tarry in my sight more. 

Leath, I pray you be content ; you'll have 
enough on him, sir. 

"No^o, gentles, I ta^e it, here is 7ione of you so 
stupid. 



But that you have heard of a little god of love call'd 

Cupid ; 
Who out of kindness to Leander, /tearing ho but 

saw her, 
This present day and hour doth turn himself to a 

draivei: 
And because he looukl have their first meeting to he 

meiTy, 
He strikes Hero in love to him with a pint of slierry ; 
Which lie tells her from amorous Leander is sent 

her, 
Who after him into the room of Hero doth venture 
[Leandeu goes into Mistress Hero's room 

Jonas. A pint of sack, score a piint of sack in tht 
Coney, 

Cokes, Sack ! you said but e'en now it should 
be sherry. 

Jonas. ^V^ly, so it is ; sherry, sherry, sherry. 

Cokes. Sherry, sherry, sherry ! By my troth he 
makes me merrj'. I must have a name for Cu- 
pid too. Let me see, thou might'st help me, 
now, an thou would'st, Numps, at a dead lift • 
but thou art dreaming of the stocks still. — Do 
not think on't, I have forgot it ; 'tis but a nine 
days' wonder, man ; let it not trouble thee. 

Was2K. I would the stocks were about your 
neck, sir ; condition I hung by the heels in them 
till the wonder were off from you, with all my 
heart. 

Cokes, AVell said, resolute Numps ! but hark 
you, friend, where' s the friendship all this while 
between my drum Damon, and my pipe Pythias ? 

Leath, You shall see by and by, sir. 

Cokes. You think my hobby-horse is forgotten 
too ; no, I'll see them all enact before I go ; I 
shall not know which to love best else. 

Knock. This gallant has interrupting vapors, 
troublesome vapors ; Whit, puff with him. 

Whit. No, I pree dee, captain, let him alone , 
he is a child, i' faith, la. 

Leath. Noio, gentles, to the friends, who in num- 
ber are two. 
And lodged in that ale-house in which fair Hero 

does do. 
Damon, for some kindness done him the last week. 
Is come, fair Hero, in Fish-street, this nwrning to 

seek. 
Pythias does smell the knavery of the meeting. 
And noio you shall see their true-friendly greeting. 

Pythias. Yoit whore-masterly slave, you. 

Cokes. Whore-masterl}'' slave you ! very fiiend- 
ly and familial', that. 

Damon, Whore-master in thy face. 
Thou hast lain with her thyself, I'll prove it in thin 
place. 

Cokes, Damon says, Pythias has lain with her 
himself, he'll prov't in this place. 

Leath. They are tc/iore-masters both, sir, that's 
a plain case, 

Pythias. Yott lie like a rogue, 

Leath. Do I lie like a rogue? 

Pj'thias. A pimp and a scab, 

Leath. A pimp and a scab. 
I say, between you, you have both but one drabi 

Damon. You lie again, 

Leath. Do I lie again ? 

Damon. Like a rogue again, 

Leath. Like a rogue again f 

Pythias. And you are a pimp again. 



BARTHOLOMEW PAIR. 



447 



Co/ces. And you are a pimp again, he says. 

Damon. And a scab agaiii. 

Cokes. And a scab again, he says. 

Leath. And I say again, you arc hoik v'hore- 
masters, again. 
And you have both but one drab again. 

Damon and Pythias. Dosi thou, dost thou, dost 
thou? [They fall upon him. 

Loath. What, both at once ? 

Pythias. Down with him, Damon. 

Damon. Pink his guts, Pythias. 

Leath. What, so malicious ? 
Will ye murder me, masters both, in my o%on house? 

Cokes. Ho ! -well acted, my drum, well acted, 
my pipe, well acted still ! 

Waspe. Well acted, with all my heart. 
. Leath. Hold, hold your hands. 

Cokes. Ay, both your hands, for my sake ! for 
you have both done well. 

Damon. Gramercy, j^nre Pythias. 

Pythias. Gramercy, dear Damon. 

Cokes. Gramercy to you both, my pipe and 
my drum. 

Pythias and Damon. Come, iioio we'll together 
to breakfast to Ilcro. 

Leath. ' Tis well you can now go to breakfast to 
Hero. 
You have given me my breakfast, xcith a hone and 
honero. 

Cokes, How is it, friend, have they hurt 
thee ? 

Leath. O no : 
Between you and I, sir, we do but make show. — 
Thus, gentles, you perceive, loithout any denial, 
'Twixt Damon and Pythias here, friendship's true 

trial. 
Though hourly they quarrel thus, and roar each 

icith other. 
They fight you no more than does brother with 

brother ; 
But friendly together, at the next man they meet. 
They let fly their anger, as here you might see't. 

Cokes. Well, we have seen it, and thou hast 
felt it, whatsoe'er thou sayest. What's next, 
what's next ? 

Leath. This lehilo young Leander icith fair Hero 
is drinking. 
And Hero grotvn drunk to any man's thinking ! 
Yet was it not three pints of sherry could flmo her. 
Till Cu2nd distinguished like Jonas the draioer, 
From xinder his apron, where his lechery lurks, 
Put love in her sack. Now mark hoio it loorks. 

Hero. O Leander, Leander, my dear, my dear 
Lccnder, 
I'll for ever be thy goose, so thou'lt be my gander. 

Cokes. Excellently well said, Fiddle, she'll 
over be his goose, so he'll be her gander ; was't 
not so ? 

Leath. Yes, sir, but mark his answer now. 

Lean. And sweetest of geese, before I go to bod, 
ril stoim over the Thames, my goose, thee to tread. 

Cokes. Brave ! he will swim over the Thames, 
and tread his goose to-night, he says. 

Leath. Ay, peace, sir, they'll be angry if they 
hear you eaves-dropping, now they are setting 
their iualch. 

Lean. But lest the Thames should be dark, my 
goose, my dear friend. 
Lei thy window be j'rovided of a candle's end. 



Hero. Fear not, my gander, I protest I should 
handle 
My matters very ill, if I had not a wJiole candle. 
Lean. Well then, look to't, and kiss mo to boot. 
Leath. Noio hero come the friends again, Pythias 
and Damon, 
And under their cloJies they have of bacon a gam- 
mon. 
Pythias. Drawer, fill some wine here. 
Leath. HoAV, soire wine there ! 
There's company already, sir, pray forbear. 
Damon. ' Tis Hero. 
Leath. Yes, but she icill not be taken, 
After sack and fresh herring, with your Dunmoio- 

bacon. 
. Pythias. You lie, it's Wcstfabian. 
Leath. Wcstphalian, you should say. 
D.imon. If you hold not your peace, you are a 
coxcomb, I would say. 

[Leandeu and Hero kiss. 
What's here, wliat's here ? kiss, kiss, upon kiss ! 

Leath. Ay, xcherefore should they not ? what 
'Tis mistress Hero. \Jiarm is in thial 

Damon. Mistress Hero's a lohor.e. 
Leath. Is she a wliore ? keep you quiet, or, sir, 

knave, out of door. 
Damon. Knave out of door? 
Hero. Yes, knave out of door. 
Damon. ]J'7iore out of door. 

[They fall together by the ears. 
Hero. I say, knave out of door. 
Damon. I say, wliore out of door. 
Pythias. Yea, so say I too. 
Hero. Kiss the whore o' the a — 
Leath. Now you have something to do : 
You must hiss hero' the a — , she says. 
Damon and Pythias. So ice tcill, so we will. 

['They kick her 
Hero. O my haunches, O my haunches, hold, hold. 
Leath. Stand'st thou still ! 
Leander, where art thou? stand'st thou still likt 

a sot, 
And not offer' st to break both their heads with a pot? 
See who's at thine elbow there ! puppet Jonas and 
Cupid. 
Jonas. U^^on'em, Leander, be not so stupid. 
IjCan. You goat-bearded slave ! 
Damon. You tchore-mastcr knave ! [They fight 
Lean. Thou art a tohore-master. 
Jonas. Whore-masters all. \brawl, 

Leath. See, Cupid with a word has fane up the 
Knock. These be fine vapors ! 
Cokes. By this good day, they fight bravely ; 
do they not, Numps ? 

Wasjje. Yes, they lack'd but you to be their 
second all this while. 

Leath. This tragical encounter falling out thus 
to busy us, 
It raises up the ghost of their friend Dio7iysius ; 
Not lilie a monarch, but the tnasicr of a school. 
In a scrivener's furr'd goion, which shews he is no 

fool : 
For therein he hath wit enough to keep himself 

toarm. 
O Damon, he cries, and Pythias, tvhat harm 
Hath poor Dionysius done you in his grave, 
That after his death you should fall out thus and 

rave. 
And call amorous Leander ichore-master knave ? 



448 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



ACT T. 



Damon. / cannot, I roill not, I promise you, 
endure it. 

Raisbi Busy rushes vi. 

Busy. Down -with Dagon ! Down with Dagon ! 
'tis I, I will no longer endure your profanations. 

Leath. What mean you, sir? 

Busy. I will remove Dagon there, I say, that 
idol, that heathenish idol, that remains, as I may 
gay, a beam, a very beam, — not a beam of the 
sun, nor a beam of the moon, nor a beam of a 
balance, neither a house-beam, nor a weaver's 
beam, but a beam in the eye, in the eye of the 
brethren ; a very great beam, an exceeding great 
beam ; such as are your stage-players, rimers, 
and morrice-dancers, who have walked hand in 
hand, in contempt of the brethren, and the 
cause ; and been born out by instruments of no 
mean countenance. 

Leath. Sir, I present nothing but what is li- 
censed by authority. 

Busy. Thou art all license, even licentiousness 
itself, Shimei ! 

Leath. I have the master of the revels' hand 
for't, sir. 

Busy. The master of the rebels' hand thou 
hast. Satan's ! hold thy peace, thy scurrility, 
shut up thy mouth, thy profession is damnable, 
and in pleading for it thou dost plead for Baal. 
I have long opened my mouth wide, and gaped ; 
I have gaped as the oyster for the tide, after thy 
destruction : but cannot compass it by suit or 
dispute ; so that I look for a bickering, e'er long, 
and then a battle. 

Knock. Good Banbury vapors ! 

Cokes. Friend, you'd have an ill match on't, if 
5'ou bicker with him here ; though he be no man 
of the fist, he has friends that will to cuffs for 
him. Numps, will not you take our side ? 

Edg. Sir, it shall not need ; in my mind he 
offers him a fairer course, to end it by disputa- 
tion : hast thou nothing to saj' for thyself, in 
defence of thy quality ? 

Leath. Faith, sir, I am not Avoll-studied in 
these controversies, between the hypocrites and 
us. But here's one of my motion, puppet Diony- 
sius, shall undertake him, and I'll venture the 
cause on't. 

Cokes. Who, my hobby-horse ! will he dispute 
with him ? 

Leath. Yes, sir, and make a hobby-ass of him, 
I hope. 

Cokes. That's excellent ! indeed ho looks likn 
the best scholar of them all. Come, sir, you 
must be as good as your word now. 

Busy. I will not fear to make my spirit and 
gifts known : assist me zeal, fill me, fill mc, that 
is, make me full ! 

Winw. What a desperate, profane wretch is 
this ! is there any ignorance or impudence like 
his, to call his zeal to fill him against a puppet ? 

Quar. I know no fitter match than a puppet 
to commit with an hypocrite ! 

Busy. First, I say unto thee, idol, thou hast 
no calling. 

Dion. You lie, I a.n eaU'd Dionysius. 

Leath. The motion says, you lie, he is call'd 
Uionysius in the matter, and to that calling he 
answers. 



Busy. I mean no vocation, idol, no present 
lawful calling. 

Dion. Is yours a lairful calliny ? 

Leath. The motion asketh, if yours be a law 
ful calling. 

Busy. Yes, mine is of the spirit. 

Dion. Then idol is a laxoful calling. 

Leath. He says, then idol is a la^^■ful calling ; 
for you call'd him idol, and your calling is of the 
spirit. 

Cokes. Well disputed, hobby-horse. 

Busy. Take not part with the wicked, yoimg 
gallant : he neighcth and hinnicth ; all is but 
hinnying sophistry. I call him idol again ; jet, 
I say, his calling, his jorofession is profane, it is 
profane, idol. 

Dion. Itisnotprofane. 

Leath. It is not profane, he says. 

Busy. It is profane. 

Dion. Itisnotprofane. 

Busy. It is profane. 

Dion. It is -not profane. 

Leath. Well said, confute him with Not, still. 
You cannot bear him down with your base 
noise, sir. 

Busy. Nor he me, with his treble creeking, 
though he creek like the chariot wheels of Sa- 
tan ; I am zealous for the cause 

Leath. As a dog for a bone. 

Busy. And I say, it is profane, as being the 
l^age of Pride, and the waiting- woman of Vanity. 

Dion. Yea ! ichat say you to your tire-ivomen, 
then ? 

Leath. Good. 

Dion. Or feather-makers in the Friers, thai are 
of your faction of faith? are not they with their 
perukes, and their puffs, their fans, and their 
huffs, as much pages of Pride, and waiters upon 
Vanity ? What say you, lohat say you, what say 
you ? 

Bur.y. I will not answer for them. 

Dion. Because you cannot, because yoxi camwt. 
Is a bugle-maker a lawful calling ? or the confeet- 
makers ? stcch you have there ; or your French 
fashioner ? you looidd have all the sin loithin your- 
selves, would you not, would you oiot ? 

Busy. No, Dagon. 

Dion. What then, Dagonet 1 is a puppet worse 
than these ? 

Busy. Yes, and my main arg^iment against 
you is, that you are an abomination ; for the 
male, among you, putteth on the ajiparel of the 
female, and the female of the male. 

Dion. You lie, you lie, you lie abominably. 

Cokes. Good, by my troth, he has given him 
the lie thrice. 

Dion. It is your old stale argument against the 
players, but it icill not hold against the puppets • 
for %oe have neither male nor female amongst tis. 
And that thou may'st see, if thou wilt, like a ma- 
licious p>urbUnd zeal as thou art. 

[Takes up his garment. 

Edg. By my faith, there he has answcr'd you, 
friend, a plain demonstration. 

Dion. Nay, I'll prove, against e'er a Babbin of 
them all, that my standing is as lauful as his ; that 
I speak by inspiration, as loell as he ; that I hare 
as little to do with learning as he; and do scorn 
her helps as tnuch as he. 



BAETHOLOMEW FAIR. 



149 



Busy. 1 am confuted, the cause hath failed 
mc. 

Dion. Tlien be converted, be converted. 

Leath. Be converted, I pray you, and let the 
play go on ! 

Busy. Let it go on ; for I am changed, and 
■will become a beholder with you. 

Cokes. That's brave, i' faith, thou hast carried 
it away, hobby-horse ; on with thej)lay. 

Over. [Discoverinr/ himself.'. Stay, now do I for- 
bid ; I am Adam Overdo ! sit still, I charge you. 

Cokes. What, my brother-in-law ! 

Grace. My wise guardian ! 

Edfj. Justice Overdo ! 

Over. It is time to take enormity by the fore- 
head,and brand it ; for I have discovered enough. 

Eiilcr QuAELOus in Tkoubleall's clothes, as be- 
fore, and Dame Pueecraft. 

Quar. Nay, come, mistress bride ; you must 
do as I do, now. You must be mad with me, 
in truth. I have hero justice Overdo for it. 

Oiwr. Peace, good Troubleall ; come hither, 
and you shall trouble none. I will take the 
charge of you, and your friend too ; you also, 
young man, [to Edgwokth.] shall be my care ; 
stand there. 

Edg. Now, mercy upon me. 

Knock. Would we wore away, Whit, these are 
dangerous vapors ; best fall off with our birds, for 
fear o' the cage. [They attempt to steal away. 

Over. Stay, is not my name your terror ? 

Whit. Yesh fait, man, and it ish for tat we 
would be gone, man. 

Enter Little wit. 

Lit. O, gentlemen ! did you not see a ■wife of 
mine ? I have lost my little wife, as I shall be 
trusted ; mj^ little pretty Win. I left her at the 
great woman's house in trust yonder, the pig- 
woman's, with captain Jordan, and captain Whit, 
very good men, and I cannot hear of her. Poor 
fool, I fear she's stepp'd aside. Mother, did you 
not see AVin ? 

Over. If this grave matron be your mother, sk, 
stand by her, ct dijito compesce labellum ; I may 
perhaps spring a wife for you anon. Brother 
Bartholomew, I am sadl}' sorry to see you so 
lightly given, and such a disciple of enormity, 
with your grave governor Humphrey : but stand 
you both there, in the middle place ; I will rep- 
rehend you in your course. Mistress Grace, let 
me rescue you out of the hands of the stranger. 

Winic. Pardon me, sir, I am a kinsman of hers. 

Over. Are you so ! of what name, sir ? 

Winw. Winwife, sir. 

Over. Master Winwife ! I hope j'ou have won 
no wife of her, sir ; if you have, I will examine 
the possibility of it, at fit leisure. Now, to my 
enormities : look upon me, O London ! and see 
me, O Smithlield ! the example of justice, and 
Mirror of Magistrates ; the true top of formality, 
and scourge of enormity. Hearken unto my 
labors, and but observe my discoveries ; and 
compare Hercules with me, if thou dar'st, of 
old ; or Columbus, Magellan, or our countryman 
Drake, of later times. Stand forth, you weeds 
of enormity, and spread. First, Rabbi Busy, 

thcu superkmatical hypocrite ; Ho Leath- 

2i) 



ERHEAD.] Next thou other extremity, thcu pro- 
fane professor of puppetry, little better than 

poetry : [to Whit.] Then thou strong de- 

baucher and seducer of youth ; witness this 
easy and honest young man, [iminting to Edge.] 

■ [to Knock.] Now, thou esquire of dames, 

madams, and twelve-penny ladies ; — Now, my 
green madam herseK of the price ; let me un- 
mask your ladyship. [Discovers Mrs. Lit. 

Lit. O my wife, my wife, my wife ! 

Over. Is she your wife ? redde ie Harpocratem . 

Enter Troubleall, toith a dripping-pan, followed 
by Ursula and Nightingale. 

Trou. By your leave, stand by, my masters, be 
uncover' d. 

Urs. O stay him, stay him, help to cry, Night- 
ingale ; my pan, my pan ! 

Over. What's the matter ? 

Night. He has stolen gammar Ursula's pan. 

Tro. Yes, and I fear no man but justicj 
Overdo. 

Over. Ursula ! where is she ? the sow of 
enormity, this ! Avelcomc, stand you there ; you, 
songster, there. 

Urs. An't please your worsnip, I am in no 
fault : a gentleman stripped him in my booth, 
and borrowed his gown, and his hat ; and he 
ran away with my goods here for it. 

Over. [To Quarlous.] Then this is the true 
madman, and you are the enormity ! 

Quar. You are in the right : I am mad but 
from the gown outward. 

Over. Stand you there. 

Quar. Where you please, sir. 

Mrs. Over. [Waking.] O, lend me a bason, 1 
am sick, I am sick ! where's master Overdo ? 
Bridget, call hither my Adam. 

Over. How ! [lie is shamed and silenced. 

Whit. Dy very own wife, i' fait, worshipful 
Adam. 

Mrs. Over. Will not my Adam come at me ? 
shall I see him no more then ? 

Quar. Sir, why do you not go on with the 
enormity ? are you oppressed with it ? I'll help 
you : hark you, sir, in your car — Your innocent 
young man, you have ta'en such care of all this 
day, is a cut-purse, that hath got all your brother 
Cokes' things, and helped you to your beating 
and the stocks ; if you have a mind to hang him 
now, and shcAv him your magistrate's wit, you 
may : but I should think it were better recover- 
ing the goods, and to save your estimation in 
him. I thank you, sir, for the gift of your ward, 
mistress Grace ; look you, here is your hand and 
seal, by the way. Master Winwife, give you 
joy, you are Palemon, you are possessed of the 
gentlewoman, but she must pay me value, here's 
warrant for it. And, honest madman, there's thy 
gown and cap again ; I thank thee for my wife. 
Nay, I can be mad, sweet-heart, [to Mrs. Pure.] 
when I please still ; never fear me ; and careful 
Numps, where's he ? I thank him for my license, 

Waspe. How ! 

Quar. 'Tis true, Numps. 

Waspe. I'll be hang'd then. 

Quar. Look in your box, Numps. — Nay, sir, 
[to Overdo.] stand not you fix'dhere, like a stake 
in Finsbury, to be shot at, or the whipping-post iu 



4d0 



BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 



tlie Fair, but get your wife out o' the air, it will 
make her worse else ; and remember you are but 
Adam, flesh and blood ! you have your frailty, 
fort^et your other name of Overdo, and invite us 
all to supper. There you and I will compare our 
discoveries ; and drown the memory of all enor- 
mity in your biggest bowl at home. 

Colxcs. How now, Numps, have you lost it ? I 
warrant 'twas when thou wert in the stocks : 
Why dost not speak ! 

Waspe. I will never speak while I live again, 
for augnt I know. 

Over. Nay, Humphrey, if I be patient, you 



must be so too ; this pleasant conceited gentle- 
man hath wrought upon my judgment, and pre- 
vail'd : I pray you take care of your sick friend, 
mistress Alice, and my good friends all 

Quar. And no enormities. 

Over. I invite you home with me to my house 
to supper : I will have none fear to go along, for 
my intents are ad corroctionem, iion ad destruc- 
tionem ; ad csdijicandum, non ad diruendum : so 
lead on. 

Cokes. Yes, and bring the actors along, we'll 
have the rest, of the play at home. [Exeunt, 



EPILOGUE. 



Yoitr Majesty hath seen the jiJtoy, and you 
Can best allow it from your ear and view. 
You know the seo^ie of writers, and what store 
Of loave is given tliem, if they take not more, 
And turn it into license : you can tell 
Ifiiw Jmv<} lis'd thci leave ifou gave us v^ell : 



Or lohether we to rage or license break. 
Or be profane, or make 2'>rofane men speak . 
This is your poioer to judge, great sir, atid net 
Tlie envy of a few. Which if we have got. 
We value less wliat their dislike can hrinff. 
If it 30 happy be, t' have pleas' d i/te Kimj, 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Satan, the great Devil. 

Pug, the less Devil. 

Iniquity, the P^iee. 

Fabian Fitzdottrkl, o Squire ofJVorfolk. 

MEERCRAFT, the Projector. 

KVERILL, his Champion. 

WiTTIPOL, a youn^ Oatlant. 

Eustace Manly, his Friend 

Engine, a Broker. 

Trains, the Projector's Man. 

Thomas Gilthead, a Ooldamith. 

FlutaRCHUS, his Son. 



Sir Paul Eitherside, a Lawyer and Justice. 
Ambler, Oentleman-Usher to Lady Tailbush. 
Sledge, a Smith, the Constable. 
Shackles, Keeper of JViwgate. 

Mrs. Frances Fitzdottrel. 
Lauy Eitherside. 
Lady TAiLBUsh, the Lady Projeclreis. 
Pitfall, her Woman. 



Serjeants, Officers, Servants, Underkeepers, &c 

SCENE, — LoNDOx. 



PROLOGUE. 

The Devil is an Ass : that is, to-day, 
The name of lohat you, are met for, a new play. 
Yet grandees, loould you loere not come to grace 
Our matter, loith allowing tts no place. 
TJiough you presume Satan, (i subtle thing, 
.ind may have heard he's toorn in a thumb-ring ; 
Do not on these presum2}f ions force its act 
In compass of a cJieese-trencher. This tract 
Will iio'er admit our Vice, because of yours. 
Anon, who xoorse than you, the fault endures 
That yourselves make ? xohen you will thrust and 

spurn. 
And knock iis on the elbows ; and bid, turn ; 
As if, when we had spoke, we must be gone, 
Or, till we speak, must all run in, to one. 
Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth ! 
Would we could stand due north, or had no south. 
If that offend ; or xoere Muscovy glass. 
That you might look our scenes through as they 

2XISS. 
We know not how to affect you. If you'll come 
To see new plays, pray you afford us room. 
And shew this but the same face you ham done 
Your dear delight. The Devil of Edmonton. 
Or, if for icant of room it must miscarry. 
Twill be but Justice that your censure tarry, 
Till you give some : and tohen six times you have 

seen't, 
If this play do not like, the Devil is in't. 



ACT L 

SCENE I, , 

Enter Satan and Pug. 

Sat, Iloh, lioh, hoh, lioli, hoh, hoh, lioh, 
holi ! — 
To earth ! and why to earth, thou foolish spirit ? 
What wouklst thou do on earth ? 

Pw, For that, great chief, 



As time shall work. I do but ask my month, 
Which every petty puisne devil has ; 
Within that term, the court of hell will hear 
Something may gain a longer grant, perhaps. 

Sat. For what ? the laming a poor cow or two 
Entering a sow, to make her cast her farrow. 
Or crossing of a market-woman's marc 
'Twixt this and Tottenham ? these were wont 

to b© 
Your main achievements, Pug : You have some 

plot now. 
Upon a tunning of ale, to stale the yeast. 
Or keep the churn so, that the butter come not, 
Spite of the housewife's cord, or her hot spit : 
Or some good ribibe, about Kentish Town 
Or Hogsden, you would hang now for a witch, 
Because she will not let you play round Robin. 
And you'll go sour the citizens' cream 'gainst 

Sunday, 
That she may be accused for't, and condemn'd, 
By a Middlesex jury, to the satisfaction, 
Of their offended friends, the Londoners wives, 
Whose teeth were set on edge with't. Foolish 

fiend ! [and put not 

Stay in your place, know your own strength, 
Bej^ond the sphere of 5-our activity : 
You are too dull a devil to be trusted 
Forth in those parts. Pug, upon any affair 
That may concern our name on earth. It is not 
Every one's work. The state of hell must care 
Whom it employs, in point of reputation. 
Here about London. You would make, I think, 
An agent to be sent for Lancashire, [land. 

Proper enough ; or some parts of Northumber- 
So you had good instructions. Pug. 

Pug. chief, [me ! 

You do not know, dear chief, what there is in 
Prove me but for a fortnight, for a week. 
And lend me but a Vice, to carry with me. 
To practise there with any play-fellow. 
And you wQl see, there will come more upon't. 
Than you'll imagine, precious chief. 

Saif.' What Vice? 
What kind wouldst thou have it of? 

■451 



452 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Pug. Why any : Fraud, 
Or Covctousness, or lady Vanitj', 
Or old Iniquity. 

Sat. I'll call him hither. 

Enter iNiauiTY. 
Iniq. What is he calls upon me, and would 

seem to lack a Vice ? [a trice ; 

Ere his Avords be half spoken, I am with him in 
Here, there, and every where, as the cat is with 

the mice : [or dice ? 

True Tetus Liiqiiitas. Lack'st thou cards, friend, 
I will teach thee [to] cheat, child, to cog, lie 

and swagger, [dagger : 

And ever and aiion to be drawing forth thy 
To swear by Gogs-no wns, like a lusty Juventus, 
In a cloak to thy heel, and a hat like a pent- 
house. ■ [all belly. 
Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet 
With a Avench that shall feed thee Avith cock- 
stones and jelly. [he is ! 
Pile;. Is it not excellent, chief ? how nimble 
Iniq. Child of hell, this is nothing ! I Avill 

fetch thee a leap [in Cheap : 

From the top of Paul's steeple to the standard 
And lead thee a dance thro' the streets Avithout 

fail, 
Like a needle of Spain, Avith a thread at my tail. 
We will survey the suburbs, and make forth 

our sallies, 
DoAA'n Petticoat-lane and up the Smock-alleys, 
To Shoreditch, Whitcchapel, and so to St. 

Kathern's, [their patterns : 

To drink Avith the Dutch there, and take forth 
From thence, Ave Avill put in at Custom-house 

key there, 
And see hoAv the factors and prentices play there 
False Avith their masters, and geld many a full 

pack, [sack. 

To spend it in pies at the Dagger and the Wool- 

Puf/. Brave, brave Iniquity ! Avill not this do, 

chief? 
Iniq. Nay, boy, I Avill bring thee to the bawds 

and the roysters, [oysters ; 

At Billingsgate, feasting Avith claret- Avine and 
From thence shoot the Bridge, child, to the 

Cranes in the Vintry, [entry ! 

And see there the gimblets, hoAV they make their 
Or if thou hadst rather to the Strand doAvn to 

fall, [minster hall, 

'Gainst the lawyers come dabbled from West- 
And mark hoAV they cling, with their clients 

together, 
Like ivy to oak, so velvet to leather : 
Ha, boy, I Avou'd shcAV thee — 
Pug. Rare, rare ! 
Sat. Peace, dotard, 
And thou, more ignorant thing, that so admir'st ; 
Art thou the spirit thou seem'st ? so poor, to 

choose, 
This for a Vice, to advance the cause of hell, 
NoAV, as A-ice stands this present year? Tic- 

■ member 
What number it is, six hundred and sixteen. 
Had it but been five hundred, though some sixty 
Above ; that's fifty years agonc, and six, [him, 
When every great man had his Vice stand by 
tn his long coat, shaking his Avooden dagger, 
I coiild consent, that then this your grave choice 



Might have done that, Avith his lord chief, the 

which 
Most of his chamber can do noAv. But, Pug, 
As the times are, Avho is it will receive you ? 
What company Avill you go to, or Avhom mi-s 

Avith ? 
Where canst thou carry him, except to taA'erns 
To mountupon a joint-stool, Avith a Jew's trump, 
To put down Cokely, and that must bo to citi- 
zens ? [comes.- 
He ne'er will be admitted there, where Vennor 
Ho may perchance, in tail of a sheriff's dinner, 
Skip Avith a rhyme on the table, from Ncav- 

nothing 
And take his Almain leap into a custard. 
Shall make my lady mayoress and her sisters 
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. But 
This is not that Avill do, they are other things 
That are received noAV upon earth, for Vices ; 
Stranger and noAver : and changed CA'ery hour. 
They ride them like their horses, off their legs. 
And here they come to hell, Avhole legions of 

them. 
Ever J' Aveek tired. We still strive to breed, 
And rear up ncAV ones ; but they do not stand ; 
When they come there, they turn them on our 

hands. 
And it is feard they haA'e a stud o' their OAvn 
Will put down our's : both our breed and trade 
Will suddenly decay, if Ave prevent not. 
Unless it be a vice of quality, [men 

Or fashion noAV, they take none from us. Car- 
Are got into the yelloAV starch, and chimney 

SAveepers 
To their tobacco, and strong waters. Hum, 
Meath and Obarni. We must therefore aim 
At extraordinary subtle ones uoav, 
When Ave do send to keep us up in credit : 
Not old Iniquities. Get you e'en back, sir, 
To making of your rope of sand again : 
You are not for the manner, nor the times. 
They have their Alices there, most like to virtues : 
You cannot knoAV them apart by any difference ; 
They wear the same clothes, cat the same meat, 
Sleep in the self-same beds, ride in those 

coaches. 
Or A'cry like, four horses in a coach, 
As the best men and Avomen. Tissue gowns. 
Garters and roses, fourscore pound a pair, 
Embroider'd stockings, cut-Avork smocks and 

shin s. 
More certain marks of letchery noAv and piide, 
Then e'er they were of true nobility ! 

[Exit Iniq. 
But, Pug, since you do burn Avith such desire 
To do the commouAvealth of hell some service, 
I am content, assuming of a body, 
You go to earth, and visit men a day. 
But you must take a body ready made. Pug ; 
I can create you none : nor shall you form 
Yourself an airy one, but become subject 
To all impression of the flesh you take, 
So far as human frailty. So, this morning. 
There is a handsome cut-purse hang'd at Tyburn, 
Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body 
For clothes, employ your credit Avith the hang- 
man, 
Or let our tribe of brokers furnish you. 
And look how far your subtlety can Avork 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Thorough ohoie organs, with that body, spy 
Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want 
vices, [you,) 

And therefore the less need to carry them with 
But as you make your soon at night's relation. 
And we shall find it merits from the state, 
You shall have both trust from us, and employ- 
Pug. Most gracious chief ! [mcnt. 

Sat. Only thus more I bind you. 
To serve the first man that you meet ; and him 
I'll shew you now : observe him. Yon' is he, 
[Skews him FiTZDOTTREL comlnj out of his 
house at a distance. 
You shall see iirst after your clothing. Follow 

him : 
But once engaged, there you must stay and fix ; 
Not shift, until the midnight's cock do crow. 
Pug. Any conditions to be gone. 
Sat. Away then. [Exeicnt severalhj. 

SCENE II. — The Street before Fitzdotthel's 
House. 

Enter Fitzdottrel. 

Fitz. Ay, they do now name Bretnor, as be- 
fore 
They talk'd of Gresham, and of doctor Fore- 
man, 
Franklin, and Fiske, and Savory, he was in too ; 
But there's not one of these that ever could 
Yet shew a man the devil in true sort. 
They have their crystals, I do know, and rings. 
And virgin-parchment, and their dead men's 

sculls, 
Their ravens' -wings, their lights, and pentacles, 
With characters ; I have seen all these. But — 
Would I might see the devil ! I would give 
A hundred of these pictures to see him 
Once out of picture. May I prove a cuckold, 
And that's the one main mortal thing I fear, 
If I begin not now to think, the painters 
Have only made him : 'slight, he Vt'ould be seen 
One time or other else ; he would not let 
An ancient gentleman, of [as] good a house 
As most arc now in England, the Fitzdottrels, 
Run wild, and call upon him thus in vain, 
As I have done this twelvemonth. If he be not 
At all, why are there conjurers ? if they be not. 
Why arc there laws against them ? The best 

artists 
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex and London, 
Essex and Kent, I have had in pay to raise him. 
These fifty weeks, and yet ho appears not. 

'Sdcath, 
I shall suspect they can make circles only 
Shortly, and know but his hard names. They 

do say, 
lie will meet a man, of himself, that has a mind 
to him. [him : 

If he would so, I have a mind and a half for 
He should not be long absent. Prithee, come. 
I long for thee : — an I were with child by him, 
And my wife too, I could not more. Come yet. 
Good Beelzebub. Were he a kind devil. 
And had humanity in him, he would come, but 
To save one's longing. I should use him well, 
I sweir, and with respect ; would he would try 
me ! 



Not as the conjurers do, when they have raised 

him, 
Get him in bonds, and send him post on errands 
A thousand miles ; it is preposterous, that ; 
And, I believe, is the true cause he comes not : 
And he has reason. Who would be engaged, 
That might live freely, as he may do ? I swear, 
They are wrong all. The burnt child di-eads 

the fire. 
They do not know to entertain the devil : 
I would so welcome him, observe his diet, ['em 
Get him his chamber hung Avith arras, two of 
In my own house, lend him my wife's wrought 
And as I am an honest man, I think, [pillows ; 
If he had a mind to her too, I should grant him. 
To make our friendship jJerfect : so I Avould not 
To every man. If he but hear me now. 
And should come to me in a brave young shape, 
And take me at my word ? — 

Enter Pug, handsomely shaped and apparelled. 
Ha ! who is this ? 

Pug. Sir, your good pardon, that I thus pre- 
sume 
Upon your privacy. I am born a gentleman, 
A younger brother, but in some disgrace 
Now wit'n my friends ; and want some little 

means 
To keep me upright, while things be reconciled. 
Please you to let my service be of use -to you, 
sir. _ [mouth. 

Fit::. Service ! 'fore hell, my heart was at my 
'Till I had view'd his shoes well : for those roses 
Were big enough to hide a cloven foot. — [Asiae. 
No, friend, my number's full. I have one ser- 
vant, 
y\l"h.o is my all, indeed ; and from the broom 
Unto the brush : for just so far I trust him. 
He is my wardrobe-man, my cater, cook, 
Butler, and steward : looks unto my horse ; 
And helps to watch my wife. He has all the 

places 
That I can think on, from the garret downward, 
Even to the manger, and the curry-comb. 

Pug. Sir,I shall put your worship to no charge, 
More than my meat, and that but very little : 
I'll serve you for your love. 

Fitz. Ha ! without wages ? 
I'd hearken o' that ear, were I at leisure ; 
But now I am busy. Prithee, friend, forbear 

me — 
An thou hadst been a devil, I should say 
Somewhat more to thee : thou dost hinder now 
My meditations. 

Pug. Sir, I am a devil. 

Fitz. How ! 

Pug. A true devil, sir. 

Fitz. Nay, now you lie ; 
Under your favor, friend, for I'll not quarrel. 
I look'd on your feet afore, you cannot cozan me. 
Your shoe's not cloven, sir, you are whole hoof 'd 

Pug. Sir, that's a popular error,deceives many 
But I am that I tell you. 

Fitz. What's your name ? 

Pug. My name is Devil, sir. 

Fitz. Say'st thou true ? 

Pug. Indeed, sir. 

Fitz. 'Slid, there's some omen fr. this \ "What 
countryman ' 



454 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Pug. Of Derbysiiire, sir, about the Peak. 

Fitz. That ]iole 
Belong'd to your ancestors ? 

Pug. "Yes, Devil's arse, sir. [Ha ! 

Fitz. I'll entertain him for the name sake. 
And turn away my t'other man, and save 
Four pound a year by that ! there's luck and 

thrift too ! . 

riie very Devil may come hereafter as -well. 

[Aside. 
Friend, I receive you : but, Avithal, I acquaint 

3'ou 
Aforehand, if you offend me, I must beat you. 
It is a kind of exercise I use ; 
And cannot be without. 

Pug. Yes, if I do not 
Offend, you can, sure. 

Fitz. Faith, Devil, very hardly : 
I'll call you by your s,urname, 'cause I love it. 

Enter, behind, Exgine, loith a cloke on his arm, 
WiTTiPOL, and Manly. 

Eng. Yonder he walks, sir, I'll go lift him for 
you. 

Wit. To him, good Engine, raise him up by 
degrees. 
Gently, and hold him there too, you can do it. 
Shew yourself now a mathematical broker. 

Eng. I'll Avarrant you, for half a piece. 

Wit. 'Tis done, sir. 

[Engine goes to Fitzdottrel, and takes 
him aside. 

Man. Is't possible there should be such a man ! 

Wit. You shall be your own witness ; I'll not 
To tempt you past your faith. [labor 

Man. And is his wife 
So very handsome, say j'ou ? 

Wit. I have not seen her 
Since I came home from travel ; and they say 
She is not alter'd. Then, before I ■went, 
I saw her once ; but so, as she hath stuck 
Still in my view, no object hath removed her. 

Man. 'Tis a fair guest, friend, beauty ; and 
once lodged 
Deep in the eyes, she hardly leaves the inn. 
How does he keep her ? 

Wit. Very brave ; however 
Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way : 
In every dressing he docs study her. 

Man. And fui-nish forth himself so from the 
brokers ? 

Wit. Yes, that's a hired suit he now has on, 
To see the Devil is an Ass, to-day, in. 
This Engine gets three or four jjound a week by 
lie dares not miss a new play or a feast, [him — 
What rate soever clothes he at ; and thinks 
Himself still new, in other men's old. 

Man. But stay, 
Does he love meat so ? 

Wit. Faith, he does not hate it. 
But that's not it : his belly and his palate 
Would be compounded with for reason. Marry, 
A wit he has, of that strange credit with him, 
'Gainst all mankind ; as it doth make him do 
Just what it list : it ravishes him forth 
Whiihei it please, to any assemblj' or place, 
And would conclude him ruin'd, should he scape 
One public meeting, out of the belief 
He has of his own great and catholic strengths, 



In arguing and discourse. It takes, I see ; 
He has got the cloke upon him. 

Fitz. [after saying on the cloke.'] A fair garment 
By my faith, Engine ! 

Eng. It was never made, sir. 
For threescore pound, I assure you : 'twill jield 

thirty. 
The plush, sir, cost three pound ten shillings a 
And then the lace and velvet ! [yard : 

Fitz. I shall, Engine, 
Be look'd at prettily, in it : art thou sure 
The play is play'd to-day ? 

Eng. O here's the bill, sir : 

[He gives him the lilay -hill. 
I had forgot to give it you. 

Fitz. Ha, the Devil ! [you 

I will not lose you, sirrah. But, Engine, think 
The gallant is so furious in his folly, 
So mad upon the matter, that he'll part 
With's cloke upon these terms ? 

Eng. Trust not your Engine, 
Break me to pieces else, as you would do 
A rotten crane, or an old rxisty jack. 
That has not one true wheel in him. Do but 
talk with him. 

Fitz. I shall do that, to satisfy you, Engme, 
And myself too. [conies for loard.] — With your 

leave, gentlemen. 
Which of you is it, is so mere idolater 
To my wife's beauty, and so very prodigal 
Unto my patience, that for the short parley 
Of one swift hour's quarter, with my Avife, 
He Avill depart Avith (let me sec) this cloke here, 
The price of folly ? — Sir, are you the man :' 

Wit. I am that venturer, sii-. 

Fitz. Good time ! your name 
Is Wittipol ? 

Wit. The same, sir. 

Fitz. And 'tis told me 
You have travell'd lately ? 

Wit. That I have, sir. 

Fitz. Truly, 
Your travels may haA'e alter'd your complexiou ; 
But sure your Avit stood still. 

Wit. It may well be, sir ; 
All heads have not like groAvth. 

Fitz. The good man's gravity. 
That left you land, your father, never taught you 
These pleasant matches. 

Wit. No, nor can his mirth, 
AVith Avhom I make them, put me off. 

Fitz. You are 
Resolved then ? 

Wit. Yes, sir. 

Filz. Beauty is the saint. 
You'll sacrifice yourself into the shirt to ? 

Wit. So I may still clothe and keep Avarm youi 

Fitz. You lade me, sir ! [wisdom. 

TFic. I knoAV Avhat you Avill bear, sir. 

Fitz. Well, to the point. 'Tis only, sir, you 
To speak unto my Avife ? f.say, 

Wit. Only to speak to her. 

Fitz. And in my presence ? 

Wit. In your very presence. 

Fitz. And in my hearing ? 

Wit. In your hearing ; so 
You interrupt us not. 

Fitz. For the short space 
You do demand, the fourth part of an hour 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



455 



1 think I shall, ■with some convenient study, 
And this good help to boot, [shrugs himself vp 
in the clo/ce.] bring mj-self to't. 
Wit. I ask no more. 

Fitz. Please you, walk toward my house. 
Speak what you list ; that time is yours ; my 

right 
1 have departed with : but not bc5'ond 
A minute, or a second, look for. Length, 
And drawing out may advance much to these 

matches. 
And I except all kissing : kisses are 
oilont petitions still with willing lovers. 

Wit. Lovers ! how falls that o' your phantasy ? 
Fitz. Sir, 
I do know somewhat ; I forbid all lip-work. 
Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties : 
Who covets unfit things, denies himself. 

Fitz. You say wall, sir ; 'twas prettily said, 
that same : 
He does indeed, I'll have no touches therefore. 
Nor takings by the arms, nor tender circles 
Oast 'bout the waist, but all be done at distance. 
Love is brought up with those soft migniard 

handlings : 
His pulse lies in his Tpalm ; and I defend 
All melting joints and fingers, that's my bargain, 
I do defend them any thing like action. 
But talk, sir, what you will. Use all the tropes 
And schemes, that prince Quintilian can afford 

you: 
And much good do your rhetoric's heart. You 
are welcome, sir. 

[OIK71S the door of his house. 
Engine, God be wi' you ! 

Wit. Sir, I must condition 
To have this gentleman bv, a witness. 

Fitz. V/ell, 
I am content, so he be silent. 
Ma7i. Yes, sir. 

Fitz. Come, Devil, I'll make j'ou room 
straight : but I'll shew you 
First to your mistress, who's no common one. 
You must conceive, that brings this gain to see 
I hope thou'st brought me good luck. [her. 

Picg. I shall do't, sir. 

[They all enter the house. 

SCENE III. — A Room in Fitzdotthel's House. 

Enter Wittipol, Manly and Engine. 
Wit. Engine, you hope of j-our half piece ? 
'tis there, sir. 
Be gone. [Exit Engine.] — Friend Manly, who's 
within here ? fixed ! 

[KnocJzs him on the breast. 
Man. I am directly in a fit of wonder 
What wifl. be the issue of this conference. 

Wit. For that ne'er vex yourself till the event. 
How like you him ? 

Man. I would fain see more of him. 
Wit. What think you of this ? 
Man. I am past degrees of thinking. 
Old Afric, and the new America, 
With all their fruit of monsters, cannot shew 
So just a prodigy. 

Wit. Could you have believed, 
Without yoiu sight, a mind so sordid inward, 



Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad. 
To all the show that ever shop or ware was ? 

Man. I believe any thing noAv, though I con 
His vices are the most extremities [fesa 

I ever knew in nature. But why loves he 
The devil so ? 

Wit. O, sir ! for hidden treasure 
He hopes to find ; and has proposed himself 
So infinite a mass, as to recover. 
He cares not what he parts with, of the present. 
To his men of art, who are the race may coin 

him. 
Promise gold mountains, and the covetous 
Are still most prodigal. 

Man. But have you faith. 
That he will hold his bargain ? 

Wit. O dear sir ! 
He Avill not off on't ; fear him not : I know him. 
One baseness still accompanies another. 
See ! he is here already, and his wife too. 

Man. A wondrous handsome creature, as I 
live! 

Enter Fitzdotxrel, with Mrs. Fkaxces, his Wife. 

Fitz. Come, wife, this is the gentleman ; liay, 
blush not. 

Mrs. Fitz. W^hy, what do you mean, sir, have 

Fitz. Wife, [you your reason r 

I do not know that I have lent it forth 
To any one ; at least, without a pawn, wife : 
Or that I have eat or drunk the thing, of late. 
That should corrupt it. Wherefore, gentle wife. 
Obey, it is thy virtue ; hold no acts 
Of disputation. 

Mrs. Fitz. Are you not enough 
The talk of feasts and meetings, but you'll still 
Make argument for fresh ? 

Fitz. Why, careful wedlock, 
If I have a longing to have one tale more 
Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart ? 
Why shouldst thou envy my delight, or cross it, 
By being solicitous, when it not concerns thee ? 

Mrs. Fitz. Yes, I have share in this : the scorn 
Avill fall 
As bitterly on me, where both are laugh'd at. 

Fitz. Laugh'd at, sweet bird ! is that the scru- 
ple ? come, come, 
Thou art a niaise. Which 9f your great houses, 
(I will not mean at home hero, but abroad, ) 
Your families in France, wife, send not forth 
Something Avithin the seven year, may be 

laugh'd at ? 
I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks, 
Nor seven days, nor hours ; but seven year, wife : 
I give them time. Once within seven year, 
I think they may do something may be laugh'd 
at ; [wifoj 

In France, I keep me there still. Wherefore, 
Let them that list laugh still, rather than weep 
For me. Here is a cloke cost fifty pound, wife, 
Which I can sell for thirty, when I have seen 
All London in't, and London has seen me. 
To-day I go to the Blackfriars play-house. 
Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance, 
liise up between the acts, let fall my cloke, 
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit. 
As that's a special end why we go thither, 
All that pretend to stand for't on the stage : 
The ladies ask, who's that ? for the\ do come 



4/55 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



To see us, lore, as we do to see them. 

Now I shall lose all this, for the false fear 

Of bein^ laugh'd at ? Yes, wusse. Let them 

laugh, wife. 
Let me have such another cloke to-morrow. 
And let them laugh again, wife, and again. 
And then grow fat with laughing, and then 

fatter, [too ; 

All my young gallants, let 'em bring their friends 
Shall I forbid them ? No, let heaven forbid 

them : 
Or wit, if if.have any charge on 'cm. Come, thy 

ear, wife, [sir. — 

Is all I'll borrow of thee. — Set your watch, 
Thou only art to hear, not speak a word, dove, 
To aught he says : that I do give you in precept, 
No less than counsel, on your wivehood, wife, 
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or 

love. 
As 3-0U must look for these, or say he rail ; 
"Whato'er his arts be, wife, I will have thee 
Delude them with a trick, thy obstinate silence. 
I know advantages ; and I love to hit 
These pragmatic young men at their own weap- 
ons, [you : 
Is your watch ready ? Hero my sail bears for 
Tack toward him, sweet pinnace. [Ha disjmses his 

wife to her 2}ktce.] Where's your watch ? 
Wit. I'll set it, sir, with yours. 
Mrs. Fits. I must obey. [Aside. 

Man. Her modesty seems to suffer with her 
And so, as if his folly were away, [beauty, 

It were worth pity. 

Fits. Now they are riglit ; begin, sir. 
But first, let me repeat the contract briefly. 
I am, sir, to enjoy this cloke I stand in. 
Freely, and as your gift ; upon condition 
You may as freely sj^eak here to my spouse, 
Your quarter of an hour, always keeping 
The measured distance of your yard or more, 
From my said spouse ; and in my sight and 
This is your covenant ? [hearing. 

Wit. Yes, but you'll allow 
For this time spent now ? 
Fitz. Set them so much back. 
Wit. I think I shall not need it. 
Fitz. Well, begin, sir. 
There is your bound, sir ; not beyond that rush. 
Wit. If you interrupt me, sir, I shall discloke 

you. — 
The time I have purchased, lady, is but short ; 
And therefore, if I employ it thriftily, 
I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon. 
I am not here to tell you, you are fair, 
Or lovely, or how well you dress you, lady ; 
I'll save myself tliat eloquence of your glass. 
Which can speak these things better to you 

than I. 
And 'tis a knowledge wherein fools may be 
As wise as a court-parliament. Nor come I 
With any prejudice or doubt, that you 
Should, to the notice of your own worth, need 
Least revelation. She's a simple Avoman, 
Knows not her good, whoever knows her ill, 
And at all caracts. That you are the wife 
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soul. 
Instead of salt, to keep it sweet ; I think, 
Will ask no witnesses to prove. The cold 
Sheets that yculio in, with the watching candle, 



That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty 
Pieces and quarters, half and whole nights some- 
times, 
The devil-given elfin squire, your husband, 
Doth leave you, quitting here his proper circle, 
For a much worse, in the walks of Lincoln's-inn, 
Under the elms, t' expect the fiend in vain there, 
Will confess for you. 

Fitz, 1 did look for this jeer. 

Wit. And Avhat a daughter of darkness he 
does make you, 
Lock'd up from all society, or object ; 
Your eye not let to look upon a face, 
Under a conjurer's, or some mould for one, 
Hollow and lean like his, but by great means, 
As I now make ; your own too sensible suffer- 
Without the extraordinary aids [i''ig3 
Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, lady. 
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice, 
I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms 
To be said forwai-d and backward. 

Fitz. No, I except — 

Wit. Sir, I shall ease you. 

[He ojfers to discloke htm, 

Fitz. Mum. 

Wit. Nor have I ends, lady, [Love, 

Upon you, more than this : to tell you hov/ 
Beauty's good angel, he that waits upon her 
At all occasions, and, no less than Fortune, 
Helps the adventurous, in me makes that i^roffer. 
Which iiever fair one was so fond to lose, [dom. 
Who could but reach a hand forth to her free- 
On the first sight I loved you, since which time, 
Though I have travell'd, I have been in travail 
iloro for this second blessing of your eyes. 
Which now I've purchased, than for all aims 
Think of it, lady, bo your mind as active' [else- 
As is your beauty : view your object well, 
Examine both my fashion and my years ; 
Things that are like, are soon familiar : 
And nature joj's still in equality. 
Let not the sign of the husband fright you, lady ; 
But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers, 
Though fair, are oft but of one morning ; think, 
All beauty doth not last until the autumn : 
Y''ou grow old while I tell you this ; and such 
As cannot use the present, are not wise. 
If Love and Fortune will take care of us. 
Why should our will be wanting ? This is all. 
What do you answer, lady ? 

Fitz. Now the sport comes. [g'^c^'j 

Let him still wait, wait, wait ; while the watch 
And the time rvms, wife ! 

Wit, How ! not any A^'ord ? 
Nay, then I taste a trick in't. — Worthy lady, 
I cannot be so false to my own thoughts 
Of your presumed goodness, to conceive 
This, as your rudeness, which I see's imposed. 
Y'et, since your cautelous jailor here stands by 

you. 
And you are denied the liberty of the house. 
Let me take warrant, lady, from your silence. 
Which ever is interpreted consent. 
To make your ansAver for you ; M-hich shall be 
To as good purpose as I can imagine, , 
And what I think you'd speali. 

Fitz, No, no, no, no. 

Wit, I shall resume, sir. 

Man, Sir, Avhat do you mean ? 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



457 



Wit. One interruption more, sir, and }'ou go 
Into vour hose and doublet, nothing saves you : 
And therefore hearken. This is for your wife. 

Man. You must play fair, sir. 

Wit. Stand for me, good friend. — 
[Sets Manly in his place, and speaks for the Lady. 
Troth, sir, 'tis more than true that you have 

utter'd 
Of my unequal and so sordid match here, 
With all the circumstances of my bondage. 
I have a husband, and a two-lcgg'd one, 
But such a moonling, as no wit of man. 
Or roses can redeem from being an ass. 
He's grown too much the story of men's mouths. 
To scape his lading : should I mako't my study, 
And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help 
To take his burden off; why, this one act 
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted. 
And at a price, proclaims his asinine nature 
So loud, as I am weary of my title to him. 
But, sir, you seem a gentleman of virtue, 
No less than blood ; and one that every waj^ 
Looks as he were of too good quality, 
To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her. 
Since yon have paid thus dear, sir, for a visit. 
And made such venture on your wit and charge 
Merely to see me, oe at most, to speak to me, 
I were too stupid, or, what's worse, ingrate 
Not to return your venture. Think but how 
I may with safety do it, I shall trust 
My love and honor to j'ou, and presume 
You'll ever husband both, against this husband ; 
Who, if we chance to change his liberal ears 
To other ensigns, and with labor make 
A new beast of him, as he shall deserve, 
Cannot complain he is xmkindly dealt with. 
This day he is to go to a new play, sir, 
From whence no fear, no, nor anthority, [him, 
Scarcely the king's command, sir, will restrain 
Now you have fitted him with a stage-garment. 
For the mere name's sake, were there nothing 

else ; 
And many more such journeys he will make ; 
Which, if they now, or any time hereafter, 
Offer us opportunity, you hear, sir. 
Who'll be as glad and forward to embrace. 
Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully, as you. 

[Shifts to his own iJlace again, 
I humbly thank you, lady 

Fitz. Keep j^our ground, sir. 

Wit. Will you be lightened ? 

Fitz. Mum. 

Wit. And but I am, [you 

By the said contract, thus to take my leave of 
At this so envious distance, I had taught 
Ouv lips ere this, to seal the happy mixture 
Made of our souls : but we must both now yield, 
To the necessity. Do not think yet, lady, 
But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and 

whisper, 
And do those crowning courtships too, for which 
Day, and the public, have allow'd no name ; 
But now, my bargain binds me. 'Twere rude 

injury 
To importune more, or urge a noble nature, 
To what of its own bounty it is prone to : 

Else I should speak But, lady, I love so 

well, [sir. 

As I will hope you'll do so too. — I have done. 



Fitz. Well, then I have won .' 

Wit. Sir, and I may win too. [order, 

Fitz. O yes ! no doubt on't. I'll take careful 
That she shall hang forth ensigns at the window, 
To tell you v.'hcn I am absent ! Or I'll keep 
Three or four footmen, ready still of purpose, 
•To run and fetch you at her longings, sir ! 
I'll go bespeak me straight a gilt caroch, 
For her and you to take the air in : yes, 
Into Hyde-park, and thence into Blackfriars, 
Visit the painters, where you may see pictures, 
And note the properest limbs, and how to make 

them ! 
Or what do you say vmto a middling gossip, 
To bring you ay together, at her lodging, 
Under pretext of teaching of my Vv'ife 
Some rare receipt of drawing almond-milk, ha ? 
It shall be a part of my care. Good sir, God 
be wi' you ! [own. 

I have kept the contract, and the cloke's mine 

Wit. Why, much good do't you, sir : it may 
fall out, 
That you have bought it dear, though I've not 
sold it. {Exit. 

Fitz. A pretty riddle ! fare you well, good sir. 
Wife, your face this way ; look on me, and think 
You had a wipked dream, wife, and forget it. 

Man. This is the strangest motion I e'er saAV. 

[Exit. 

Fitz. Now, wife, sits this fair cloke the worse 
upon me ' [ha 

For my great sufferings, or your little patience 
They laugh, you think ? 

Mrs. Fitz. Why, sir, and you might see't. 
What thought they have of you, may be soon 

collected 
By the young gentleman's speech. 

Fitz. Young gentleman ! 
Death, you are in love with him, are you ? 

could he not 
Be named the gentleman, without the young ? 
Up to your cabin again. 

'Mrs. Fitz. My cage, you were best 
To call it. 

Fitz. Yes, sing there. You'd fain be making 
Blanc-manger with him at your mother's ! I 

know you. 
Go, get you up. — [Exit Mrs. Fixz. 

Enter Pug. 
How now ! what say you, Devil ? 
Pug. Here is one Engine, sir, desires to speak 
with you. [broker ! well, 

Fitz. I thought he brought some news of a 
Let him come in, good Devil ; fetch him else. 

[Exit Pug. 

Re-enter Engine. 
O, my fine Engine ! what's the affair, more 
cheats? [jector, 

Eng. No, sir, the wit, the brain, the great pro- 
I told you of, is newly come to town. 

Fitz. Where, Engine ? 

Eng. I have brougjit him (he's Vv'ithout) 
Ere he puU'd off his boots, sir ; but so follow''d 
For businesses ! 

Fitz. But what is a projector ? 
I would conceive. 

Eng. Why, one, sir, that projects 



458 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Ways to enrich men, or to make them great, 
By suit?, by marriages, by undertakings : 
According "as he sees they humor it. 

Fitz. Can he not conjure at all ? 

Enrr. I think he can, sir, 
To tell you true. But you do know, of late, 
The state hath ta'cn such note of 'cm, and com-. 

pell'd 'em 
To enter such great bonds, they dare not practise. 

Fitz. 'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't the while ! 

E»(j. O, sir, you'll grow the richer for the rest. 

Fiiz. I hope I shall : but. Engine, you do talk 
Somewhat too niuch o' my courses : my clokc- 

customer 
Could toll me strange particulars. 

Enij. By my means ? 

FHz. How should he have them else ? 

E/iy. You do not knoAV, sir, [man, sir. 

What he has ; and by what arts : a money'd 
And is as great Avith your almanack-men as you 

Fifz. That gallant ! [are. 

En(j. You make the other wait too long here ; 
And he is extreme punctual. 

Fltz. Is he a gallant ? 

Enrj. Sir, you shall see : he's in his riding suit, 
As he comes now from court : but hear him 

speak ; 
Minister matter to him, and then tell me. 

[Exeioii, 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Fitzdottuel's House. 

Enter Fitzdotthel, Engine, and Meercraft, 
followed by Trains, with a bag, and three or 
four Attendants. 
Meer. Sir, money is a whore,a bawd, a drudge ; 
Fit to run out on errands : let her go. 
Via, })ecunia ! when she's run and gone, 
And fled, and dead ; then will I fetch her again 
With a(]ua vitce, out of an old hogshead ! 
While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer, 
I'll never Avant her ! Coin her out of cobwebs. 
Dust, but I'll have her ! raise wool upon egg- 
shells. 
Sir, and make grass grow out of marrow-bones, 
To make her come. — Commend me to your 
mistress. [To 1 Attendant. 

Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready. 
And it is done. \^Exit 1 Atten.] — I would but 

see the creature 
Of flesh and blood, the man, the prince indeed. 
That could employ so many millions 
As I would helji him to. 
Fitz. How talks he ? millions ! 
Meer. [to 2 Atten.] I'll give you an account 
of this to-morrow. [Exit 2 Atten. 

— Yes, I Avill take no less, and do it too ; 
If they Avere myriads : and Avithout the DcA-il, 
By direct means, it shall be good in laAV. 
Eng. Sir. 

Meer. [<o 3 Atten.] Toll master Woodcock I'll 
not fail to meet him 
Upon the Exchange at night ; pray him to have 
The Avritings there, and Ave'U dispatch it. [Exit 

3 Atten.] — Sir, 
You arc a gentleman of a good presence, 
A handsome man ; I have consider'd you 



As a fit stock to graft honors upon : 
I have a project to make you a duke now. 
That you must be one, Avithin so many months 
As I set doAvn, out of true reasons of state, 
You shall not avoid it. But you must harken, 
then. [ears ? alas ! 

Eng. Harkon ! Avhy, sir, do you doubt hia 
You do not knoAV master Fitzdottrel. 

Fitz. He docs not knOAV me indeed ; I thank 
you, Engine, 
For rectifying him. 

Meer. Good ! Why, Engine, then 
I'll tell it you. (I see you have credit Lore, 
And, that you can keep counsel, 1 11 not ques- 
tion.) 
He shall but be an undertaker Avith me, 
In a most feasible business. It shall cost him 
Nothing. 

Eng. Good, sir. 

Meer. Except he please, but's countenance, 
(That I Avill have) to appear in't, to great men, 
JFor AA^hich I'll make him one. He shall not draAV 
A string of 's purse. I'll drive his patent for 

him. 
We'll take in citizens, commoners, and aldermen, 
To bear the charge, and bloAV them off again, 
Lilce so many dead flies, Avhen it is carried. 
The thing is for recovery of drown'd land. 
Whereof the croAvn's to have a moiety, 
If it be OAvner ; else the croAvn and owners 
To share that moiety, and the recoverers 
To enjoy the t'other moiety for their charge. 

Eng. Thoroughout England ? 

Meer. Yes, Avhich AA'ill arise 
To eighteen millions, seven the first year : 
I have computed all, and made my survey 
Unto my acre : I'll begin at the pan, 
Not at the skirts ; as some have done, and lost 
All that they Avrought, their timber-Avork, tlieir 

trench, 
Their banks, all borne aAvay, or else fiU'd up, 
By the next Avinter. Tut, they never went 
The Avay : I'll have it all. 

Eng. A gallant tract 
Of land it is ! 

Meer. 'Twill yield a pound an acre : 
We must let cheap ever at first. But, sir, 
This looks too large for you, I see. Come hither. 
We'll have a less. Here's a plain fellow, [^w««<s 

to Trains.] you see him. 
Has his black bag of papers there, in buckram, 
Will not be sold for the earldom of Pancridge : 

draAV, 
Give me out one by chance. [Trains gives him 
a- paper out of the bag.] "Project four: 
Dogs'' skins." 
TAvelve thousand pound ! the A^ery Avorst at first. 

Fitz. Pray you let's see it, sir. 

3Ieer. 'Tis a toy, a trifle ! [skins ? 

Fitz. Trifle ! tAvelve thousand pound for dogs' 

Meer. Yes. [sir, 

But, by my Avay of dressing, you must know 
And med'cining the leather to a height 
Of improA'cd Avare, like your borachio 
Of Spain, sir, I can fetch nine thousand for't — 

Eng. Of the king's glover ? 

Meer. Yes ; how heard you that ? 

Eng. Sir, I do knoAV you can. 

Meer. Within this hour ; 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



459 



And reseive half my secret. Pluck another ; 
See if thou hast a hapjiier hand ; [Trains draios 

out another.'] I thought so. 
The very next Avorse to it ! " Bottle-ale.'" 
Yet this is two and twenty thousand. Prithee 
Pull out another, two or three. 

Fit::. Good; stay, friend — 
By bottle-ale two and twenty thousand pound ? 
Meer. Yes, sir, it's cast to penny-halfpenny 
farthing. 
On the back-side, there you may see it, read, 
I will not bate a Harrington of the sum. 
I'll Avin it in my water, and my malt. 
My furnaces, and hanging of my coppers, 
The tonning, and the subtlety of my ycst ; 
And, then the earth of my bottles. Avhich I dig. 
Turn up, and steep, and Avork, and ncal, myself. 
To a degree of porcelane. You Avill Avonder 
At my proportions, AA-hat I Avill put up 
In scA-en years ! for so long time I ask 
For my iuA-eiition. I aa'IU saA'e in cork, 
In my more stop'ling, above three thousand 

pound. 
Within that term ; by googing of them out 
Just to the seize of my bottles, and not slicing : 
There's infinite loss in that. [Tkaixs draics out 

another.] What hast thou there ? 
0! *' Making wine of raisins :" this is in hand 
now. [raisins ? 

Engr. Is not thcit strange, sir, to make wine of 
Meer. Yes, and as true a Avine as the Avines of 
France, 
Or Spain, or Italy : look of Avhat grape 
My raisin is, that Avine I'll render perfect. 
As of the Muscatel grape, I'll render Muscatel ; 
Of the Canary, his ; the Claret, his ; 
So of all kinds : and bate you of the prices 
Of A\ine throughout the kingdom half in half. 

Enff. But hoAV, sir, if you raise the other com- 
Haisins r [modity, 

3feer. Why, then I'll niake it out of black- 
berries. 
And it shall do the same. 'Tis but more art. 
And the charge less. Talce out another. 

Fitz. No, good sir, 
Save you the trouble, I'll not look, nor hear 
Of any but your first, there : the droAvn'd-land ; 
If 't Avill do, as you saj*. 

Meer. Sir, there's not place 
To give you demonstration of these things. 
They are a little too subtle. But I could shcAV 
Such a necessity in it, as you must be [you 

But Avhat you please ; against the receiA'cd 
heresy, [land. 

That England bears no dukes. Keep you the 
Tlie greatness of the estate shall throAv't upon 

you. 
If you like better turning it to money, 
What may not you, sir, purchase Avith that 

Avealth ? 
Say you should part Avitli tAvo of your millions, 
To be the thing you Avoukl, Avho Avould not do't ? 
As I protest I Avill, out of my dividend, 
Lay for some pretty principality 
In Italy, from the church : now you, perhaps, 

Fancy the smoke of England rather ? But 

Have you no private room, sir, to draAV to, 
To enlarge ourselves more upon ? 
Fiiz. O yes. — Devil ! 



Meer. These, sir, are businesses ask to be car- 
With caution, and in cloud. [ried 

Fitz. I apprehend 
They do, sir. — 

Enter Pug. 
Devil, Avhich Avay is your mistress 
Puff. Above, sir, in her chamber. 
Fiiz. O that's Avell : 
Then this Avay, good sir. 

Meer. I shall follow you. Trains, 
Give me the bag, and go you presently. 
Commend my serA'ice to my lady Tailbush. 
Tell her I am come from court this morning ; say, 
I have got our business mov'd, and Avell : entreat 
her, [them 

That she giA^e you the fourscore angels, and see 
Disposed of to my coimsel, sir Paul Eitherside. 
Some time, to-day, I'll Avait xipon her ladyship, 
With the relation. [Exit Train.s 

Eng. Sir, of Avhat dispatch 
He is ! do you mark ? [Aside to Fitz. 

3Ieer. Engine, Avhen did you see 
!My cousin Everill ? keeps he still your quarter 
In the Bermudas ? 

Enff. Yes, sir, he Avas AA'riting 
This morning, A'cry hard. 

3Ieer. Be not you knoAvn to him. 
That I am come to toAvn : I haA-e effected 
A business for him, but I Avould have it take him. 
Before he thinks for't. 
Enff, Is it past ? 
Meer. Not yet. 
'Tis Avell o'the Avay. 

Enff. O sir ! your Avorship takes 
Infinite pains. 

Meer. I love friends to be active : 
A sluggish nature puts off man, and kind 
Enff. And such a blessing foUoAvs it. 
Meer. I thank 
My fate — Pray you, let's be private, sir. 
Fitz. In, here. 
Meer. AVhere none may interrupt us. 

[Exeunt Meer. and Engine. 
Fitz. You hear. Devil, 
Lock the street-doors fast, and let no one in, 
Excepit they be this gentleman's foUoAvers, 
To trouble me. Do you mark ? You have heard 

and seen 
Something to-day, and by it you may gather. 
Your mistress is a fruit that's Avorth the stealing. 
And therefore worth the Avatching. Be you sure, 

noAV, 
You have all your eyes about you ; and let in 
No lace-Avoman, nor baAvd, that brings French 

masks. 
And cut-Avorks ; see you ? nor old croans AA'ith 

wafers. 
To convey letters : nor no yoiiths, disguised 
Like country Avives, Avith cream and. marroAV 

puddings. 
Much knavery may be vented in a pudding, 
I\Iuch bawdy intelligence : they are shreAvd 

cyphers. 
Nor turn the key to any neighbors need ; 
Be it but to kindle fire, or beg a little. 
Put it out rather, all out to an ash. 
That they may see no smoke. Or Avater, spill it < 
Knock on the empty tubs, that by the sound 



460 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



They ma}-- be forbid entrj'. Say, we are robb'd, 
If any come to borrow a spoon or so : 
I willnot have Good Fortune, or God's Blessing 
Let in, while I am busy. 

Pug. I'll take care, sir ; 
Thej' shall not trouble you if they would. 

Fitz. Well, do so. \Exit. 

Pug. I have no singular service of this now, 
Nor no superlative master ! I shall wish. 
To be in hell again at leisure ! bring [tlcty, 

A Vice from thence ! that had been such a sub- 
As to bring broad-cloths hither, or transport 
Fresh oranges into Spain. I find it now ; 
My chief was in the right. Can any fiend 
Boast of a better Vice, than here by nature 
And art they're owners of ? Hell never ov/n me. 
But I am taken ! the fine tract of it 
Pulls me along ! to hear men such professors 
Grown in our subtlest sciences ! My first act, 

novf. 
Shall be to make this master of mine, cuckold : 
The primitive work of darkness I will practise. 
I will deserve so well of my fair mistress 
By my discoveries first, my counsels after. 
And keeping counsel after that, as who 
So ever is one, I will be another sure, 
I'll have my share. Most delicate damn'd flesh 
She will be ! O, that I could stay time, now ! 
Midnight will come too fast upon me, I fear. 
To cut my pleasure 

Enter Mrs. Fitz dottrel. 

Mrs. F'Uz. Look at the back-door, 
One knocks, see who it is. 

Pi({j. Dainty she-Devil ! yAsido and exit. 

Mrs. Fitz. I cannot get this venture of the 
cloke 
Out of my fancy, nor the gentleman's way 
He took, which though 't were strange, yet it 

was handsome. 
And had a grace withal, be3'ond the newness. 
Sure he will think me that dull stupid creature 
He said, and may conclude it, if I find not 
Some thought to thank the attempt. He did pre- 
By all the carriage of it, on my brain, [sume 
For answer ; and will swear 'tis very barren. 
If it can yield him no return. — 

Re-enter Pug. 

Who is it ? • 
Fug. Mistress, it is — but first, let me assure 
The excellence of mistresses, I am. 
Although my master's man, my mistress' slave. 
The servant of her secrets, and sweet turns. 
And know what fitly will conduce to either. 
Mrs. Fitz. What's this ? I pray you come to 
yourself, and think 
What your part is ; to make an answer. Tell, 
Who is at the door ? 

Pug. The gentleman, mistress, 
Who was at the cloke-charge to speak with you 
This morning ; who expects only to take 
Some small commandments from you, what you 
please, [ners. 

Worthy your form, he says, and gentlest man- 
J/;-s. Fitz. ! you'll anon prove his hired 
man, I fear ; 
What has he given you for this message ? sir, 
Bid him put ofi' his hopes of straw, and leave 



To spread his nets in view thus. Though they 
Master Fitzdottrel, I am no such foul [take 

Nor fair one, tell him, Avill be had with stalking ; 
And wish him to forbear his acting to me. 
At the gentleman's chamber- window in Lin- 

coln's-inn there, 
That opens to my gallery ; else I swear 
To acquaint my husband with his folly, and leave 
To the just rage of his offended jealousy, [him 
Or if your master's sense be not so quick 
To right me, tell him I shall find a friend 
That will repair me. Say, I Avill be quiet 
In mine own house. Pray you, in those words 
give it him. 

Pug. This is some fool turn'd ! [Exit 

Mrs. Fitz. If he be the master. 
Now, of that state and wit which I allow him, 
Sure, he will underetand me : I durst not 
Be more direct ; for this officious fellow. 
My husband's new groom, is a spy upon me, 
I find already. Yet, if he but tell him 
This in my words, he cannot but conceive 
Himself both apprehended and reqiiited. 
I would not have him think he met a statue. 
Or spoke to one, not there, though I were silent. 

Pie-enter Pug. 
How now ? have you told him .' 

Pug. Yes. 

Mrs. Fitz. And what says he ? 

Pug. Says he ! 
That which myself would say to you, if I durst. 
That you are proud, SAveet mistress ; and withal, 
A little ignorant, to entertain [leave, 

The good that's proffer'd ; and, by your beauty's 
Not all so wise as some true politic wife 
Would be ; who having matched Avith such a 

nupson 
(I speak it with my master's peace) whose face 
Hath left to accuse him, now, for it doth confess 

him. 
What you can make him ; will yet (out of scruple, 
And a spiced conscience) defraud the poor gen- 
tleman, 
At least delay him in the thing he longs for, 
And makes it his whole study, how to compa.ss 
Only a title. Could but he write cuckold, 
He had his ends : for, look you 

Mrs. Fitz. This can be 
None but my husband's wit. \_Aside. 

Pug. My precious mistress — 

Mrs. Fitz. It creaks his engine : the groom 
never durst 
Be else so saucy. [Aside. 

Pug. If it were not clearly 
His worshipful ambition, and the top of it. 
The very forked top too, why should he [tress, 
Keep you thus mured up in a back room, mis- 
Allow you ne'er a casement to the street. 
Fear of engendering by the eyes, with gallants ? 
Forbid you paper, pen and ink, like rat's-bane ; 
Search your half pint of muscatel, lest a letter 
Be sunk in the pot ; and hold your new-la:d egg 
Against the fire, lest any charm be writ there ? 
Will you make benefit of truth, dear mistress, 
If I do tell it j'ou ? I do't not often : 
I am set over you, employ'd indeed 
To watch your steps, your looks, your vei-j 
breathings, 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS, 



461 



And to report thcin to him. Now, if you 

Will be a true, right, delicate, sweet mistress, 

Why, we will make a Cokes of this Wise Master, 

We will, my mistress, an absolute fine Cokes, 

And mock, to air, all the deep diligences 

Of such a solemn and effectual ass, 

An ass to so good purpose as we'll use him. 

I will contrive it so, that you shall go 

To plays, to masques, to meetings, and to feasts : 

For, why is all this rigging and fine tackle, 

mistress. 
If your neat handsome vessels, of good sail. 
Put not forth ever and anon with your nets 
Abroad into tlie world ? It is your fishing. 
There, you shall choose your friends, your 

servants, lad}'. 
Your squires of honor ; I'll convey your letters, 
Fetch answers, do you all the offices 
That can belong to your blood and beauty. And, 
For the variety, at my times, although 
I am not in due symmetry, the man 
Of that projDortion ; or in rule • 
Of physic, of the just complexion ; 
Or of that truth of Picardil, in clothes. 
To boast a sovereignty o'er ladies : yet 
I know to do my turns, sweet mistress. Come, 
Mrs. Fiiz. How now ! [kiss — 

Puq. Dear delicate mistress, I am your slave, 
Your little worm, that loves you ; your fine 

monkey. 
Your dog, your Jack, your Pug, that longs to be 
iJtyled, o' your pleasures. 

Mrs, Fi(~. [Aloud.] Hear you all this ? Sir, 

pray you 
Come from your standing, do, a little, spare 
Yourself, sir, from your watch, t' applaud your 

squire, 
That so well follows your instructions ! 

Enter Fitzdottrel. 

Fi(z. How now, sweet heart ! what is the 

Mrs. Fiiz. Good ! [matter ? 

You are a stranger to the plot ! you set not 
Your saucy Devil here, to tempt your wife, 
With all the insolent uncivil language, 
Or action, he could vent ! 

Fitz. Did you so, Devil ? 

Mrs. Fitz. Not you ! 
You were not planted in your hole to hear him 
Upon the stairs, or here behind the hangings ! 
I do not know your qualities ! he durst do it 
And you not give directions ! 

Fitz. You shall see, wife. 
Whether he durst or no, and what it was, 
I did direct. [Exit. 

Pug. Sweet mistress, are you mad ? 

Re-enter Fitzdottrel, icith a cudgel. 
Fitz. You most mere rogue ! you open mani- 
fest villain ! [hound ! 
You fiend apparent, you ! you declared hell- 
Piig, Good sir. [traitor, 
Fitz. Good knave, good rascal, and good 
Now, I do find you parcel Devil indeed. 
Upon the point of trust ! in your first charge. 
The very day of your probation. 
To tempt your mistress ! [Beats Pug.] You do 

ijce, good wedloclc, 
How I direct eel him ? 



Mrs. Fitz. Why, where, sir, were you ? 
Fitz, Nay, there is one blow more for exer- 
cise : [Strikes him again. 
I told you, I should do it. 

Pug. Would you had done, sir. 
Fitz. O wife, the rarest man ! — (yet there's 
another 
To put you in mind o' the last) — [Beats him 

again.] such a brave man, wife ! 
Within, he has his projects, and does vent them 
The gallantest ! — Were you tentiginous, ha ? 
Would 5'ou be acting of the incubus ? 
Did her silk's rustling move you ? 
Pug. Gentle sir ! 

Fitz. Out of my sight ! If thy name were 
not Devil, 
Thou shouldst not stay a minute with me. In, 
Go, yet stay, yet go too. I am resolv'd 
What I will do, and you shall know't aforehand, 
Soon as the gentleman is gone, do you hear ? 
I'll help your lisping. [Exit Pug.] — Wife, such 

a man, wife ! 
He has such plots ! he will make me a duke ? 
No less, by heaven ! six mares to your coach, 
wife ! [bald. 

That's your proportion ! and your coachman 
Because he shall be bare enough. Do not you 

laugh. 
We are looking for a place, and all, in the map, 
What to be of. Have faith, be not an infidel. 
You know I am not easy to be gull'd. 
I swear, when I have my millions, else, I'll make 
Another, dutchess ; if you have not faith. 
Mrs. Fitz. You'll have too much, I fear, m 

these false spirits. 
Fitz. Spirits ! O, no such thing, wife ; wit, 
mere wit. 
This man defies the Devil and all his work.s. 
He does't by engine, and devices, he ! 
He has his winged ploughs, that go with sails, 
Will plough you forty acres at once ! and mills 
Will spout you water ten miles off! All Crow- 
land 
Is ours, wife ; and the fens, from us, in Norfolk, 
To the utmost bounds m Lincolnshire ! we have 

view'd it, 
And measur'd it within all, by the scale : 
The richest tract of land, love, in the kingdom ! 
There will be made seventeen or eighteen mil- 
lions. 
Or more, as't may be handled ! wherefore think; 
Sweet-heart, if thou hast a fancy to one place 
More than another, to be dutchess of, 
Now name it ; I will have't, whate'er it cost. 
(If 'twill be had for money) either here, 
Or in France, or Italy. 

Mrs. Fitz. You have strange phantasies ! 

Enter Meercraft and Engine. 

Meer. Where are you, sir ? 

Fitz. I see thou hast no talent 
This way, Avife. Up to thy gallery, do, chuck, 
Leave us to talk of it who understand it. 

[Exit Mrs. Fitz. 

Meer. I think we have found a place to fit yoy 
Gloucester, [now, sii. 

Fiiz. no, I'll none. 

Meer. Why, sir ? 

Fitz. 'Tis fatal. 



462 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Meer. That you say right in. Spenser, I think 
the younger, 
Had his last honor thence. But he was but earl. 

Fitz. I know not that, sir. But Thomas of 
Woodstock, 
I'm sure was duke, and he was made away 
At Calico, as duke Humphrey was at Bury : 
And Richard the Third, you know what end he 
came to. 

Mecr. By my faith you are cunning in the 
chronicle, sir. 

Fitz. No, I confess I have it from the play- 
And think they are more authentic. [books, 

E?i(j. That is sui'e, sir. 

Meer, [W/iispers him.] What say you to this 

Fitz. No, a noble house [then ? 

Pretends to that. I will do no man wrong. 

Meer. Then take one proposition more, and 
As past exception. [hear it 

Fitz. What is that ? 

Meer. To be 
Duke of those lands you shall recover : take 
Your title thence, sir, Duke of the Dhown'd 
Or, Drown'd land. [lands, 

Fitz. Ha ! that last has a good sound : 
I like it well. The duke of Drown'd-land ? 

Eiif;. Yes ; 
It goes like Grocn-land, sir, if you mark it. 

Meer. Ay ; 
And drawing thus your honor from the work. 
You make the reputation of that greater, 
And stay it the longer in your name. 

Fitz. 'Tis true. 
Drown'd lands will live in drown'd7land ! 

Meer. Yes, when you 
Have no foot left ; as that must be, sir, one day. 
And though it tarry in your heirs some forty, 
Fifty descents, the longer liver at last, yet. 
Must thrust them out on't, if no quirk in law, 
Or odd vice of their own not do it first. 
We see those changes daily : the fair lands 
That were the client's, are the lawyer's now ; 
And those rich manors there of goodman Tay- 
lor's, 
Had once more wood upon them, than the yard 
By which they were measured out for the last 

purchase. 
Nature hath these ■^•icissitudes. She makes 
No man a state of perpetuity, sir. 

Fitz. You are in the right. Let's in then, and 
conclude. — 

Re-enter Pug. 
In my sight again ! I'll talk with you anon. 

[^Exeunt Fitz., Meer. and Engine. 
Pug. Sure he will geld me if I stay, or worse. 
Pluck out my tongue, one of the two. This fool. 
There is no trusting of him ; and to quit him. 
Were a contempt against my chief past pardon. 
It vras a shrewd disheartening this, at first ! 
"NVho would have thought a woman so well har- 
Or rather well caparison'd, indeed, [ness'd. 

That wears such petticoats, and lace to her 

smocks. 
Broad seaming laces (as I see them hang there) 
And garters which are lost, if she can shev/ 

them, [brave ? 

Could have done this ? Hell ! why is she so 
It cannot be to please duke Dottrel, sure. 



Nor the dull joictures in her gallery. 

Nor her own dear reflection in her glass ; 

Yet that may be : I have known many of them 

Begin their pleasure, but none end it there : 

(That I consider, as I go along with it) 

They may, for want of better companj', 

Or that they think the better, spend an hour. 

Two, three, or four, discoursing with their 

shadow ; 
But sure they have a farther speculation. 
No woman drest with so much care and study, 
Doth dress herself in vam. I'll vex this problem 
A little more, before I leave it sure. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — Manly's Chambers in Lincoln' % 
Inn, opposite Fitzdoxtrel's House. 

Enter Wittipol and Manly. 
Wit. This was a fortune happy above thought, 
That this should prove thy chamber ; which 1 

fear'd 
Would be my greatest trouble ! this must bo 
The very window and that the room. 

Man. It is. 
I now remember, I have often seen there 
A woman, but I never mark'd her much. 
Wit. Where was your soul, friend ? 
Man. Faith, but now and then 
Awake unto those objects. 

Wit. You pretend so. 
Let me not live, if I am not in love 
More with her wit, for this direction now. 
Than with her form, though I have praised that 

prettily. 
Since I saw her and you to-day. Head those : 
\Gives him the copy of a sony. 
They'll go unto the air you love so well. 
Try them unto the note, may be the music 
AVill call her sooner ; light, she's here ! sing 

quickly. 
[Mrs. FiiSIjottrel apipears at a loindow of her 
house fronting that of Manly's Chambers. 
Mrs. Fitz. Either he understood him not ; or 
The fellow was not faithful in delivery [else, 
Of what I bade. And, I am justly pay'd. 
That might have made my profit of his service, 
But by mistaking, have drawn on his ewvv, 
And clone thb worse defeat upon myself. 

[Manly sings. 
How ! music ? then he may be there : and is sure. 

Enter Pug behind. 
Fug. O ! is it so ? is there the interview ! 
Have I drawn to you, at last, my cunning lady r 
The Devil is an ass ! fool'd off, and beaten ! 
Nay, made an instrument, and could not scent it. 
Well, since you have shewn the malice of a 

woman, 
No less than her true Avit and learning, mistress, 
I'll try, if little Pug have the malignity 
To recompense it, and so save his danger. 
'Tis not the pain, but the discredit of it, 
The Devil should not keep a body entire. 

[Aside and ex'it. 
Wit. Away, fall back, she comes. 
Man. I leave you, sii'^ 
The master of my chamber : I have business. 

\E3^it. 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



463 



Wit. ^Mistress ! 

Mrs. Fitz. [advances to the wiiuhic] You 

make me paint, sir. 
Wit. They are fair colors, 
Lady, and natural ! I did receive 
Some commands from you, lately, gentle lady. 
But so perplex'd, and wrapt in the delivery. 
As I may fear to have misinterpreted : 
But must make suit still, to be near your grace. 
Mrs. Fitz. Who is there -with you, sir ? 
Wit. None, but myself. 
It falls out, lady, to be a dear friend's lodging ; 
^Vherein there's some conspiracy of fortune 
With your poor servant's blest affections. 
Mrs. Fitz. Who was it sung ? 
Wit. He, lady, but he's gone. 
Upon my entreaty of him, seeing you [him, 
Approach the window. Neither need you doubt 
If he were here ; he is too much a gentleman. 
Mrs. Fitz. Sir, if you judge me by this simple 

action. 
And by the outward habit, and complexion 
Of easiness it hath, to your design ; 
You may with justice say, I am a woman ; 
And a strange woman. But when you shall 

please 
To bring but that concurrence of my fortune 
To memory, which to-day yourself did urge ; 
It may beget some favor like excuse. 
Though none like reason. 

Wit. No, my tuneful mistress ? 
Then surely love hath none, nor beauty any ; 
Nor nature, violenced in both these : [once. 

With all whose gentle tongues you speak, at 
I thought I had enough remov'd already 
That scruple from your breast, and left you all 

reason ; [shew'd you 

^Vhen through my morning's perspective I 
A man so above excuse, as he's the cause, 
Why any thing is to be done upon him ; 
And nothing call'd an injury, misplaced. 
I rather now had hope, to shew you how love 
By his accesses grows more natural : [force. 

And what was done this morning with such 
Was but devised to serve the present, then. 
That since Love hath the honor to approach 
These sister-swelling breasts ; and touch this soft 
And rosy hand ; ho hath the skill to draw 
Their nectar forth, Avith kissing ; and could 

make 
More wanton salts from this brave promontory, 
Down to this valley, than the nimble roe ; 
Could play the hopping sparrow 'bout these 

nets ; 
And sporting squirrel in these crisped groves ; 
Bury himseli" in every silk- worm's kell. 
Is here unravell'd; run into the snare. 
Which every hair is, cast into a curl. 
To catch a Cupid flying ! bathe himself 
In milk and roses here, and dry him there ; 
Warm his cold hands, to play Avith this smooth, 

round. 
And Avell-torn'd chin, as with the billiard ball ; 
Roll on these lips, the banks of love, and there 
At once lioth plant and gather kisses. Lady, 
Shall I, with what I have made to-daj' here, call 
All sense to wonder, and all faith to sign 
The mysteries revealed in your form? 
And AA ill Love pardon me "the blasphemy 



I utter' d Avhen I said, a glass could speak 
This beauty, or that fools had poAver to judge it ? 

Do hut look on her eyes, they do light 

AH that love's world compriseth, 
Do but look on her hair, it is bright 

As love's star when it riseth ! 
Do but mark, her forehead smoother 

Than words tliat sootlie her ! 
And from her arched brows, such a grace 

Siieds itself through the face ; 
As alone, there triumphs to the life. 

All the gain, all the good, of the elements strife ' 
Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 

Before rude hands have touch'd it ? 
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow, 

Before the soil hath smutch'd it .' 
Have you felt the wool of the beaver .' 

Or swan's down ever.' 
Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier.' 

Or the nard in the fire .' 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee .' 

O, so white ! O, so soft 1 O, so sweet is she ! 

FiTZDOTTREL appears at his Wife's back. 

Fitz. Is she so, sir ? and I Avill keep her so, 
If I knoAv how, or can : that Avit of man 
Will do't, I'll go no farther. At this Avindow 
She shall no more be buzz'd at. Take your 

leaA'e on't. 
If you be sweetmeats, Avcdlock, or sweet flesh. 
All's one : I do not love this hum about you. 
A fly-bloAvn wife is not so proper : in ! — 
For you, jon, sir, look to hear from me. 

Wit. So I do, sir. ■ [offers 

Fitz. No, biit in other terms. There's no man 
This to my. Avife, but pays for't. 

Wit. That have I, sir. 

Fitz. Nay then, I tell you, j^ou are — — 

Wit. What am I, sir ? 

Fitz. Why, that I'll thinlc on, Avhen I have 
cut your throat. 

Wit. Go, you are an ass. 

Fitz. I am resolv'd on't, sir. 

Wit. I think you are. 

Fitz. To call you to a reckoning. 

Wit. AAvay, you broker's block, you property : 

Fitz. 'Slight, if you strike me, I Avill strike 
your mistress. [Strikes Mrs. Fitz. and 
leads her out. [that noAV, 

Wit. O ! I could shoot mine eyes at him for 
Or leave my teeth in him, were they cuckold's 

bane. 
Enough to kill him. What prodigious, ^this ? 
Blind, and most Avicked change of fortune's 
I haA'e no air of patience : all my veins 
Swell, and my sinews start at th' iniquity of it. 
I shall break, break. [Exit. 



SCENE III. 



■ Another Room in Fitzdottrel's 
House. 



Enter Pug. 
Pug. This for the malice of it, [science 

And my revenge may pass ! but noAV my con- 
Tells me, I have i:)roiited the cause of hell 
But little, in the breaking off their loves. 
Which, if some other act of mine repair not, 
I shall hear ill of in my account ! 

Enter Fitzdotxrel and his Wife. 
Fitz. O, bird, 'now ! 

Could you do this ? 'gainst me ! and at thfs time 



484 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



When I was so employ' d, whollj- for you, 
DroAvn'd in my care (more than the land, I swear, 
I have hope to win) to make yon peerless, study- 
ing 
For footmen for you, fine-paced huishcrs, pages. 
To serve you on the knee ; with what knight's 
Avife [men 

To bear your train, and sit with your four wo- 
In council, and receive intelligences 
From foreign parts, to dress you at all pieces ! 
You've almost turn'd my good affection to you ; 
Sour'd my sweet thoughts, all my joure purposes : 
I could now find in my very heart to make 
Another, lady dutchcss ; and depose you. 
Well, go your ways in. [Exit Mrs. Fixz.] — 

Devil, you have redeem'd all ; 
f do forgive you : and I'll do you good. 

[Exit Pug. 

Enter Meercraft and Engine. 

Meer. AVhy have you these excursions ! vdiere 
have yoii been, sir ? [toy- 

Fiiz. Where I have been vcx'd a little with a 

Meer. O sir, no toys must trouble your grave 
head, 
N'ow it is growing to be great. You must 
Be above all those things. 

Fitz. Nay, nay, so I will. [put off 

Meer. Now you are toward the lord, j'ou must 
The man, sir. 

Enff. He says true. 

Meer. You must do nothing 
As you have done it heretofore ; not Rnow, 
Or salute any man. 

Eiiff. That was your bedfellow 
The other month. 

Meer. The other month ! the week. 
Thou dost not know the privileges. Engine, 
Follow that title ; nor how swift : to-day. 
When he has put on his lord's face once, then — 

Fitz. Sir, for these things I shall do well 
enough ; 
There is no fear of me : but then my wife is 
Such an untoward thing, she'll never learn 
How to comport with it : I am out of all 
Conceit, on her behalf. 

Meer. Best have her taught, sir. 

Fitz. Where ! are there any schools for ladies ? 
is there 
An academy for women ? I do know 
For men there was ; I learn' d in it myself, 
To make my legs, and do my postures. 

E)i(/. [whis2)crs Meercraft.] Sir, 

Do you remember the conceit you had ■ 

Of the Spanish gown at home ? 

3Ieer. Ha ! I do thank thee [is 

With all my heart, dear Engine. Sir, there 

A certain lady, here about the town. 
An English widow, who hath lately travell'd. 
But she is call'd the Spaniard, 'cause she came 
Latest from thence, and keeps the Spanish habit. 
Such a rare woman ! all our women here. 
That are of spirit and fashion, flock unto her. 
As to their president, their law, their canon ; 
More than they ever did to oracle Foreman, 
Such rare receipts she has, sir, for the face. 
Such oils, such tinctures, such pomatums. 
Such perfumes, mcd'cines, quintessences, et 
And such a mistress of behavior, [ccstera ; 



She knows from the duke's daughter to the doxy, 
What is their due just, and no more ! 

Fitz. O sir ! 
You please me in this, more than mine own 

greatness. 
Where is she ? Let us have her. 

Meer. By your patience, [ed — 

We must use means, cast how to be acquaint- 

Fitz. Good, sir, about it. 

Meer. We must think how, first. 

Fitz. O ! 
I do not love to tarry for a thing, [me, 

When I have a mind to it. Y'ou do not know 
If you do offer it. 

Meer. Your v.'ife must send 
Some pretty token to her, with a compliment, 
And pray to be received in her good graces. 
All the great ladies do it. 

Fitz. She shall, she shall. 
What were it best to be ? 

Meer. Some little toy, 
I would not have it any great matter, sir : 
A diamond ring of forty or fifty pound 
Would do it handsomely, and be a gift 
Fit for your wife to send, and her to take. 

Fitz. I'll go and tell my wife on't straight. 

\Exit, 

Meer. Why, this [this lad^- ? 

Is well ! the clothes we have now, but where's 
If we could get a wittj' boy now. Engine, 
That were an excellent crack, I could instruct 
him [Dottrel. 

To the true height : for any thing takes this 

Eng, Why, sir, your best will be one of the 
players ! [talk of it, 

Meer. No, there's no trusting them : they'll 
And tell their poets. 

Eag. What if they do ! the jest [ihem 

Will brook the stage. But there be some of 
Are very honest lads : there's Dickey Robinson, 
A very pretty felloAV, and comes often 
To a gentleman's chamber, a friend of mine. 

We had 
The merriest supper of it there, one night. 
The gentleman's landlady invited him 
To a gossip's feast : now he, sir, brought Dick 

Robinson, 
Drest like a lawyer's wife, amongst them all : 
I lent him clothes. — But to see him behave it. 
And lay the law, Und carve and drink unto them. 
And then tallc bawdy, and send frolics ! O, 
It would have . burst your buttons, or not left 
A seam. [you 

Meer. They say lie s an ingenious youth. 

Eng. O sir ! and dresses himself the best, be- 
yond [him ? 
Forty of your very ladies ; did you never see 

Meer. No, I do seldom see those toys. But 
think you 
That wo may have him ? 

Eng. Sir, the yoimg gentleman [it? 

I tell you of can command him : shall I attempt 

Meer. Y'cs, do it. 

lie-enter Fitzdottrel. 

Fitz. 'Slight, I cannot get myAvife 
To part Avitli a ring on any terms, and yet 
The sullen monkey has two. 

Meer. It were 'gainst reason 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



465 



That you should urge it : sir, send to a gold- 
Let not her lose by it. [smith, 

Fitz. How does she lose by it ? 
Is it not for her ? 

Meer. ISIake it your own bounty, 
It will have the bettor success ; what is a matter 
Of fifty pound to you, sir ? 

Fitz. I have but a hundred 
Pieces to shew here ; that I would not break — 

Meer. You shall have credit, sir. I'll send a 
ticket 
Unto my goldsmith. — 

Enter Trains. 
Here my man comes too. 
To carry it fitly. — How now, Trains ! Avhat 
birds ? [beat me. 

Trains. Your cousin Everill met me, and has 
]3eeause I would not tell him where you were : 
I think he has dogg'd me to the house too. 

Meer. Well 

You shall go out at the back-door then, Trains. 
You must get Gilthead hither by some means. 
Trains. It is impossible ! 
Fitz. Tell him Ave have venison, 
I'll give him a piece, and send his wife a pheas- 
ant. [Exit. 
Travis. A forest moves not, 'till that forty 
pound [stir 
You had of him last be paid. He keeps more 
For that same petty sum, than for your bond 
Of six, and statute of eight hundred. 

Mccr. Tell him 
We'll hedge in that. Cry up Fitzdottrel to him, 
Double his price : make him a man of metal. 
Trains. That will not need, his bond is current 
enough. \Exeimt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A Eootn in Fitzdottrel's House. 

Enter Thomas Gilthead, and Plutaechus. 

Gilt. All this is to make you a gentleman ! 
I'll have you learn, son. Wherefore have I 
placed you [law 

With sir Paul Eitherside, but to have so much 
To keep your own ? Besides, he is a justice. 
Here in the town ; and dvv'elling, son, with him, 
You shall learn that in a year, shall be worth 

twenty 
Of having staid you at Oxford or at Cambridge, 
Or sending you to the inns of court, or France. 
I'm call'd for now in haste by master !Meercraft, 
To trust master Fitzdottrel, a good man, 
I have enquired him, eighteen hundred a year, 
(His name is current) for a diamond ring [ed ; 
Of forty, shall not be worth thirty ; that's gain- 
And this is to make you a gentleman ! 

Plu. O, but good father, you trust too much. 

Gilt. Boy, boy. 
We live by finding fools out to be trusted. 
Our shop-books are our pastures, our corn- 
grounds. 
We lay 'era open, for them to come into ; [up 
And when we have them there, we drive them 

to one of our two pounds, the compters, 
straight, 

30 



And this is to make you a gentleman ! 
We citizens never trust, but we do cozen ; 
For if our debtors pay, we cozen them ; 
And if they do not, then we cozen ourselves 
But that's a hazard every one mvist run. 
That hopes to make his son a gentleman ! 

Plu. I do not wish to be one, truly, father. 
In a descent or two, we come to be. 
Just in their state, fit to be cozen'd, like them : 
And I had rather have-tarried in your trade. 
For, since the gentry scorn the city so much, 
Methinks we should in time, holding together, 
And matching in our own tribes, as they say, 
Have got an act of common-council for it, 
That we might cozen them out of rerum natura 

Gilt. Ay, if we had an act first to forbid 
The marrying of our wealthy heirs unto them 
And daughters with such lavish portions : 
That confounds all. 

Flu. And makes a mongrel breed, father. 

And when they have your money, then they 

laugh at you, [them : 

Or kick you down the stairs. I cannot abide 

I v.'ould fain have them cozen'd, but not trusted. 

Enter Meerciiaft. 

Meer. O, is he come ! I knew he would not 
fail me. — 
Welcome, good Gilthead, I must have you do 
A noble gentleman a courtesy here. 
In a mere toy, some pretty ring or jewel. 
Of fifty or threescore pound. — Make it a hun- 
dred. 
And hedge in the last forty that I owe you. 
And your own price for the ring. [^Aside to Gilt- 
head.] He's a good man, sii', 
And you may hap see him a great one ! he 
Is likely to bestow hundreds and thousands 
With you, if you can humor him. A great prince 
He will be shortly. What do you say ? 

Gilt. In truth, sir, 
I cannot : 't has been a long vacation with us. 

Meer. Of what, I pray thee, of wit or honesty ? 
Those are your citizens' long vacations. 

Flu. Good father, do not trust them. 

Meer. I'Tay, Tom Gilthead, 
He will not buy a courtesy and beg it ; 
He'll rather pay than pray. If you do for liim, 
Y'ou must do cheerfully : his credit, sii-. 
Is not yet prostitute. Who's this, thy son ? 
A pretty youth ! what is his name ? 

Plu. Plutarchus, sir. 

Meer. Plutarchus ! how came that about ' 

Gilt. That year, sir. 
That I begot "him, I bought Plutarch's lives. 
And fell so in love with the book, as I call'd my 

son 
By his name, in hope he should be like him, 
And write the lives of our great men. — 

Meer. In the city ! 
And do you breed him there ? 

Gilt. His mind, sir, lies 
Much to that way. 

Meer. Why, then he's in the right -way. 

Gilt. But now, I had rather get liim a good 
wife, 
And plant him in the country, there to iise 
The blessing I shall leave him. 

Meer. Out upon't ! 



46S 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS, 



And lose the laudable means thou hast at home 

here, 
To advance and make him a young alderman ? 
Buy him a captain's place, for shame ; and let 

him 
[nto the world earjy, and with his plume 
A.nd scarfs march through Cheapsidc, or along 

Cornhill, 
And by the virtue of those, draw dowai a wife 
There from a windo w,worth ten thousand pound ! 
Get him the posture-book and's leaden men 
To set upon a table, 'gainst his mistress 
Chance to come by, that he may draw her in, 
And shew her Finsbury battles. 

Gilt. I have placed him 
AVith justice Eitherside, to get so much law — 
Meey. As thou hast conscience. Come, come, 

thou dost Avrong 
Pretty Plutarchus, Avho had not his name 
For nothing, but was born to train the youth 

Of London in the military truth 

That way his genius lies. — 

Enter Everill. 

My cousin Everill ! 
Ever. O, are you here, sir ! pray you let us 
whisper. , [Takes Meer. aside. 

Plu. Father, dear father, trust him if you love 

me. 
Gilt. Why, I do mean it, boj', but what I do 
Must not come easily from me : we must deal 
With courtiers, boy, as courtiers deal with us. 
If I have a business there Viith any of them, 
Why, I must wait, I am sure on't, son ; and 

though 
My lord dispatch mo, yet his worshipful man 
Will keep me for his sport a month or two. 
To shew me with my fellow-citizens : 
I must make his train long, and full, one quarter, 
And help the spectacle of his greatness. There, 
Nothing is done at once but injuries, boy, 
And they come headlong : all their good turns 
Or very slowly. [move not, 

Plu. Yet, sweet father, trust him. 
Gilt. Well, I will think. [They loalk aside. 
Ever. Come, 3'ou must do't, sir. 
I am undone else, and your lady Tailbush 
Has sent for me to dinner, and my clothes 
Are all at pawn. I had sent out this morning. 
Before I heard you Avere come to town, some 

Of mj' epistles, and no one return [twenty 

Meer. Why, I have told you of this. This 
eomes of wearing 
Scarlet, gold lace, and cut- works ! your fine gar- 
tering, [ing 
With your blown roses, cousin ! and your eat- 
Pheasant, and godwit, here in London, haunting 
The Globes and Mermaids, wedging in Avith lords 
Still at the table, and affecting letchery 
In velvet ! where, could you have contented 

yourself 
With cheese, salt butter, and a pickled herring, 
In the Low Countries ; there Avorn cloth and 
fustian, [ter, 

Been satisfied with a leap o' your host's daugh- 
In garrison, a wench of a storer, or 
Your sutler's wife in the leaguer, of two blanks ! 
Y'^ou never then had run upon this flat. 
To Avritt^ your letters missive, and send out 



Your privy seals, that thus have frighted off 
All your acquaintance, that they shun 3'ou at 
Worse than you do the bailiffs. [distance, 

Ever. Pox upon 3-0U ! 
I come not to you for coimsel, I lack money. 

Meer. You do not think Avhat you OA\'e me al- 

Ever. I ! [ready. 

They oavo you that mean to pay you : I'll be 

sworn 
I never meant it. Come, you Avill project, 
I shall undo your practice, for this month, else ; 
Y''ou know me. 

Meer. Ay, you are a right SAveet nature ! 

Ever. Well, that's all one ! 

Bleer. Y''ou'll leave this empire one day ; 
Y'ou will not ever have this tribute paid 
Y''our scepter of the SAvord ! 

Ever. Tie up your Avit, 
Do, and provoke me not 

3Ieer. Will you, sir, help 
To Avhat I shall provoke another for you ? 

Ever. I cannot tell ; try mo : I think I am not 
So utterly, of an ore un-to-be-melted, 
But I can do myself good, on occasions. 

Enter Fitzdottrel. 
Meer Strike in, then, for your part. [They go 
up to FiTZ.] — Master Fitzdottrel, 
If I transgress in point of manners, afford me 
Your best construction ; I must beg my freedom 
From your affairs, this day. 

Fitz. HoAV, sir ! 

Meer. It is 
In succor of this gentleman's occasions, 
My kinsman — 

Fitz. Y'ou'U not do me that affront, sir ? 

Meer. I am sorry you should so interpret it 
But, sir, it stands ixpon his being iuA'ested ' 
in a ncAv office, he has stood for, long : 
Master of the Dependences ! a place 
Of my projection too, sir, and hath met 
Much opi^osition ; but the state, noAV, sees 
That great necessity of it, as after all 
Their Avriting, and their speaking against duels.. 

They haA-e erected it. His book is draAvn • 

For, since there Avill be differences daily 
'Twixt gentlemen, and that the roaring manner 
Is groAvn offensive ; that those fcAV, Ave call 
The civil men of the SAVord, abhor the a' apors ; 
They shall refer now, hither, for their process ; 
And siich as trespass 'gainst the rule of court 
Are to be fined. 

Fitz. In troth, a pretty place ! 

Meer. A kind of arbitrary court 'tw'Al be, sir. 

Fits. I shall have matter for it, I believe, 
«Ere it be long ; I had a distaste. 

Meer. But now, sir, 
My learned counsel, they must have a feeling, 
They'll part, sir, Avith no books, Avithout the 

hand-gout 
Be oil'd : and I must furnish. If 't be money. 
To me straight ; I am mine, mint, and exchequer, 
To supply all. What is't, a hundred pound ? 

Ever. No, the harpy now stands on a hundred 
pieces. 

Meer. Why, he must have them, if h(! will 
To-morroAV, sir, 
AVill equally serve your occasions — 
And therefore, let me obtain, that you vyiU yield 



THE DEVIL IS AX ASS. 



457 



To timing a poor gentleman's distresses. 
In terms of hazard. 

Fit:i. By no means. 

Meer. I must 
Get him this raone}% and will 

Fitz. Sir, I protest, 
I had rather stand engaged for it myself, 
Than you should leave me. 

Meer. O good sir ! do you think 
So coarsely of our manners, that we would. 
For any ncod of ours, be prest to take it. ; 
Though you be pleased to offer it ? 

Fitc. "Why, by heaven, 
I mean it. 

Meer. I can never believe less ; 
But we, sir, must preserve our dignity. 
As you do publish yours ; by your fair leave, 
sir. [Offers to be gone. 

Fitz. As I am a gentleman, if you do offer 
To leave me now, or if j^ou do refuse me, 
I will not think you love me. 

Meer. Sir, I honor you, 
And with just reason, for these noble notes 
Of the nobility you pretend to : but, sir, 
I would know Avhy ? a motive (he a stranger) 
You should do this ? 

Efer. [Aside to Meer.] You'll mar all with 
yoiir fineness. 

Fitz. Why that's all one, if 'twere, sir, but my 
fancy. — 
But I have a business, that perhaps I would have 
Brought to his office. 

A[eer. O sir ! I have done then ; 
If he can be made profitable to j'ou. 

Fitz. Yes, and it shall be one of my ambitions 
To have it the first business : may I not ? 

Ever. So j'ou do mean to make't a perfect 
business. [once. 

Fitz. ISTay, I'll do that, assure you ; shew me 

Meer. Sir, it concerns, the first be a perfect 
For his own honor. [business, 

EiH^r. Ay, and the reputation 
Too, of my place. 

Fitz. Why, why do I take this course, else ? 
I am not altogether an ass, good gentlemen. 
Wherefore should I consult you, do you think .' 
To make a song on't ? How's your manner ? tell 
us. [coru'se. 

Meer. Do, satisfy him ; give liim the whole 

Ecer. First, by request, or otherwise, you offer 
Your business to the court ; wherein you crave 
The judgment of the master and the assistants. 

Fitz. Well, that is done now ; what do you 
upon it ? 

Ever- We straight, sir, have recourse to the 
spring-head : 
Visit the ground, and so disclose the nature ; 
If it will carrj', or no. If we do find. 
By our proportions, it is like to prove 
A sullen and black business ; that it bo 
Incorrigible and out of treaty ; then 
We file it, a dependence ! 

Fitz. So, 'tis filed : 
What follows ? I do love the order of these 
things. 

Ever. We then advise the party, if he be 
A man of means and havings, that forth v>ith 
He settle his estate ; if not, at least 
That he pretend it : for, by that, the world 



Takes notice, that it now is a dependence : 
And this we call, sir, publication. 

Fitz. Very sufficient : after jDiiblication, now 
Ever. Then we grant out our process, which 
is diverse ; 
Either by chartel, sir, or orc-tenus. 
Wherein the challenger and challengee. 
Or, Avith your Spaniard, your provocador 
And provocado, have their several courses — 
Fitz. I have enough on't : for an hundred 
pieces 
Yes, for two hundred, under- write me, do. 
Your man will take my bond ? 

Meer. That he will, sure : 
But these same citizens, they are such sharks ♦ 
There's an old debt of forty, I gave my word 

[Aside to Fitz, 
For one has run away to t'ne Bermudas, 
And he will hook in that, or he'll not do. 

Fitz. AVhy, let him. That and the ring, and 
a hundred pieces, 
Will all but make two hundred. 

Meer, No, no more, sir. [hear 

What ready arithmetic you have ! — Do you 
[Aside to Giltheap- 
A pretty morning's work for you, this ! do it 
You shall have twenty pound on't. 
Gilt. Twenty pieces ? 
Plu. Good father, do't. 
Meer. You will hook still r well. 
Shew us your rmg. You could not have done 
this now, [yo^i ? 

W^ith gentleness, at first, Ave might have thank'd 
But groan, and have your courtesies come from 

you 
Like a hard stool, and stink ! A man may draw 
Your teeth out easier than your -money. Come, 
Were little Gilthead here, no better a nature, 
I should ne'er love him, that could pull his lips 
off now. [Pulls him by the lips 

Was not thy mother a gentlewoman ? 
Phi, Yes, sir. 

Meer. And A\'ent to the court at Christmas, 
and St. George tide. 
And lent the lords' men chains ? 
Plu. Of gold and pearl, sir. 
Meer. I knew thou must take after somebody, 
Thou could'st not be else. This Avas no shop 

look ! 
I'll have thee captain Gilthead, and march tip, 
And take in Pimlico, and kill the bush 
At every tavern. Thou shalt have a Avife, 
If smocks Avill mount, boy. [ Turns to Gilthead. ' 

HoAV noAv ; you have there now 
Some Bristol stone or Cornish counterfeit 
You'd put upon us ! 

Gilt. No, sir, I assure you : . 
Look on his lustre, he Avill speak himself ! 
I'll give you leave to put him in the mill : 
He is no great large stone, but a true paragon. 
He has all his corners, a'Icav liini Avell. 
Meer. He's yelloAV. 

Gilt. Upon my faith, sir, of the right black 
Avater, 
And very deep ! he's set Avithout a foil, too. 
Here's one of the yelloAV-Avater, I'll sell cheap. 
Meer. And Avhat do you value this at, thirty 

pound ? 
Gilt. No, sir, he cost me forty ere he was set. 



468 



THE DEVIL IS AX ASS. 



Meer. Tujiiings, you mean ? I know your 
equhokes : 
You are grown the better fathers of 'em o' late. 
Well, wliere it must go 'twill be judged, and 
therefore [for't, 

Look you 't be right. You shall have fifty poiind 
Not a denier more. — [To Fixz.] And because 

yo'iL would 
Have things dispatch' d, sir, I'll go presently, 
Inquire out this lady ! If you think good, sir. 
Having an hundred pieces ready, you may 
Part with those now, to serve my kinsman's 

turns, 
That he may wait upon you anon the freer ; 
And take them, when you have seal'd, again, of 
Fitz. I care not if I do. [Gilthead. 

Meer. And dispatch all 
Together. 

Fitz, There, they are j ust a hundred pieces ; 

I have told them over twice a day these two 

months. [ Tunis them out on the table. 

Meer. Well, go and seal then, sir ; make your 

As speedy as you can. [return 

[Exeunt Fitzdottrel, Gilthead, and Plu- 

TARCHUS. 

Ever. Come, give me. [The;/ fall to sharing', 

Meer. Soft, sir. 

Ever. Marry, and fair too then ; I'll no delaj^- 
ing, sir. 

Meer. But you will hear ? 

Ever, Y"es, when I have my dividend. 

Meer. There's forty pieces for you. 

Ever. What is this for ? 

Meer. Your half: you know that Gilthead 
must have twenty. 

Eoer- And what's your ring there ? Shall I 
have none o' that ? 

Meer. O, that is to be given to a lady. 

Ever. Is it so ? 

Meer. By that good light, it is. 

Ever. Come, give me 
Ten pieces more, then. 

Meer, Why? 

Ever, For Gilthead, sir ! 
Do you think I'll allow him any such share ? 

Meer, You must. 

Ever, Must I ! do you j'our musts, sir, I'll do 
mine : 
You will not part with the whole, sir, will you ? 
Give me ten pieces ! [Go to, 

Meer, By what law do you this ? 

Ever. Even lion-law, sir, I must roar else. 

Meer, Good ! 

Ever, You have heard how the ass made his 
divisions wisely ? 

Meer. And I am he ! — I thank you. 

Ever, Much good do you, sir. 

Meer. I shall be rid of this tyranny one day. 

Ever. Not 
While you do eat, and lie about the town here. 
And cozen in your bullions ; and I stand 
Your name of credit, and compound your busi- 
ness. 
Adjourn your beatings every term, and make 
New parties for your projects. I have now 
A pretty task of it, to hold you in 
With your lady Tailbush : but the toy will be 
How we shall both come off ! 
Meer, Leave you your doubting, 



And do your portion, Avhat's assign'd you : I 
Never fail'd yet. 

Ever, With reference to your aids ! — 
You'll still be unthankful. Where shall I meet 

you, anon ? 
You have some feat to do alone, now, I see ; 
You Avish me gone ; well, I will find you out, 
And bring you after to the audit. [Exit. 

Meer. 'Slight, 
There's Engine's share, too, I had forgot ! thiiS 

reign 
Is too-too-unsupportable ; I must 
Quit myself of tliis vassalage. — 

Enter Engine, foUotved by Wittipol. 
Engine ! welcome 
How goes the cry ? 

Eng. Excellent well. 

Meer. Will it do ? 
Where's Robinson ? 

Eng. Here is the gentleman, sir, [him. 

AVill undertake it himself. I have acquainted 

Meer. Why did you so r 

Eng. Why, Ilobinson would have told him. 
You knoAV : and he's a pleasant wit, will hurt 
Nothing you purpose. Then he's of opinion, 
That Robinson might want audacity. 
She being such a gallant. Now, he has been 
In Spain, and knows the fashions there ; and can 
Discourse ; and being but mirth, he says, leave 
To his care. [much 

Meer. But he is too tall ! 

Eng. For that. 
He has the bravest device (you'll love him for't) 
To say, he wears cioppinos ; and they do so 
In Spain : and Robinson's as tall as he. 

Meer. Is he so ? 
^ Eng. Every j ot. 

Meer. Nay, 1 had rather 
To trust a gentleman with it, of the two. 

Eng. Pray you go to him then, sir, and salute 
him. [you 

Meer. Sir, my friend Engine has acquainted 
With a strange business here. 

Wit. A merry one, sir. 
The duke of drown' d-land and his dutchess ? 

Meer. Yes, sir. 
Now that the conjurors have laid him by, 
I have made bold to borrow him awhile. 

Wit, With purpose, yet, to put him out, I 
To his best use. [hope, 

Meer. Y''es, sir. 

Wit. For that small i)art 
That I am trusted with, put off your care : 
I would not lose to do it, for the mirth 
Will follow of it ; and well, I have a fancy. 

Meer, Sir, that will make it well. 

Wit, Yoii Avill report it so. 
Where must I have my dressing ? 

Eng, At my house, sir. 

Maer. You shall have caution, sir, for what lie 
To sixpence. [yields, 

Wit. Y'ou shall pardon me : I will share, sir. 

In your sports only, nothing in your purchase. 

But you must furnish me Avith comj^liments, 

To the manner of Spain ; my coach, my guarda- 

duennas. [must, 

Meer. Engine's j-our provcdore. But, sir, i 
Now I have entered trust v.'ith you thus fax, • 



SCENE I. 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



469 



Secure still in your quality, acquaint you 
"With somewhat beyond this. The place design'd 
To be the scene for this our merry matter, 
Because it must have countenance of -women 
To draw discourse, and offer it, is here by. 
At the lady Tailbush's. 

Wit. I know her, sir, 
And her gentleman-usher. 

Meer. Master Ambler ? 

Wit. Yes, sir. [fess 

Jl/t'c/". Sir, it shall be no shame to me, to con- 
To you, that we poor gentlemen that want acres, 
Must for our needs turn fools up, and plough 

ladies 
Sometimes, to try what glebe they arc : and this 
Is no unfruitful piece. She and I now 
Ai'o on a project for the fact, and venting 
Of a new kind of fucus, paint for ladies. 
To serve the kingdom : wherein she herself 
Hath travailed, specially, by way of service 
Unto her sex, and hopes to get the monopoly 
As the reward of her invention. 

Wit. What is her end in this ? 

Meer. Merely ambition, 
Sir; to grow great, and court it with the secret. 
Though she pretend some other. Eor she's 

dealing 
Already upon caution for the skares ; 
And master Ambler he is named examiner 
For the ingredients, and the register 
Of what is vented, and shall keep the office. 
Now, if she break with j-ou of this, (as I 
Must make the leading thread to your acquaint- 
ance, 
That, how experience gotten in your being 
Abroad, will help our business,) think of some 
Pretty additions, but to keep her floating ; 
It may be she will offer you a x^art : 
Any strange names of 

Wit. Sir, I have my instructions. 
Is it not high time to be making ready ? 

Meer. Yes, sir. 

Eni/. The fool's in sight, Dottrel. 

Meer. Away then. 

[Exeunt Engine and Wittipoi. 

Re-enter Fitzdottuel. 

Meer. Return'd so soon ! 

Fitz. Yes, here's the ring : I have seal'd. 
But there's not so much gold in all the E,ow, he 

says — 
Till it come from the mint : 'tis ta'en up for the 
gamesters, 

Meer. There's a shop-shift ! plague on 'em ! 

Fitz. He does swear it. 

Meer. He'll swear and forswear too, it is his 
You should not have left him. [trade ; 

Fitz. 'Slid, I can go back, 
And beat him yet. 

Meer. No, now let him alone. 

Fitz. I was so earnest after the main business. 
To have this ring gone. 

Meer. True, and it is time. 
I have learn'd, sir, since you went, her ladyship 
With the lady Tailbush, here hard by. [eats 

Fitz. In the lane here ? [ence, 

Meer. Yes ; if you had a servant now of pres- 
Well clothed, and of an airy, voluble tongue, 
Neither too big nor little for his mouth. 



That could deliver your mfe's compliment. 
To send along withal. 

Fitz. I have one, sir, 
A very handsome gentleman-like fellow, 

That I do mean to make my dutchess' usher 

I entertain' d him but this morning too : 
I'll call him to you. The worst of him is his 
name. [message. 

Meer. She'll take no note of that, but of his 

Fitz. Devil ! — 

Enter Pug. 
How like you him, sir ? — Pace, go a little. 
Let's see you move. 

Meer. He'll serve, sir ; give it him, 
And let him go along with me, I'll help 
To present him and it. 

Fitz. Look you do, sirrah, 
Discharge this well, as you expect your place. 
Do you hear ? go on, come off with all your 
I would fain see him do it. [honors 

Meer. Trust him with it. 

Fitz. Remember kissing of your hand, and 
answering 
With the French time, and flexure of your body. 
I could now so instruct him and for his 

Meer. I'll put them in his mouth, [words — 

Fitz. O, but I have them 
Of the very academies. 

3Ieer. Sir, you'll have use for them 
Anon yourself, I warrant you, after dinner. 
When you are call'd. 

Fitz. 'Slight, that will be just play- time. 
It cannot be, I must not lose the play ! 

3Iecr. Sir, but you must, if she ax^point to sit 
And she is president. 

Fitz. 'Slid, it is the Devil. 

Meer. An 'twere his dam too, j'ou must now 
Yourself, sir, to this wholly, or lose all. [apply 

Fitz. If I could but see a piece 

Meer. Sir, never think on't. 

Fitz. Come but to one act, and I did not care — 
But to be seen to rise and go away. 
To vex the x^layers, and to punish their poet ; 
Keep him in awe — 

Meer. But say that he be one 
Will not be avt^'d, but laugh at you ; how then ? 

Fitz, Then he shall ]3ay for's dinner himself. 

Meer. Perhaps, 
He would do that twice, rather than thank you 
Come get the devil out of your head, my lord, 
(I'll call you so in x^rivatc still,) and take 
Your lordship in your mind. You were, sweet 
In talk to bring a business to the office, [lord, 

Fitz. Yes, 

Meer. Why should not you, sir, carry it on 
yourself. 
Before the office be up, and shew the world 
You had no need of any man's direction, 
In x^oint, sir, of sufficiency ? I speak 
Against a kinsman, but as one that tenders 
Your grace's good. 

Fitz. I thank you ; to proceed 

Meer. To publication : have your deed drawn 
presently. 
And leave a blank to put in your feoffees. 
One, two, or more, as you see cause. 

Fitz. I thank you ; 
Heartily, I do thank you : not a word more, 



470 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS, 



I pray you, as you love me. Let me alone. 
That I could not think ol" tliis as well as he ! 
O, I could beat my infinite blockhead, [Exeunt. 

SCEXE II. — The Lane near the Lady Tail- 
bush's House. 

Enter Meerckaft, foUoiced by Pug. 

Meer, Come, we must this way. 

Pug. How far is't ? 

Meer. Hard by here, 
Over the way. [Theij cross over.] Now, to achieve 

this ring 
From this same follow, that is, to assure it, 
Before he give it. Though my Spanish lady 
Be a young gentleman of means, and scorn 
To share, as he doth say, I do not know 
How such a toy may tempt his ladyship ; 
And therefore I think best it be assured. [Aside. 

Puff. Sir, be the ladies brave we go nnto ? 

Meer. O, yes. 

Pug, And shall I see them, and speak to them ? 

Meer. What else ? 

Enter Trains. 
Have you yoiir false beard about you. Trains ? 
Trains. Yes. 

Meer. And is this one of your double clokes ? 
Trains. The best of them. 
Meer. Be ready then. [Exeunt. 

SCENE HI.— .4 Hall in Lady Tailbush's House. 

Enter Meercraft and Pug, met by Pitfall. 

Meer. Sweet Pitfall ! 
Come, I must buss [ Offers to kiss her. 

Pit. AAvay. 

Meer. I'll set thee up again. 
Never fear that : canst thou get ne'er a bird ? 
No thrushes hungry ! stay till cold weather 
I'll help thee to an ousel or a fieldfare, [come, 
Who's within, with madam ? 

Pit. I'll tell you straight. [Exit hastily. 

Meer. Please you stay here a while, sir, I'll 
go in. [Exit. 

Pug. I do so long to have a little venery 
While I am in this body ! I would taste 
Of every sin a little, if it might be. 
After the manner of man. — Sweet-heart ! 

lie-enter Pitfall. 
Pit. What would you, sir ? [Pua ru7is to her. 
Pug. Nothing but fall in to you ; -be your 
black- bird, [throstle, 

My pretty Pit, as the gentleman said, your 
Lie tame, and taken with you ; here is gold, 
To bviy you so much new stuffls from the shop. 
As I may take the old up 

Enter Trains in his false beard and cloke. 

Trains. You must send, sir, 
The gentleman the ring. 

Pug. There 'tis. [Exit Trains.] — Nav, look, 
Will you be foolish, Pit ? 

Pit. This is strange rudeness. 

Pug. Dear Pit. 

Pit. I'll call, I swear. 



Enter Meercraft. 

Meer. "Wliere are you, sir ? 
Is your ring ready ? Go Avith me. 

Pug. I sent it you. 

Meer. Me ! when ? by whom ? 

Piig. A fellow here, e'en now. 
Came for it in j'our name, 

Meer. I sent none, sure. 
!My meaning ever was, you should deliver it 
Yourself; so was your master's charge, you 
know. 

Re-enter Trains, dressed as at first. 
What fellow was it, do you know him ? 

Pug. Here, 
But now, he had it. 

Meer. Saw you any. Trains ? 

Trains. Not I, 

Pug. The gentlewoman saw him. 

Meer. Enquire. 

Pug. I Avas so earnest upon her, I mark'd not. 
]\Iy devilish chief has put me here in flesh, 
To shame me ! this dull body I am in, 
I perceive nothing with, I offer at nothing 
That will succeed ! [Aside. 

Trains. Sir, she saw none, she says. [me ; 

Pug. Satan himself has ta'en a shape to abuse 
It could not be else ! [Aside. 

Meer. This is above strange. 
That jo\i should be so rechless ! Wliat will yon 
do, sir, [tion'd ? 

How will you answer this, when you are ques- 

Pug. Pun from my flesh, if I could ; put off 

mankind. 

This is such a scorn, and will be a new exercise 

For my arch-duke ! Woe to the several cudgels 

Must suffer on this back ! [Aside-] — Can you no 

succors, sir ? 

Meer. Alas ! The use of it is so present. 

Pug. I ask, 
Sir, credit for another but till to-morrow. 

Meer. There is not so much time, sir ; but, 
The lady is a noble lady, and -will, [however. 
To save a gentleman from check, be entreated 
To say, she has received it. 

Pug.. Do you think so ? 
Will she be won .' 

Meer. No doubt, to such an office, 
It M'ill be a lady's bravery and her pride. 

Pug. And not bo known on't after, unto him 

Meer. That were a treachery : Upon my word^ 
Be confident. Return unto your master, 
ISIy lady president sits this afternoon, 
Has ta'en the ring, commends her services 
Unto your lady dutchcss. You may say 
She is a civil lady, and docs give her 
All her respects already : bade you tell her. 
She lives but to receive her vvish'd command- 
ments. 
And have the honor here to kiss her hands. 
For which she'll stay this hour yet. Hasten you 
Your prince, away. 

Pug. And, sir, you Avill take care 
The excuse be perfect ? 

Meer. You confess your fears 
Too much. 

Pug. The shame is more, 

Meer. I'll quit you of either. [Ex^uni 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



471 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in Lady Tailbush's 
House. 

Enter Lady Tailbush and Meerckaft. 

Ladi/ T. A pox upon referring to commis- 
sioners ! 
[ had rather hear that it wore past the seals : 
You coirrtiers move so snail-like in your busi- 
Would I had not begun "with you ! [ness. 

Meer. We must move, 
Madam, in order, by degrees ; not jump. 

Lady T. Why, there was sir John Sloneyman 
A business quickly. [could jump 

Meer. True, he had great friends ; 
But, because some, sweet madam, can leap 

ditches, 
We must not all shun to go over bridges. 
The harder parts, I make account, are done. 
Now 'tis rcferr'd : you are infinitely bound 
Unto the ladies, they have so cried it uj) ! 

Lady T. Do they like it then ? 

Meer. They have sent the Spanish lady 
To gratulate with you. 

Lady T. I must send them thanks, 
And some remembrances. 

Meer. That you must, and visit them. 
Where's Ambler ? 

Lady T. Lost, to-day, wo cannot hear of him. 

Meer. Not, madam ! 

Lady T. No, in good faith : they say he lay 
not [ness 

At home to-night. And here has fallen a busi- 
Between your cousin and master Manly, has 
tJnquieted us all. 

Meer. So I hear, madam. 
Pray you, how was it ? 

Lady T, Troth, it but appears [heard, 

111 on your kinsman's part. You may have 
That ilanly is a suitor to me, I doubt not. 

Meer. I guess'd it, madam. 

Lady T. And it seems, he trusted 
Your cousin to let fall some fair reports 
Of him unto me, 

Meer. AVhich he did ! 

Lady T. So far 
From it, as he came in, and took him railing 
Against him. 

Meer. How ! And what said Manly to him ? 

Lady T. Enougli, I do assure j'ou ; and with 
that scorn 
Of him and the injury, as I do wonder 
How Evcrill bore it ; but that guilt undoes 
Many men's valors. 

Enter Manly. 

Misr. Here comes !Manly. 

Man. Madam, I'll take my leave 

Lady T. Y'ou shall not go, i' faith. 
I'll have you stay and see this Spanish miracle, 
Otf oiu- English lady. 

Man, Let me pray your ladyship. 
Lay your commands on me some other time. 

Lady T. Now, I protest ; and I will have all 
And friends again. [pieced, 

Man. It will be but ill-solder'd ! 

Lady T. You are too much affected with it. 



Man. I cannot. 
Madam, but think on't for the injustice. 

Lady T. Sir, 
His kinsman here is sorry. 

Meer. Not I, madam, 
I am no kin to him, we but call cousins : 
And if he were, sir, I have no relation 
Unto his crimes. 

2Ian. Y'^ou are not urged with them. 
I can accuse, sir, none but mine own judgment ; 
For, though it were his crime so to betray me, 
I am sure, 'twas more mine own, at all to trust 

him : 
But he therein did use but his old manners, 
And savor strongly what he was before. 

Lady T. Come, he will change. 

Man. Faith, I mi;st never think it ; 
Nor were it reason in me to expect. 
That, for my sake, he should put oft a nature 
He suck'd in with his milk. It may be, madam, 
Deceiving trust is all he has to trust to : 
If so, I shall be loth, that any hope 
Of mine should bate him of his means. 

Lady T. You are sharp, sir: 
This act may make him honest. 

Man. If he were 
To be made honest by an act of parliament, 
I should not alter in my faith of him. 

Enter Lady Eituerside. 

Lady T. Eitherside ! 
Welcome, dear Eitherside ; how hast thou done; 

good wench ? 
Thou hast been a stranger : I have not seen thee 
this week. 

Lady E. Ever your servant, madam. 

Lady T. Where hast thou been ? 
I did so long to sec thee. 

Lady E. Visiting, and so tired ! 
I protest, madam, 'tis a monstrous trouble. 

Lady T. And so it is. I swear I must to- 
morrow 
Begin my visits, would they were over, at court ; 
It tortures me to think on them. 

Lady E. I do hear 
You have cause, madam, your suit goes on. 

Lady T. AMio told thee ? 

Lady E. One that can tell ; master Eitherside. 

Lady T. O, thy husband. 
Yes faith, there's life in't now ; it is referr'd. 
If we once see it under the seals, wench, then, 
Have with them for the great caroch, six horses, 
And the two coachmen, with my Ambler bare, 
And my three women ; we will live, i' faith, 
The examples of the town, and govern it : 
I'll lead the fashion still. 

Lady E. You do that now, 
Sweet madam. 

Lady T. O but then, I'll every day [side, 

Bring up some new device. Thou and I, Either- 
Will first be in it, I will give it thee ; 
And they shall follow us. Thou shalt, I swear, 
Wear every month a new gown out of it. 

Lady E. Thank you, good madam. 

Lady T. Pray thee call me Tailbush, 
As I thee Eitherside ; I love not this madam. 

Lady E. Then I protest to you, Tailbush, I am 
Y''our business so succeeds, [glad 

Lady T. Thank thee, good Eitherside. 



472 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Lady E. But master Eitliersido tells me, that 
Your other business better. [he likes 

Ladij T. AVhich ? 

Ladij E. Of the tooth-picks. 

Ladij T. I never heard of it. 

Ladij E. Ask master l^Ieercraft. 

Meer. Madam ! [Aside to Manly.] — He is 
one, in a word, I'll trust his malice 
With anj'' man's credit, I would have abused. 

Man. Sir, if you think you do please me in 
You are deceived. [this, 

Meer. No, but because my lady 
Named him my kinsman, I woiild satisfy you 
What I think of him ; and pray you upon it 
To judge me. 

Man. So I do ; that ill men's friendship 
Is as unfaithful as themselves. 

Lady T, Do you hear ? 
Have j'-QU a business about tooth-picks ? 

Meer. Yes, madam ; [it 

Did I ne'er tell it j'ou ? I meant to have oiTer'd 
Your ladyship, on the perfecting the patent. 

Lady T. How is it ? 

Meer. For serving the whole state with tooth- 
picks ; [but 
Somewhat an intricate business to discourse : 
I show how much the subject is abused, 
First, in that one commodity ; then what dis- 
eases 
And jDutrefactions in the gums are bred, 
By those are made of adulterate and false Avood ; 
My plot for reformation of these, follows : 
To have all tooth-picks brought unto an office, 
There seal'd ; and such as counterfeit them, 

mulcted. 
And last, for venting them, to have a book_ 
Printed, to teach their use, which every child 
Shall have throughout the kingdom, that can 

read, 
And learn to pick his teeth by : which beginning 
Early to practise, Avith some other rules, [ing 
Of never sleeping with the mouth open, chew- 
Some grains of raastick, will preserve the breath 
Pure and so free from taint — 

Enter TiiAixs, and whisjxrs him. 

Ha ! what is't, say'stthou ? 

Lady T. Good faith, it sounds a very pretty 
business ! 

Lady E. So master Eitherside says, madam. 

Meer. The lady is come. 

Lady T. Is she ! good, wait upon licr in. 
[Exit Meeecr.vft.] — My Ambler 
Was never so ill absent. Eitherside, 
How do I look to-day, am I not drest 
Spruntly ? [Looks in her glass. 

Lady E. Yes verily, madam. 

Lady T. Pox o' madam ! 
Will you not leave that ? 

Lady E. Yes, good Tailbush. 

Lady T. So ! 
Sounds not that better ? "What vile fucus is this 
Thou hast got on ? 

Lady E. 'Tis pearl. 

Lady T. Pearl ! oyster-shells ; 
As I breathe, Eitherside, I know't. Here comes, 
They say, a wonder, sirrah, has been in Spain, 
Will teach us all ! she's sent to me from court. 
To gratulate with me : prithee let's observe her, 



What faults she has, that we mjsy laugh at them, 
Wlxen she is gone. 

Lady E. That we Avill heartily, Tailbush. 

J?fi-e?i!ferMEEECKAFT, infroducing'WiTTi'PcijdrcsseJ 
as a Spanish lady. 

Lady T. O me, the very infanta of the giants ! 

Meer, Here is a noble lady, madam, come 
From your great friends at court, to see your 

ladyship. 
And have the honor of your acquaintance. 

Lady T. Sir, 
She does lis honor. 

Wit Pray you, say to her ladyship, 
It is the manner of Spain to embrace only, 
Never to kiss. She will excuse the custom. 

Lady T. Your use of it is law. Please you, 
To take a seat. [sweet madam, 

Wit. Yes, madam, I have had 
The favor, through a world of fair report, 
To know your viitues, madam ; and in that 
Name, have desired the happiness of presenting 
My service to your ladyship. 

Lady T. Your love, madam ; 
I must not own it else. 

Wit. Both are due, madam, 
To yoixr great undertakings. 

Lady T. Great ! In troth, madam, 
They are my friends, that think them anj-thing 
If I can do my sex, by 'em, any service, 
I have my ends, madam. 

Wit. And they are noble ones. 
That make a multitude beholden, madam ; 
The commonwealth of ladies must acknowledge 
from you. 

Lady E. Except some envious, madam. 

Wit. Y^ou are right in that, madam. 
Of which race, I encounter' d some but lately, 
"Who, it seems, have studied reasons to discredit 
Your business. 

Lady T. How, sweet madam ! 

Wit. Nay, the parties 

Will not be worth your pause most ruinous 

things, madam. 
That have put off all hope of being recover a 
To a degree of handsomeness. 

Lady T. But their reasons, madam, 
I would fain hear. 

Wit. Some, madam, I remember. 
They say that jjainting quite destroys the face — 

Lady E. O, that's an old one, madam. 

Wit. There are new ones too. [ness 

Corrupts the breath; hath left so little sweet- 
In kissing, as 'tis now used but for fashion ; 
And shortly will be taken for a punishment. 
Decays the fore-tccth that should guard the 
And suffers that run riot everlasting ! [tongue ; 
And, v.'hich is worse, some ladies Avhen they meet 
Cannot be merry and laugh, but they do spit 
In one another's faces. 

Man. I should know 
This voice and face too. [Aside. 

Wit. Then, they say, 'tis dangerous 
To all the fall'n, yet Avell disposed mad-ams, 
That are industrious, and desire to earn 
Their living Avith their sweat : for any distempei 
Of heat and motion may displace the colors ; 
And if the paint once run about their faces. 
Twenty to one they Avill appear so Ul-favor'd, 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



473 



Their servants run away too, and leave the 

pleasure 
Imperfect, and the reckoning also unpaid. 

Lady E. Pox ! these are poets' reasons. 

Lady T. Some old lady, 
That keeps a poet, has devised these scandals. 

Lady E. Faith, we must have the poets ban- 
•ished, madam, 
As master Eitherside says. 

Meer. Master Fitzdottrel, 
And liis wife ! 

Wit. Where? 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Fitzdottrel, followed by 
Pug. 

Mecr. [^oWiT.] Madam, the duke of Drown'd- 
That Avill be shortly. [land, 

Wit. Is this my lord ? 

Meer, The same. 

Fitz. Your servant, madam ! [offended. 

Wit. [Tai'cs Manly resfrfe.j How now, friend ! 
That I have found your haunt here ? 

Man. No, but wondering 
At your strange-fashion'd venture hither. 

Wit. It is 
To show you what they are you so pursue. 

Man. I think 'twill prove a med'cine against 
To know their manners. [marriage, 

Wit. Stay, and profit then. 

Meer. The lady, madam, whose prince has 
brought her here 
To be instructed. [Presents Mrs. Fitzdottrel. 

Wit. Please you sit with us, lady. 

Meer. That's lady-president. 

Fitz. A goodly woman ! 
I cannot see the ring, though. 

Meer. Sir, she has it. [reasons. 

Lady T. But, madam, those are very feeble 

V/it. So I urg'd, madam, that the new com- 
plexion [fucus, 
Now to come forth, in name of your ladyship's 
Has no ingredient 

Lady T. But I durst eat, I assure you. 

Wit. So do they in Spain. 

Lady T. Sweet madam, be so liberal. 
To give us some of your Spanish fucuses. 

Wit. They are infinite, madam. 

Lady T. So I hear. 

Wit. They have 
Water of gourds, of radish, the white beans, 
Flowers of glass, of thistles, rose-marine. 
Raw honc)-, mustard seed, and broad dough 
baked, [eggs, 

The crinns of bread, goats-milk, and whites of 
Camphire, and lih'-roots, the fat of swans, 
Mavrovv' of veal, white pigeons, and pine-kernels, 
The seeds of nettles, purseline, and hares-gall ; 
Lemons, thin-skinn'd 

Lady E. How her ladyship has studied 
All excellent things ! 

Wit. But ordinary, madam : 
No, the true rarities are the alvagada 
And argentata of queen Isabella, [tie madam ? 

Lady T. Ay, what are their ingredients, gen- 

Wit. Your allum scagliola, or pol di x^edra ; 
And zuccarino ; turpentine of Abczzo, 
Wash'd in nine waters ; soda di levante. 
Or your fern ashes ; benjamin di gotta : 
Grasso di serpe ; porceletto marino ; 



Oils of lentisco ; zucchc mugia ; make 

The admirable varnish for the face, 

Gives the right lustre ; but two drops rubb'd on 

With a piece of scarlet, makes a lady of sixty 

Look as sixteen. But above all, the water 

Of the white hen, of the la<iy Estifania's. 

Lady T. O, ay, that same, good madam, 1 
How is it done ? [have heard of; 

Wit. Madam, you take your hen, 
Plume it, and skin it, cleanse it o' the inwards 
Then chop it, bones and all ; add to four ounces 
Of carravicins, pipitas, soap of Cyprus, 
!Make the decoction, strain it ; then distil it, 
And keep it in your gallipot Avell gliddcred : 
Three drops preserves from wrinkles, warts, 

spots, moles, 
Blemish, or sun-burnings ; and keeps the skin 
In decimo sexto, over bright and smooth. 
As any looking-glass ; and indeed is call'd 
The Virgin s-Milk for the face, oglio reale ; 
A ceruse, neither cold nor heat will hurt ; 
And mix'd with oil of myrrh, and the red gilK- 

flower, 
Call'd cataputia, and flowers of rovistico, 
Makes the best muta or dye of the whole world. 

Lady T. Dear madam, will you let us be 

Wit. Y^'our ladyship's servant. [familiar 

Meer. How do you like her ? 

Fitz. Admirable ! 
But yet I cannot see the ring 

Puff. Sir! 

3Iecr. I must 
Deliver it, or mar all : this fool's so jealous ! 

[Aside, 
Madam — []J7u"s;«;-5 Wit.] Sir, wear this ring, 

and pray you take knowledge, 
'Twas sent you by his wife ; and give her thanks. 
Do not you dwindle, sir, bear up. [Aside to Puc 

Puy. I thank you, sir. 

Lady T. But for the manner of Spain. Sweet 
madam, let us 
Be bold, now we are in : are all the ladies 
There in the fashion ? 

Wit. None but grandees, madam. 
Of the clasp'd train, which may be worn at 
Or thus, upon my arm. [length too 

Lady T. And do they wear 
Ciopx^inos all ? 

Wit. If they be drcst in punto, madam. 

Lady T. Gilt as those are, madam ? 

Wit. Of goldsmith's work, madam. 
And set Avlth diamonds ; and their Spanish 
Of perfumed leather. [pumps. 

Lady T. 1 should think it hard 
To go in them, madam. 

Wit. At the first it is, madam. 

Lady T. Do you never fall in them ? 

Wit. Never. 

Lady E. I swear I should. 
Six times an hour. 

Lady T. But you have men at hand still. 
To help you, if you fall ? 

Wit. Only one, madam, 
The guarda-duennas, such a little old man 
As this. [Points to Tkains, 

, Lady E. Alas, he can do nothing, this ! 

Wit. I'll tell you, madam, I saw in the coxirt 
of Spain once, 
A lady fall in the king's sight,* along ; 



47i 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



And there she lay, flat spread, as an umbrella, 
Flcr hoop here crack'd ; no man durst reach a 

hand 
To help her, till the gua'rda-ducnnas came, 
SVho is the person only allovi^'d to touch 
A lady tlicre, and he but by this finger. 

Lachj E. Have they no servants, madam, there, 
nor friends ? 

Wit. An escudero, or so, madam, that waits 
Upon them in another coach, at distance ; 
And when they walk or dance, holds by a hand- 
kerchief, 
Never presumes to touch them. 

Lachj E. This is scurvy. 
And a forced gravity ! I do not like it : 
I like our own much bettor. 

Lady T. 'Tis more French, 
And courtly, ours. 

Lady E. And tastes more liberty. 
We may have our dozen of visitors at once 
Make love to us. 

Lady T. And before our husbands. 

Lady E. Husband ! 
As I am honest, Tailbush, I do think. 
If nobody should love me but my poor husband, 
[ should e'en hang myself. 

Lady T. Fortune forbid, wench, 
So fair a neck should have so foul a necklace ! 

Lady E. 'Tis true, as I am handsome. 

Wit. I received, lady, 
A token from you, which I would not be 
Kude to refuse, being your first remembrance. 

Fiiz. O, I am satisfied now ! [Aside to Meek. 

Meer. Do you see it, sir ? 

]Vit. But since you come to know me nearer, 
lady, 
I'll beg the honor you will Vv'ear it for me, 
It must be so. 

[Gives the ring to Mrs. Fitzdottrel. 

Mrs. Fitz. Sure I have heard this tongue. 

[Aside. 

Meer. What do you mean, sir ? [Aside to Wit. 

Wit. ^^^ould you have me mercenary ? 
We'll recompense it anon in somewhat else. 

[Exeunt Meek, and Tkains. 

Fit:. I do not love to be guU'd, though in a 
toy ; 
^Vife, do you hear ? [Takes Mrs. Fixz. aside.'\ you 

arc come into the school, wife. 
Where you may learn, I do jDerceive it, any thing. 
How to be fine, or fair, or great, or proud. 
Or what you Avill, indeed, wife ; here 'tis taught : 
And I am glad on't, that you may not say, 
Another day, when honors come uj^on you, 
You wanted means. I have done my parts ; been, 
To-day, at fifty pound charge ; first, for a ring. 
To get you entcr'd ; then left my new play, 
To wait upon you here, to soe't confirm'd, 
That I may say, both to mine eyes and ears, 
Senses, you are my witness, she hath enjoy'd 
All helps that could be had for love, or money — 

Mrs. Fitz. To make a fool of her. 

Fitz. Wife, that's your malice. 
The wickedness of your nature, to interpret 
Your husband's kindiiess thus : but I'll not leave 
Still to do good, for your depraved affections ; 
Intend it ; bend this stubborn will ; be great. 

Lady T. Good madam, whom do they use in 
message?. ' 



Wit. They commonly use their slaves, madam. 
Lady T. And does your ladyship 
Think that so good, madam ? 

Wit. No indeed, madam ; I 
Therein prefer the fashion of England far, 
Of 3'our young delicate page, or discreet usher. 

Fitz. And I go with your ladyship in opiiiion, 
Directly for your gentleman usher : 
There's not a finer officer goes on ground. 

Wit, If he be made and broken to his place 
Fitz. Nay, so I presuppose him. [once. 

Wit. And they are fitter 
Managers too, sir ; but I would have them call'd 
Our escuderos. 

Fitz. Good. 

Wit. Say I should send 
To your ladyship, who, I presume, has gather'd 
All the dear secrets, to know how to make 
Pastilles of the dutchess of Braganza, 
Coqucttas, almoiavanas, mantecadas, 
Alcoreas, mustaccioli ; or say it were 
The pcladore of Isabella, or balls 
Against the itch, or aqua nanfa, or oil 
Of jessamine for gloves, of the marquesse Muja; 
Or for the head and hair ; Avhj% these are of 
fices — 

Fitz. Fit for a gentleman, not a slave. 

Wit. They only 
Might ask for your piveti, Spanish coal, 
To burn, and sweeten a room : but the arcana 
Of ladies cabinets 

Fit.-.. Should be elsewhere trusted. [ladies, 
You are much about the truth. — Sweet honor'd 
Let me fall in with you : I have my female wit, 
As well as my male ; and I do know what suits 
A lady of spirit, or a woman of fashion. 

Wit. And you Avould have your wife such ? 

Fitz. Yes, madam, airy. 
Light ; not to plain dishonesty, I mean : 
But somewhat o' this side. 

Wit. I take you, sir : — 
He has reason, ladies. I'll not give this rush 
For any lady that cannot be honest 
Within a thread. 

Lady T. Yes, madam, and yet venture 
As far for the other, in her fame — — 

Wit. As can be : 
Coach it to Pimlico, dance the saraband. 
Hear and talk bawdy, laugh as loud as a larum, 
Squeak, spring, do any thing. 

Lady E. In young company, madam. 

Lady T. Or afore gallants. If they be brave, 
A woman is engaged. [or lords, 

Fitz. I say so, ladies. 
It is civility to deny us nothing. 

Fug. You talk of a university ! why, hell is 
A grammar-school to this ! [Aside. 

Lady E, But then [am. 

She must not lose a look on stuffs or cloth, mad- 

Lady T. Nor no coarse fellow. 

Wit. She must be guided, madam. 
By the clothes he wears, and company he is in, 
Whom to salute, how far 

Fitz. I have told her this ; 
And how that bawdry too, upon the point. 
Is in itself as civil a discourse 

JI7i!. As any other affair of flesh whatever, 

Fitz. But she will ne'er be capable, she is not 
So much as coming, madam ; I knov/ not how 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



475 



She loses all her opportunities, 
With hoping to be forced. I hayo cntertain'd 
A gentleman, a younger brother, here, 
Whom I -would fain breed up her escudero, 
Against some expectations that I have, 
Aiid she'll not countenance hira. 
Wit. What's his name :■ 
Fitz. Devil of Derbyshire. 
Lady E. Bless us from him ! 
Lady T. Devil! 
Call him De-vile, sweet madam. 
Mrs. Fitz. What you please, ladies. 
Lady T. De-vile's a prettier name. 
Lady E. And soimds, methinks, 

A5 it came in with the conqueror 

Man. Over smocks ! 
What things they arc ! that nature should be at 

leisure 
Ever to make them ! My wooing is at an end. 
\^Aside, and crit with indigiiation. 
Wit. What can he do ? 
Lady E. Let's hear him. 
Lady T. Can he manage ? 
Fitz. Please jovl to try him, ladies. — Stand 

forth, Devil. 
Pug. Was all this but the preface to my tor- 
ment ? [Aside. 
Fitz. Come, let their ladyships see your hon- 
Lady E. O, [ors. 
Ele makes a wicked leg. 
Lady T. As ever I saw 
Wit. Fit for a devil. 

Lady T. Good madam, call him De-vilc. 
Wit. De-vile, what property is there most re- 
in yotir conceit now, in the esciidero ? [quired, 
Fitz. Why do you not speak ? 
Puy. A settled discreet pace, madam, [like, 
Wit, I think, a barren head, sir, mountain- 

To be exposed to the cruelty of weathers 

Fitz. Ay, for his valley is beneath the waist, 
madam, 
And to be fruitful there, it is sufRcient. 
Dullness upon you ! could you not hit this ? 

[Strikes him. 

Pity. Good sir 

Wit. He then had had no barren head : 
You draw him too much in troth, sir. 

Fitz. I must walk [you. 

With the French stick, like an old verger, for 
Ptiff. chief, call me to hell again, and free 
me ! [Aside. 

Fitz. Do you murmur now ? 
Puff. Not I, sir. 
Wit. What do you take, 
Master De-vile, the height of your employment, 
In the true perfect escudero ? 

Fitz. When! 
What do you answer? 

Puff. To be able, madam, 
First to enquire, then report the working 
or any lady's physic, in sweet phrase, [tance: 
Wit. Yes, that's an act of elegance and impor- 
But what above? 

Fitz. 0, that I had a goad for him. 
Puff. To find out a good corn-cutter. 
Lridy T. Out on him ! 
Lady E. Most barbarous ! 
Fitz. Why did you do this now ? 
Of purpose to discredit me, you damn'd devil!' 



Pug- Sure, if I be not yet, I shall be. — All 
My days in hell were holidays, to this ! [Asida 

Lady T. 'Tis labor lost, madam. 

Lady E. He is a dull fellow. 
Of no capacity. 

Lady T. Of no discourse, 
O, if my Ambler had been here ! 

Lady E. Ay, madam. 
You tallc of a man ; where is there such another 

Wit. Master De-vile, put case one of my ladies 
here 
Had a fine brach, and would employ you forth 
To treat 'bout a convenient match for her ; 
What would you observe ? 

Pug- The color and the size, madam. 

Wit. And nothing else ? 

Fitz. The moon, you calf, the moon ! 

Wit. Ay, and the sign. 

Lady T. Yes, and receipts for pronenesa. 

Wit. Then when the puppies came, v/hat 
would j'ou do ? 

Pug. Get their nativities cast. 

Vi^it. This is well. What more ? 

Pug. Consult the almanac-man which would 
Which cleanHest. [be least, 

Wit. And which silent' st ? This is well, mad 
And while she were Avith puppy ? [am 

Pug. Walk her out. 
And air her every morning. 

Wit. Very good ! 
And be industrious to kill her fleas ? 

Pug. Yes. 

Wit. He Avill make a pretty proficient. 

Pug. AVho, [chising ? 

Coming from hell, could look for such a cate- 
The Devil is an Ass, I do acknowledge it. 

[Aside. 

Fitz. The top of woman ! all her sex in ab- 
stract ! 
I love her, to each sjdlable falls from her. 

[Aside, and looking at Wittipool. 

Lady T. Good madam, give me leave to go 
And try him a little. [aside with him, 

Wit. Do, and I'll Avithdraw, madam, 
With this fair lady, read to her the Avhile. 

Lady T. Come, sir. 

Puff. Dear chief, relieve me, or I perish ! 

[Aside. 

Wit. Lady, we'll follow. — You are not jealous, 
sir ? [ — behold, 

Fitz. 0, madam, you shall see. — Stay, wife; 
I give her up here absolutely to you ; 
She is your own, do with her what you will : 
Melt, cast, and form her as you shall think good ; 
Set any stamp on : I'll receive her from you 
As a new thing, by your own standard. [Exit. 

Wit. Well, sir ! 

[Exeunt Wittipol with Mrs. Fitz, and 
Tailbu.su and Eitherside, with Pug. 

SCEXE II. — Another Room f* the same. 

Enter Meercraft and Fitzdottrel. 

Mcer. But what have you done in your de- 
pendence since ? [master — 
Fiiz. 0, it goes on ; I met your cousin, the 
3Icer. You did not acquaint him, sir? 
Fitz. Faith, but I did, sir. 



476 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS 



And, upon better thought, not without reason. 
He beiu"- chief officer might have taken it ill else. 
As a contempt against his place, and that 
In time, sir, have drawn on another dependence : 
No, I did find him in good terms, and ready 
To do me any service. 

3Ieer. So he said to you ! 
But, sir, you do not know him. 

Fitz. Why, I presumed. 
Because this bus'ness of my wife's required me, 
I could not have done better : and he told 
He, that he would go presently to your counsel, 
A knight here in the lane 

Meer. Yes, justice Eithersido. [of attorney, 

Fit:. And get the feoffment drawn, with a letter 
For livery and seisin. 

3feer. That I know's the course. 
But, sir, you mean not to make him feoffee. 

Fi(z. Nay, that I'll pause on. 

Enter Pitfall. 
Meer. How now, little Pitfall ! 
Pit. Your cousin, master Everill, would come 
in — 
But he would know if master ISIanly were here. 
' Meer. No, tell him ; if he were, I have made 
his peace. — [Exit Pitfall. 

He's one, sir, has no state, and a man knows not 
How such a trust may tempt him. 
Fiiz. I conceive you. 

Enter EvEiULL and Plutarchus. 

Ever. Sir, this same deed is done here. 

Meer. Pretty Plutarchus ! [it ? 

Art thou come with it ? and has sir Paul view'd 

Phi. Ilis hand is to the draught. 

Meer. Will you step in, sir. 
And read it ? 

Fitz. Yes. 

Ever. I pray you, a word with you. 

lAside to FiTZ. 
Sir Paul Eitherside will'd me give you caution 
Whom you did make feoffee ; for 'tis the trust 
Of your whole state ; and though my cousin 

here 
Be a worthy gentleman, yet his valor has 
At the tall lioard been question'd ; and we hold 
Any man so impeach'd of doubtful honesty. 
I will not justify this, but give it you 
To make your profit of it ; if you utter it, 
I can forswear it. 

Fitz. I believe you, and thank you, sir. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Wittipol and Mrs. Fitzdottrel. 
Wit. Be not afraid, sweet lady ; you are 
trusted 
To love, not violence, here : I am no ravisher, 
But one whom you by your fair trust again 
May of a servant make a most true friend. 

Manly enters behind. 
Mrs. Fitz. And such a one I need, but not 
this way. 
Sir I confess me to you, the me^■c manner 
Of your attempting me thi-s morning, took mo ; 
And I did hold my invention, and my manners. 



Were both engaged to give it a requital, 
But not unto your ends : my hope was then, 
Though interrupted ere it could be utter'd, 
That whom I found the master of such lan^uao-Cj 
That brain and spirit for such an enterprize, 
Could not, but if those succors Avcre demanded 
To a right use, employ them virtuously. 
And make that profit of his noble parts 
Which tlicy would yield. Sir, you have now 

the ground 
To exercise them in : I am a woman 
That cannot speak more wretchedness of myself, 
Than you can read ; match' d to a mass of folly, 
That every day makes haste to his o^^Tl ruin ; 
The wealthy portion that I brought him, spent, 
And, through my fxiends' neglect, no jointure 

made me. 
My fortunes standing in this precipice, 
'Tis counsel that I want, and honest aids ; 
And in this name I need you for a friend ; 
Never in any other ; for his ill 
Must not make me, sir, worse. 

Manly, [comes for.icard.'\ O, friend, forsake not 
The brave occasion virtue offers you 
To keep you innocent : I have fear'd for both, 
And watch'd you, to prevent the ill I fear'd. 
But since the weaker side hath so assured me. 
Let not the stronger fall by his OAvn vice, 
Or be the less a friend, 'cause virtue needs him 
Wit. Virtue shall never ask my succors twice ; 
Most friend, most man, your counsels are com- 
mands. — 
Lady, I can love goodness in you, more 
Than I did beauty ; and do here intitle 
Your virtue to the poM'er upon a life 
You shall engage in any fruitful servic_e, 
Even to forfeit. 

Enter Meerceaft. 

Meer. Madam ; Do you hear, sir ? 

[Aside to Wittipol. 
We have another leg strain'd for this Dottrel. 
He has a quarrel to carry, and has caused 
A deed of feoffment of his whole estate 
To be drawn yonder : he has't within ; and you 
Only he means to make feoffee. He is fallen 
So desperately enamour'd on you, and talks 
Most like a madman ; you did never hear 
A phrenetic so in love with his own favor ! 
Now you do know, 'tis of no validity [him 

In your name, as you stand : therefore advise 
To put in me ! ■ — 

Enter Fitzdottrel, Everill, and Plutarchus. 
He's come here. You shall share, sir, 
Fitz. Madam., I have a suit to you ; and afore- 
hand 
I do bespeak you ; you must not deny me, 
I will be granted. 

Wit. Sir, I must know it, though. 
Fitz. No, lady, you must not know it : yet 
you must too. 
For the trust of it, and the fame indeed, 
Which else were lost me. I would use your 

name. 
But in a feoffment, make m}' whole estate 
Over imto you : a trifle, a thing of nothing, 
Some eighteen hundred. 

Wit. Alas ! . I understand not 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



4v7 



Those tilings, sir ; I am a v.-onian, and most loth 
To embark myself 

Fiiz, You will not slight me, madam ? 

Wit. Nor you'll not quarrel me ? 

Fit~. No, sweet madam. I have 
Already a dependence ; I'ov which cause 
I do this : let me put you in, dear madam, 
I may be fairly kill'd. 

Wit. You have your friends, sir, 
About you here for choice. 

Ever. She tells you right, sir. 

Fitz. Death, if she do, what do I care for that ? 
Say, I would have her tell me wrong ! 

Wit. ^Yhy, sir, 
If for the trust you'll let me have the honor 
To naiae you one. 

Fitz. Nay, you do mo the honor, madam. 
Who is't ? 

Wit. This gentleman. • [Pointing to Manly. 
. Fitz. O no, sweet madam. 
He's friend to him v.'ith whom I have the de- 
pendence. 

Wit. AYho might he be ? 

Fitz. One "\Yittipol, do you know him ? 

Wit. Alas, sir, he ! a toy : this gentleman 
A friend to him ! no more than I am, sir. 

Fitz. But will your ladyship undertake that, 
madam ? 

Wit. Yes,, and what else, for him, you will 
engage me. 

Fitz. "What is his name ? 

Wit. His name is Eustace Manly. 

Fitz. Whence does he write himself ? 

Wit. Of Middlesex, esquire. 

Fitz. Say nothing, madam. — Clerk, come 
hither ; [To Plutarchi's. 

Write Eustace- Manly, squire of Middlesex. 

Meer. What have you done, sir ? 

[Aside to Wit. 

Wit. Named a gentleman. 
That 111 be answerable for to you, sir : 
Had I named you, it might have been suspected ; 
This way 'tis safe. 

Fitz. Come, gentlemen, your hands 
For witness. 

Man. What is this ? 

Evei'. You have made election 
Of a most worthy gentleman ! 

Man. Would one of worth 
Had spoke it ! but now whence it comes, it is 
Rather a shame unto mo than a praise. 

Ever. Sir, I will give you any satisfaction. 

Man. Be silent then : Falsehood commends 
not truth. 

Flu. Y'ou do deliver this, sir, as your deed, 
To the use of master Manly ? 

Fitz. Y'es : and sir [ To Manly. 

When did you see young Wittipol ? I am ready 

For process now : sir, this is publication. 

He shall hear from me ; he would needs be 

courting 
My wife, sir. 

Man. Y'es ; so witnesseth his cloke there. 

Fitz. Nay, good sir — Madam, you did imder- 
take — 

Wit. What? 

Fitz. That he wf s not Wittipol's friend. 

Wit. I hear. 
Sir, nc concession of it. 



Fitz. O, she knows not ; 
Now I remember. — Madam, this young Y/itti- 

pol 
Would have debauch'd my Avife, and made me 

cuckold 
Thorough a casement ; he did fly her home 
To mine own window; hut, I think, I sous'd 

him. 
And ravish'd her away out of his pounces. 
I have SAVorn to have him by the cars : I fear 
The toy will not do me right. 
'Wit. No! that were liity ! 
VvHiat right do you ask, sir ? here he is Avill dot 
you. [Discovers himself 

Fitz.''Ka,\ Wittipol! 

Wit. Ay, sir ; no more lady now, 
Nor Spaniard. 

Man. No indeed, 'tis Wittipol. 

Fitz. Am I the thing I fear'd ? 

Wit. A cuckold ! No, sir ; 
But you were late in possibility, 
I'll tell you so much. 

Man. But your wife's too virtuous. 

Wit. We'll see her, sir, at home, and leave 
yo\i here. 
To bo made duke of Shoredltch with a project. 

Fitz. Thieves ! ravishers ! 

Wit. Cry biit another note, sir, 
I'll mar the tune of your pipe. 

Fitz. Give me my deed then. 

V.'it. Neither: that shall be kept 'for yciir 
wife's good, 
Who will know better how to vise it. 

Fitz. Ha! 
To feast you with my land ? 

Wit. Sii', be you quiet, 
Or I shall gag j'ou ere I go ; consult 
Y'our master of dependences, how to make this 
A second business, you have time, sir. 

[Bajfles him, and exit loith jSIanly, 

Fitz. Oh! 
What will the ghost of my wise grandfather, 
]\Iy learned father, with my worshipful mother. 
Think of me now, that left me in this world 
In state to be their heir ? that am become 
A cuckold, and an ass, and my wife's ward ; 
Likely to lose my land, have my throat cut ; 
All by her practice ! 

Meer. Sir, we are all abused. 

I itz. And be so still ! who hinders you, I pray, 
you ? 
Let me alone, I would enjoy myself, 
And be the duke of Drown' d-land you have 
made me. 

Meer. Sir, Ave must play an after-game of this. 

Fitz. But I am not in case to be a gamester, 
I tell yon once again 

Meer. Y'ou must he ruled. 
And take some counsel. 

Fitz. Sir, I do hate counsel. 
As I do hate my Avife, my Avicked Avife ! 

Meer. But avc may think how to recover all, 
If you Avill act. 

Fitz. I Avill not think, nor act, 
Nor vet recover ; do not talk to me : 
I'll run out of my Avits, rather than hear ; 
I AA-ill be Avhat I am, Fabian Fitz :{ottrel, 
Though all the Avorld say nay to't. ExU 

Meer. Let us follow him, \ExsvM. 



478 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



ACT V. 

SCEXE I. — A Room hi Tailbush's House. 

Enter Ambler and Pitfall. 
4???6. But has my lady miss'd me ? 
Pit. Beyond telling. 
Here has been that infinity of strangers ! 
And then she Avould have had you, to have 

sampled you 
With one within, that they are now a teaching. 
And does protend to your rank. 

Amb. Good fellow Pitfall, 
Toll master INIeercraft I entreat a word with him. 

[Exit Pitfall. 
This most unlucky accident will go near 
To be the loss of my i^laee, I am in doubt. 

Enter Meercp.aft. 

Meer. With me ! — What say yoix, master 

Atnb. Sir, [Ambler ? 

I would beseech your worship, stand between 
Me and my lady's displeasure, for my absence. 

3Ieer. O, is that all ! I warrant you. 

A?nb. I would tell you, sir, 
But how it happen'd. 

Meer. Brief, good master Ambler, 
Put yourself to your rack ; for I have task 
Of more importance. 

Amb. Sir, you'll laugh at me : 
But (so is truth) a very friend of mine, 
Finding by conference with me, that I lived 
Too chaste for my complexion, and indeed 
Too honest for my place, sir, did advise me, 
If I did love myself, — as that I do, 
I must confess — 

Meer. Spire your parenthesis. 

Amb. To give my body a little evacuation 

Meer. Well, and you went to a whore ? 

Amb. No, sir, I durst not 
(For fear it might arrive at somebody's ear 
It should not) trust myself to a common house ; 
[Tells this loith extraordinary speed. 
But got the gentlewoman to go with me. 
And carry her bedding to a conduit-head. 
Hard by the place toward Tyburn, which they call 
My Lord Mayor's banqueting-house. Now, sir, 

this morning 
Was execution ; and I never dreamt on't, 
TiU I heard the noise of the people, and the 

horses ; 
And neither I, nor the poor gentlewoman. 
Durst stir, till all was done and past : so that. 
In the interim, we fell asleep again. [He flags. 

Meer. Nay, if you fall from your gallop, I am 
gone, sir. 

Amb. But when I waked, to put on my clothes, 
I made new for the action, it was gone, [a suit 
And all ray money, with my purse, my seals, 
My hard- wax, and my table-books, my studies, 
And a fine new device I had to carry 
My pen and ink, my civet, and my tooth-pick^ 
All under one. But that which grieved me, was 
The gentlewoman's shoes, (with a pair of roses. 
And garters, I had given her for the business,) 
So as that made us stay till it was dark : 
For I Avas fain to lend her mine, end v/alk 
In a rug, by her, barefoot, to St, Giles's 



Meer. A kind of Irish penance ! Is this all, sir 
Amb. To satisfy my lady. 
Meer. I Avill promise you, sir. 
Amb. I have told the true disaster. 
Meer. I cannot stay with you. 
Sir, to condole ; but gratulate your return. 

[Exit. 
Amb. An honest gentleman ; but he's never 
at leisure 
To be himself, he has such tides of business. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Pug. 
Pug. O call me home again, dear chief, and 

I^ut me 
To yoking foxes, milking of he-goats. 
Pounding of water in a" mortar, laving 
The sea dry with a nut-shell, gathering all 
The leaves are fallen this autumn, drawing farts 
Out of dead bodies, making ropes of sand, 
Catching the winds together in a net, 
Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms ; all 
That hell and you thought exquisite torments, 

rather [sooner 

Than stay me here a thought more : I woiild 
Keep fleas within a circle, and be accompUnt 
A thousand year, which of them, and how far, 
Out-lcap'd the other, than endure a minute 
Such as I have within. There is no hell 
To a lady of fashion ; all your tortures there 
Are pastimes to it ! 'Twould be a refreshing 
For me, to bo in the fire again, from hence — 

Enter Ambleu, and surveys him. 
Amb. This is my suit, and those the shoes and 
roses ! [Aside. 

Pug. They have such impertinent vexations, 

A general council of devils could not hit 

Ha ! [sees Ambler.] this is he I took asleep with 

his wench. 
And borrow'd his clothes. What might I do to 
balk him ? [Aside. 

Amb. Do you hear, sir ? 
Pug. Answer him, but not to the purpose. . 

[Aside, 
Amb. What is your name, I pray you, sir ? 
Pug. Is't so late, sir .' [sir. 

Amb. I ask not of the time, but of your name, 
Pug. I thank you, sir : yes, it does hold, sir, 

certain. 
Amb. Hold, sir ! what holds ? I must both 
hold, and tallc to you 
About these clothes. 

Pug. A very pretty lace ; 
But the tailor cozen'd me. 
Amb. No, I am cozen'd 
By you ; robb'd. 

Pug. Why, when you please, sir ; I am. 
For three-penny gleek, your man. 

Amb. Pox o' your gleek, 
And three-pence ! give me an answer. 

Pug. Sir, 
My master is the best at it. 

Amb. Your master ! 
Who is your master ? 

Pug. Let it be Friday night. 
Amb. What should be then ? 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



4T9 



Pug. Your best song's Tom o' Bothlom. 
Amb. I think you are he. — Does he mock me 
tr>;w, from purpose, 
Or do not I speak to him what I mean ? — 
Good sir, your name. 

Pug. Only a jouple of cocks, sir ; 
If we can get a widgeon, 'tis in season. 
Amd. He hopes to make one of these sciptics 
of me, [me ; 

(I tl ink I name them right,) and docs not fly 
I "N^ondcr at that : 'tis a strange confidence ! 
I'll jirove another way, to draw his answer, 

\_Exeunt severally. 

SCENE III. — .1 Room in Fitzdottuel's House. 

Enter Mekrcr.vft, Fitzdottrel, and Ev'erill. 

Meer. It is the easiest thing, sir, to be done, 
As plain as fizzling : roll but with your eyes, 
And foam at the mouth. A little castle-soajD 
Yv^ill do't, to rub your lips ; and then a nut-shell, 
"With tow, and touch-wood in it, to spit fire. 
Did you ne'er read, sir, little Darrel's tricks 
With the boy of Burton, and the seven in Lan- 
cashire, 
Somcrs at Nottingham ? all these do teach it. 
And we'll give out, sir, that your wife has be- 
witch'cl you. [crs. 

Ever. And practis'd with those two as sorcer- 

Mecr. And gave you potions, by which means 
you were [mcnt. 

Not compos mentis, when you made j-our feoff- 
Therc's no recovery of your state but this ; 
This, sir, will sting. 

Eocr. And move in a court of equity. [was 

Meer. For it is more than manifest, that this 
A plot of your wife's, to get j'our land. 

F/'tz. I think it. 

Ecer. Sir, it appears. 

Meer, Nay., and my cousin has known 
These gallants in these shapes — 

Ever. To have done strange things, sir, 
One as the lady, the other as the squire. 

Meer. How a man's honesty may be fool'd ! I 
A very lady. [thought him 

Fitz. So did I ; renounce mo else. 

3Ieer. But this way, sir, you'll be revenged at 

Ever. Upon them all. [height. 

Meer. Yes, faith, and since your wife 
Has run the Avay of woman thus, e'en give her — 

Fitz. Lost, by this hand, to me ; dead to all 
joys 
Of her dear Dottrel ; I shall never pity her. 
That could [not] pity herself. 

Meer. Princely resolv'd, sir, 
And like yourself still, in potentiA. 

Enter Gilthead, Plutarchus, Sledge, and 
Serjeants. 

Meer. Gilthead ! what news ? 

Fitz. O, sir, my hundred pieces ! 
Let me have them yet. 

Gilt. Yes, sir. — Officers, 
Arrest him. 

Fitz. Me ! 

1 SerJ. I arrest you. 

Sledge. Keep the peace, 
I charge you, gentlemen. 



Fitz. Arrest me ! why .' 

Gilt. For better security, sir. My son Plu- 
tarchus 
Assures me, you are not worth a groat. 

Pin. Pardon me, father, 
I said his worship had no foot of land left : 
And that I'll justifj-, for I writ the deed. 

Fitz. Have you these tricks in the city ? 

Gilt. Yes, and more : 
Arrest this gallant too, here, at my suit. 

[Points to Meercraft. 

Sledge. Ay, and at mine : he owes me for his 
lodging 
Two year and a quarter. 

Meer. Why, master Gilthead, — landlord, 
Tliou art not mad, though thou art constable, 
Puft up with the pride of the place. Do you 

hear, sirs, 
Have I dcserv'd this from you two, for all 
Mv pains at court, to get you each a patent ? 

'Gilt. For what ? 

Meer. Upon mj'' project of the forks. 

Sledge. Forks ! what be they ? 

Meer. The laudable use of forks, 
Brought into custom here, as they arc in Italy, 
To the sparing of napkins : that, that should 

have made 
Your bellows go at the forge, as his at the furnace. 
I have procured it, have the signet for it, 
Dealt with the linen-drapers on my private. 
Because I fear'd they were the likeliest' ever 
To stir against, to cross it : for 'twill be 
A mighty saver of linen through the kingdom, 
As that is one o' my grounds, and to spare wash- 
ing. 
Now, on you two had I laid all the profits : 
Gilthead to have the making of all those 
Of gold and silver, for the better personages ; 
And you, of those of steel for the common sort : 
And both by patent. I had brought you your 

seals in, 
But now you have prevented me, and I thank 
j'ou. [peril, 

Sledge. Sir, I will br.il you, at mine ov/n ap- 

Meer. Nay, choose. 

Plu. Do you so too, good father. 

Gilt. I like the fashion of the project well, 
The forks ! it may be a lucky one ! and is 
Not intricate, as one would say, but fit for 
Plain heads, as ours, to deal in. — Do you hear, 
Officers, we discharge you. [Exeunt Serjeants, 

Meer. Why, this shews • 

A little good-nature in you, I confess ; 
But do not tempt your friends thus. — Little 

Gilthead, 
Advise your sire, great Gilthead, from these 

courses : 
And, here, to trouble a great man in reversion, 
For a matter of fifty, in a false alarm . 
Away, it shews not "well. Let him get the pieces 
And bring them : you'll hear more else. 

Plu. Father. [Exeunt Gilt, and Plut. 

Enter Ambler, dragging in Pug. 
Amh. O, master Sledge, are you here ? I have 
been to seek you. 
You are the constable, they say. Here's one 
That I do charge with felony, for the suit 
He wears, sir. 



480 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



Mee>: Who ? master Fitzdottrel's man ! 
Ware what you do, master Ambler. 

Enter FiTZDOTTi'-EL. 

Amb. Sir, these clothes 
I"U swear are mine ; and the slices the gentle- 
woman's 
I told you of: and have him afore a justice 
r wiU. 

Ptiff. My master, sir, will pass his word for me. 

A?}ib. O, can you speak to purpose noAV ? 

Fitz. Not I, 
If you be such a one, sir, I will leave you 
To your godfathers in law : let twelve men work. 

Pwy. i)o yoti hear, sir, pray, in private. 

[Takes him aside. 

Fiiz. Well, what say you ? 
Brief, for 1 have no time to lose. 

Pu/j. Truth is, sir, 
I am the very Devil, and had leave 
To take this body I am in to serve you ; 
Which was a cut-purse's, and hang'd this morn- 
And it is likcAvise true, I stole this suit [ing ; 
To clothe me with ; but, sir, let me not go 
To prison for it. I have hitherto 
Lost time, done nothing ; shown, indeed, no part 
Of my devil's nature : now, I will so help 
Your malice, 'gainst these parties ; so advance 
The business that you have in hand,of witchcraft, 
And your i:)Osse3sion, as myself were in you ; 
Teach you such tricks to make your belly sv/ell, 
And your eyes turn, to foam, to stare, to gnash 
Your'teeth together, and to beat yourself, 
Laugh loud, and feign six voices 

Fitz. Out, you rogue ! 
You most infernal counterfeit vrretch, avaunt ! 
Do you think to gull me A'l-ith your yEsop's 

fables ? 
Here, take him to you, I have no part in him. 

Pitt/. Sir — 

Fit-. Away ! I do disclaim, I will not hear 
you. [Ej:it Sledge icith Pug. 

Meer. What said he to you, sir ? 

Filz. Like a lying rascal. 
Told me he was the Devil. 

Iileer. How ! a good jest. 

Fitz. And that he v/ould teach me such fmo 
devil's tricks 
For our new resolution. 

Ever. O, pox on him ! 
'Tv.-as excellent wisely done, sir, not to trust him. 

Meer. Why,*f he were the Devil, we shall not 
need him, [sir. 

If you'll be ruled. Go throw yourself on a bed. 
And feign you ill. AVc'U not be seen with you 
Till after, that you have a lit ; and all 
Confirm' d Avithin. Keep you with the tAvo 
ladies, [ To Evemll. 

And persuade them. I Avill to justice Either- 
side, [Engine, 
And possess him Avith all. Trains shall seek out 
And they tAvo fill the tOAvn Avith't ; every cable 
Is to be A'ecr'd. We must employ out all 
Our emissaries noAV. Sir, I Avill send you 
Bladders and bellows. Su", be confident, 
'Tis no hard thing t' outdo the DcA'il in ; 
A boy of thirteen year old made him an ass. 
But t'other day. 

Fitz. Well, I'll begin to practise, 



And scape the imptttation of being cuckold, 
By mine oaa'u act. 

Meer. You are right. [Exit Fitz. 

Ecer. Come, yoi; have put 
Yourself to a simple coil here, and yoiu- friends, 
By dealing Avith ucav agents, in new plots. 

3Ieer. No more of that, SAveet cousin. 

Ever. What had you • 

To do AA-ith this same Wittipol, for a lady ■? 

Meer, Question not that ; 'tis done. 

Ever. Yon had some strain 
Bove e-kt ? 

Meer. I had indeed. 

Ever. And now you crack for't. 

Meer. Do not upbraid me. 

Ever. Come, you must be told on't ; 
You are so covetous still to embrace 
More than you can, that you lose ail. 

Meer. 'Tis right : 
What AA'ould you more than guilty ? Nov/, your 
succors. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — -1 Cell in Neivgate. 

Enter Shackles, tvith Pug in chains. 

Ska. Here you are lodged, sir ; yon mvist send 
If you'll be private. [your garnish, 

P«_7. There it is, sir : leave me. 

[Exit Shackles. 
To NcAvgate brought ! hoAV is the name of devil 
Discredited in me ! AA-hata lost fiend 
Shall I be on return ! my chief Avill roar 
In triumph, uoav, that I have been on earth 
A daj', and done no noted thing, but brought 
That body back here, Avas hang'd out this morn- 
ing. 
Well ! Avould it once Avcre midnight, that I knoAV 
My utmost. I thin'K Time be drunk and sleeps, 
He is so still, and moves not ! I do glory 
NoAv in my torment. Neither can J expect it, 
I have it Avith my fact. 

Enter Ixiquita'. 

Iniq. Child of hell, be thou merrj' : 
Put a look on as round, boA', and red as a cherry. 
Cast care at thy jjostorns, and firk in thy fetters : 
They are ornaments, baby, haA-e graced thy bet- 
ters : [salute thee, 
Look iipon me, and hearken. Our chief doth 
And lest the cold iron should chance to confute 
thee, [longer 
He hath sent thee grant-parole by me, to stay 
A month here on earth, against cold, child, or 
hunger. 

Pug. HoAv ! longer here a month ? 

Iniq. Yes, boy, till the session. 
That so thou mayst have a triumphal egression. 

Pug. In a cart to be hang'd ! 

Iniq. No, child, in a car. 
The chariot of triumph, Avhich most of them are, 
And in the meantime, to be greasy, and bouzj'-, 
And nasty, and filthy, and ragged, and lousy. 
With damn me ! renounce me ! and all the fine 

phrases. 
That bring unto Tyburn the plentiful gazes. 

Pug. He is a devil, and may be our chief, 
The great superior devil, for his malice ! 
Arch-dcA-il ! I acknoAvled.ge him. He knew 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



481 



What I Avoiild suffer, when he tied mo up thus 
In a rogue's body ; and he has, I thank him, 
Ilis tjtannous pleasure on me, to confine me 
To the unlucky carcase of a cut-purse, 
Wherein I could do nothing. 

Enter Satan. 
Sat. Impudent fiend. 
Stop thy lewd mouth. Dost thou not shame and 

tremble 
To lay thine o-\\ti dull, damn'd defects upon 
An innocent case there ? Why, thou heavy 

slave ! 
The spirit that did possess that flesh before, 
Pat mere true life in a finger and a thumb. 
Than thou in the whole mass : yet thou rebell'st 
And murmur'st ! What one proffer hast thou 

made, 
Wicked enough, this da}', that might be call'd 
Worthy thine own, much less the name that 

sent thee ? 
First, thou didst help thyself into a beating, 
Promptly, and with't endangered'st too thj' 

tongue : 
A devil, and could not keep a body entire [it, 
One day ! that, for our credit : and to vindicate 
Hinder'dst, for aught thou know'st, a deed of 

darkness : 
Which was an act of that egregious folly, [on. 
As no one, toward the devil, could have thought 
This for your acting. — But, for suffering! — 

why 
Thou hast been cheated on, with a false beard, 
And a turn'd cloke : faith, Avould your prede- 
cessor [upon thee ! 
The cut-purse, think you, have been so ? Out 
The hurt thou hast done, to let men know their 

strength. 
And that they are able to outdo a devil 
Put in a body, will for ever be [with, 

A scar upon our name ! Whom hast thou dealt 
Woman or man, this day, but have outgone thee 
Some way, and most have proved the better 
fiends ? [make you 

Yet you would be employ 'd ! yes ; hell shall 
Provincial of the cheaters, or bawd-ledger. 
For this side of the town ! no doubt, you'll 

render 
A rare account of things ! Bane of your itch, 
And scratching for employment ! I'll have brim- 
stone 
To allay it sure, and fire to singe your nails off. — 
But that I would not such a damn'd dishonor 
Stick on our state, as that the devil were hang'd. 
And could not save a body, that he took 
From Tyburn, but it must come thither again ; 
You should e'en ride. But up, away vdth him — 
[Iniquity takes him on his back. 
Iniq. Mount, dearling of darkness, my shoul- 
ders are broad : 
He that carries the fiend is sure of his load. 
The devil was wont to carry away the Evil, 
]3ut now the Evil outcarries the devil. [Exeunt, 
\_A loud explosion, smoke, §c. 

Enter Shack-Les, and the TJnder-keepers, af- 
frighted. 
Rkach O me ! 
I Keep. What's this ? 

oi. 



2 Keep. A piece of Justice-hall 
Is broken down. 

3 Keep. Foiigh ! what a steam of brimstone 
Is here ! 

4 Keep. The prisoner's dead, came in but now 
Shack. Ha ! where ? 

4 KeciJ. Look here. 

1 Keep. 'Slid, I should know his countenance: 
It is Gill Cutpurse, was hang'd out this morning 

Shack. 'Tishe! 

2 Keep. The devil sure has a hand in this ! 

3 Keep. What shall we do ? 
Shack. Carry the news of it 

Unto the sheriffs. 

1 Keep. And to the justices. 

4 Keep. This is strange. 

3 Keep. And savors of the devil strongly. 

2 Keep. I have the suljihur of hell-coal in my 
1 Keep. Fough ! [nose. 
Shack. Carry him in. 

1 Keep. Away. 

2 Keep. How rank it is ! [Exeunt with the body. 

SCEXE V. — A Room in Fitzdottrel's House. 

FiTZDOTTKEL discovered in bed ; Lady Eithersiqe, 
Tailbush, Amblee, Trains, and Pitfall, 
standing by him. 

Enter Su- Paul Eitherside, SIeercraf.t, and 

EVERILL. 

Sir P. Eith. This was the notablest conspiracy 
That e'er I heard of. 

Meer. Sir, they had given him potions, 
That did enamour him on the counterfeit lady — 

Ever. Just to the time o' delivery of the deed 

Meer. And then the witchcraft 'gan to appear, 
He fell into his fit. [for straight 

Ever. Of rage at first, sir, 
Which since has so increased. 

Lady T. Good sir Paul, see him, 
And punish the impostors. 

Sir P. Eith. Therefore I come, madam. 

Lady E. Let master Eitherside alone, madam. 

Sir p. Eith. Do you hear ? 
Call in the constable, I will have him by ; 
He's the king's officer : and some citizens 
Of credit ; I'll discharge my conscience clearly, 

ileer. Yes, sir, and send for his ■\\ife. 

Ever. And the two sorcerers, 
By any means. [Exit Ambler. 

Lady T. L thought one a true lady, 
I should be sworn : so did you, Eitherside. 

Lady E. Yes, by that light, would I might 
ne'er stir else, Tailbush. 

Lady T. And the other, a civil gentleman. 

Ever. But, madam, 
Y'ou know what I told your ladyship. 

Lady T. I now see it. 
I was providing of a banquet for them, 
After I had done instructing of the fellow, 
De-vile, the gentleman's man. 

Jl/ee;-. Who is found a thief, madam. 
And to have robb'd your usher, master Amblei 
This morning. 

Lady T. How ! 

Meer. I'll tell you more anon. 

Fitz. Give me some aarlic, garlic, garlic, garlio . 
[He begins his ft. 



482 



THE DEVIL IS AX ASS. 



Ileer. Harl?, the poor gentleman, how he is 
tormented ! 

Fitz. Ml/ wife is a whore, I'll kiss her no more : 
and lohijl 
Mayst not thou he a cucltold as icell as I ? 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Sir P. Eith. That is the devil spealis and 
laughs in him. 

Meer. Do you think so, sir ? 

Sir P. Eith. I discharge my conscience. 

Fitz. And is not the devil good cotnpany? yes. 

Ever. How he changes, sir, his voice ! \icis. 

Fitz. And a cuckold is, 
Wherever he put his head, with a wannion, 
If his horns be forth, the devil's companion. 
Looh, look, look, else ! 

Meer. How he foams ! 

Ever. And swells ! [belly ? 

Lady T. O me, what's that there rises in his 

Lady E. A strange thing : hold it down. 

Tra. Pit. We cannot, madam. 

.SV)- P. Eith. 'Tis too apparent this ! 

Fitz. Wittipol, Wittipol! 

Enter Wittipol, Manly, and Mrs. Fitzdottrel. 

Wit. How now ! what play have we here ? 

Man. What fine new matters ? 

Wit. The cockscomb and the coverlet. 

Meer. strange impudence, 
That these should come to face their sin ! 

Ever. And outface 
Justice ! they are the parties, sir. 

Sir P. Eith. Say, nothing. 

Meer. Did you mark, su", upon their coming in, 
How he call'd Wittipol ? 

Ever. And never saw them. [plfiy awhile. 

Sir P. Eith. I warrant you did I : let them 

Fitz. Buz, buz, buz, buz! 

Lady T. 'Las, poor gentleman, 
IIow he is tortured ! [trel ! 

Mrs. Fitz. [goes to him.'] Fie, master Fitzdot- 
What do you mean to counterfeit thus ? 

Fitz. O, O! 
She comes with a needle, and thriisfs it in, 
She jndls out that, and she jnUs in a pin, 
And noio, and now, I do not know how, nor where. 
But she pricks me here, and she pricks me there : 

Sir P. Eith. Woman, forbear. [Oh, oh! 

Wit. What, sir ? 

Sir P. Eith. A practice foul 
For one so fair. 

Wit. Hath this, then, credit with you ? 

Ma7i. Do you believe in't ? 

Sir P. Eith, Gentlemen, I'll discharge 
My conscience : 'tis a clear conspiracy, 
A dark and devilish practice ! I detest it. 

Wit. The justice sure will prove the merrier 

Man. This is most strange, sir. [man. 

Sir. P. Eith. Come not to confront 
Authority with impudence ; I tell you, 
I do detest it. — 

Re-enter Ambleu, loith Sledge and Gilthead. 
Here comes the king's constable. 
And with him a right worshipful commoner, 
My good friend, master Gilthead. I am glad 
I can, before such witnesses, profess 
My conscience, and my detestation of it. 
Horrible ! most itnnatural ! abominable ! 



Ever. You do not tumble enough. 

Meer. AVallow, gnash. {They whisper him. 

Lady T. O, how he is vexed ! 

Sir P. Eith. 'Tis too manifest. 

Ever. Give him more soap to foam with. [To 
Meer.] Now lie still. 

Meer. And act a little. 

Lady T. What does he now, sir ? 

Sir P. Eith. Shew 
The taking of tobacco, with which the devil 
Is so delighted. 

Fitz. Hum! 

Sir P. Eith. And calls for hum. 
You takers of strong waters and tobacco, 
Mark this. 

Fitz. Yellow, yelloio, yellow, yellow ! 

Sir P. Eith. that's starch ! the devil's idol of 
that color. 
He ratifies it with clapping of his hands ; 
The proofs are pregnant. 

Gilt. How the devil can act ! 

Sir P. Eith. He is the master of players, mas- 
ter Gilthead, 
And poets too : you heard him talk in rhyme, 
I had forgot to observe it to you, erewhile ! 

Lady T. See, he spits fire ! 

Sir P. Eith. O no, he plays at figgum ; 
The devil is the author of wicked figgum 

Man. Why speak you not iinto him ? 

Wit. If I had 
All innocence of man to be endanger'd, 
And he could save or ruin it, I'd not breathe 
A syllable in request, to such a fool 
He makes himself. 

Fitz. O they whisper, tohispier, tchisper, 
We shall have more of devils a score, 
To come to dinner, in me the sinner. 

Lady E. Alas, poor gentleman ! 

Sir P. Eith. Put them asunder; 
Keep them one from the other. 

Man. Are you phrenetic, sir ? 
Or what grave dotage moves you to take part 
With so much villainy ? we are not afraid 
Either of law or trial ; let iis be 
Examined what our ends were, what the means 
To work by, and possibility of those means : 
Do not conclude against us ere you hear us. 

Sir P. Eith. I will not hear you, 3'ct I will 
Out of the circumstances. [conclude 

Man. Will you so, sir .' 

Sir P. Eith. Yes, they are j^alpable. 

Man. Not as your folly. 

Sir P. Eith. I will discharge my conscience, 
To the meridian of j ustice. [and do all. 

Gilt. You do well, sir. 

Fitz. Provide me to eat, three or four dishes o' 
good meat, [brains 

ril feast them and their trains, a justice head and 
Shall be the first. — 

Sir P. Eith. The devil loves not justice. 
There you may see. 

Fitz. A spare rib 0' my ivife. 
And a whore's purtena)ice ; a Gilthead whole. 
Sir P. Eith. Be not you troubled, sir, the devil 
speaks it. 

Fitz. Yes, wis, knight, shite, Poul, joul, owl, 

foul, troul, boul ! 
Sir P. Eith. Crambo I another of the devil's 



THE DEVIL IS AN ASS. 



483 



Meer. Speak, s!.r, some Greek, if j'ou can. 
\^Aside to Fitz.] Is not the justice 
A. solemn gamester .'' 
Ever. Peace. 

Fitz. Ol uol, xaxoSaiium; 
Kai rniay.ay.u5aiii(-iiv , y.al TeTQayig, Kal mvTaicig, 
KuL Soi^ixuxic, xal tivQiuyig, 

Sir P. Eith. He curses 
In Greek, I think. 

Evc.'\ Your Spanish, that I taught you. 

[Aside to Fitz. 
Fitz. Quchrdmos el ojo de burlas. 

Ever. How ! your rest 

Let's break his neck in jest, the devil says. 
Fitz. Di gratia, signdr mio, se haveta dcnari 

fatamino parte. 
Meer. What ! would the devil borrow money ? 
Fitz. On;/, oil!/, vionsieur., tm pauvre diable, 

diabletin. 
Sir P. Eith. It is the devil, by his several lan- 
guages. 

Enter Shackles, with the things found on the body 
of the Cut-purse. 

Shack. "Where's sir Paul Eitherside ? 

<S'(> P. Eith. Here ; what's the matter? 

ShacJc. 0,such an accident fallen out at New- 
gate, sir : 
A great piece of the prison is rent down ! 
The devil has been there, sir, in the body 
Of the young cut-purse, was hang'd out this 
morning, . [him. 

But in new clothes, sir ; every one of us know 
These things Avcre found in his pocket. 

Amb. Those are mine, sir. 

Shade. 1 think he was committed on your 
charge, sir, 
For a new felony. 

Amb. Yes. 

Shack. He's gone, sir, nov/. 
And loft us the dead body ; but withal, sir. 
Such an infernal stink and steam behind. 
You cannot see St. Pulchre's steeple yet: 
They smell' t as far as Ware, as the Avind lies. 
By this time, sure. 

Fitz. [starts tip.] Is this upon your credit, 
friend ? 

Shack. Sir, you may see, and satisfy yourself. 

Fitz. Nay then, 'tis time to leave off counter- 
feiting. 

Sir, I am not bewitch'd, nor have a devil, 
No more than you ; I do defy him, I, 
And did abuse you : these two gentlemen 



Put me upon it. (I have faith against him.) 
They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth, 
And shame the fiend. See here, sir, arc my 

bellows, 
1ft.nd my false bellj^, and my mouse, and all 
That should have come forth. 

Man. Sir, are you not ashamed 
Now of your solemn, serious vanity ? 

Sir P. Eith. I Avill make honorable amends to 

truth. [still, 

Fitz. And so will I. But these are cozeners 
And have my land, as plotters, with my wife ; 
Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a 

whore. [virtuous, 

Man. Sir, you belie her : she is chaste and 
And we are honest. I do know no glory 
A man should hope, by venting his own follies : 
But you'll still be an ass in spite of jDrovidence. 
Please you go in, sir, and hear truths, then 

judge 'em, 
And make amends for your late rashness : when 
You shall but hear the pains, and care was taken 
To save this fool from ruin, his Grace of 

Drown'd-land — • 
Fitz. My land is drown'd indeed — — 
.S'(> P. Eith. Peace. 
Man. And how much 
His modest and too worthy wife hath suffer'd 
By misconstruction from him, you will blush. 
First, for your own belief, more for his actions. 
His land is his ; and never by my friend. 
Or by myself, meant to another use, 
But for her succors, who hath equal right. 
If any other had worse counsels in it, 
(I know I speak to those can apprehend mo) 
Let them repent them, and be not detected. — - 
It is not manly to take joy or pride 
In human errors : we do all ill things ; 
They do them worst that love them, and dwell 

there, [seeds 

Till the plague comes. The few that have the 
Of goodness left, will sooner make their way 
To a true life, by shame, than punishment. 

[lie comes foricard for the Epilogue. 

Thus the 2»'OJector here is overthrown ; 
But I have now a i^roject of mine oxen, 
If it mag pass, that no man would invite 
The poet from lis, to sup forth to-night, 
If the plaij please. If it displeasant be. 
We do 2)rcsume that no man icill, nor we. 

[Exeunt 



THE STAPL*E OF NEWS. 



DRAMATIS PERS0NJ2. 



pENNYBOy, the i'on, the Heir and Suitor. 

PenNYBOyJ the Father, the Canter. 

PENNYBOY, Richer, the JJiiclc, the U.^nrer. 

CYMBAIi, Master of the Staple, and Prime Jecrcr. 

FiTTOJf, Emissary) Court, and Jeerrr. 

AlmAiVAC, Doctor in Physic, atid .Teerer. 

SnUNFIELD, Sea Captain, and Jecrcr. 

Madrigal, Poetaster, and Jeerer. 

Picklock, Man o' Law, and Emissary Westminster. 

Piedmantle, Pursitivant at jirtns, and Hcraldet. 

Register, of the Staple, or Office. 

NATHA^'IEL, First Clerk of the Office. 

Thomas, Barber, Second Clerk of the Office. 

Broker, Secretary, and Oentleman- Usher to PeCUNIA. 

Lickfinger, Master-Cook, and Parcel-Poet. 

Fashioner, the Tailor of the times. 

t-EATHERLEG, Shoemaker. 



Linener. 

Haberdasher. 

Spurrier. 

Customers, Male and Female. 

Porter. 

Block and Lollard, tiro Don's. 

Buz, Ambler, Orooms',- Fiddlers, Singhig-Boy 

Attendants, ^-e. 
I\termean or Chorus. 
Gossips — Mirth, Tattle, Expect.i.tion, arA 

Censure. 

PecuNIA, Infanta of the Mines. 
Mortgage, her JVarsc. 
Statute, First Woman. 
Band, Second Woman. 
Wax (Rose), Chambermaid 



SCENE, — LoNDox. 



THE INDUCTION. 



THE STAGE. 



Enter Prologue. 

Pro. For your own sakes, not his 

Enter Gossip Mirth, Gossip Tattle, Gossip Ex- 
pectation, and Gossip Censure, four Gentle- 
women, lachj-Uke attired. 

Mirth. Come, gossip, be not ashamed. The play 
is The Staple op News, and you are the mis- 
tress and lady of Tattle, — let's have your opinion 
of it. — Do you hear, gentlemen? what are you, 
gentleman-usher to the play ? Pray you help us to 
some stools here. 

Pro. Where ? on the stage, ladies ! 

Mirth. Yes, on the stage; we are persons of 
quality, I assure you, a?id toomen of fashion, and 
come to see and to be seen. My gossip Tattle here, 
and gossip Expectation, and my gossip Censure, and 
I cm Mirth, the daughter of Christmas, and 
sjnrit of Shrovetide. They say. It's merry when 
gossips meet ; / /wj^e your play will be a merry 
one. 

Pro. Or you will make it sueh, -ladies. Bring a 
form here. [A bench is brought in.] But what 
loiil the noblemen think, or the grave wits here, to 
see you seated on the bench thus ? 

ISIirth. Why, tchat should they think, but tJiat 
they had mothers as tee had; and those mothers had 
gossips (if their children loere christened) as we 
are; and such as had a longing to see pilays, and 
sit xipon them, as ice do, and arraign both them and 
their poets ? 

Pro. 0, is that your putpose ! Why, mistress 
Mirth and juadam Tattle, enjoy your delights freely. 

Tat. Look your News be new and fresh, master 



Prologue, and xiniainted ; I shall find tJiem else, if 
they be stale or fty-blotcn, quickly. 

Pro. We ask no favor from you ; only toe would 
entreat of madam Expectation 

Expect. What, master Prologue ? 

Pro. That your ladyship would expect no more 
than you iinderstand. 

Expect. Sir, I can expect enough. 

Pro. I fear, too much, lady ; and teach otJiers to 
do the like. 

Expect. I can do that too, if I have cause. 

Pro. Cry you mercy, yoii never did wrong, but 
with just cause. What's this, lady ? 

]\Iirth. Curiosity, my lady Censure, 

Pro. O, Curiosity ! you come to see who wears 
the neto suit to-day ; whose clothes are best jJenn'd, 
whatever the part be ; which actor has tlie best leg 
and foot ; what king plays loithout cuffs, and his 
queen icitlwut gloves ; who rides 2')ost in stockings, 
and dances in boots. 

Cen. Yes, and which amorous prince makes love 
in drink, or docs over-act pirodigiously in beaten sat- 
in, and having got the trick on't, will be monstrous 
still, in despite of counsel. 

Book-holder, [within.] Mend your lights, gen- 
tlemen, — Master Prologue, begin. 

Enter the Tire-men to mend the lights. 

Tat. Ah me! 

Expect, Who's that? 

Pro. Nay, start not, ladies ; these carry no fire- 
works to fright you, but a torch in their hands, to 
give light to the business. The truth is, there are a 
set of gamesters within , in travail of a thing called 
a play, and woidd fain be deliver' d of it : and they 
have entreated me to be their man-midicife, the 

484 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



485 



■pt'ologue ; for ilicy are like to have a hard labor 
on't. 

Tat. Then the poet has abused himself, like an 
ass as he is. 

Mirth. No, 7iis actors will abuse him enough, or 
I am deceived. Yonder he is loithin (I loas in the 
tiring-house awhile to see the actors drest) rolling 
himself up and down like a tun in the midst of them, 
and purges, never did vessel of wort or wine loork 
so ! his sioeating put me in mind of a good Shrov- 
ing-dish (and I believe toould be talien up for a ser- 
vice of state somoiuhere, an't were known), a steioed 
poet ! he doth sit like an unbraced drum, with one 
of his heads beaten out ; for that you must note, a 
poet hath tioo heads, as a drum has ; one for mak- 
ing, the other repeating ! and his repeating head is 
all to piieees ; they may gather it xip) in the tiring- 
house ; for he hath torn the book in a poetical fury, 
and put himself to silence in dead sack, which, xocre 
there no other vexation, tcere sufic.ient to make him 
ilie most miserable emblem of jMtience. 

Ceil. The Prologue, peace. 



PROLOGUE. 

(for the stage.) 

For your own sakes, not his, he bad me say. 
Would you locrc come to hear, not see a play. 
Though toe his actors, must provide for those 
Who are our guests here, in the way of shows. 
The maker hath not so ; Ae'rf have you wise. 
Much rather by your ears, than by your eyes ; 
And prays you'll not 2}rejudge his pilay for ill. 
Because you mark it not, and sit not still ; 
But have a longing to salute, or talk 
With such a female, and from her to icalk 
With yotir discourse, to irhat is done, and where, 
How, and by whom, in all the town, but here. 
Alas ! what is it to his scene, to knoio 
How many coaches in Hyde-xmrk did show 
Last sjiring, tohatfare to-day at Medley's was, 
If Dunstan or the Phcenix best loine has? 
They are things — but yet the stage might stand as icell, 
If it did neither hear these things, nor tell. 
Great noble wits, be good unto yourselves. 
And make a difference ' twixt po'ctic elves, 
And poet'i : all that dabble in the ink, 
And defile quills, are not those feio can think, 
Conceive, express, and steer the souls of men, 
■ As with a rudder, round thus, loith their 2Kn. 
He must be one that can instruct your youth, 
And keep your acme in the state of truth, 
Must enterprise this tcork : tno.rk but his ways. 
What flight he makes, how new : and then he says, 
Jf that not like you, that lie sends to-night, 
Tis you have left to judge, not he to icrite. 



PROLOGUE. 
(for the court.) 

A iDork not smelling of the lamp, to-night, 
But fitted for your Majesty's disport. 
And lorit to the meridian of your court, 

We bring ; and lutpe it may produce delight. 

The rather being offered as a rite, 

To scholars, thai can judge, and fair report 



The sense they hear, above the vulgar sort 
Of nut-crackers, that only come for sight. 
Illicrein although our title, sir, be Ncivs, 

We yet adventure Iiere to tell you none. 

But shew you common follies, and so knomi. 
That tliough they are not truths, the innocent MusOf 

Hath made so like, as phant'sy could them state, 

Or poetry, toithout scandal, imitate. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — The Lodgings of Pennybot, jwi. 

Enter Pexnyboy, jun. and Leatherleg icith a 
neio 2>air of boots. 
P. jun. \L'E\.TK. jiulls onhis bo(j''s.'\ Gramercy, 

Leatherleg : got me the spurrier, 
And thou hast fitted me. 

Leath. I'll do it presently. [Exit. 

P. jun. [walks tip and down in his gown, toaist- 

coat, and trowses, expecting his tailor.} 
Look to me, wit, and look to my wit, land, 
That is, look on me, and with all thine eyes, 
Male, female, yea, hermaphroditic eyes. 
And those bring all your helps and perspicils, 
To sec me at best advantage, and augment 
My form as I come forth ; for I do feel 
I will be one worth looking after shortly ; 
Now, by and by, that's shortly, — [draios forth 

his watch, and sets it on the table.] It strikes ! 

one, two, 
Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear 

Avatch, • [rest ; 

Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and 
Would thou couldst make the time to do so too : 
I'll wind thee uj) no more. The hour is come 
So long expected ! there, there, drop my ward- 
ship, [Throws ojf his gown. 
My pupillage and vassalage together. — 
And, Liberty, come throw thyself about me. 
In a rich suit, cloke, hat, and band, for novv" 
I'll sue out no man's livery, but mine own ; 
I stand on my own feet, so much a year, 
Right round and sound, the lord of mine own 

ground. [pound ! 

And (to rhyme to it) threescore thousand 
Not come r not yet ? — [Goes to the door and looks.] 

Tailor, thou art a vermin, [prick'st 

Worse than the same thou prosecut'st, and 

In subtle seam — Go to, I say no more 

Thus to retard my longings, on the day 

I do write man, to beat thee ! One and twenty 

Since the clock struck, complete ! and thou wilt 

feel it. 

Thou foolish animal ! 1 could pity him, 

An I were not heartily angry with him now, 
For this one piece of folly he bears about him, 
To dare to tempt the fury of an heir 
T' to above two thousand a year, yet hope his 

custom ! [break — 

Well, master Fashioner, there's some must 
A head, for this your breaking. — 

Enter Fashioner. 

Are you come, sir 
Fash. God give your worship joy ! 
P. jun. What! of yo\ir staying, 



486 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



And leaving me to stalk here in my trowses, 
Lilie a tame her'nsew for you ? 

Fash. I but waited 
Below, till the clock struck. 

p. Jim. Why, if you had come 
Before a quarter, Avovild it so have hurt you, 
In reputation, to have waited here ? 
Fash. No, but your worship might have plead- 
ed nonage, 
If you had got them on, ere I could make 
Just affidavit of the time. 

P.jun. Thy jest 
Has gain'd thy pardon, thou liadst lived con- 
demn' d 
To thine own hell else, never to have w'rought 
Stitch more for me, or any Pennyboy, 
I could have hinder'd thee : but now thou art 

mine. 
For one and twenty years, or for three lives. 
Choose which thou wilt, I'll make thee a copy- 
holder, 
A.nd thy first bill unquestion'd. Help me on. 
Fash. Presently, sir : [says his suit.] I am bound 

unto your worship. 
P.juti. Thou shalt be, when I have seal'd 

thee a lease of my custom. 
Fash. Your worship's barber is without. 
P.Jim. Who ? Tom ! — 
Come in, Tom. 

Enter Thomas, Barber. 
Set thy things tipon the board, 
And spread thy cloths, lay all forth in 23rocinctu, 
And tell's what news ? 

Tho. O sir, a Staple of News ! 
Or the New Staple, which you please. 

P.Ju7i. What's that ? 

Fash. An office, sir, a brave young office set 
I had forgot to tell your worship. [up : 

P.Jun. For what? 

Tho. To enter all the News, sir, of the time. 

Fash. And vent it as occasion serves : a place 
Of luige commerce it will be ! 

P.Jun. Pray thee, peace; 
I cannot abide a taUcing tailor : let Tom 
(He is a barber) by his place relate it. 
What is't, an office, Tom ? 

Tho. Newly erected 
Here in the house, almost on the same floor, 
Where all the news of all sorts shall be brought, 
And there bo examined, and then register' d. 
And so be issued under the seal of the office. 
As Staple News ; no other news be current. 

P, Jan. Fore mo, thou speak'st of a brave 
business, Tom. 

Fash. Nay, if you knew the brain that hatch'd 
it, sir — 

P. Jim. I know thee well enough : give him 
a loaf, Tom ; 
Quiet his mouth, that oven will bo venting else. 
Proceed 

Tho. He tells you true, sir ; master Cymbal 
Is master of the office, he projected it. 
He lies here, in the house ; and the great rooms 
He has taken for the office, and set up 
His desks and classes, tables and his shelves. 

Fash. He is my customer, and a wit, sir, too. 
But he has brave wits under him 

Tho. Yes, four emissaries. 



P. Jan. Emissaries ? stay, there's a fine new 

word, Tom ? [sarics ! 

Pray God it signify any thing ! what are emis- 

Tho. Men employ'd outward, that are spnt 
Tp fetch in the commodity. [abroad 

Fash. From all regions 
Where the best news are made. 

Tho. Or vented forth. 

Fash. By way of exchange, or trade. 

P.Jim. Nay, thou wilt speak 

Fash. My share, sir, there's enough for both. 

P.Jun. Go on then. 
Speak all thou canst : methinks the ordinaries 
Should help them much. 

Fash. Sir, they have ordinaries, 
And extraordinaries, as many changes, [pass. 
And variations, as there are points in the com- 

Tho. But the four cardinal quarters. 

P.Jun. Ay those, Tom 

Tho. The Court, sir, Paul's, Exchange, and 
Westminster-hall. 

P. Jim. Who is the chief ? which hath prece- 
dency ? [bal, 

Tho. The governor of the Staple, master Cymx- 
He is the chief ; and after him the emissaries : 
First emissary Court, one master Fitton, 
He is a jeerer too. 

P.Jun. What's that? 

Fash. A wit. 

Tho. Or half a wit, some of them are half-wits. 
Two to a wit, there are a set of them. 
Theft master Ambler, emissary Paul's, 
A fine-paced gentleman, as you shall see walk 
The middle aisle : and then my froy Hans Buz> 
A Dutchman ; he is emissary Exchange. 

Fash. I had thought master Burst, the mer- 

Tho. No, [chant, had had it. 

He has a rupture, he has sprung a leak. 
Emissary Westminster's undisposed of yet ; 
Then the examiner, register, and two clerks. 
They manage all at home, and sort, and file, 
And seal the news, and issue them. 

P.Jun. Tom, dear Tom, [it, 

What may my means do for thee ? ask and have 
I'd fain be doing some good : it is my birthdaj'. 
And I would do it betimes, I feel a grudging 
Of bounty, and I would not long lie fallow. 
I pray thee think and speak, or wish for some- 
thing. 

Tho. I would I had but one of the clerks' 
In this News- office. [places 

P.Jun. Thou shalt have it, Tom, 
If silver or gold will fetch it ; what's the rate '' 
At what is it set in the market ? 

Tho. Fifty i^ound, sir. 

P.Jun. An 'twere a hundred, Tom, thou shalt 
not want it. 

Fash. O noble master ! 

[Leajys and embraces him. 

P.Jun. How now, iEsop's ass ! 
Because I play with Tom, must I needs run 
Into your rude embraces ? stand you still, sir ; 
Clowns' fawnings are a horse's salutations. — — • 
How dost thou like my suit, Tom ? 

Tho. Master Fashioner 
Has hit your measures, sir, he has moulded you, 
And made you, as they say. 

Fash. No, no, not I, 
I am an ass, old .^sop's ass. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



487 



P.jim. Nay, Fashioner, 
I can do thee a good turn too ; be not musty, 
Though thou hast moulded me, as little Tom 

says : 
— I think thou hast put me in mould j'' pockets. 
[Draws out his pockets. 

Fash. As good. 
Right Spanish perfume, the lady Estifania's ; — 
They cost twelve pound a pair. 

P. jtm. Thy bill will say so. 
1 pray thee tell me, Fashioner, what authors. 
Thou read'st to help thy invention : Italian 

prints ? 
Or arras hangings r they are tailors' libraries. 

Fash. I scorn such helps. 

P.jun. O ! though thou art a silkworm. 
And deal'st in satins and velvets, and rich 

plushes, 
Thou canst not spin all forms out of thyself ; 
They are quite other things : I think this suit 
Has made me wittier than I was. 

Fash. Believe it, sir. 
That clothes do much upon the wit, as weather 
Docs on the brain ; and thence [sir] comes your 

proverb. 
The tailor makes the man : I speak by experience 
Of my own customers. I have had gallants, 
Both court and country, would have fool'd you 
In a new suit, with the best wits in being, [up 
And kejjt their speed as long as their clothes 

lasted 
Handsome and neat ; but then" as they grew out 
At the elbows again, or had a stain or spot. 
They have sunk most wretchedly. 

P.jun. What thou report'st. 
Is but the common calamity, and seen daily ; 
And therefore you've another answering proverb, 
A broken sleeve keeps the arm back. 

Fash, 'Tis true, sir. [peeii-arni. 

And thence we say, that such a one plays at 

P. jnn. Do you so ? it is wittily said. I won- 
der, gentlemen 
And men of means will not maintain themselves 
Fresher in wit, I mean in clothes, to the highest : 
For he that's out of clothes is out of fashion. 
And out of fashion is out of countenance, 
And out of countenance is out of wit. 
Is not rogue haberdasher come ? 

Enter Haberdasher, Linener, and Hatter and 
Shoemaker. . 

Hab. Yes, here, sir, 
I have been without this half hour. 

P.jun. Give me my hat. 
Put on my girdle, rascal : fits my ruff well ? 

Lin. In print. 

P.jun. Slave ! 

Lin See yourself. 

P.jun. Is this same hat 
Of the block-passant ? Do not answer me, 
I cannot stay for an answer. I do feel 
The powers of one and twenty, like a tide. 
Flow in upon me, and perceive an heir 
Can conjure up all spirits in all circles. 
Rogue ! rascal ! slave ! give tradesmen their true 
And they appear to him presently. [names, 

Lin. For profit. 

P jun. Come, cast my cloke about me, I'll 
go see 



This office, Tom, and be trimm'd afterwards. 
I'll put thee in possession, my prime work ! 

Enter Spurrier. 
Ods so, my spurrier ! put them on, boy, quickly ; 
I had like to have lost my spurs with too much 
speed. 

Enter Pex^sYBOY Canter, in a patched and ragged 
cloke, singing. 
P. Can. Good morning to my joy ! my jolly 

Pennyboy ! 
The lord, and the prince of plenty ! 
I come to see iohat riches, thou bear est in thy 
breeches. 
The first of thy one and twenty. 
What, do thy pockets jingle ? or shall we need to 
mingle 
Our strength both of foot and of horses ! 
These fellows hok so eager, as if they would be- 
leaguer 
An heir in the midst of his forces! 
I hope they be iw Serjeants, that hang iqion thy 
margents — 
This rogue has thejoul of a jailor ! 
P. jun. [answers in tune.] O founder, no such 

matter, my spurrier, and my hatter, 
My linen-man, and my tailor. 
Thou should'st have been brought in too, shoe- 
maker. 
If the time had been longer, and Tom 'Barber. 
How dost thou like my company, old Canter ? 
Do I not muster a brave troop, all bill-men ? 
Present your arms before my founder here, 
This is my Founder, this same learned Canter ! 
He brought me the first news of my father's 

death, 
I thank him, and ever since I call him founder. 
Worship him, boys ; I'll read only the sums, 
Arid pass them straight. 

Sho. Now ale 

Rest. And strong ale bless him. 
P. jun. Ods so, some ale and sugar for my 
founder ! 
Good bUls, sufficient bills, these biUs may pass. 
\_Puts them in his pockets. 
P. Can. I do not like these paper-squibs, good 
master. 
They may undo your store, I mean, of credit, 
And fire your arsenal, if case you do not 
In time make good those outer-works, your 

pockets. 
And take a garrison in of some two hundred. 
To beat those pioneers off, that carry a mine 
Would blow you up, at last. Secure your casa- 

mates. 
Hero, master Picklock, sir, your man of law, 
Anfl learn' d attorney, has sent you a bag of mu- 
P.jun. [takes the bag.] What is't? [nition. 

P. Can. Three hundred pieces. 
P.jun. I'll dispatch them. 
P. Can. Do ; I would havt your strengths 
lined, and perfumed 
With gold, as well as amber. 

P.jun. God-a-mercy, 
Come, ad solvendum, boys ! there, there, and 

there, 
I look on nothing but totalis. [Pays all their biUs, 
P. Can. See ! 



488 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



The difference 'twixt the covetous and the 

prodigal ! 
The covetous man never has money, and 
The prodigal will have none shortly ! [Aside. 

P.jun. Ha, 
What says my founder ? [ Thei/ make legs to himP\ 
I thank you, I thank yovi, sirs. 
All. God bless your worship, and your wor- 
ship's Canter ! 
Exeunt Shoemaker, Linencr, Haber. a7id Hatter. 
P. Can. I say 'tis nobly done, to cherish shop- 
keepers, 
A.nd pay their bills, without examining thus. 
P. Jim. Alas ! they have had a pitiful hard 
time on't, 
A long vacation from their cozening. 
Poor rascals ! I do it out of charity : 
I would advance their trade again,and have them 
Haste to be rich, swear and forswear wealthily. 
What do you stay for, sirrah ? [ To the Spurrier. 
Spur. To my box, sir. 

P. Jim. Your box ! why, there's an angel ; if 
my spurs 

Be not right Rippon 

Spur. Give me never a penny 
K I strike not thorough your bounty with the 
rowels. [Exit. 

P. jun. Dost thou want any money, founder ? 
P. Can. Who, sir, I ? 
Did I not tell you I was bred in the mines. 
Under sir Bevis Bullion ? 

P.jun. That is true, 
I quite forgot, you mine-men want no money, 
Your streets are pav'd with't : there the molten 
■Runs out like cream on cakes of gold. [silver 

P. Can. And rubies 
Do grow like strawberries. 

P. jun. 'Twere brave being there ! — 
Come, Tom, we'll go to the office now. 
P. Can. What office ? 

P.jun. News-office, the New Staple; thou 
shalt go too ; 
'Tis here in the house, on the same floor, Tom 

says : 
Come, founder, let us trade in ale and nutmegs. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another 2Mrt of the same. An outer 
Room of the Office. 

Enter Register and Nathaniel. 
Reg. What, are those desks fit now ? Set forth 
the table, 
The carpet and the chair ; where are the news 
That were examined last ? have you filed them 
Nath. Not yet, I had no time. [up ? 

Reg. Are those news registered 
That emissary Buz sent in last night, 
Of Spinola and his eggs ? 
Nath. Yes, sir, and filed. 
Reg. What are you now upon ? 
• Nath. That our new emissary 
Westminster gave us, of the golden heir. 
Reg. Dispatch ; that's news indeed, and of 
importance. — 

Etiter a Countrywoman. 
What would you have, good woman r 
Worn. I would have sir 



A groatsworth of any news, I care not what, 
To carry down this Saturday to our vicar. 

Reg. O ! you are a butter-woman ; ask Na- 
Thc clerk there. [thaniel. 

Nath. Sir, I tell her she must stay 
Till emissary Exchange, or Paul's send in. 
And then I'll fit her. 

Reg. Do, good woman, have ijaticnce ; 
It is not now, as when the captain lived. 

Nath. You'll blast the reputation of the office 
NoAV in the bud, if you dispatch these groats 
So soon : let them attend, in the name of policy. 

Enter Cymbal and Fitton, introducing Penny- 
boy, jun. 

P.jun. In troth they are dainty rooms ; what 
place is this ? 

Cijm. This is the outer room, where my clerks 
sit, 
And keep their sides, the register in the midst 
The examiner, he sits priA'ate there, within ; 
And here I have my several rolls and files 
Of news by the alphabet, and all put up 
Under their heads. 

P.jun. But those too subdivided ? 

Cgm. Into authentical, and apocryphal 

Fit. Or news of doubtful credit, as barbel's 
news — 

Cyni. And tailors' news, porters' and water- 
men's news. [ti — 

Fit. Whereto, besides the Coranti, and Gazet- 

Cyni. I have the news of the season 

Fit- As vacation-news, 
Term-news, and christmas-news. 

Cy7n. And news of the faction. 

Fit. As the reformed-news; Protestant-news-' 

Cym. And pontificial-news ; of all which 
several. 
The day-books, characters, precedents are kept, 
Together with the names of special friends 

Fit. And men of correspondence in the coun- 
try— 

Cym. Yes, of all ranks, and all religions 

Fit. Factors and agents 

Cym. Liegers, that lie'out 
Through all the shires of the kingdom. 

P.jun. This is fine, 
And bears a brave relation ! But what sayb 
Mercurius Britannicus to this ? 

Cym. O sir, he gains by't half in half. 

Fit. Nay more, 
I'll stand to't. For where he was wont to gel 
In hungry captains, obscure statesmen 

Cym. Fellows 
To drink with him in a dark room in a taveriij 
And eat a sausage 

Fit. We have seen it. 

Cym. As fain to keep so many politic pens 
Going, to feed the jDress 

Fit. And dish out news, 
Were't true or false 

Cym. NoAV all that charge is saved. 
The public chronicler — 

Fit. How do you call him there ? 

Cym. And gentle reader — 

Fit. Ho that has the maidenhead 
Of all the books. 

Cym. Yes, dedicated to him — 

Fit- Or rather prostituted — • 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



48D 



P. jun. You are right, sir. 
Ci/m. No more shall be abused ; nor country 
parsons 
Of the inquisition, nor busy justices 
Trouble the peace, and both torment themselves. 
And their poor ignorant neighbors, with enqui- 
ries 
After the many and most innocent monsters, 
That never came in the counties they were 
charged with. 

P. jun. Why, methinks, sir, if the honest com- 
mon people 
Will be abused, why .should not they have their 

pleasure, 
In the believing lies are made for them ; 
As you in the office, making them yourselves ? 

Fit. 0, sir ! it is the printing we Dispose. 

Cijm. We not forbid that any news be made. 
But that it be printed ; for when news is printed, 
It leaves, sir, to be news ; while 'tis but written — 

Fit. Tho' it be ne'er so false, it runs news still. 

P. Jim. See divers men's opinions ! unto some 
The very printing of 'em makes them news ; 
That have not the heart to believe anything, 
But wliat they see in print. 

Fit. A}', that's an error 
Has abused many ; but we shall reform it, 
As many things beside, (we have a hope,) 
Are crept among the popular abuses. 

Ci/in. Nor shall the stationer cheat upon the 
time, 
By buttering o'er again 

Fit. Once in seven years, 
As the a2,e doats — — 

Ci/m. And grows forgetful of them. 
His antiquated j^amphlcts with new dates : 
But all shall come from the mint. 

Fit. Fresh and new-stamp'd. 

Cijm. With the office-seal, staple commodity. 

Fit. And if a man will insure his news, he may; 
Two-pence a sheet he shall be warranted, 
And have a policy for it. 

P. Jun. Sii', I admire 
The method of your place : all things within't 
Arc so digested, fitted, and composed. 
As it shews Wit had married Order. 

Fit. Sir. 

C'i/»i. The best we could to invite the times. 

Fit. It has 
Cost sweat and freezing. 

Ci/m. And some broken sleeps. 
Before it came to this. 

P. jun. I easily think it. 

Fit. But now it has the shape — • 

Ctjm. And is come forth — 

P. jun. A most polite neat thing, Avith all the 
As sense can taste ! [limbs, 

Cijm. It is, sir, though I say it, 
As well begotten a business, and as fairly 
Ilclp'd to the world. 

P. jun. You must be a midwife, sir, [i^e) 

Or else the son of a midwife (pray you pardon 
Have help'd it forth so happily ! — What news 

have you ? 
Nev/s of this morning ? I would fain hear some, 
Fresh from the forge ; as new as day, as they say. 

Cym. And such we have, sir. 

Reg., Shew him the last roll, 
Of emissary Westminster's, The heir. 



Eater Barber. 

P. jun. Come nearer, Tom ! 

Nath. There is a brave young heir 
Is come of age this morning, master Pennyboy. 

P. jun. That's I } [Asid& 

Nath. His father died on this day reven-night. 

P. jun. True I [Aside. 

Nath. At six o' the clock in the 7norning, just a 
Ere he loas one and twenty. week 

P. jun. I am here, Tom ! — 
Proceed, I pray thee. 

Nath. An old canting beggar 
Brought him first news, tchom he has entertained 
To follow him since. 

P. jun. Why, you shall see him ; — Founder ! 
Come in — 

Enter Pennyboy Canter. 
No follower, but companion : 
I pray thee put him in, friend ; [to Nath.] there's 

an angel 

Thou dost not know, he is a wise old fellow. 
Though he seem patch' d thus, and made up of 
pieces. [Exit Nath. 

Founder, we are in here, in, i' the News-office ! 
In this day's roll already ! — I do muse 
How you came by us, sirs. 

Cym. One master Picklock, 
A lawyer that hath purchased hero a place 
Tills morning of an emissary under me '■ — 

Fit. Emissary Westminster. 

Cym. Gave it into the office. 

Fit. For his essay, his piece. 

P. jun. My man of law ! 
He's my attorney and solicitor too ! 
A fine pragmatic ! what is his place worth ? 

Cym. A nsmo-scit, sk. 

Fit. 'Tis as news come in. 

Cym. And as they are issued. I have the just 
For my part : then the other moiety [moiety 
Is parted into seven : the four emissaries, 
Whereof my cousin Fitton here's for Court, 
Ambler for Paul's, and Buz for the Exchange, 
Picklock for Westminster, with the examiner. 
And register, they have.full parts : and then one 
Is vmder-partcd to a couple of clerks. [part 

And there's the just division of the profits. 

P. jun. Have you those clerks, sir ? 

Cym. There is one desk empty, 
But it has many sviitors. 

P. jun. Sir, may I 
Present one more, and carry it, if his parts 
Or gifts, which you Avill call them — 

Cym. Be sufficient, sir. 

P. jun. What are your present clerk's abili- 
How is he qualified ? [ties ? 

Cijm. A decay'd stationer 
He was, but knows news well, can sort and rank 

Fit. And for a need can make them, [them 

Cyyn. True Paul's, bred 
In the church-yard. 

P. jun. An tliis at the west- door 
On the other side ; he in my barber, Tom, 
A pretty scholar, and a master of arts 
Was made, or went out master of arts in g 

throng. 
At the university ; as before, one Christm a3, 
He got into a masque at court, by his w4t 



490 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



And the good means of his cittern, holding up 

thus 
For one of the music : he's a nimble fello^Y, 
And alike skill' d in every liberal science, 
As having certain snaps of all ; a neat 
Quick vein in forging ne-ws too : I do love him. 
And i^romised him a good turn, and I would do 
What is your price ? the value i* [it. 

Cyni. Fifty pounds, sir. [thee. 

P. Jim. Get in, Tom, take possession, I instal 
Here, tell your money. Give thee joy, good Tom ! 
And let me hear from thee every minute of news. 
While the New Staple stands, or the office lasts. 
Which I do wish may ne'er be less, for thy sake. 

Re-enter Nathaniel. 
li'atk. The emissaries, sir, would speak with 
you 
And master Fitton ; they have brought in news, 
Three bale together. 

Cym. Sir, you are welcome here. 
Fit. So is your creature. 
Ci/m. Business calls us off, sir, 
That may concern the office. 

P.Jun. Keep me fair, sir, 
Still in your staple ; I am hero your friend. 
On the same floor. 

Fit. We shall be your servants. 

[Exeit?it all but P. jun. and P. Cant. 
P. Jim. How dost thou like it, founder ? 
P. Can. All is well, [not 

But that your man of law, methinks, appears 
In his due time. O ! here comes master's wor- 
ship. 

Enter Picklock. 

Pick, How does the heii-, bright master Pen- 
nyboy ? 

Is he awake yet in his one and twenty ? • 

Why, this is better far, than to wear cypress, 
Dull smutting gloves, or melancholy blacks. 
And have a pair of twelve-penny broad ribands, 
Laid out like labels. 

P.Jun. I should have made shift [hood. 

To have laugh'd as heartily in my mourner's 
As iri this suit, if it had pleased my father 
To have been buried with the trumpeters. 

Pick. The heralds of arms, you mean. 

P. Ju?t. I mean, 
All noise that is superfluous ! 

Pick. All that idle pomp^ 
And vanity of a tombstone, your wise father 
Did by his will prevent. Your worship had — 

P.Jun. A loving and obedient father of him, 
I know it [I] ; a right kind-natured man. 
To die so opportunely. 

Pick. And to settle [ship 

All things so well ! compounded for your ward- 
The week afore, and left your state entire. 
Without any charge upon't. 

P. Jun. I must needs say, 
I lost an officer of him, a good bailiff, [him ! 
And I shall want him : but all peace be with 
I will not wish him alive again, not I, 
For all my fortune. Give your worship joy 
Of your new place, your emissaryship 
In the News-office ! 

Pick. Know 3'ou why I bought it, sir ? 

P.Jun. Not I. 



Pick. To work for you, and carry a mine 
Against the master of it, master Cymbal, 
Wlio hath a plot, upon a gentlcM'omau 
Was once design'd for you, sii\ 

P.Jun. Me? 

Pick. Your father. 
Old master Pennyboy, of happy memory, 
And wisdom too, as any in the county. 
Careful to And out a fit match for you, 
In his own life-time, (but he was prevented,) 
Left it in writing in a schedule here. 
To be annexed to his will, that you, . 
His only son, upon his charge and blessing. 
Should take due notice of a gentlewoman 
Sojourning with your uncle. Richer Pennyboy. 

P. Jun. A Cornish gentlewoman ; I do know 
Mistress Pecunia Do-all. [her, 

Pick. A great lady. 
Indeed, she is, and not of mortal race. 
Infanta of the mines ; her grace's grandfather 
Was duke, and cousin to the king of Ophyr, 
The Subterranean. Let that pass. Her name is, 
Or rather her three names are (for such she is) 
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, a great princess. 
Of mighty power, though she live in private, 
With a contracted family ! Her secretary 

P. Can. AVho is her gentleman usher too. 

Pick. One Broker ; 
And then two gentlewomen, mistress Statute 
And mistress Band, with Wax the chamber- 
maid. 
And mother Mortgage the old nursCjtwo grooms, 
Pawn and his fellow : you have not many to 

bribe, sir. 
The work is feasible, and the approaches easy, 
By your own kindred. Now, sir, Cymbal thinks, 
The roaster here, and governor of the Staple, 
By his fine arts, and pomp of his great place. 
To draw her ! He concludes, she is a woman. 
And that so soon as she hears of the new office, 
She'll come to visit it, as they all have long- 
ings, [ty, 
After new sights and motions ! But your boun- 
Pcrson, and bravery, must achieve her. 

P. Can. She is 
The talk o' the time ! the adventure of the age I 

Pick. You cannot put yourself upon an action 
Of more importance. 

P. Can. AH the world are suitors to her. 

Pick. All sorts of men, and all professions. 

P. Can. You shall have stall-fed doctors, 
cramm'd divines, 
Make love to her, and with those studied 
And perfumed flatteries, as no room can stink 
More elegant, than where they are. 

Pick. Well chanted, 
Old Canter ! thou sing'st true. 

P. Can. And by your leave. 
Good master's worship, some of your velvet coat 
Make corpulent curt'sies to her, till they crack 
for't. [of the jeerers. 

Pick. There's doctor Almanac woes her, one 
A fine physician. 

P. Can. Your sea-captain, Shunfield, 
Gives out, he'll go upon the cannon for her. 

Pick. Though his loud mouthing get him httle 
credit. 

P. Can. Young master Piedmantle, the fine 
herald, 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



491 



Professes to derive her through all ages, 
From all the kings and queens that ever were. 

Pick, And master Madrigal, the crowned poet 
Of these our times, doth offer at her praises 
As fair as any, when it shall please Apollo 
That wit and rhj-me may meet both in one sub- 
ject [it will be — 

P. Can. And you to bear her from all these, 

Pick. A work of fame. 

P. Can. Of honor. 

Pick. Celebration. 

P. Can. Worthy your name. 

Pick, The Pennyboj-s to live in't. 

P. Can. It is an action you were built for, sir. 

Pick. And none but you can do it. 

P.jun. I'll undertake it. 

P. Can. And carry it. 

P. Jan. Fear me not ; for since I came 
Of mature age, I have had a certain itch 
In my right eye, this corner here, do you see ? 
To do some work, and worthy of a chronicle. 

[Exeunt. 

Mirth. IIoio noio, gossip! how docs the play 
please you ? 

Cen. Very sctirvily, methinks, and sti^lcionfly 
naught. 

Expect. As a body loould loish : here's nothing 
but a young prodigal come of age, loho makes much 
of the barber, buys him a place in a new office, in 
the air, I know not where ; and his man of law to 
follow him, icith a beggar to boot, and they tioo help 
him to a wife. 

Mirth. Ay, she is a 2}roper 2'iece ! that such crea- 
tures can broke for. 

Tat. / cannot abide that nasty fellow, the beg- 
gar ; if he had been a court-beggar in good clothes, 
a beggar in velvet, as they say, I could have endured 
him. 

Mirth. Or a begging scholar in black, or one of 
these beggarly pioets, gossip, that could hang upon a 
young heir like a horseleech. 

Expect. Or a threadbare doctor of physic, a poor 
quacksalver. 

Cen. Or a sea-caplain half starved, 

ISIirth. Ay, these loere tolerable beggars, beggars 
of fashion! you shall see some such anon. 

Tat. / would fain see the fool, gossip ; the fool is 
the finest man in the comjpany, they say, and has all 
the wit: he is the very justice o' peace of the p)lay, 
and can commit tchom he will, und what he loill, 
error, ahsurditij, as the toy takes him, and no man 
say black is his eye, but laugh at him. 

Mirth. But they have no fool in this play, I am 
afraid, gossip. 

Tat. It is a wise play, then ! 

Expect. They are all fools, the rather, in that. 

Cen. Like enough. 

Tat. My husband, Timothy Tattle, God rest his 
poor soul ! loas %oont to say, there loas no play ivith- 
out a fool and a devil in't ; he ivas for the devil still, 
God bless him ! The devil for his money, would he 
say, I would fain see the devil. And why loould 
you so fain see the'devil? loould I say. Because he 
has horns, icife, and may be a cuckhold as icell as a 
devil, heioould answer. You are e'en such another! 
httsband, quoth I. Was the devil ever married? 
WJtere do you read, the devil was ever so honorable 
to commit matrimony ? The play will tell us that,' 



says ho, we'll go see it to-morrow, The Devil is an 
Ass. lie is an errant learned man that made it, 
and can lorite, they say, and I am foully deceived 
but he can read too. 

Mirth. / remember it, gossip, I went loith you . 
by the same token Mistress Trouble-truth dissuaded 
us, and told us he teas a profane jJoet, and all his 
plays had devils in them ; that he kept school itpon 
the stage, could conjure there, above the school of 
Westminster, and doctor Lamb too : not a play he 
made but had a devil in it ; and that he tvould learn 
?<s all to make our husbands cuckolds at plays : by 
another token, that a young married wife in the 
company said, she could find in her heart to steal 
thither, and see a little of the vanity through het 
mask, and come practise at home 

Tat. O, it teas mistress 

IMirth. Nay, gossip, I name nobody : It may be 
'twas myself. 

Expect. But was the devil a proper man, gossip f 

Mirth. As fine a gentleman of his inches as ever 
I saw trusted to the stage, or any w/iere else; and 
loved the commonwealth as well as ever a lya^niot of 
them all : he loould carry aicay the Vice on his back 
quick to hell, in every pilay where he came, and 
reform abuses. 

Expect. T/iere was the Devil of Edmonton, nc 
such man, I wan-ant you. 

Cen. The conjuror cozened him with a candle's 
end ; he teas an ass. 

Mirth. But there was one Smug, a smith, would 
have made a horse laugh, and broke his Tialfer, aa 
they say. 

Tat. O, but the poor man had got a shreicd mis- 
chance one day. 

Expect. How, gossip ? 

Tat. He had drest a rogue jade in tJie morning, 
that had the staggers, and had got such a spice of 
them himself by 7ioon, as they tvould not away all 
the play -time, do ichat he coidd for his heart. 

ilirth. ' Twas his part, gossip ; he was to be 
drunk by his part. 

Tat. Say you so ? I understood not so much. 

Expect. Would toe had such another part, and 
such a man in this 2}lay ! I fear 'twill be an ex- 
cellent dull thing, 

Cen. Expect, intend it. 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Pennyboy senior's 
House. 

Enter Penxyeoy sen., Pecuxia, Mohtgage, Stat- 
ute, Band, and Biioker. 
P. sen. Your grace is sad, methinks, and mel- 
ancholy. 
You do not look upon me with that face 
As you were wont, my goddess, bright Pecunia ! 
Altho' your grace be fallen off two in the hun- 
In vulgar estimation ; yet am I [dredj 

Your grace's servant still : and teach this body 
To bend, and these my aged knees to buckle, 
In adoration, and just worship of you. 
Indeed, I do confess, I have no shape 
To make a minion of, but I am your martyr, 
Yoiu- grace's martyr. I can hear the rogues. 



492 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



As I do -walk the streets, whisper and point, 

•' There goes old Pennj'boy, the slave of money, 

Rich Pennyboy, lady Pecunia's drudge, 

A sordid rascal, one that never made 

Good meal in his sleep, but sells the acates are 

sent him, 
Fish, fowl, and venison, and preserves himself. 
Like an old hoary rat, Avith mouldy pie-crust ! " 
This I do hear, rejoicing I can suffer 
This, and much more for your good grace's sake. 

Pec. Why do you so, my guardian ? I not bid 
you:' 
Cannot my grace be gotten, and held too. 
Without your self-tormentings and your watches, 
Your macerating of your body thus, 
AVith cares and scantings of your diet and rest ? 

P. sen. O no, your services, my princely lady. 
Cannot with too much zeal of rites be done. 
They are so sacred. 

Pec. But my repirtation 
May suffer, and the Avorship of my family. 
When by so servile means they both are sought. 

P. ^n. You are a noble, young, free, gracious 
lady. 
And would be every body's in your bounty. 
But you must not be so. They are a few 
That know your merit, lady, and can value it. 
Yourself scarce understands your proper powers. 
They are all-mighty, and that we, your servants. 
That have the honor here to stand so near you, 
Know and can use too. All this nether world 
Is yours, you command it, and do sway it ; 
The honor of it, and the honesty. 
The roi^utation, ay, and the religion, 
(I Avas about to say, and had not err'd,) 
Is queen Pecunia's : for that style is yours, 
If mortals knew your grace, or their ov.-n good. 

Mor. Please your grace to retire. 

Band. I fear your grace 
Hath ta'en too much of the sharp air. 

Pec. 0, no ! 
I could endure to take a great deal more, 
(And with my constitution,) Avcrc it left 
Unto my choice ; Avhat think you of it. Statute ? 

Sfa. A little now and then does Avell, and keeps 
Your grace in your comjolexion. 

Band. And true temper. 

Mor. But too much, madam, maj' increase cold 
rheums. 
Nourish catarrhs, green sicknesses, and agues. 
And put you in consumptioji. 

P. sen. Best to take 
Advice of j"our grave Avomen, noble madam, 
They knoAv the state of your body, and have 
Your grace's health. [studied 

Band. And honor. Here'll be visitants, 
Or suitors by and by ; and 'tis not fit 
They find you here. 

Sta. 'TaitII make your grace too cheap 
To give them audience presently. 

Mor. Leave yo"Ar secretary 
To answer them. 

Pec. Wait you here, broker. 

Bro. I shall, madam, [Exeunt all but Broker. 
And do your grace's trusts with diligence. 

Enter Piedmantle. 
Pie. What luck is this ? I am come an inch 
too late ! 



Do you hear, sir ? is your Avorship of the family 
Unto the lady Pecunia ? 

Bro. I serve her grace, sir, 
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta. 

Pie. Has she all those titles, and her grace 
besides ! 
I must correct that ignorance and oversight, 
Before I do present. Sir, I have draAvn 
A pedigree for her grace, though yet a novice 
In that so noble study. 

Bro. A herald at arms ? [mantle. 

Pie. No, sir, a pursuivant, my name is Pied- 

Bro. Good master Piedmantle. 

Pie. I haA^e deduced her [Indies, 

ifro. From all the Sjianish mines in the West 
I hope ; for she comes that way by her mother. 
But by her grandmother she is duchess of mines. 

Pie. From man's creation I have brought her. 

Bro. No farther ! [else ; 

Before, sir, long before, you have done nothing 
Your mines were before Adam, search your of- 
fice, 
Roll five and twenty, you Avill find it so. 
I see you are biit a novice, master Piedmantle, 
If you had not told me so. 

Pie. Sir, an apprentice 
In armory. I have read the Elements, 
And Accidence, and all the leading books ; 
And I have noAV upon me a great ambition 
HoAV to be brought to her grace,to kiss her hands, 

Bro. Why, if you have acquaintance Avith 
mistress Statute, 
Or mistress Band, my lady's gentleAA'omen, 
They can induce you. One is a judge's daugh- 
ter, 
But somoAvhat stately ; the other mistress Band. 
Her father's but a scrivener, but she can 
Almost as much Avith my lady as the other. 
Especially if Rose Wax the chambermaid 
Be Avilling. Do you not knoAV her, sir, neither t 

Pie. No, in troth, sir. 

Bro. She's a good pliant Avench, 
And easy to be Avrought, sir ; but the nurse, 
Old mother Mortgage, if you have a tenement, 
Or such a morsel," though she have no teeth, 
She loves a SAveotmeat, any thing that melts 
In her Avarm gums, she could command it foi 

you 
On such a trifle, a toy. Sir, you may see 
HoT,^ for your love, and this so pure complexion, 
(A perfect sanguine) I have ventur'd thus, 
The straining of a ward, opening a door 
Into the secrets of our family. 

Pie. I pray you let me knoAV, sir, imto Avhom 
I am so miich beholden ; but your name. 

Bro. My name is Broker ; I am secretary 
And usher to her grace. 

Pie. Good master Broker ! 

Bro. Good master Piedmantle I 

Pie. Why, you could do me. 
If you Avould, noAV, this favor of yourself. 

Bro. Truly I think I could ; but if I Avould, 
I hardly should, AA'ithout, or mistress Band, 
Or mistress Statute, please to appear in it ; 
Or the good nurse I told you of, mistress Mort- 
We knoAV our places here, we mingle not [gage 
One in another's sphere, but all move orderly 
In our OAvn orbs ; yet Ave are all concentric?. 

Pie. Well, sir, I'll wait a better season. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



493 



Bi'o. Do, [BTakes a mouth at him. 

And study the right means ; get mistress Band 
To urge on your belialf, or little AVax. 

Pie. I have a hope, sir, that I may, by chance, 
Light on her grace, as she is taking the air. 

Bro. That air of hope has blasted many an 

aiery [tie. 

Of castrils like yourself, good master Piedman- 

{Exit PlEDMANTLE. 

p. sen. [springs forward.] Well said, master 
secretary, I stood behind 
And heard thee all. I honor thy dispatches. 
If thoy be rude, untrained in our method, 
And have not studied the rule, dismiss them 
quickly. [cal ? 

Where's Lickfinger, my cook, that unctuous ras- 
He'U never keep his hour, that vessel of kitchen- 
stuff ! 

Eater Lickfingeh. 

Bro. Here he is come, sir. 

P. sen. Pox upon him, kidney, 
Always too late ! 

Lick. To wish them you, I confess, 
That have them already. 

P. sen. What? 

Lick. The pox ! 

P. sen. The piles. 
The plague, and all diseases light on him 
Knows not to keep his word ! I'd keep my word 

sure ; 
I hate that man that will not keep his word. 
Wlien did I break my word ? 

Lick. Or I, till now ? 
And 'tis but half an hour. 

P. sen. Half a year. 
To me, that stand upon a minute of time : 
I am a just man, I love still to be just. 

Lick. Why, you think I can run like light-foot 
Ralph, 
Or keep a wheel-barrow with a sail in town here. 
To whirl me to j'ou. I have lost two stone 
Of suet in the service, posting hither : 
You might have followed me like a watering-pot. 
And seen the knots I made along the street ; 
My face dropt like the skimmer in a fritter-pan, 
And my whole body is yet, to say the truth, 
A roasted pound of butter, with grated bread 
in't ! 

P. sen. Believe you he that list ; you staid of 
purpose 
To have my venison stink, and my fowl mortified, 
That you might have them 

Lick. A shilling or two cheaper ! 
That is your jealousy. 

P. sen. Perhaps it is. 
Will you go in, and view, and value all ? 
Yonder is venison sent me, fowl, and fish, 
In such abundance, I am sick to see it ; 
I wondSr what they m.ean ! I have told them 

of it! 
To burden a weak stomach, and provoke 
A dying appetite ! thrust a sin upon me 
I ne'er was guilty of! nothing but gluttony, 
Gross gluttony, that will undo this land ! 

Lick. And bating two in the hundred. 

P. sen. Ay, that same's 
A crying sin, a fearful damn'd device. 
Eats up the poor, devours them 



Lick. Sir, take heed 
What you give out. 

P. sen. Against j'our grave great Solons, 
Numse Pompilii, they that made that law, 
To take awaj^ the poor's inheritance ! 
It was their portion, I will stand to it ; 
And they have robb'd them of it, plainly robb'd 

them. 
I still am a just man, I tell the truth. 
When moneys went at ten in the hundred, I, 
And such as I, the servants of Pecunia, 
Could spare the poor two out of ten, and did it : 
How say you. Broker ? 

Lick. Ask your echo ! 

Bro. You did it. 

P. sen. I am for justice ; Avhcn did I leave 
justice? : [to't : 

We knew 'twas theirs, they had right and title 
Now 

Lick. Yovi can spare them nothing. 

P. sen. Very little. 

Lick. As good as notliing. 

P. sen. They have bound our hands 
With their wise solemn act, shorten'd our arms. 

Lick. Beware those worshipful ears, sir, be not 
shorten'd, 
And you play Crop in the Fleet, if you use this 
license. 

P. sen. What license, knave, informer ? 

Lick. I am Lickfinger, 
Your cook. 

P. sen. A saucy Jack you are, that's once. 
What said I, Broker ? 

Bro. Nothing that I heard, sir. 

Lick. I know his gift, he can be deaf when he 
list. [eggs 

P. sen. Have you provided me my bushel of 
I did bespeak ? I do not care how stale 
Or stinking that they be ; let 'em be rotten : 
For ammunition here to pelt the boys 
That break my windows. 

Lick. Yes, sir, I have spared them 
Out of the custard-politic for you, the mayor's. 

P. sen. 'Tis well ; go in, take hence all that 
excess, 
INIake what you can of it, your best ; and when 
I have friends that I invite at home, provide me 
Such, such, and such a dish, as I bespeak ; 
One at a time, no superfluity. 
Or if you have it not, return me money : 
You know my ways. 

Lick. They are a little crooked. 

P. sen. How, knave ? 

Lick. Because you do indent. 

P. sen. 'Tis true, sir, 
I do indent you shall return me money. 

Lick. Rather than meat, I know it ; you are 
just still. 

P. sen. I love it still ; and therefore if you 
spend 
The red- deer pies in your house, or sell thein 

forth, sir. 
Cast so, that I may have their coffins all 
Return' d here, and piled up : I would be thought 
To keep some kind of house. 

Lick. Bj'' the mouldy signs ! 

P. sen. And then remember meat for my two 
dogs ; 
Fat flaps of mutton, kidneys, rumps of veal, 



494 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



Good plenteous scraps ; my maid shall eat the 
relics. [sweet reversion. 

Lick. When you and your dogs have dined ! a 
P. sen. Who's here ? my courtier, and my 
little doctor ? 
My muster master ? And M-hat plover's that 
They have brought to pull ? 

Bro. I know not, some green plover. 
I'll find him out. 

Enter Fitton-, Almanac, Shunfield, and 
Madrigal. 

P. sen. Do, for I know the rest : 
They are the jeerers, mocking, flouting Jacks. 

Fit. How now, old Moneybawd ! We are 

P. sen. To jeer me, [come 

As you were wont ; I know you. 

Aim. No, to give thee 
Some good security, and see Pecunia. 

P. sen. What is't .' 

Fit. Ourselves. 

Aim. We'll be one bound for another. 

Fit. This noble doctor here. 

Aim. This worthy courtier. 

Fit. This man of war, he was our muster- 
master. [Shunfield. 

Aim. But a sea-captain now, brave captain 
[P. sen. holds up his nose. 

Shun. You snufF the air now, has the scent 
displeased you ? 

Fit. Thou need'st not fear him, man, his 
credit is sound. [sea. 

Aim. And scason'd too, since he took salt at 

P. sen. I do not love pickled security ; 
Would I had one good fresh man in for all ; 
For truth is, you three stink. 

Shun. You are a rogue. 

P. sen. I think I am ; but I will lend no money 
On that securitj% captain. 

Aim. Here's a gentleman, 
A fresh-man in the world, one master Madrigal. 

Fit. Of an untainted credit ; Avhat say you to 
him ? YE.xit Madrigal with Broker. 

Shun. He's gone, mcthinks ; where is he ? — 
Madrigal ! [heir ? 

P. sen. He has an odd singing name ; is he an 

Fit. An heir to a fair fortune. 

Aim. And full hopes : 
A dainty scholar, and a pretty poet. 

P. sen. You have said enough. I have no 
money, gentlemen. 
An he go to't in rhyme once, not a pennj'. 

[lie snnjfs again. 

Skim. Why, he's of years, though he have 
little beard. 

P. sen. His beard has time to grow : I have 
no money. 
Let him still dabble in poetry. No Pecunia 
Is to be seen. 

Aim. Come, thou lov'st to be costive 
Still in thy courtesy ; but I have a pill, 
A golden pill, to purge away this melancholy. 

Shun. Tis nothing but his keeping of the 
With his two drowsy dogs. [hoiise here 

Fit. A drench of sack 
At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet. 
Would cure him. 

Lick. Nothing but a young heir in white- 
I know his diet better than the doctor, [broth ; 



Shun. What, Lickfiiiger, mine old ho.st of 
You have some market here. [Ram-ulley , 

Aim. Some dosser of fish 
Or fowl, to fetch off". 

Fit. An odd bargain of venison 
To drive. 

P. sen. Will you go in, knave ? 

Lick. I must needs. 
You see Avho drives me, gentlemen. 

[P. sen. thrusts him in. 

Aim. Not the devil. 

Fit. He may in time, he is his agent now. 

P. sen. You are all cogging Jacks, a covey of 
wits, 
The jeerers, that still call together at meals, 
Or rather an aiery ; for you are birds of prey, 
And fly at all ; nothing's too big or high for you , 
And are so truly fear'd, but not beloved 
One of another, as no one dares break 
Company from the rest, lest they should faU 
Upon him absent. 

Aim. O, the only oracle 
That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet ! 

Shun. How the rogue stinks ! worse than a 
fish-monger's sleeves. 

Fit. Or currier's hands. 

Shun. And such a parboil'd "visage ! 

Fit. His face looks lilce a dyer's apron, just. 

Aim. A sodden head, and his whole brain a 
posset-curd. 

P. sen. Ay, now you jeer, jeer on ; I have no 
money. 

Aim. I wonder what religion he is of. 

Fit. No certain species sure : a kind of mule; 
That's half an ethnic, half a Christian ! 

P. sen. I have no money, gentlemen. 

Shun. This stock. 
He has no sense of any virtue, honor, 
Gentry, or merit. 

P. sen. You say very right, 
My meritorious captain, as I take it, [rent. 

Merit Avill keep no house, nor pay no house- 
Will mistress Merit go to market, think you. 
Set on the pot, or feed the family .' 
Will gentry clear with the butcher, or the baker 
Fetch in a pheasant, or a brace of partridges. 
From good-wife poulter, for my lady's supper ? 

Fit. See this pure rogue ! 

P. sen. This rogue has money though ; 
My worshipful brave courtier has no money ; 
No, nor my valiant captain. 

Shun. Hang you, rascal. 

P. sen. Nor you, my learned doctor. I loved 

you [wives, 

While you did hold your practice, and kill tripe- 

And kept you to your urinal ; but since your 

thumbs 
Have greased the Ephemerides, casting figures, 
And turning over for your candle-rents, 
And your twelve houses in the zodiac, 
With your almutens, alma-cantaras. 
Troth you shall cant alone for Pennyboy. 

Shun. I told you Avhat we should find him, a 



Fit. A rogue, a cheater. 



.mere bawd. 



P. sen. What you please, gentlemen : 
I am of that humble nature and condition. 
Never to mind your worships, or take notice 
Of Avhat you throAV away thu.''. I keep house 
Like a lanie cobbler, never out of doors, [here. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



495 



With my two dogs, my friends : and, as you say. 
Drive a quick pretty trade, still. I get money : 
And as for titles, be they rogue or rascal, 
Or what your worships fancy, let them pass. 
As transitory things ; they are mine to-day. 
And yours to-morrow. 

A/m. Hang thee, dog ! 

Shun. Thou cur ! 

P. sen. You see how I do blush, and am 

ashamed [money. 

Of these large attributes ! j-et you have no 

Aim. Well, wolf, hyena, you old pocky rascal, 
You will have the hernia fall down again 
Into your scrotum, and I shall be sent for : 
I will remember then, that, and your fistula 
In ano, I cured you of. 

P. Sen. Thank your dog-leech craft ! 
They were wholesome piles afore you meddled 
with them. 

Aim. AV'hat an ungrateful wretch is this ! 

Shim. He minds 
A courtesy no more than London bridge 
What arch was mended last. 

Fit. He never thinks, 
ilorc than a log, of any grace at court 
A man may do him ; or that such a lord 
Reacli'd him his hand. 

P. sen. O yes ! if grace would strike 
The brewer's tally, or my good lord's hand 
Would quit the scores : but, sir, they will not 

do it ; 
Here is a piece, my good lord Piece doth all ; 
Goes to the butcher's, fetches in a mutton ; 
Then to the baker's, brings in bread, makes fires. 
Gets wine, and does more real courtesies 
Than all my lords I know : my sweet lord Piece ! 
[Holds rq) a piece of (/old. 
You are my lord, the rest are cogging Jacks, 
Under the rose. 

Shun. Eoguc, I could beat you now. 

P. sen. True, captain, if you durst beat any 
other, [gi-'y; 

I should believe you ; but indeed you are hun- 
You are not angry, captain, if I know you 
Aright, good captain. No Pecunia 
Is to be seen, though mistress Band would speak. 
Or little blushet Wax be ne'er so easy ; 
I'll stop mine ears with her, against the Syrens, 
Court, and philosophy. God be wi' you, gen- 
tlemen ! 
Provide you better names, Pecunia is for you. 

[Exit. 

Fit. What a damn'd- harpy it is ! Where's 
Is he sneak'd hence .' [Madrigal ? 

Shan. Here he comes with Broker, 
Pecunia's secretary. 

Be-entcr Madrigal and Brokep.. 
Aim, He may do some good 
With him perhaps. — Where have you been. 
Madrigal ? 
Mad. Above, with my lady's women, reading 

verses. 
Fit. That was a favor. — Good morrow, mas- 
ter Secretary ! 
Shun. Good morrow, master Usher ! 
Aim. Sir, bj' both [Broker, 

Your worshipful titles, and your name, mas 
Good morrow ! 



Mad. I did ask him if he were 
Ampliibion Broker. 

Shun. Why? 

Mad. A creature of two natures, 
Because he has two offices. 

Bro. You may jeer, 
You have the wits, young gentlemen • but your 
Of Helicon will never carry it here, [hope 

With our fat family ; we have the dullest. 
Most unbored ears for verse amongst our females ! 
I grieved you read so long, sir ; old nurse Mort- 
gage [mark'd her, 
She snored in the chair, and Statute, if you 
Fell fast asleep, and mistress Band she nodded. 
But not with any consent to what you read. 
They must have somewhat else to chink than 

rhymes. 
If you could make an epitaph on your land, 
(Imagine it on departure,) such a poem [temper. 
Would wake them, and bring Wax to her true 

Mad. I'faith, sir, and I'll try. 

Bro. It is but earth. 
Fit to make bricks and tiles of. 

Shun. Pox upon't, 
'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best. 
If it would keep us in good tobacco-pipes — 

Bro. It were woi-th keexiing. 

Fit. Or in porcelain dishes. 
There were some hope. 

Aim. But this is a hiuigry soil, 
And must be help'd. 

Fit. AVho would hold any land, 
To have the trouble to marie it ? 

Shun. Not a gentleman. 

Bro. Let clowns and hinds affect it, that love 
ploughs, 
And carts and harrows, and arc busy still 
In vexing the dull element. 

Aim. Our sweet songster 
Shall rarify't into air. 

Fit. And you, mas Broker, 
Shall have a feeling. 

Bro. So it supple, sir, 
The nerves. 

Mad. O, it shall be palpable, [ring. 

Make thee run thorough a hoop, or a thumb- 
The nose of a tobacco-pipe, and draw 
Thy ductile bones out like a knitting-needle, 
To serve my subtile turns. 

Bro. I shall obey, sir, 
And run a thread, like an hour-glass. 

Re-enter Pennyboy sen. 

P. sen. Where is Broker ? [house, 

Are not these flies gone yet ? Pray quit my 
I'll smoke j-ou out else. 

Fit. O the prodigal ! 
Will you be at so much charge with us, ar,d loss ? 

Mad. I've heard you have offer'd, sir, to lock 
up smoke. 
And calk your windows, spar up all youi doors. 
Thinking to keep it a close prisoner with you. 
And wept when it went out, sir, at your chim- 
ney, [ice. 

Fit. And yet his eyes were drier than a pum- 

Shun. A wretched rascal, that will bind about 
The nose of his bellows, lest the wind get oujt 
When he's abroad. 

Aim. Sweeps down no cobwebs here, 



496 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



But sells them for cut fingers ; and the spiders, 
As creatures rear'd of dust, and cost him noth- 
To fat old ladies' monkeys. [ing, 

Fit. He has ofFer'd 
To gather up spilt water, and preserve 
Each hair falls from him, to stop balls withal. 
Shun. A slave, and an idolater to Pecunia ! 
P. sen. You all have happy memories, gentle- 
men, 
In rocking my poor cradle. I remember too, 
"When you had lands and credit, worship, friends. 
Ay, and could give security : now you have 

none, 
Or will have none right shortlj% This can time. 
And the vicissitude of things ! I have 
All these, and money too, and do possess them. 
And am right heartily glad of all our memories, 
And both the changes. 

Fit. Let us leave the viper. 

[Exeunt all but P. sen. and Broker. 
P. sen. He's glad he is rid of his torture, and 
so soon. — 
Broker, come hither : up, and tell your lady. 
She must be ready presently, and Statute, 
Band, Mortgage, Wax : my prodigal young kins- 
man [house. 
Will straight be here to see her ; top of our 
The flourishing and flaunting Pennyboy ! 
We were but three of us in all the world, 
My brother Francis, whom they call'd Frank 

Pennyboy, 
Father to this ; he's dead : this Pennyboy 
Is now the heir ! I, Richer Pennyboj-, 
Not Richard, but old Harrj'- Pennyboy, 
And, to make rhyme, close, wary Pennj^boy, 
I shall have all at last, my hopes do tell me. 
Go, see all ready ; and vv'here my dogs have 

faulted. 
Remove it with a broom, and sweeten all 
With a slice of juniper, not too much, but 
sparing. [g^^i 

We may be faulty ourselves else, and turn prodi- 
In entertaining of the prodigal. [Exit Broker. 
Here he is, and with him — what ? a clapper- 
dudgeon ! 
That's a good sign, to have the beggar follow him 
So near, at his first entry into fortune. 

Enter Pexxyboy jun. Pexnyboy Canter, and 
Picklock. 

r.jun. How now, old imcle ! I am come to 
see thee. 
And the brave lady here, the daughter of Ophir, 
They say thou keep'st. 

P. sen. Sweet nephew, if .she "were 
The daughter of the Sun, she's at your service, 
And so am I, and the whole family. 
Worshipful nephew ! 

P. jun. Say'st thou so, dear uncle ! 
Welcome my friends then : here is dominie Pick- 
My man of law, solicits all my causes, [lock. 
Follows my business, makes and compounds my 

quarrels 
Between my tenants and me ; sows all my strifes. 
And reaps them too ; troubles the country for 
And vexes any neighbor that I please. [me, 

P. sen. But with commission ? 

P. jun. Under my hand and seal. 

P. sen. A worshipful place ! 



Pick. I thank his worship for it. 

P. sen. But what is this old gentleman ? 

P. Can. A rogue, 
A very canter, I sir, one that maunds 
Upon the pad : we should be brothers though ; 
For you are near as wretched as myself, 
You dare not use your money, and I have none 

P. sen. Not use my money, cogging Jack , 
who uses it 
At better rates, lets it for more in the hundred 
Than I do, sirrah ? 

P. jun. Be not angry, uncle. 

P. sen. What ! to d.isgrace me, with my queen, 
I did not know her value. [as if 

P. Can. Sir, I meant, 
You durst not to enjoy it. 

P. sen. Hold your peace. 
You are a Jack. 

P. jun. Uncle, he shall be a John, 
An you go to that ; as good a man as you are : 
And I can make him so, a better man ; 
Perhaps I will too. Come, let us go. [Going. 

P. sen. Nay, kinsman. 
My worshipful kinsman, and the top of our house, 
Do not your penitent uncle that affront, 
For a rash word, to leave his joyful threshold, 
Before j'ou see the lady that you long for. 
The Venus of the time and state, Pecunia ! 
I do perceive your bounty loves the man. 
For some concealed virtue that he hides 
Under those rags. 

P. Can. I owe my happiness to him. 
The waiting on his worship, since I brought him 
The happy news welcome to all young heirs. 

P. jun. Thou didst indeed, for which I thank 
thee yet. 
Your fortunate princess, uncle, is long a coming. 

P. Can. She is not rigg'd, sir ; setting forth 
some lady 
Will cost as much as furnishing a fleet. — 
Here she is come at last, and like a galley 
Gilt m the prow. 

Enter Pecunia in state, attended by Broker, 
Statute, Band, Wax, and Mortgage. 

P. jun. Is this Pecunia ? 

P. sen. Vouchsafe my toward kinsman, gra^ 
The favor of j^our hand. [cious madam 

Pec. Nay, of my lips, sir, [Kisses hint, 

To him. 

P. jun. She kisses like a mortal creature. 

[Aside, 
Almighty madam, I have long'd to see you. 

Pec. And I have my desire, sir, to behold 
That youth and shape, which in my dreams and 
I have so oft contemplated, and felt [wakes 

Warm in my veins, and native as my blood. 
When I was told of your arrival here, 
I felt my heart beat, as it would leap out 
In speech ; and all my face it was a flame : 
But how it came to pass, I do not know. 

P.jun. O, beauty loves to be more proud 
than nature, 
That made you blush. I cannot satisfy 
My curious eyes, by which alone I am happy. 
In my beholding you. [Kisses h^r 

P. Can- They pass the compliment 
Prettily well. 

Pick. Ay, he does kiss her, I like him. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



497 



P. Jan. My passion was clear contrary, and 
doubtful, 
I shook for fear, and yet I danced for joy, 
I had such motions as the sun-beams make 
Against a wall, or playing on a water, 
')r trembling vapor of a boiling j^ot — 

/'. sen. That's not so good ; it should have 
been a crucible 
With molten metal, she had understood it. 
P.jun, I cannot talk, but I can love you, 
madam : 
Are these your gentlewomen ? I love them too. 

\_Kisses them. 
And which is mistress Statute ? mistress Band ? 
They all kiss close, the last stuck to my lips. 
Bro. It was my lady's chambermaid, soft Wax. 
P.jun. Soft lips she has, I am sure on't. 
Mother Mortgage 
I'll owe a kiss, till she be j-ounger. Statute, 
Sweet mistress Band, and honey little Wax, 
We must be better acquainted. 

^ [Kisses them arjain. 

Sta. We are but servants, sir. 
Band. But whom her grace is so content to 
grace, 
We shall observe. 

Wax. And with all fit respect. 

Mor. In our poor places. 

Wax. Being her grace's shadows. 

P.jun. A fine, well-spoken family ! — What's 

thy name ? 
Bro. Broker. 

P.jun, Methinks my uncle should not need 
thee. 
Who is a crafty knave enough, believe it. 

[Aside to Broker. 
Art thou her grace's steward ? 
Bro. No, her usher, sir. 

P. jun. What, of the hall ? thou hast a sweep- 
ing face. 
Thy beard is like a broom. 
Bro. No barren chin, sir. 
I am no eunuch, though a gentleman-usher. 
P. jun. Thou shalt go with us. — Uncle, I 
must have 
My princess forth to-day. 

P. sen. AVhither you please, sir ; 
You shall command her. 
Pec. I will do all grace 
To my new servant. 

P. sen. Thanks unto your bounty ; 
He is my nephew and my chief, the jjoint. 
Tip, top, and tuft of all our family ! — 
But, sir, condition' d always you return 
Statute and Band home, with my sweet soft 

Wax, 
And my good nurse, here. Mortgage. 
P. jun. O, what else ? 
P. sen. By Broker. 
P.jun. Do not fear. 
P. sen. She shall go with you. 
Whither you please, sir, any where. 

P. Can- I see 
A money-bawd is lightly a ficsh-bawd too. 
Pick. Are you advised ? Now, on my faith, 
this Canter 
Would make a good brave burgess in some barn. 
P. jun. Come, thou shalt go with us, uncle. 



P. sen. By no means, sir. 

P.jun. We'll have both sack and fidlors. 

P. sen. I'll not draw 
That charge upon your worship. 

P. Can. He speaks modestly, 
And like an uncle. 

P. sen. But mas Broker here, 
He shall attend you, nephew ; her grace's usher. 
And what you fancy to bestow on him, 
Be not too lavish, use a temperate bounty, 
I'll take it to myself. 

P. jun. I will be princely, 
While I possess my princess, my Pecunia. 

P. sen. Where is't yoa eat ? 

P.jun. Hard by, at Picklock's lodging, 
Old Lickfinger's the cook, here in Ram-alley. 

P. sen. He has good cheer ; perhaps I'll como 
and sec you. 

P. Can. fie ! an alley, and a cook's shop, 
gross ! 
'Twill savor, sir, most rankly of them both : 
Let your meat rather follow you to a tavern. 

[To P. jun. 

Pick. A tavern's as unfit too for a princess. 

P. Can. No, I have known a princess, and a 
great one. 
Come forth of a tavern. 

Pick. Not go in, sir, though. 

P. Can. She must go in, if she came forth : the 
blessed 
Pokahontas, as the historian calls her. 
And great king's daughter of Virginia, 
Hath been in womb of tavern ; — and besides, 
Your nasty uncle will spoil all your m.irth. 
And be as noisome. — 

Pick. That is true. 

P. Can. No, 'faith. 
Dine in Apollo with Pecunia, [yo^i» 

At brave duke AVadloe's, have j-our friends ajjout 
And make a day on't. 

P.jun. Content, i' faith ; [king 

Oiir meat shall be brought thither : Simon the 
AVill bid us welcome. 

Pick. Patron, I have a suit. 

P.jun. What's that? 

Pick. That you will carry the Infanta 
To see the Staple ; her grace will be a grace 
To all the members of it. 

P.jun. I will do it. 
And have her arms set up there, with her titles, 
Aurelia Clara Pecunia, the Infanta, 
And in Apollo ! Come, sweet princess, go. 

P. sen. Broker, be careful of your charge. 

Bro. I warrant yoii. [Exeunt. 

Cen. Why this is duller and duller ! iniolei'ablc, 
scurvi/, neither devil .nor fool in this play .' 2}rai/ 
God'soine on us be not a witch, gossip, to forespeak 
the matter thus. 

Mirth. I fear wo are all such, an toe toere old 
enough : but we are not all old enough to make one 
witch. Hoio like you the Vice in the 2}lay ? 

Expect. IVJiich is he 1 

Mirth. Three or four : Old Covetousness, the 
sordid Penny-boy, the Money -bawd, who is afiesh- 
bawd too, they say. 

Tat. But here is never a fiend to carry him away. 
Besides, he has never a wooden dagger ! I would 



32 



498 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



not give a rush for a Vice, that has not a xcooden 
dagger to snap at every body he meets. 

Mirth. That was the old way, gossip, when In- 
iquity came in like Hokos Pokos, in a juggler's j'er- 
Jcin, wiith false skirts, like the knave of clubs ; but 
note they are attired like men and wo}nen of the 
time, the vices male and female. Pi'odigality, like 
a young heir, and his mistress Money, ( ivhose favors 
he scatters like counters,') pranked xip like a prime 
lady, the Infanta of the mines. 

Cen. Ay, therein they abuse an honorable 2)rin- 
cess, it is thought. 

Mirth. By wJiom is it so thought ? or ichere lies 
the abuse ? 

Cen. Plain in the styling her Infanta, and giv- 
ing her three names. 

Mirth. Take heed it lie not in the vice of your 
interpretation ; lohat have Aurelia, Clara, Pecunia, 
to do ivith any ])erson ? do they any more but ex- 
press the jiroperty of Money, which is the daughter 
of Earth, cmd drawn out of the mines ? Is there 
nothing to be call'd Infanta, but what is subject tn 
exception ? why not the infanta of the beggars, or 
infanta of the gypsies, as icell as king of beggars, 
and king of gypsies ? 

Cen. Well, an there were no wiser than I, I 
would sew him in a sack, arid send him by sea to 
his princess. 

Mirth. Faith, an he heard you, Censure, he 
would go near to stick the ass's ears to your high 
dressing, and pjcrhaps to all ours for hearkening 
to you. 

Tat. By'r Lady, but he should not to mine ; I 
tooidd hearken, and hearken, and censure, if I saio 
cause, for the othsr jmncess' sake Pokahonias, sur- 
named the Blessed, lohom ha has abused indeed, 
and I do censure him, and loill censure him : — To 
say she came forth of a tavern, loas said like a 
paltry poet. 

Mirth. That's but one gossip's opinion, and my 
gossipi Tattle's too ! but lohat says Expectation here 1 
She sits sullen and silent. 

Exi^cct. Troth, I expect their office, their great 
office, the Staple, lohat it will be ! they have talk'd 
on't, but ice see it not ojien yet. — Would Butter 
would come in, and siiread itself a little to us ! 

Mirth. Or the butter-box. Buz, the emissary. 

Tat. When it is churn d and dish'd we shall hear 
of it. 

Expect. If it be fresh and sweet butter ; but say 
it be sour and wheyish ? 

Mirth. Then it is worth nothing, mere pot but- 
ter, fit to he spent in suppositories, or greasing 
coach-icheels, stale stinking butter, and such, I fear, 
it is, by the being barrelled up so long. 
Expect. Or rank Irish butter. 
Cen. Have patience, gossip ; say that, contrary 
to our expectation, it prove right, seasonable, salt 
butter ? 

Mirth. Or to the time of year, in Lent, delicate 
almond butter ! I have a sweet tooth yet, and I loill 
hope the best, and sit down as quiet and calm as 
initter, look smooth and soft as buffer, be merry and 
melt like butter, laugh and be fat like butter : so 
butter answer my expectation, and be not mad butter ; 



It shall both July and December see ! " 
I say no more, but Dixi. 



' if it be. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Office of the Staple. 

Enter Fittox, Cymbal, Register, Clerk, arid Tno. 
Barber. 

Fit. You hunt upon a -wrong scent still ahd 
think 
The air of things will carry them ; but it must 
Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds, 
Jly cousin Cymbal, must get you this lady. 
You have entertain' d a pettyfogger here, 
Picklock, -with trust of an emissary's place, 
And he is all for the young prodigal ; 
You see he has left us. 

Cy)n. Come, you do not know him, 
That thus speak of him : he will have a trick 
To open us a gap by a trap-door, 
When thcj^ least dream on't. Here he comes. 



Enter Picklock. 
What news ? [Ambler ? 

Picli. Where is my brother Buz, my brother 
The register, examiner, and the clerks ? 
Appear, and let lis muster all in pomp, 
For here will be the rich Infanta prcsentlj', 
To make her visit. Pennyboy the heir, 
My patron, has got leave for her to play 
With all her train, of the old churl her guardian. 
Now is your time to make all court unto her, 
That she may first but know, then love the place 
And shew it by her frequent visits here : 
And afterwards get her to sojourn with you. 
She will be v/eary of the prodigal quickly. 

Cym. Excellent news ! 

Fit. And counsel of an oracle ! 

Cym. How say you, cousin Fitton ? 

Fit. Brother Picklock, ' 
I shall adore thee for this parcel of tidings, 
It will cry up the credit of our office 
Etcrnalh', and make our Staple immortal. 

Pick. Look your addresses then be fair and fit, 
And entertain her and her creatures too, 
With all the migniardise, and quaint caressea 
You can put on them. 

Fit. Tliou scem'st by thy language. 
No less a courtier than a man of law. 
I must embrace thee. 

Pick. Tut, I am Vertumnus, 
On every change, or chance, upon occasion, 
A true camelion, I can color for it, 
I move upon mj' axle like a turnpike. 
Fit my face to the parties, and become 
Straight one of them. 

Enter Nathaniel, Tho. Barber, and Register. 

Cym. Sirs, up into your desks, 
Ancl spread the rolls upon the table, — so ! 
Is the examiner set ? 

Beg. Yes, sir. 

Cym. Ambler and Buz 
Are both abroad now. 

Pick. We'll sustain their parts. 
No matter, let them ply the affairs without, 
Lot us alone within, I like that well. [gown, 
On with the cloke, and you with the Staple 

[Fit. puts on the office ck ke, and Cym. the goxon, 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



499 



And keep your state, stoop only to the Infanta ; 
We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band, 
And hard but we'll bring AVax to the retrieve : 
Each know his several province, and dis- 
charge it. [ Theij take their seats. 

Fit. I do admire this nimble engine. Picklock. 

Ci/f}i. Coz, what did I say ? 

Fit. You have rectified my error. 

Enter Penntboy jun., P. Canter, Pecuxia, Stat- 
ute, Band, Mortgage, Wax, and Broker. 

P. jun. By your leave, gentlemen, what news ? 
good, good still. 
In your new office ? Princess, here's the Staple ! 
This is the governor, kiss him, noble princess, 
For my sake. — Tom, how is it, honest Tom ? 
How does thj^ place, and thou ? — my creature, 

princess, 
This is my creature, give him your hand to kiss. 
Ho Avas my barber, now he writes clericus ! 
I bought this place for him, and gave it him. 

F. Can. He should have spoke of that, sir, 
and not you : 
Two do not do one office well. 

F.Jim. 'Tis true. 
But I am loth to lose my courtesies. 

F. Can. So are all they that do them to vain 
ends ; 
And j'Ct you do lose when j'ou pay yourselves. 

F. Jun. No more of your sentences. Canter, 
they are stale ; 
We come for news, remember where you are. 
I pray thee let my princess hear some news. 
Good master Cymbal. 

Ci/ni. What news would she hear ? 
Or of what kind, sir ? 

F.Jun. Any, any kind. 
So it be ne\^-s, the newest that thou hast. 
Some news of state for a princess. 

Ci/m. Read from Rome there. [^jo^je. 

Tho. Theij tcrite, the king of Spain is chosen 

F.Jun. How ! 

Tho. And empei-or too, the thirtieth of February. 

P. Jim. Is the emperor dead ? 

Cym. No, but he has resign'd. 
And trails a pike now under Till}'. 

Fit. For penance. 

F. Jun. These will beget strange turns in 
Christendom ! 

Tho. And Spinola isniade general of the Jesuits. 

F.Jun. Stranger ! 

Fit. Sir, all are alike true and certain. 

Cijm. All the pretence to the fifth monarchy 
Was held but vain, until the ecclesiastic 
And secular powers were united thus, 
Both in one person. 

Fit. It has been long the aim 
Of the house of Austria. 

Cijjn. See but Maximilian ■ 
His letters to the baron of Bouttersheim. 
Or Scheiter-huysscn. 

Fit. No, of Leichtenstein, 
Lord Paul, I think. 

F.Jun. I have heard of some such thing. 
Don Spinola made general of the Jesuits ! 
A priest ! 

Cym. O, no, he is dispensed withal 

And the whole society, who do now apj)ear 
The only engincrs of Christendom. 



F.Jun. They have been thought so long, and 
rightly too. 

Fit. Witness the engine that they have pre 
sented him. 
To wind himself with iip into the moon. 
And thence make all his discoveries ! 

Cyni. Read on. 

Tho. And ViteUesco, he that was last general. 
Being now turn'd cook to the society, 
Has drest his excellence such a dish of eggs 

F.Jun. What, potch'd ? 

Tho. No, powder' d. 

Cym. All the yolk is wild-fire. 
As he shall need beleaguer no more tov/ns, 
But throw his egg in. 

Fit. It shall clear consume 
Palace and place : demolish and bear down 
All strengths before it ! 

Cym. Never be extinguish' d. 
Till all become one ruin ! 

Fit. And from Florence. 

Tho. They write %oas found in Galilcso's study, 
A burning glass, rohich they have sent him too. 
To fire any fleet that's out at sea. 

Cym. By moonshine, is't not so ? 

Tho. Yes, sir, in the water. 

F. Jun. His strengths will be unresistible, it 
this hold. 
Have you no news against him on the contrary . 

Nath. Yes, sir. They write here, one Cornelius- 
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel [Sow, 
To sicim the haven at Dunkirk, aiid sink all 
The shipping there. 

P. Jun. Why have not you this, Tom ? 

Cym. Because he keeps the pontificial side. 

F.Jun. How ! Change sides, Tom, 'twaa never 
in my thought 
To put thee up tigainst ourselves. Come down, 
Quickly. 

Cym. Why, sir ? 

P. Jun. I ventured not my money 
Upon those terms : if he may change, why so I 
I'll have him keep his own side, sure. 

Fit. Why, let him. 
It is but writing so much over again. 

P. Jun, For that I'll bear the charges : there's 
two pieces. 

Fit, Come, do not stick with the gentleman. 

Cym. I'll take none, sir, 
And yet he shall have the place. 

P.Juji. They shall be ten then. 
Up, Tom, and the office shall take them. Keep 
your side, Tom. [Tho. changes his side 
Know your own side, do not forsake your side, 

Cym. Read. [Tom. 

Tho. They tcrite here one Cornelius- Son 
Hath made the Hollanders an invisible eel 
To swim the haven at Dunkirk, and sink all 
The shipping there. 

F.Jun, But how is't done ? 

Cym. I'll shew you, sir. 
It is an automa, runs under water, 
With a snug nose, and has a nimble tail [gles 
!Made like an auger, with which tail she wrig- 
Betwixt the costs of a ship, and sinks it straight, 

F.Jun. Whence have j'ou this news ? 

Fit. From a right hand, I assure you, 
Tlie eel boats here, that lie before Queen-hy the 
Came out of Holland. 



500 



THE STAPLE OF NE^yS. 



P.jun. A most crave device, 
To murder their flat bottoms. 

Fit. I do grant you : 
But what if Spinola have a new project, 
To bring an army over in ccrrk-shoes, 
And land them here at Harwich ? all his horse 
Are shod with cork, and fourscore pieces of ord- 
nance. 
Mounted upon cork carriages, with bladders 
Instead of wheels, to run the passage over 
At a spring tide. 

P. jicn. Is't true ? 

Fit. As true as the rest. 

P.jun. He'll never leave his engines ; I would 
Some curious news. [hear now 

Cym. As what ? 

P. jun. !Magic or alchemy, 
Or flying in the air, I care not what. 

Nath. They write from Lihtzig (reverence to 
your ears) 
The art of drawing farts out of dead bodies, 
Is by the brotherhood of the Rosie Cross 
Produced unto perfection, in so sweet 
And rich a tincture 

Fit. As there is no princess [tion. 

But may perfume her chamber with the extrac- 

P.jun. There's for you, princess ! 

P. Can. What, a fart for her ? 

P.jun. I mean the spirit. 

P. Can. Beware how she resents it. 

P. jun. And what hast thou, Tom ? 

Tho. The perpetual motion, [erine's, 

Is here found out by an ale-ioife in Saint Kath- 
At the sign of the Dancing Bears. 

P. jun. What, from her tap ? 
I'll go see that, or else I'll send old Canter : 
He can make that discovery. 

P. Can. Yes, in ale. ' [Noise loithout. 

P.jun. Let me have all this news made up 
and seal'd. 

Reg. The people press upon us. Please you, 
sir, [room 

Withdraw with your fair princess : there's a 
Within, sir, to retire to. 

P.jun. No, good register. 
We'll stand it out here, and observe your office : 
What news it issues. 

Reg. 'Tis the House of Fame, sir, 
Wliere both the curious and the negligent. 
The scrupulous and careless, wild and stay'd, 
The idle and laborious, all do meet, 
To taste the cornu-copire of her rumors, [ter 
Which she, the mother of sport, pleascth to scat- 
Among the vulgar : baits, sir, for the people ! 
And they will bite like fishes. 

Enter a crotod of Customers. 
P.jun. Let us see it. 

1 Cust. Have you in your profane shop any 
Of the saints at Amsterdam ? [news 

Reg. Yes ; how much would you ? 

2 Cust. Six penny-worth. 

Reg. Lay your money down. — Read, Thomas. 

Tho. The saints do write, they expect a prophet 
The prophet Baal, to be sent over to tJiem, [sJwrthj, 
To calculate a time, and half a time, 
And the icJiole time, according to Naometry. 

P.jun. What's that? 

Tho. The measuring of the temple ; a cabal 



Found out but lately, and set out by Archie, 
Or some such head, of whose long coat they have 
And, being black, desire it. [heard 

1 Cust. Peace be Avith them ! 

Reg. So there had need, for they are still by 
One with another. [the ears 

1 Cust. It is their zeal. 

Reg. Most likely. 

1 Cust, Have you no other of that specie?, i 

Reg. Yes, 
But dearer ; it wOl cost you a sliilling. 

1 Cust. Verily, 
There is a nine pence, I vnU. shed no more. 

Reg. Not to the good of the saints .' 

1 Cust. I am not sure 
Tliat man is good. 

Reg. Read from Constantinople 
Nine penn'orth. 

Tho. They give out here, the grand signior 
Is certainly turn'd Christian ; and to clear 
The controversy 'twixt the pope and him, 
Which is the Antichrist, he means to visit 
The church at Amsterdam this very smnmcr, 
And quit all marks of the beast. 

1 Cust. Now joj'ful tidings ! 
Who brought in this ! which emissary ? 

Reg. Buz, 
Your countryman. 

1 Cust. Now, blessed be the man. 
And his whole family, with the nation ! 

Reg. Yes, for Amboyna, and the justice there ' 
This is a Copper, a she Anabaptist ! 
Seal and deliver her her news, dispatch. 

2 Cust. Have you any news from the Indies 

any miracle 
Done in Japan by tho Jesuits, or in China ? 
Nath. No, but we hear of a colony of cooIds 
To be set ashore on the coast of America, 
For the conversion of the cannibals, 
And maJiing them good eating Christians, 
Here comes the colonel that undertakes it. 

Enter Lickfinger. 

3 Cust. \\'Tio, captain Lickfinger ? 
Lick. News, news, my boys ! 

I am to furnish a great feast to-day. 

And I would have what news the office affords. 

Nath. We were venting some of you, of your 
new project. 

Reg. Afore 'twas paid for ! you were some- 
what too hasty. 

P.jun. What, Lickfinger! wilt thou convert 
the cannibals 
With spit and pan di\*inity ? 

Lick. Sir, for that 
I will not urge, but for the fire and zeal 
To the true cause ; thus I have undertaken 
With two lay brethren, to myseK, no more 
One of tho broach, the other of the boiler, 
In one six months, and by plain cookery, 
No magic to it, bixt old Japhet's physic. 
The f^ither of the European arts, 
To make such sauces for the savages. 
And cook their meats with those enticing steams. 
As it Avould make our cannibal-christians 
Forbear the mutual eating one another. 
Which they do do more cunningly than the wild 
Anthropophiigi, that snatch only strangers, 
Like my old patron's dogs there. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



501 



P. fun. Q, my uncle's ! 
Is dinner ready, Lickfinger ? 

Lick, When you please, sir, 
I was bespeaking but a parcel of news, 
To strew out the long meal withal, but it seems 
You are furnished here already. 
P. Jim. O, not half. 

Lich. What court news is there ? any procla- 
Or edicts to come forth ? [mations 

Tho. Yes, there is one. 
That the king's barber has got, for aid of our 
Whereof there is a manifest decay. [trade, 

A 2'»'ecept for tho iceariiig of long hair, 
To run to seed, to sow bald pates wit/ml. 
And the 2}i'csen'ing fruitful heads and chins 
To help a iwjstcry almost antiquated. 
Such as are bald and barren beyond hope. 
Are to be separated and set by 
For ushers to old countesses : and coachmen 
To jnount their boxes reverently, and drive 
Like lapwings, icith a shell upon their heads 
Tliorough the streets. 

Lick. Have you no news of the stage ? 
They'll ask me about new plays at dinner-time, 
And I should be as dumb as a fish. 

Tho. O, yes. 
There is a legacy left to the king's players. 
Both for their various shifting of their scene, 
And dextrous change of their persons to all shapies 
And all disguises, by the right reverend 
Archbislwp of Spalato. 

Lick. He is dead 
That pky'd him ! 

Tho. Then he has lost his share of the legacy. 
Lick. What news of Gondomar ? 
Tho. A second fistula, 
Or an excoriation, at the least. 
For putting the poor English play, was writ of him, 
To such a sordid use, as, is said, he did, 
Of cleansing his posteriors. 
Lick. Justice ! justice ! 

Tho. Since when, he lives condemn' d to his share 
at Bruxels, 
And there sits filing certain politic hinges. 
To hang the states on he has heaved off the hooks. 
Lick. What must you have for these ? 
P.jun. Thou shalt pay nothing, 
But reckon them m the bill. [ExHIjIC'e..'] There's 

twenty pieces. 
Her grace bestows upon the office, Tom : 
Write thou that down for news. 

Reg. We may well do't, 
We have not many such. 

P. Jun. There's twenty more. 
If you say so ; my princess is a princess ! 
And fjut that too under the office seal. 

Cym. [Takes TzcvKix aside, lohile Yitto^! courts 
the Waiting-women.] If it will please 
your grace to sojourn here, 
And take my roof for covert, you shall know 
The rights belonging to your blood and birth, 
Which few can apprehend : these sordid servants. 
Which rather are your keepers, than attendants, 
Should not come near your presence. I would 

have 
You waited on by ladies, and your train 
Born up by persons of quality and honor ; 
^our meat should be served in with curious 
dances, 



And set ujoon the board with virgin hands, 
Tuned to their voices ; not a dish removed. 
But to the music, nor a drop of wine 
Mixt with his water, without harmony. 

Pec. You are a courtier, sir, or somewhat 
That have this tempting language. [more, 

Cym. I am your servant. 
Excellent princess, and would have you appear 
That which you are : come forth the state and 

wonder 
Of these our times, dazzle the vulgar eyes. 
And strike the people blind with admiration. 

P. Can. Why that's the end of wealth ! thrust 
riches outward, [ing 

And remain beggars within ; contemplate noth- 
But the vile sordid things of time, place, money. 
And let the noble and the precious go : 
Virtue and honesty ; hang them, poor thin mem- 
branes 
Of honor ! who respects them ? 0, the fates, 
How^ hath all just true reputation fallen. 
Since money, this base money 'gan to have any ! 

[Aside. 

Band. Pity the gentleman is not immortal. 

Wax. As he gives out the place is by descrip 
tion. 

Fit. A very paradise, if you saw all, lady. 

Wax. I am the chamber-maid, sir, you mis- 
My lady may see all. [take, 

Fit. S.weet mistress Statute, gentle mistress 
Band, 
And mother Mortgage, do but get her grace 
To sojourn here. 

Pick. I thank you, gentle Wax. [credit. 

3Ior. If it were a chattel, I would try my 

Pick. So it is, for term of life, we count it so. 

Sta. She means inheritance to him and his 
heirs : 
Or that he could assure a state of years ; 
I'll be his Statute staple, Statute-merchant, 
Or what he please. \ 

Pick. He can expect no more. 

Band. His cousin, alderman Security, 
That he did talk of so, e'en now 

Sta. AVlro is 
The very brooch of the bench, gem of the city, 

Band. He and his deputy, but assure his life 
For one seven years — 

,S''«. And see what v^'e'll do for him. 
Upon his scarlet motion. 

Band. And old chain. 
That draws the city ears. 

Wax. When he says nothing. 
But twirls it thus. 

Sta. A moving oratory ! 

Band. Dumb rhetoric, and silent eloquence .' 
As the fine poet says. 

Fit. Come, they all scorn us : 
Do you not see't ? the family of scorn ! 

Bro. Do not believe him : gentle master Pick- 
lock, 
They understood you not ; the gentlewomen, 
They thought you would have my lady sojoum 

with you. 
And you desire but now and then a visit. 

Pick. Yes, if she p)leased, sir, it wouLl much 
advance 
Unto the office, her continual residence : 
I speak but as a member 



602 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



Bro. 'Tis enough. 
I apprehend you : and it shall go hard, 
But I'll so work, as somebody shall work her. 

Pick. Praj- you change with our master but 
a word about it. 

P.Jun. Well, Lickfinger, see that our meat be 
Thcu hast news enough. [ready. 

Lick. Something of Bcthlem Gabor, 
And then I am gone. 

Tho. We hear he has devised 
A drum, to fill all Christendom xoith the sound: 
But that he cannot draiu his forces near it, 
To march yet, for tho violence of the noise. 
And therefore he is fain, hj a design, 
To carry them in the air, and at some distance, 
' Till he be married, then they shall ajypear. 

Lick. Or never ! well, God be wi' you ! stay, 
who's there ? 
A little of the Duke of Bavier, and then — 

Nath. He has taken a grey habit, and is turn'd 
The church's miller, grinds the catholic grist 
With every wi?id ; and Tilly takes tlie toll. 

4 Oust. Have you any news of the pageants 

to send down 
Into the several counties ? All tho country 
Expected from the city most brave speeches, 
Now, at the coronation. 

Lick. It expected 
More than it understood ; for they stand mute, 
Poor innocent dumb things : they are but wood, 
As is the bench, and blocks they were wrought 

on : yet 
If May-day come, and the sun shine, perhaps. 
They'll sing like Mcmnon's statue, and be vocal. 

5 Cust. Have you any forest news ? 
Tho. None very wild, sir. 

Some tame there is, out of the forest of fools. 
A new park is a making there, to sever 
Cuckolds of antler, from the rascals. Such 
Whose wives are dead, and have since cast their 

heads, 
Shall remain cuckolds pollard. 
Lick. I'll have that news. 

1 Cust. And I. 

2 Cust. And I. 

3 Cust. And I. 

4 Cust. And I. 

5 Cust. And I. 

Cym. Sir, I desire to be excused ; [to P. jun.] 
and, madam, 
I cannot leave my office the first day. 
Illy cousin Fitton here shall wait uijon you. 
And emissary Picklock. 

P. jun. And Tom Clericus? 

Cym. I cannot spare him yet, but ho shall 

follow j^ou, 

When they have order' d the rolls. Shiit up the 

When you have done, till two o'clock. [office, 

[Exeunt all but Thomas and Nath. 

Enter Siiuxfield, Almanac, ctnd Madiugal. 
Shun, By your leave, clerks, 
Wliore shall we dine to-day ? do you know ? 
Nath. The jeerers ! 
Aim. Where is my fellow Fitton ? 
Tho. New gone forth. 

Shun. Cannot your office tell us, what brave 
fellows 
Do eat together to-day, in town, and where ? 



Tho. Yes, there's a gentleman, the brave heir, 
young Pcnnyboy, 
Dines in Apollo. 

Mad, Come, let's thither then, 
I have supt in Apollo. 
Aim. With the Muses r 
3Iad. No, 
But with two gentlewomen, call'd the Graces. 
Aim. They were ever three in poetry. 
Mad. This was truth, sir. 
Tho. Sir, master Fitton's there too. 
Shun, All the better. 
Aim, We may have a jeer, perhaps. 
Shun. Yes, you'll drink, doctor. 
If there be any good meat, as much good wine 
As would lay vip a Dutch Ambassador. [now 
Tho. If ho dine there, he's sure to have good 
For Lickfinger provides the dinner. [meat, 

Aim. Who ! 
The glory of the kitchen ! that holds cookery 
A trade from Adam, quotes his broths and sal- 
lads. 
And swears he is not dead yet, but translated 
In some immortal crust, the paste of almonds ! 
Mad. The same. He holds no man can be a 
poet. 
That is not a good cook, to knov.' the palates. 
And several tastes of the time. Ho draws al] 

arts 
Out of the kitchen, but the art of poetry, 
Which he concludes, the same with cookery. 
Shun. Tut, he maintains more heresies than 
that. 
He'll draw the magisteriura from a minced-pie, 
And prefer jellies to your julaps, doctor. 

Aim. I was at an ollapodrida of his making, 
Was a brave piece of cookery : at a funeral ! 
But opening the pot-lid, he made us laugh, 
AVho had Avept all day, and sent us such a tic- 
Into our nostrils, as the funeral feast [kling 

Had been a wedding-dinner ! 
Shun. Give him allowance, 
And that but a moderate, he will make a syren 
Sing in the kettle, send in an Arion, 
In a brave broth, and of a watery green. 
Just the sea-color, mounted on the back 
Of a groAvn conger, but in such a posture. 
As all the world would take him for a dolphin. 
Mad. He's a rare fellow, Avithout question ! 
He holds some paradoxes. [but 

Aim. Ay, and pseudodoxos. 
Marry for most, he's orthodox in the kitchen. 
Mad, And knows the clergy's taste ! 
Aim, Ay, and the laity's ! 
Shun, You think not of your time ; we shall 
come too late. 
If we go not presently. 
Mad. Away then. 
Shan, Sirs, 
You must get of this news, to store your office, 
Who dines and sups in tire town ; where, and 

with whom ; 
It will be beneficial : when you are stoi-ed. 
And as we like our fare, we shall reward you. 
A^ath. A hungry trade, 'twill be. 
Tho. Much like duke Humphry's, [says, 

But, now and then, as the wholesome proverb 
'Twill obsonare famem ambulando. [as. 

Nath. Shut up the office, gentle brother Thorn- 



THE STAPLE OF NESS'S. 



503 



Tho. Brother ^Nathaniel, I have the wine for 

I hope to sec us, one day, emissaries. [you. 

Nath. Why not ? 'Slid, I despair not to be 

master ! [Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 



A Room in Pennyboy senior's 
House. 



Enter Penxyboy sen. and Broker, at different 
doors. 

P. sen. How now ! I think I was born under 
Hercules' star. 
Nothing but trouble and tumult to oppress me ! 
Why come you back ? where is j^our charge ? 

Bro. I have brought 
A gentleman to speak with you. 

P. sen. To speak with me ! [man. 

You know 'tis death for me to speak with any 
What is he ? set me a chair. 

Bro. He is the master 
Of tlie great office. 

P. sen. What ? 

Bro. The Staple of News, 
A mighty thing, they talk six thousand a-ycar. 

P. sen. Well, bring your six in. Where have 
you left Pecunia ? 

Bro. Sir, in Apollo, they are scarce set. 

P. sen. Bring six. 

[E.rit Broker, a)iil returns with Cymbal. 

Bro. Here is the gentleman. 

P. sen. He must pardon me, 
I cannot rise, a diseased man. 

Cym. By no means, sir; 
Respect your health and ease. 

P. sen. It is no pride in me. 
But pain, pain : What's your errand, sir, to me ? 
Broker, return to your charge, be Argus-eyed, 
Awake to the affair you have in hand. 
Serve in Apollo, but take heed of Bacchus. 

\_Exit Broker. 
Go on, sir. 

Cym. I am come to speak with you. 

P. sen. 'Tis pain for me to Speak, a very death ; 
But I will hear you. 

Cym. Sir, you have a lady. 
That sojourns with you. 

P. sen. Ha ! I am somewhat short 
In my sense too 

Cym. Pecunia. 

P. sen, O' that side 
Very imperfect ; on 

Cym. Whom I would draw 
Oftener to a poor office, I am master of 

P. sen. My hearing is A'cry dead, you must 
speak quicker. [jou.rn, 

Cym. Or, if it please you, sir, to let her so- 
In part with me ; I have a moiety 
We will divide, half of the i5rofits. 

P. sen. Ha ! 
I hear you better now. How come they in ? 
Is it a certain business, or a casual ? 
For I am loth to seek out doubtful courses. 
Run any hazardous paths ; I love straight ways, 
A just and upright man ! now all trade totters ; 
The trade of money is fall'n two in the hundred : 
That was a certain trade, Avhile the age was 

thrifty, 
And men good husbands,look'd unto their stocks. 



Had their minds bounded ; now the public riot 
Prostitutes all, scatters away in coaches, 
In footmen's coats, and waiting-AVomcn's gowns, 
They must have velvet haunches, with a pox ! 
Now taken up, and yet not pay the use ! 
Bate of the use ! I am mad with this time's man- 
ners. [Vehemently and loud. 

Cym. You said e'en now, it Avas death for you 
to speak. [is, 

P. sen. Ay, but an anger, a just angei-, as this 
Puts life in man. 'Wlio can endure to see 

[Starts from his chair. 
The fury of men's gullets, and their groins ? 
What fires, what cooks, what kitchens might be 
spared ? [azines • 

What stews, ponds, parks, coops, garners, mag- 
What velvets, tissues, scarfs, embroideries, 
And laces they might lack ? They covet things 
Superfluous still ; when it were much more 
honor [nature 

They could want necessarj' : what need hath 
Of silver dishes, or gold chamber-pots ? 
Of perfumed napkins, or a numerous family 
To see her eat ? poor, and wise, she requires 
iMeat only ; hunger is not ambitious : 
Say, that you were the emperor of pleasures. 
The great dictator of fashions, for all Europe, 
And had the pomp of all the courts, and king- 
doms. 
Laid forth unto the shew, to make yourself 
Gazed and admired at ; you must go to bed, 
And take yo\ir natural rest : then all this van- 
isheth. [sest : 

Your bravery was but shoAvn ; 'twas not pos- 
While .it did boast itself, it was then perishing. 

Cym. This man has healthful lungs. \_Asido. 

P. sen. All that excess 
Apfjcar'd as little yours, as the spectators : 
It scarce fills up the expectation 
Of a few hours, that entertains men's lives. 

Cym. He has the monopoly of sole-speaking 

[Aside 
Why, good sir, you talk all. 

P. sen. [anyri/y.] Why should I not ? 
Is it not under mine o-wni roof, my ceiling ? 

Cym. But I came here to talk with you. 

P. sen. Wh}', an I will not 
Talk with you, sir ! you arc answer'd ; who 
sent for you ? . 

Cym. No body sent for me 

P. sen. But you came ; why then 
Go as you came, here's no man holds you ; there- 
There lies your way, you see the door. 

Cym. This is strange ! 

P. sen. 'Tis my civility, when I do not relish 
The party, or his business. Pray you bo gone, 

sir, 
I'll have no venture in your shop, the office. 
Your bai-k of six, if 'twere sixteen, good sir. 

Cym. You are a rogue. 

P. sen. I think I am, sir, truly. 

Cym, A rascal, and a money-bawd. 

P. sen. My surnames. 

Cy?n. A wretched rascal — 

P. sen. You will overflow, 
And spill all. 

Cym. Caterpillar, moth, 
Horse-leech, and dur.g-worm 

P. sen. Still 30U lose your labor. 



504 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



I am a broken vessel, all runs out : 
A shrunk old clryfat. Fare you well, good six ! 

[Exeunt. 

Cen. A notable tough rascal, this old Fennyhoy ! 
right city-bred ! 

Mirth. In Silver-street, the region of 7noney, a 
good seat for an usurer. 

Tat. lie has rich ingredients in him, I tvarrant 
you, if they were extracted ; a true receipt to make 
an alderman, an lie were well wrought upon, accord- 
ing to art. 

Expect. I toouldfain see an alderman in chimia, 
that is, a treatise of aldermanity truly loritten ! 

Con. To sheio hoxo much it differs from urbanity. 

Mirth. Ay, or humanity. Either would appear 
in this Pemvyboy, an he were rightly distill'd. 
But how like you the news? you are gone from 
that. 

Cen. O, they are monstrous ! scurvy, aiid stale, 
and too exotic! ill cook'd and ill dish'd! 

Expect. They tcere as good, yet, as butter could 
make them ! 

Tat. In a word, they loere beastly buttered : he 
sliall never come on my bread more, nor in my mouili, 
if I can help it. I hate better iKfios from the bake- 
house, hy ten thousand iiarts, in a morning ; or the 
conduits in Westminster : all the news of Tuttle- 
street, and both the Alm'ries, the two Sanctuaries, 
long and round Wool-staple, loith King's-street, and 
Canon-row to boot. 

Mirth. Ay, my gossip Tattle knero what fine slips 
grew in Gardener' s-lane ; who hist the butcher s 
wife with tJie coio's breath ; ichat matches loere made 
in the Bowling-alley, and lohat bets were won and 
lost ; how much grist went to the mill, and lohat be- 
sides : iclw conjured in Tuttle-fields, and hoxo many, 
lohen tliey never came there ; and ichich boy rode 
xtpon doctor Lamb in the likeness of a roaring lion, 
that run aioay loith him in his teeth, and has not 
devour' d him yet. 

Tat. Why, I had it from my maid Joan Hear- 
say ; and she luid it from a limb o' the school, she 
says, a little limb of nine year old ; w/io told her, 
the master left out his conjuring book one day, and 
he found it, and so the fable came about. But 
whetlier it were true or no, we gossips are bound 
to believe it, an't be once out, aiid afoot : hoio 
should we entertain the time else, or find ourselves 
in fashionable discourse, for all companies, if ice 
do not credit all, and make more of it in the report- 
ing ? 

Cen. For my part, I believe it : an tliere loere no 
wiser than I, I tcozdd have ne'er a cunning school- 
master in England. I mean, a cunning man a 
schoolmaster ; that is, a conjurer, or a poet, or that 
had any acquaintance %cith a poet. They make all 
their scholars play-hoys ! Is't not a fine sight, to see 
all our children made interluders ? Do *e pay our 
money for this? toe send them to learn their gram- 
mar and their Terence, and they learn their play - 
books ! Well, they talk toe shall have tio more par- 
tiaments, God bless tcs ! hit an toe have, I hope, 
Zeal-of-the-land Busy and my gossip Rabbi Trou- 
bletruth toill start up, and see toe shall have painful 
good ministers to keep school, and catechise our youth, 
and not teach them to spieak pilays, and act fables of 
false neics, in this manner, to the super-vexation of 
toion and country, toith a toannion ! 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — The Devil Taveex. The Apollo. 

Pennykoy jun. Fittox, Shunfield, Almanac, 
Madhigal, Penxyboy Canter, and Picklock, 
discovered at table. 

F. jun. Come, gentlemen, let's breathe from 
healths awhile. 
This Lickfinger has made us a good dinner. 
For our Pccunia : what shall's do with ourselves, 
While the women water, and the iidlers cat ? 

Fit. Let's jeer a little. 

F.jun. Jeer ! what's that ? 

Shun. Expect, sir. [at you. 

Aim. We first begin with ourselves, and then 

Shun. A game we use. 

Mad. We jeer all kind of persons 
We meet withal, of any rank or quality, 
And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer ourselves. 

P. Can. A pretty sweet society, and a grateful ! 

Fick. Pray let's see some. 

Shun. Have at you then, lawyer. [lately 

They say there was one of your coat in Eethlen: 

Aim. I wonder all his clients were not there, 

Mad. They were the madder sort. 

Fick. Except, sir, one 
Like you, and he made verses. 

Fit. Madrigal, 
A jeer ! 

Mad. I know. 

Shun. But what did you do, lawyer, [iier ? 
When you made love to Mistress Band, at din- 

Mad. Why, of an advocate, he grcvv- the client. 

P. jun. Well play'd, my poet. 

Mad. And shew'd the law of nature 
Was there above the common-law. 

Shun. Quit, quit ! 

F. jun. Call you this jeering ! I can play at 
'Tis like a ball at tennis. [thie, 

Fit. Very Uke ; 
But we were not well in. 

Aim. It is indeed, sir, 
When we do speak at volley, all the ill 
We can one of another. 

Shtin. As this morning, [uncle 

(I would you had heard us,) of the rogue your 

Aim. That money-bawd. 

Mad. We call'd him a coat-card. 
Of the last order. 

P. jun. \Miat is that, a knave ? 

Mad. Some readings have it so, ray mann- 
Doth speak it varlet. [script 

P. Can. And yourself a fool 
Of the first rank, and one shall have the leading 
Of the right-hand file, rmdcr this brave com 

F.jun. AVhat say'st thou. Canter ? [mandcr 

P. Can. Sir, I say this is 
A very wholesome exercise, and comely. 
Like lepers shewing one another their scabs. 
Or flies feeding on ulcers. 

P. jtm. Vyiiat news, gentlemen, 
Ha^''e you any news for after dinner ? raethinks, 
We should not spend our time unprofitabjy. 

P. Can. They never lie, sir, between meaL; ; 
'gainst s.uppcr 
You may have a bale or two brought in. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



5Q5 



Fit. Tliis Canter 
[s an old envious knave ! 

Aim. A very rascal ! 

Fit. I have mark'd him all this meal, he has 
done nothing 
But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said. 

Aim. A supercilious rogue ! he looks as if 
He were the patrico 

Mad, Or arch-priest of Canters. 

Shun. He is some primate metropolitan rascal, 
Our shot-clog makes so much of him. 

Aim. The laAV, * 
And he does govern him. 

P.jun. What say you, gentlemen ? 

Fit. We say, we wonder not, your man of law 
Should be so gracious with you ; but how it 
This rogue, this Canter — [comes, 

P.jun. O, good words. 

Fit. A fellow 
That speaks no language 

Aim. But what jingling gypsies, 
And pedlars trade in 

Fit. And no honest Chiistian 
Can understand 

P. Can. Why, by that argument 
You are all Canters, you, and you, and you : 
All the ■^^'hole world are Canters, I will prove it 
In your professions. 

P.jun. I would fain hear this : 
But stay, my princess comes ; provide the while 
['11 call for it anon. 

Enter Lickfinger, Pecuxia, Statute, Band, 
Wax, and Mortgage. 

How fares your grace .' 

Lick. I hope the fare was good. 

Pec. Yes, Lickfinger, 
And we shall thank you for it, and reward you. 

Mad. Nay, I'll not lose my argument, Lick- 
Before these gentlewomen, I affirm, [finger ; 
The perfect and true strain of poetry 
Is rather to be given the quick cellar, 
Than the fat kitchen. 

[P. jun. taJccs Pecunia aside and courts her. 

Lick. Heretic, I see 
Thou art for the vain Oracle of the Bottle. 
The hogshead, Trismegistus, is thy Pegasus. 
Thence flows thy muse's spring, from that hard 
Seduced poet, I do say to thee, [hoof. 
A boiler, range, and dresser were the fountains 
Of aU the knowledge in the universe. 
And they're the kitchens, where the master- 
cook [know him. 

Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou 
Till thou hast scrv'd some years in that deep 

school, 
That's both the nurse and mother of the arts. 
And hear'st him read, interpret and demon- 
strate — 
A master-cook ! why, he's the man of men, 
For a professor ! he designs, he draws, 
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies. 
Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish. 
Some he dry-diahes, some motes round with 
broths ; . [tards, 

Mounts marrow bones, cuts fifty-angled cus- 
Rears buh\-ark pics, and for his outer works, 
He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust ; 
And teacheth all the tactics, at one dinner : 



What ranks, what files, to put his dishes in ; 

The whole art militar)'. Then he knows 

The influence of the stars upon his meats, 

And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, 

And so to lit his relishes and sauces. 

He has nature in a pot, 'bove all the chymists, 

Or airy brethren of the Rosie-cross. 

He is an architect, an engineer, 

A soldier, a physician, a pliilosopher, 

A general mathematician. 

Ma,d. It is granted. 

Lick. And that you may not doubt him for a 
poet — [else, 

Aim. This fury shews, if there were nothing 
And 'ti.s divine ! I shall for ever hereafter 
Admire the wisdom of a cook. 

Band. And wo, sir. 

P.jun. O, how my princess draws me with 
her looks, 
And hales me in, as eddies draw in boats. 
Or strong Charybdis ships, that sail too near 
The shelves of love ! The tides of your two eyes. 
Wind of your breath, are such as suck in all 
That do approach you. 

Pec. Who hath changed my servant ? 

P.jun. Yourself, who drink my blood up with 
your beams, 
As doth the sun the sea ! Pecunia shines 
More in the world than he ; and makes it spring 
Where'er she favors ! please her but to show 
Her melting wrists, or bare her ivory hands, 
She catches still ! her smiles they are love's 

fetters ! 
Her breasts his apples ! her teats strawbeiiies ! 
Where Cupid, were he present now, would cry 
Farewell my mother's milk, here's sweeter nee 
Help me to praise Pecunia, gentlemen ; [tar I 
She is your princess, lend your wits. 

Fit. A lady 
The Graces taught to move ! 

Aim. The Hours did nurse ! 

Fit. AVhose lips are the instructions of all 
lovers. 

Aim. Her eyes their lights, and rivals to the 
stars ! 

Fit. A voice, as if that harmony still spake ! 

Aim. And polish'd skin, whiter than Venus 
foot ! 

Fit. Y''oung Hebe's neck, or Juno's arms ! 

Aim. A hair. 
Large as the morning's, and her breath as sweet 
As meadows after rain, and but new mown t 

Fit. Leda might yield unto her for a face I 

Aim. Hermione for breasts ! 

Fit. Flora for checks ! 

Aim. And Helen for a mouth ! 

P.jun. Kiss, kiss 'cm, princess. 

[Pecunia kisses thenu 

Fit. The pearl doth strive in whiteness with, 
her neck — 

Aim. But loscth by it : here the snow thav/s 
One frost resolves another. [snov/ ; 

Fit. O, she has 
A front too slippery to be looked upon ! 

Aim. And glances that beguile the seer's eyes t 

P.jun. Kiss, kiss again. [Pecuni.a A:*i'ses Alm. 
and Fit.] What says my man of war ? 

Shun. I say she's more than fame can promiso 
of her, # 



506 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



A theme that's overcome with her own matter ! 
Praise is struck blind and deaf and dumb with 
She doth astonish commendation ! [her : 

P.jun. Well pump'd, i'faith, old sailor : kiss 
him. too, 
Though, he be a slug. \_Slie kisses hbn.'\ What 

says my poet-sucker ? 
He's chewing his muse's cvxd, I do see by him. 
Mad. I have almost done. I want but e'en 

to finish. 
Fit. That's the ill lack of all his works still. 
P.jun. What? 

Fit. To begin many works, but finish none. 
F.jun. How does "he do his mistress' work ? 
Fit. Imperfect. 

Aim. I cannot think he finished that. 
F.jun. Let's hear. 

Mad. It is a madrigal ; I affect that kind 
Of poem much. 

P. jun. And thence you have the name. 
Fit. It is his rose, he can make nothing else. 
Mad. 1 made it to the tune the fiddlers play'd, 
That we all liked so well. 

P.jun. Good ! read it, read it. 
Mad. The sun is father of all nietals, you 
know, 
Silver and Gold. 

P.jun. Ay, leave your prologues, say. 
Mad. As bright as is the sun her sire, 

Or earth, her mother, in her best attire, 
Or Mint, the midwife, with her fire. 
Comes forth her grace ! 
F.jun. That Mint, the mid^vife, does well. 
The splendor of the loealthiest mines, 
The stamp and strength of all imperial 

lines, 
Both majesty and beauty shines 
In her sweet face ! 
Fit. That's fairly said of money. 
Look how a torch of taper light. 
Or of that torch' s flame, a beacon bright ; 
P.jun. Good! 

Mad. Now there, I want a line to fini.sh, sir. 
P. jun. Or of that beacon's fire, vioonlight. 
Mad. So takes she j^iace ! 
Fit. 'Tis good. 

Mad. And then I have a saraband 

She "makes good cheer, she keeps full hoards. 
She holds a fair of knights and lords, 
A market of all offices, 
And shojos of honors more or less. 
According to Pecunia's grace. 
The bride hath beauty, blood, a7id 2}lace, 
The bridegroom virtue, valor, wit. 
And wisdom as he stands for it. 
F.jun. Call in the fiddlers. 

Enter the Fiddlers and Nichol.4.s. 
Nick the boy shall sing it. 
Sweet princess, kiss him, kiss them all, dear 
madam, [Pecuxia kisses them. 

And at the close vouchsafe to call them cousins. 
Pec. Sweet cousin Madrigal, and cousin Fit- 
ton, 
My cousin Shunfield, and my learned cousin — 
Pick. Al-manach, though they call him Al- 
manac, 
P, Can. Why, here's tlie prodigal prostitutes 



his mistress ! 



W^side. 



P. jun. And Picklock, he must be a kinicman 
My man of law will teach us all to -n-in, "[too. 
And keep our own. — Old founder ! 

P. Can. Nothing, I su'. 
I am a wretch, a beggar : She the fortunate. 
Can want no kindred ; we the poor know none 

Fit. Nor none shall know by my consent. 

Aim. Nor mine. 

P.jun. Sing, boy, stand here, 

Nich. [sings.^ As bright, §c. [Mimo. 

P. Can. Look, look, how all their eyes 
Dance in their heads, observe; scatter'd with hist, 
At sight of their brave idol ! how they are tickled 
With a light air, the bawdy saraband ! 
They are a kind of dancing engines all, 
And set by nature, thus to run alone 
To every sound ! all things within, without chem, 
Move, but their brain, and that stands still ! mere 

monsters, 
Here m a chamber, of most subtile feet. 
And make their legs in tune, passing the streets ! 
These are the gallant spirits of the age, 
The miracles of the time ! that can cry up 
And down men's Avits, and set what rate on things 
Their half-brain'd fancies please ! now, pox upon 
See how solicitously he learns the jig, [them ! 
As if it were a mystery of his faith. \_Asids. 

Shtcn. A dainty ditty ! 

Fit. O, he's a dainty poet, 
When he sets to it ! 

P.jun. And a dainty scholar ! 

Aim. No, no great scholar : he writes like a 

Shun. Pox o' your scholar ! [gentleman. 

P. Can. Pox o' your distinction ! 
As if a scholar were no gentleman. 
With these, to write like a gentleman, will in time 
Become all one, as to write like an ass. 
These gentleragai ! these rascals ; I am sick 
Of indignation at them. [Aside. 

P.jun. How do you lik't, sir ? 

Fit. 'Tis excellent ! 

Aim. 'Twas excellently sung ! 

Fit. A dainty air ! 

P.jun. What says my Lickfingcr? 

Lick. I am telling mistress Band and mistresu 
Statute, 
"What a brave gentleman you are, and Wax, here ! 
How much 'twere better, that my lady's grace 
Would here take up, sir, and keep house with 

P.jun. AVhat say they ? [3'ou. 

Sta. We would consent, sir, willingly. 

Band. Ay, if we knew her grace had the least 
liking. 

IVax. We must obey her grace's will and 
pleasure. 

P.jun. I thank you, gentlewomen. — Ply 
them, Lickfinger. 
Give mother Mortgage, there 

Lick: Her dose of sack. 
I have it for her, and her distance of hum. 

Pec. Indeed therein, I must confess, dear 
I am a most unfortunate princess. [cousin, 

Aim. And 
You still will be so, when your grace may help it ! 
[ The gallants gather all about Pecunia, 

Mad. Who'd lie in a room with a close-stooL, 
and garlic, 
And kennel with his dogs that had a prince. 
Like this young Pennyboy, to sojourn with ! 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



507 



Shun. He'll let you have your liberty 

A!»i. Go forth, 
Whither you please, and to Avhat company 

3Iad. Scatter yourself amongst us 

P.jun, Hope of Parnassus ! 
Thy ivy shall not wither, nor thy bays ; 
Thou shalt be had into her grace's cellar, 
And there know sack and claret, all December : 
Thy vein is rich, and we must cherish it. 
Poets and bees swarm now a-days ; but yet 
There are not those good taverns, for the one sort, 
As there are flowery fields to feed the other. 
Though bees be pleased with dew, ask little wax, 
That brings the honey to her lady's hive : 
The poet must have wine ; and he shall have it. 

Enter Pennyboy sen. ha-dilij. 

P. sen- Broker ! what. Broker ! 

P. jun. Who's that, my uncle ? 

P. sen.. I am abused ; where is my knave, my 
Broker ? 

Lick. Your Broker is laid out upon a bench, 
yonder ; 
Back hath seized on him, in the shape of sleep. 

Pick. He hath been dead to us almost this 

P. sen. This hour ! [hour. 

P. Can. Why sigh you, sir? 'cause he's at rest? 

P. se«. It breeds my tinrest. 

Lick. Will 3'ou take a cup. 
And try if you can sleep ? 

P. sen. No, cogging Jack, 
Thou and thj' cups too, perish. 

\_Strikes the cup out of his hand. 

Shun. O, the sack ! 

Mad. The sack, the sack ! 

P. Can. A madrigal on sack ! 

Pick. Or rather an elegy, for the sack is gone. 

Pec. Why do you this, sir ? spill the wine, and 
For Broker's sleeping ? [rave, 

P. sen. What through sleep and sack. 
My trust is wrong' d : but I am still awake, 
To wait upon your grace, please you to quit 
This strange lewd company, they are not for you. 

Pec. No, guardian, I do like them very well. 

P. sen. Your grace's pleasure be observ'd ; 
but you. 
Statute, and Band, and Wax will go with me ? 

Sta. Truly, we %A'ill not. 

Band. We will staj', and v/ait hero 
Upon her grace, and this yoirr noble kinsman. 

P. sen. Noble ! how noble ! who hath made 
him noble ? 

P.jun. Why, my most noble Money hath, or 
shall. 
My princess here ; she that, had you but kept 
And treated kindly, Avould have made you noble, 
And wise too : nay, perhaps have done that for 

you. 
An act of parliament could not, made you honest. 
The truth is, uncle, that her grace dislikes 
Her entertainment, 'specially her lodging. 

Pec. Nay, say her jail ! never unfortunate 
princess 
Was used so by a jailor. Ask my women : 
Band, you can tell, and Statute, how he has used 

me, 
Kept me close prisoner, under twenty bolts 

Sla. And forty padlocks 

Band, All malicious engines 



A M-icked smith could forge out of his iron ; 
As locks and keys, shackles and manacles, 
To torture a great lady. 

Sta. He has abused 
Your grace's body. 

Pec. No, he would have done ; 
That lay not in his power : he had the use 
Of our bodies. Band and Wax, and sometimes 

Statute's : 
But once he would have smothered me in a chest, 
And strangled me in leather, but that you 
Came to my rescue then, and gave mo air. 

Sta. For which he cramm'd us up in a close 
All three together, where we saw no sun [box, 
In one six months. 

Wax. A cruel man he is ! 

Band. He has left my fellow Wax out in the 
cold — 

Sta. Till she was stiff as any frost, and crumbled 
Away to dust, and almost lost her form. 

Wax. Much ado to recover me. 

P. sen. Women jecrers ! 
Have you learned too the subtle faculty? 
Come, I will shew you the Avay home, if drink 
Or too full diet have disguised you. 

Band. Troth, 
AVe have not any mind, sir, of return — 

Sta. To be bound back to back 

Band. And have our legs 
Turn'd in, or writh'd about 

Wax. Or else display'd 

Sta. Be lodged with dust and fleas, as we were 

Band. And dieted with dogs- dung, [wont — 

P. sen. Why, you whores, 
Sly bawds, my instruments, what should I call 
Man may think base enough for you ? [you, 

P.jun. Hear you, uncle : 
I must not hear this of my princess' servants. 
And in Apollo, in Pecunia's room. 
Go, get you down the stairs ; home, to your ken- 
As swiftly as you can. Consult your dogs, [nel, 
The Lares of your family ; or believe it, 
The fury of a footman and a drawer 
Hangs over you. 

Shun. Cudgel and pot do threaten 
A kind of vengeance. 

Mad. Barbers are at hand. 

Aim. Washing and shaving will ensue. 

Fit. The pump 
Is not far off; if 'twere, the sink is near, 
Or a good Jordan. 

Mad. You have now no money. 

Shun. But arc a rascal. 

P. sen. I am cheated, robb'd, 
Jeer'd by confederacy. 

Fit, No, you are kick'd. 
And used kindly, as you should be. 

Shun. Spurn'd 
From all commpree of men, who are a cur. 

[They kick him 

Aim. A stinking dog in a doublet, -nith foul 

Mad. A snarling rascal, honce ! [linen, 

Shu}i. Out! 

P. sen. Well, remember, 
I am cozen'd by my cousin, and his whore. 
Bane o' these meetings in Apollo ! 

Lick. Go, sir. 
You will be tost like Block in a blanket, else. 

P.jun. Down with him, Llckfinger. 



5C8 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



P. sen. Saucy Jack, nway : 
Peeunia is a -whore. 

P.Jun. Tlay him down, fidlcrs, 
And drown his noise. [Exeunt P. sen. and Lick- 
FiXGER.] — Who's this ? 

Enter Piediiantle with Pecuxia's 2^ecUffree. 

Fit. O, master Piedmantle ! 

Pie- By your leave, gentlemen. 

Fit. Her grace's herald? 

Aim. No herald yet, a heraldet. 

P.Jun. W'hat'sthat? 

P. Can. A canter. 

Ptjun. O, thou saidst thou'dst prove us all so ! 

P. Can. Sir, here is one will prove himself so. 
So shall the rest, in time. [straight ; 

Pec, My pedigree ? 
I tell you, friend, he must be a good scholar 
Can my descent : I ain of princely race ; 
And as good blood as any is in the mines 
Runs through my veins. I am, every limb, a 

princess ! 
Dutchess of mines was my great-grandmother ; 
And by the father's side, I come from Sol : 
My grandfather was diikc of Or, and match'd 
In the blood-royal of Ophir. 

Pie. Here is his coat. 

Pec. I know it, if I hear the blazon. 

Pie. He bears 
In a field azure, a sun proper, beamy, 
Twelve of the second. 

P. Can. How far is this from canting ? 

P.Jun. Her grace doth understand it. 

P. Ca)i. She can cant, sir. 

Pec. What be these, bezants ? 

Pie. Yes, an't please your grace. 

Pec. That is our coat too, as we come from Or. 
What line is this ? 

Pie. The rich mines of Potosi, 
The Spanish mines in the W'est Indies. 

Pec. This? 

Pie. The mines of Hungary, this of Bai'bary. 

Pec. But this, this little branch ? 

Pie. The AVelsh mine that. 

Pec. I have Welsh blood in me too ; blaze, sir, 
that coat. 

Pie. She bears, an't please you, argent, three 
leeks vert. 
In canton or, and tassell'd of the first. 

P. Can. Is not this canting ? do you under- 
stand him ? 

P. Jun. Not I ; but it sounds v,-cll, and the 
whole thing 
Is rarely painted : I will have such a scroll, 
Whate'er it cost me. 

Pec. AVell, at better leisure 
We'll take a view of it, and so reward you. 

P.Jun. Kiss him, sweet princess, and style 
him a cousin. 

Pec. I will, if you will have it. — Cousin Pied- 
mantle. [She Jiisses him. 

P. Jun. I love all men of virtue, from my prin- 
Unto my beggar here, old Canter. On, [cess 
Oil to thy proof; whom prove you the next 
canter ? 

P. Can. The doctor here ; I Avill proceed with 
When he discourseth of dissection, [the learned. 
Or any point of anatomy ; that he tells you 
Of vena cava, and' of vena porta, 



The meseraics, and the mesenterium : 

What does he else but cant ? or if he run 

To his judicial astrology, 

And trowl the Trine, the Quartile, and the Sex- 

Platic aspect, and Partile, with his Hylog, [tile, 

Or Alchochoden, Cuspes, and Horoscope ; 

Does not he cant ? who here does understand 

Aim. This is no canter, though ! [him 

P. Can. Or when my muster-master 
Talks of his tactics, and his ranks and files, 
His bringers up, his leadors-on, and cries 
Faces about to the right hand, the left, 
Now, as you were; then tells you of redoubts, 
Of cats, and cortines ; doth not he cant ? 

P.Jun. Yes, faith. 

P. Can. My egg-chin'd laureat here, Vt'hen he 
comes forth 
With dimeters, and trimeters, tetrametei's, 
Pentameters, hexameters, catalectics, 
His hyper and his brachy-catalectics. 
His pyrrhics, epitrites, and choriambics ? 
What is all this, but canting ? 

Mad. A rare fellow ! 

Shun. Some begging scholar ! 

Fit. A decay'd doctor, at least ! [rags. 

P.Jun. Nay, I do cherish virtue, thougli in 

P. Can. And you, mas courtier — [To Futox. 

P.Jun. Now he treats of you, 
Stand for til to him fair. 

P. Can. With all your fly-blown projects. 
And looks-out of the politics, your shut faces. 
And reserv'd questions and answers, that you 

game with ; r.s, 
Is't a clear business ? icill it manage tccll ? 
My name must not be used else. Here 'iioill dash - 
Your business has received a taint, — give off, 
I may not 2'>rostitute myself. Tut, tut. 
That little dust I can blow off at pleasure — 
Here's no such mountain, yet, in the ichol-e icork. 
But a light purse may level. — / will tide 
This affair for you; give it freight, and pas- 
sage : — 
And such mint phrase, as 'tis the worst of canting, 
By how much it afiects the sense it has not. 

Fit. This is some other than he seems ! 

P.Jun. How like you him .' 

Fit. This cannot be a canter ! 

P.Jun. But ho is, sir, 
And shall be still, and so shall you be too : 
We'll all be canters. Now I think of it, 
A noble Avhimsy's come into my brain : 
I'll build a college, I and my Peeunia, 
And call it Caxters College : sounds it well ? 

Aim. Excellent ! 

P.Jun. And here stands my father rector, 
And you professors ; you shall all profess 
Something, and live there, with her grace and 
me, [meanSj 

Your founders : I'll endow it with lands and 
And Lickfinger shall be my master-cook. 
What, is he gone ? 

P. Can. And a professor ? 

P.Jun. Yes. 

P. Can, And read Apicius rte re culinaria 
To yoiir brave doxy and you ! 

P. Jun. You, cousin Fitton, 
Sliall, as a courtier, read the politics ; 
Doctor Almanac he shall read Astrology , 
Shunfield shall read the military arts. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



C09 



P. Can. As carving and assaulting the cold 
custard. 

P.jun. And Horace here, the art of poetry. 
His lyrics and hi^ madrigals ; fine songs, 
Which we will have at dinner, steei>'d in claret, 
And against supper, soused in sack. 

Mad. In troth, 
A divine whimsy ! 

S.hiin. And a worthy work, 
Fit for a chronicle ! 

P. Jan, Is it not ? 

Shun. To all ages. 

P. Jim. And Piedmantle shall give us all our 
arms : 
But Picklock, what wouldst thou be ? thou canst 
cant too. 

Pick. In all the languages in W^csminster-hall, 
Pleas, Bench or Chancery. Fe(5-farm, fee-tail, 
Tenant in dower, at will, for term of life. 
By copy of court-roll, knights service, homage. 
Fealty, escuage, soccage, or frank almoigne. 
Grand serjeantry, or burgage. 

P.Jim. Thou appear'st, 
Kict' izojfh; a canter. Thou .shalt read 
All Littleton's Tenures to me, and indeed. 
All my conveyances. 

Pick. And make them too, sir : 
Keep all your courts, be steward of your lands. 
Let all your leases, keep your evidences. 
But first, I must procure and pass your mort- 
main, 
You must have license from above, sir. 

P.Juii. Fear not, 
Pecunia's friends shall do it. 

P. Can. But I shall stop it. 
IThroics off his patched cloJce, S^a. and discovers 

Minself. 
V'our worship's loving and obedient father, 
V'our painful steicard, and lost officer ! 
Who have done this, to try how you would use 
Pecunia when you had her ; which since I see, 
I will take home the lady to my charge. 
And these her ser\-ants, and leave you my cloke, 
To travel in to Beggars-bush ! A seat 
Is built already, furnish'd too, worth twenty 
Of your imagined structures, Canters College. 

Fit. It is his father ! 

Mad, He's aUve, methinks. 

Aim. I knew he was no rogue. 

P. Can. Thou prodigal, 
Was I so careful for thee, to procure 
And plot with my learn' d counsel, master Pick- 
lock, 
This noble match for thee, and dost thou pros- 
titute. 
Scatter thy mistress' favors, throw away 
Her bounties, as they were red-burning coals. 
Too hot for thee to handle, on such rascals. 
Who are the scum and excrements of men ! 
If thou hadst sought out good and virtuous 

persons 
Of those professions, I had loved thee and them : 
For these shall never have that plea against me, 
Or color of advantage, that I hate 
Their callings, but their manners and their vices. 
A worthy courtier is the ornament 
Of a king's palace, his great master's honor ; 
This is a moth, a rascal, a court-rat, 

\ Points to Frrrox. 



That gnaws the commonwealth with broking 

suits. 
And eating grievances ! so, a true soldier. 
He is his country's strength, his sovereign's 

safety. 
And to secure his peace, he makes liimself 
The heir of danger, nay the subject of it. 
And runs those virtuous hazards that this scarc- 
Cannot endure to hear of. [crow 

Shun. You are pleasant, sir. [mantle ; 

P. Can. W'ith you I dare be ! here is Pied- 
'Cause he's an ass, do not I love a herald, 
Who is the pure preserver of descents. 
The keeper fair of all nobility. 
Without which all would run into confusion ? 
Were he a learned herald, I would tell him 
He can give arms and marks, he cannot honor , 
No more than money can make noble : it may 
Give place, and rank, but it can give no virtue : 
And he would thank me for .this truth. This 

dog-leach, 
Y*ou style him doctor, 'cause he can compile 
An almanack, perhaps erect a scheme 
For my great madam's monkey, when't has ta'on 
A glj-ster, and bewray' d the Ephemerides, 
Do I despise a learn'd physician. 
In calling him a quacksalver r or blast 
The ever-living garland, always green. 
Of a good poet, when I say his wreath 
Is pieced and patch' d of dirty wither'd flow- 
Away ! I am impatient of these ulcers, [ers : — 
That I not call you worse. There is no sore 
Or plague but you to infect the times : I abhor 
Your very scent. — Come, ladj-, since my prodigal 
linew not to entertain you to your Avorth, 
I'll see if I have learn'd how to receive you, 
With more respect to you, and your fair train 

here. 
Farewell, my beggar in velvet, for to-day ; 
To-morrow you may f)ut on that grave robe, . 

[Points to his patch'd clo/ce. 
And enter your great work of Canters College, 
Your work, and worthg of a chronicle ! [Exeunt. 

Tat. Why, this was the voorst of all, tlie catas- 
trophe ! 

Cen. The matter began to be good but noio ; and 
he has spoil'd it all icith his beggar there ! 

Mirth. .4 beggarly Jack it is, I loan-ant him, 
and akin to t/ie poet. 

Tat. Like enough, for he Jiad the chiefest paH in 
his ijlag, if you mark it. 

Expect. Absurdity on him, for a huge ovcrgroion 
play-jnaker! why should he make him live again, 
when they and toe all thought him dead? if he had 
left him to his rags, there had been an end of him. 

Tat. Ay, but set a beggar on horseback, he'U 
never lin till he be a gallop. 

Cen. The young heir greio a fine gentleman in 
this last act. 

Expect. So he did, gossip, and kept th/i lest com- 
pany. 

Cen. And feasted them and his mistress. 

Tat. And shew'd her to them all : was not Jealous ! 

Mirth. But very communicative and liberal, and 
began to be magnificent, if the churl his father 
would have let him alone. 

Cen. It was spitefully done of the poet, to make 
the chv.jf take him off in his height, when he tc^s 
going to do all his brave deeds. 



510 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



Expect. To found an academy. 

Tat. Erect a college. 

Expect. Plant his iwofessors, and water his lec- 
tures. 

J*Iirth. With wi7ie, f/ossips, as ho meant to do ; — 
/md then to defraud his purposes ! 

Expect. Kill the hopes of so many toioardly 
young spirits. — 

Tat. As the doctors-- 

Con. And the courtiers ! I jjrotesf I was in love 
with master Fitton : he did wear all he had, from 
ihe hatband to the shoe-tie, so politically, and xcoiild 
stoop, and leer! 

Mirth. And lie so in wait for a piece of wit, like 
a mouse-trap ! 

Expect. Indeed, gossipi, so would the little doctor ; 
all his behavior luas mere glyster. O' my conscience, 
he loould make iny party's physic in the loorld work 
loith his discourse. 

Mirth. I loonder they %oould siijfer it ; a foolish 
old fornicating father to ravish away his son's mis- 
tress. 

Ccn. And her wome.i at once, as he did. 

Tat. I would have f.ovm in his gypsifs face, 
i'faith. 

Mirth. It was a ^^lain piic3 of political incest, 
and loorthy to he brought afors the high com?nis- 
sion of icit. Suppose toe were to censure him ; you 
arc the youngest voice, gossip Tatih, begin. 

Tat. Mairy, I icould have the old coney-eateher 
cozen'd of all he Juts, in the young heir's defence, 
by his learned counsel, master Picklock ! 

Ccn. I lojuld rather the courtier had found out 
some trick to beg him for his estate J 

Expect. Or the captain had courage enough to 
beat him ! 

Ccn. Or the fine Madrigal-man in rhyme, to have 
run him out of the country, like an Irish rat. 

Tat. No, I would have master Piedmantle, her 
gmce's herald, to pluck down his hatchments, re- 
verse his coat armor, and nullify him for no gen- 
tleman. 

Expect. Nay, then, let master doctor dissect him, 
have him opened, and his tripes translated to Lick- 
finger, to make a pirobation-dish of. 

Cen. Tat. Agreed, agreed ! 

Mirth. Faith, I would have him flat disinherited 
by a decree of court, bound to make restitution of 
the lady Pecunia, and the use of her body, to his 
son. 

Expect. And her train to the gentlemen, 

Cen. And both the poet, and himself, to ask them 
all forgiveness ! 

Tat. And us too. 

Cen. In two large sheets of paper 

Expect. Or to stand in a skin of 2Kirchmont, 
which the court please. 

Cen. And those fill' d with newsl 

Mirth. And dedicated to the sustaining of the 
Staple ! 

Expect. Which their pMt hath let fall most ab- 
ruptly. 

IMirth. Bankrwptly indeed. 

Cen. You say wittily, gossip; and therefore lot 
a protest go out against him. 

Mirth. A mournival of protests, or a gleek, at 
hast. 

Expect. In all our names. 
Cen. For a decay d wit 



Expect. Broken 

Tat. Non-solvent 

Ccn. And for ever forfeit 

Mirth. To scorn of Mirth ! 

Ccn. Censure ! 

Expect. Exjjectation ! 

Tat. Subsign'd, Tattle. Stay, they ccrr.e c.gain. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — Pen-nyboy's Lodgings. 

Enter Penxyboy jun. in the patched and ragged 
cloke his father left him. 
P. Jun. Nay, they are fit, as they had been 
made for me, 
And I am now a thing worth looking at. 
The same I .said I would be in the morning ! 
No rogue, at a comitia of the canters, 
Did ever there become his parent's robes 
Better than I do these. Great fool and beggar! 
Why do not all that are of those societies 
Come forth, and gratulate me one of theirs ? 
ISIethinks I should be on every side saluted, 
Dauphin of beggars, prince of prodigals ! 
That have so fallen under the ears, and ej'es, 
And tongues of all, the fable of the time, 
Matter of scorn, and mark of reprehension ! 
I now begin to see my vanity 
Shine in this glass, reflected by the foil ! — 
Where is my fashioner, my feather man, 
My lincner, perfumer, barber, all 
That tail of riot followed me this morning ? 
Not one ! but a dark solitude about rae, 
Worthy my cloke and patches ; as I had 
The epidemical disease upon me ; 
And I'll sit down with it. 

[Scats himself on the floor. 

Enter Tho. Barber. 

Tho. My master, maker ! [sir 

How do you ? why do you sit thus on the grounds 
Hear you the news ? 

P. jun. No, nor I care to hear none. 
Would I could here sit still, and slip away 
The other one and twenty, to have this 
Forgotten, and the day razed out, expunged 
In every ephemerides, or almanac ! 
Or if it must be in, that time and nature 
Have decreed ; still let it be a day 
Of tickling prodigals about the gills. 
Deluding gaping heirs, losing their loves, 
And their discretions, falling from the favors 
Of their best friends and parents, their own 
And entering the society of canters. [hopes, 

Tho, A doleful day it is, and dismal times 
Are come upon us ! I am clear undone. 

P. jun. How, Tom ? 

Tho. Why, broke, broke ; wretchedly broke. 

P. jun. Ha ! [solv'd. 

Tho. Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dis- 

P.Jun. Ha! 

Tho. Shiver'd, as in an earthquake ! heard you 
not 
The crack and ruins ? we are all blown up l 
Soon as they heard the Infanta was got from 
them, 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



611 



Whom the}'- had so clevoiiroti in thek hopes, 

To be their patroness, and sojonrn with them, 

(Jut emissaries, register, examiner, 

Fle-w into vapor : our grave governor 

Into Q subtler air, and is rcturn'd. 

As we do hear, grand captain of the jeerers. 

I f.nd my fellow melted into butter, 

And si:)oilcd our ink, and so the office vanish'd. 

The last hum that it made, was that your father 

And Picklock are fall'n out, the man of law. 

P. jun. [starting up.] How ! this awakes me 
from my lethargy. 

Tho. And a great suit is like to be between 
them : 
Picklock denies tho feoffment, and the trust, 
Your father says he made of the whole estate 
Unto him, as respecting his mortality. 
When he first laid his late device, to try you. 

P. jun. Has Picklock then a trust ? 

Tho. I cannot tell. 
Here comes the worshipful — ■ — 

[P. jun. makes a sign to Tho., icho retires 
behind the hangings. 

Enter Picklock. 

Pick. What, my velvet heir 
Turn'd beggar in mind, as robes ! 

P. jun. You see what case 
Your, and my father's plots have brought me to. 

Pick. Your father's, you may say, indeed, not 
mine. 
He's a hard-hearted gentleman ; I am sorry 
To see his rigid resolution ! 
That any man should so put off affection. 
And human nature, to destroy his own, 
-And triumph in a victory so cruel ! 
He's fallen out with me, for being yours. 
And calls me knave, and traitor to his trust ; 
Says he will have me thrown over the bar 

P. jun. Have you deserv'd it ? 

Pick. O, good Heaven knows 
My conscience, and the silly latitude of it ; 
A narrow-minded man ! my thoughts do dwell 
All in 'a lane, or line indeed ; n'o turning. 
Nor scarce obliquity in them. I still look 
night forward, to the intent and scope of that 
Which he would go from now. 

P. jun. Had you a trust then? 

Pick. Sir, I had somewhat will keep you still 
lord 
Of all the estate, if I be honest, as 
I hope I shall. My tender scrupuloiis breast 
Will not permit me see the heir defrauded. 
And like an aTien thrust out of the blood. 
The laws forbid that I should give consent 
To such a civil slaughter of a son ! [thee ? 

P. jv,n. Where is the deed ? hast thou it with 

Pick. No. 
It is a thing of greater consequence, 
Tlian to be borne aboiit in a black box. 
Like a Low- Country vorloffe, or Welsh brief. 
It is at Lickfingcr's, under lock and key. 

P. jun. 0, fetch it hither. 

Pick. I have bid him bring it. 
That you might see it. 

P. Jan. Knows he what he brings? 

Pick. No more than a gardener's ass, what 
roots he carries. 

P. jun. I was a sending my father, like an ass, 



A penitent epistle ; but I am glad 
I did not now. 

Pick. Hang him, an austere grape, 
That has no juice, but what is verjuice in him I 

P. jun. I'll shew j'ou my letter. [Exit. 

Pick. Shew me a defiance ! 
If I can now commit father and son. 
And make my profits out of both ; commence 
A suit with the old man for his whole statCp 
And go to law with the son's credit, undo 
Both, both with their own money, it were a pieeo 
Worthy my night-cap, and the gown I wt^ar, 
A Picklock's name in law. — ^Micre are you, sir ? 
What do you do so long ? 

Re-enter Pexxyeoy jun. 

P. jun. I cannot find 
Where I have laid it ; but I have laid it safe. 

Pick. No matter, sir ; trust you unto my Trust, 
'Tis that that shall secure yoTi, an absolute deed I 
And I confess it Avas in trust for you, [him : 
Lest any thing might have happcn'd mortal to 
But there must be a gratitude thought on. 
And aid, sir, for the charges of the suit, 
Which will be great, 'gainst such a mighty man 
As is yoiir father, and a man possest 
Of so much land, Pccunia and her friends. 
I am not able to wage law with him, 
Yet must maintain the thing, as m}' own right, 
Still for your good, and therefore must 'be bold 
To use your credit for moneys. 

P. jun. What thou wilt. 
So we be safe, and the trust bear it. 

Pick. Fear not, 
'Tis he must pay arrearages in the end. [down, 
We'll milk him and Pecunia, draw their cream 
Before he get the deed into his hands. 
My name is Picklock, but he'll find me a padlock. 

Enter Pexnyboy Canter. 

P. Can. How now ! conferring with your 

learned counsel [me? 

Upon the cheat ! Are you of the plot to cozen 

P. jun. What plot.' 

P. Can. Your counsel knows there, master 
Picklock, 
Will you restore the trust yet ? 

Pick. Sir, take patience 
And memory unto you, and bethink you. 
What trust ? Avhere docs't appear ? I have your 

deed ; 
Doth your deed specify any trust ? Is it not 
A perfect act and absolute in law, 
Seal'd and deliver'd before witnesses. 
The day and date emergent ? 

P. Can. But what conference. 
What oaths and vows preceded ? 

Pick. I will tell you, sir. 
Since I am iirged of those ; as I remember, 
You told me you had got a grown estate. 
By griping means, sinisterly 

P. Can. How! 

Pick. And were 
Even weary of it ; if the parties lived 
From whom you had wrested it • 

P. Can. Ha ! 

Pick. You could be glad 
To part with all, for satisfaction : 
But since they had yielded to humanity 



512 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



And tliat just Heaven had sent you for a pun- 
ishment, 
You did acknowledge it, this riotous heir, 
That would bring all to bct^gai-y in the end. 
And daily sow'd consumption where he went — 

P, Can. You would cozen both then ? your 
confederate too ? 

Pick, After a long mature deliberation, 
You could not think where better how to place 

P. Can. Than on you, rascal ? [it 

PicJ:. What j'ou please, in your passion ; 
But with your reason, you will come about, 
And think a faithful and a frugal friend 
To be preferr'd. 

P. Can. Before a son ? 

Pick. A prodigal, 
A tub without a bottom, as you term'd him ! 
For which I might return you a vow or two, 
And seal it ^^■ith an oath of thankfulness, 
I not repent it, neither have I cause ; yet 

P. Can. Forehead of steel, and mouth of 
brass, hath impudence 
Polish'd so gross a lie, and dar'st thou vent it? 
Engine, composed of all mixt metals ! hence, 
I will not change a syllable with thee more, 
Till I may meet thee at a bar in court, 
Before thy judges. 

Pick. Thither it must come, 
Before I part with it to you, or you, sir. 

P. Can. I M'lll not hear thee. 

P.jun. Sir, your ear to me though — 
Not that I see through his perplexed plots, 
And hidden ends ; nor that my parts depend 
Upon the unwinding this so knotted skean, 
Do I beseech your patience. Unto me. 
He hath confest the trust. 

Pick. How ! I confess it ? 

P.jun. Ay, thou false man. 

P. Can. Stand up to him, and confront him. 

Pick. AVhere, when, to whom ? 

P. jwu To me, even now, and here : 
Canst thou deny it ? 

Pick- Can I eat or drink, 
Sleep, wake, or dream, arise, sit, go, or stand. 
Do any thing that's natural ? 

P.jun. Yes, lie 
It seems thou canst, and perjure ; that is natural. 

Pick. O me, what times are these of frontless 
carriage ! 
An egg of the same nest ! the father's bird ! 
It runs in a blood, I see. 

P.jun. I'll stop your mouth. 

Pick. With what ? 

P. jun. With truth. 

Pick. With noise ; I must have witness : 
Where is your witness ? you can produce wit- 
ness ? 

P.jun. As if my testimony were not twenty, 
Balanced with thine ! 

Pick. So say all prodigals. 
Sick of self-love ; but that's not law, young Scat- 

tsrgood : 
1 live by law. 

P.JU71, Why, if thou hast a conscience, 
That is a thousand witnesses. 

Pick, No court 
Grants out a writ of summons for the conscience, 
That I know, nor subpcena, nor attachment. 
I must have witness, and of vour producing. 



Ere this can come to hearing, and it must 
Be heard on oath and witness. 
P.jun, Come forth, Tom ! 

Re-enter Tho. Barber. 
Speak what thou heard'st, the truth, and the 
whole truth, [vaidet ? 

And nothing but the truth. What said this 

Pick. A rat behind the hangings ? 

Tho. Sir, he said. 
It was a trust ! an act, the which your father 
Had will to alter ; but his tender breast 
Would not permit to see the heir defrauded, 
And, nice an alien, thrust out of the blood. 
The laios forbid that he should give consent 
To such a civil slaughter of a son 

P.jun. And talk'd of a gratuity to be given. 
And aid unto the charges of the suit ; 
Which he was to maintain in his own name, 
But for my use, he said. 

P. Can. It is enough. 

Tho, And he loould milk Pecunia, and draxo 
Her cream, before you got the trust again, [doion 

P. Can, Your ears are in my pocket, knave, 
The little while you have them, [go shake 'era 

Pick, You do trust 
To your great purse. 

P. Can. I have you in a purse-net. 
Good master Picklock, with your worming brain, 
And wriggling engine-head of maintenance. 
Which I shall see you hole with very shortly ! 
A fine round head, when those two lugs are oif, 
To trundle through a pillory ! You are sure 
You heard him speak this ? 

P.jun. Ay, and more. 

Tho. Much more. 

Pick. I'll prove yours maintenance and com- 
And sue you all. [bination, 

P. Can. Do, do, my gowned vulture. 
Crop in reversion ! I shall see you quoited 
Over the bar, as bargemen do their billets. 

Pick. This 'tis, when men repent of their good 
deeds. 
And would have 'cm in again — They are al- 
most mad : 
But I forgive their lucida intervalla. 

Enter LlCKFINGER. 

O, Lickfinger ! come hither. 

[Comes forward with Lickfinger; zehile P.jun, 

discovers the plot, aside, to his father, atid thai 

he is in 2^ossession of the deed- 
Where's my writing ? 

Lick, I sent it you, together with your keys. 

Pick, How? 

Lick. By the porter that came for it from you, 
And by the token, you had given mo the keys. 
And bade me bring it. 

Pick, And why did you not ? 

Lick, Why did you send a countermand ? 

Pick. Who, I ? 

Lick, You, or some other j'ou, you put in trust 

Pick, In trust ! 

Lick. Your trust's another self, you know ; 
And without trust, and your trust, how should 

he 
Take notice of your keys, or cf my charge ? 

Pick. Know you the man ? 

Lick. I know he was a porter. 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS 



515 



And a seul'd porter ; for he bore the badge 
Or. liifl breast; I am sure. 

Picl:. I £im lost : a plot ! I scent it. 

Luk. Why, and I sent it by the man yoii sent, 
Vi/liom else I had not trusted. 

Pick. Plague on j'our trust ! 
I am truss'd up among you 

P.jun. Or you may be. 

Pick. In mine own halter ; I have made the 
noose, \_Exit. 

P.jun. What was it, Lickfinger : 

Lick. A writing, sir, 
He sent for't by a token ; I was bringing it, 
Eut that he sent a porter, and he seem'd 
A man of decent carriage. 

P. Can. 'Twas good fortune ! 
To cheat the cheater, Avas no cheat, but justice. 
Put off your rags, and bo yourself again : 
This act of piety and good affection 
Hath partly reconciled me to you. 

P. jiin. Sir • 

P. Can. No vows, no promises ; too much 
protestation 
Makes that suspected oft, we Avould persuade. 

Lick. Hear you the news ? 

P.jun. The office is down, how should we ? 

Lick. But of your uncle .'' 

P.jun. No. 

Lick. He is run mad, sir. , 

P. Can. How, Lickfinger ? 

Lick. Stark staring mad, your brother, 
He has almost kill'd his maid 

P. Can. Now heaven forbid ! 

Lick. But that she is cat-lived and squirrel- 
limb' d. 
With throwing bed-staves at her : he has set 

wide 
His outer doors, and now keeps open house 
For all the passers by to see his justice. 
First, he has api)rchended his two dogs. 
As being of the plot to cozen him ; 
And there he sits like an old worm of the peace, 
Wrapp'd up in furs, at a square table, screwing, 
Examining, and committing the poor curs 
To two old cases of close-stools, as prisons : 
The one of which he calls his Lollard's toAver, 
T'other his Block-house, 'cause his two dogs' 
Are Block and Lollard. [names 

P.jun. This would be brave matter 
Unto the jeerers. 

P. Can. Ay, if so the subject 
Were not so wretched. 

Lick. Sure I met them all, 
I tliink, upon that quest. 

P. Can. 'Faith, like enough : 
The vicious still are swift to show their natures. 
Ill thither too, but with another aim, 
K oil succeed well, and my simples take. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A. Boom in Pennyeoy senior's 
House, 

Pennyeoy sen. discovered sitting at table icith pa- 
pers, (Sfc. before him ; Porter, and Block and 
Lollard (tico dogs.) 
P. stvi. Where are the prisoners ? 
Per. They are forth-coming, sir. 

Or coming forth, at least. 

33 



P. sen. The rogue is drunk, 
Since I committed them to his charge. — Come 

hither. 
Near me, yet nearer ; breathe upon me. [Ha 

synells him.] Wine ! 
Wine o' my worship ! sack, Canary sack ! 
Could not your badge have been drunk with 

fulsom ale. 
Or beer, the porter's element ? but sack ! 

Por. I am not drunk; we' had, sir, but one 
An honest carrier and myself. pint, 

P. sen. Who paid for't ? 
Por. Sir, I did give it him. 
P. sen. What, and spend sixpence ! 
A frock spend sixpence ! sixpence ! 
Por. Once in a year, sir. 

P. sen. In seven years, varlet ! know st thou 
what thou hast done. 
What a consumption thou hast made of a state ? 
It might please heav'n (a lusty knave and young) 
To let thee live some seventy yeai-s longer. 
Till thou art fourscore and ten, perhaps a hun 
dred. [seventy ? 

Say seventy years ; how many times seven in 
Why seven times ten, is ten times seven, mark 

me, 
I will demonstrate to thee on oiy fingers. 
Sixpence in seven year, use upon use. 
Grows in that first seven year to be a twelve- 
pence ; [shillings ; 
That, in the next, two shillings ; the third, four 
The fourth seven year, eight shillings ; the fifth, 

sixteen ; 
The sixth, two and thirty ; the seventh, three 

pound four ; 
The eighth, six poimd and eight; the ninth. 

twelve pound sixteen ; 
And the tenth seven, five and twenty pound 
Twelve shillings. This thou art fallen from by 
thy riot, [sixpence 

Shouldst thou live seventy years, by spending 
Once in the seven : but in a day to Avaste it ! 
There is a sum that number cannot reach ! 
Out of my house, thou pest of prodigality. 
Seed of consumption, hence ! a wicked keeper 
Is oft worse than the prisoners. There's thy 

penny. 
Four tokens for thee. Out, away ! [Exit Por.] 

My do*s 
May yet be innocent and honest : if not, 
I have an entrapping question or two more. 
To put unto them, a cross intergatory, 
And I shall catch them. Lollard ! Peace : 

[He calls forth Lollard. 
What 'whispering was that you had with Mort- 
gage, [Hal 
When you last lick'd her feet ? the truth now. 
Did you smell she was going? Put down thai 

And not, 
Not to return? You are silent : good! And when 
Leap' d you on Statute ? As she locnt forth ? Con- 
sent ! 
There was consent, as she was going forth.* 
'Twould have been fitter at her coming home, 
But you knew that she woula not ? To your tower : 
You are cunning, are you ? I will m.eet your craft 
[Co>7itnits him again 
Block, show your face ; leave your caresses : tell 
me, [Calls forth Slccl. 



514 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



Aiid tell me truly, what affronts do you know 

Wers done Pecunia, that she left my house ? 

A'i>K.e, say you so ? not that you knoxo ? or loill 
know ? 

I fear me, I shall find you an obstinate cur. 

Y/hj- did your fellow Lollard cry this morning ? 

'C'^-use Broker Idck'd him? Why did Broker kick 
him ? 

Because he pist against my lady's goieti ? 

Wiiy, that was no affront, no, no distaste. 

You kneio of none? you are a dissembling tj'kc, 

To your hole again, your Block-house. [Com- 
mits him.'j^ Lollard, arise. 

Where did you lift your leg up last, 'gainst 
what ? [mercy ? 

Are you struck dummercr now, and whine for 

Whoso kirtle was't you gnaw'd too, mistress 
Band's ? 

And Wax's stockings ? Who ? Did Block be- 
scumber 

Statute's ichite suit, with the parchment lace there ; 

And Broker's satin doublet? All will out, 

They had olfGnco, offence enough to qiiit me. 

Appear, Block, foh ! 'tis manifest ; he shows it, 

Should he forswear' t, make all the affidavits 

Against it, that he could afore the bench 

And tvventy juries, he would be convinced. 

He bears an air about him doth confess it. 

Enter Cymbal, Fittox, Shunfield, Almanac, 

and Madrigal behind. 
To piison again, close prison. Not you, Lollard ; 
You may enjoy the liberty of the house : 
And yet there is a quirk come in my head, 
For which I must commit you too, and close. 
Do not repine, it will be better for you — 

Cym. This is enough to make the dogs mad 
too : 
Let's in ujDon him. [ They come forward. 

P. sen. How now, what's the matter ? 
Come you to force the prisoners ? make a rescue ? 

Fit. We come to bail your dogs. 

P, sen. They are not bailable, 
They stand committed without bail or mainprise, 
Your bail cannot be taken. 

Shun. Then the truth is, 
We come to vex you. 

Aim. Jeer you. 

i[ad. Bait you, rather. * 

Cym. A baited usurer will be good flesh. 

Fit. And tender, we are told. 

P. sen. Who is the butcher, 
Amongst you, that is come to cut my tlu'oat ? 

Shun. You would die a calf's death fain; but 
Is meant you. ['tis an ox's 

Fit. To be fairly knock'd o' the head. 

Shun. Yf ith a good jeer or two. 

P. SC71. A.nd from your jav/-bone. 
Den Assinigo ? 

Cym. Shunfield, a jeer ; you have it. 

Shun. 7. do confess, a swasliing blow ; but, 
Snt^rl, 
.You ■oiiat raight play the third dog, for your teeth, 
You have no iVioney now ? 

.Fit. Kcv n&r no Mortgage. 

Aim. I'Tor Band. 

Mad. Ncf Statute. 

Cytn. No, nor blushet Wax. 

P. sen. Nor you no office, as I take it. 



Shun. Cymbal, 
A might)^ jeer ! 

Fit. Pox o' these true jests, 1 say ! 

Mad. He'll turn the better jeerer. 

Aim. Let's upon him. 
And if we cannot jeer him doAvn in wit 

Mad. Let's do't in noise. 

Shuji. Content. 

Mad. Charge, man of war. 

Aim. Lay him aboard. 

Shun. We'll give him a broadside first. 

Fit. Where is your venison now ? 

Cytn. Your red-deer pies ? 

Shun. With j'our baked turkeys r 

Aim. And your partridges ? 

Mad. Your pheasants and fat swans ? 

P. sen. Like you, tiirn'd geese. 

Mad. But such as will not keep your Capitol 

Shun. Y'ou were wont to have your breams — ■ 

Aim. And trouts sent in. 

Cym. Fat carps and salmons. 

Fit. Ay, and now and then, 
An emblem of yourself, an o'ergrown pike. 

P. sen. You are a jack, sir. 

Fit. You have made a shift 
To swallow twenty such poor jacks ere now. 

Aim. If he should come to feed upon pooT 
John — 

Mad. Or turn piye Jack-a-lent after all this ? 

Fit. Tut, he will live like a grasshopper — 

Mad. On dew. [claws. 

Shun. Or like a bear, with licking his own 

Cym. Ay, if his dogs were away. 

Aim. He'll eat them first, 
While they arc fat. 

Fit. Faith, and Avhen they are gone. 
Here's nothing to be seen beyond. 

Cym. Except 
His kindred spiders, natives of the soil. 

Aim. Dust he will have enough here, to biced 
fleas. 

Mad. But by that time he'll have no blood to 
rear them. 

Shun. He will be as thin as a lanthorn, we 
shall see through him. 

Aim. And his gut colon tell his intestine 

P. sen. Rogues ! rascals ! 

[The dogs bark. (Bow, v?ov/ !) 

Fit. He calls his dogs to his aid. 

Aim. O, they but rise at mention of hia tr.pes. 

Cym. Let them alone, they do it not for him. 

Mad. They bark se defendendo. 

Shun. Or for custom. 
As commonly curs do, one for another. 

Enter Lickfinger. 
Lick. Arm, arm you, gentlemen jeerers ! tho 
old Canter 
Is coming in upon you with his forces, 
The gentleman that Avas the Canter. 
Shun. Hence ! 
Fit. Away! 
Cym. What is he ? 
Aim. Stay not to ask questions. 
Fit. He is a flame. 
Shun. A furnace. 
Aim. A consumption. 
Kills where he goes. 

[Cym. Fit. Mad, Alm. and Shun, n/n o^ 



THE STAPLE OF NEWS. 



oU 



LicJc. See ! the whole covey is scatter'd ; 
'Ware, 'ware the hawks ! I love to see them fly. 

Enter Pennyboy Canter, Pennyboy jun., Pe- 

cuNiA, Statute, Band, Wax, and Mortgage. 

P. Can. You see by this amazement and dis- 
traction, 
What your companions were, a poor, affrighted, 
And guilty race of men, that dare to stand 
No breath of truth ; but conscious to themselves 
Of their no-wit, or honesty, ran routed 
At every panic terror themselves bred. 
Where else, as confident as sounding brass. 
Their tinkling captain, Cymbal, and the rest, 
Dare put on any visor, to deride 
The wretched, or with buffoon license jest 
At whatsoe'er is serious, if not sacred. 

P. sen. Who's this ? my brother ! and restored 
to life ! [wits ; 

P. Can. Yes, and sent hither to restore your 
If your short madness be not more than anger 
Conceived for your loss ! which I return you. 
See here, your Mortgage, Statute, Band, and 

Wiix, 
Without your Broker, come to abide with you, 
A.nd vindicate the prodigal from stealing 
Away the lady. Nay, Pecunia herself 
Is come to free him fairly, and discharge 
j^Jl ties, but those of love unto her person, 
To use her like a friend, not like a slave, 
Or like an idol. Superstition 
Doth violate the deity it worships, 
No less than scorn doth ; and believe it, brother. 
The use of things is all, and not the store : 
Surfeit and fulness have kill'd more than famine. 
The sparrow with his little plumage flies. 
While the proud peacock, overcharg'd with 
pens, [train, 

Is fain to sweep the ground with his grown 
And load of feathers. 

P. sen. Wise and honor' d brother ! 
.None but a brother, and sent from the dead, 
As you are to me, could have alter'd me : 



I thank my destiny, that is so gracious. 
Are there no pains, no penalties decreed 
From whence you come, to us that smother 

money 
In chests, and strangle her in bags ? 

P. Can. 0, mighty, 
Intolerable fines, and mulcts imposed, 
Of Avhich I come to warn you : forfeitures 
Of whole estates, if they be known and taken. 

P. sen. I thank you, brother, for the light you 
have given me ; 
I will prevent them all. First, free my dogs, 
Lest what I have done to them, and against law, 
Be a praemunire ; for by Magna Charta 
They could not be committed as close prisoners, 
My learned counsel tells me here, my cook : 
And yet he shew'd me the way first. 

Ltc/c. Who did ? I ! 
I trench the liberty of the subjects ! 

P. Can. Peace, 
Picklock, your guest, that Stentor, hath infected 

you, 
Whom I have safe enough in a wooden collar. 

P. sen. Next, I restore these servants to theii 
lady. 
With freedom, heart of cheer, and countenance j 
It is their year and day of jubilee. 

Onmes. We thank you, su*. 

P. sen. And lastly, to my nephew 
I give my house, goods, lands, all but nay vices, 
And those I go to cleanse : kissing this lady, 
Whom I do give him too, and join their hands. 

P. Can. If the spectators wHl join theirs, wj 
thank 'em. [cunia 

P. jun. And wish they may, as I, enjoy Pe 

Pec. And so Pecunia herself doth wish. 
That she may still be aid unto their uses. 
Not slave unto their pleasures, or a tyrant 
Over their fair desires ; but teach them all 
The golden mean ; the prodigal how to Hve ; 
The sordid and the covetous how to die : 
That, with sound mmd ; this, safe frugality. 

[Exeuni, 



THE EPILOGUE. 



71ms have you seen the maker's double scope, 
To profit and delight ; wherein our hope 
Is, ihour/h the cloiot we do not always 7dt, 
It will not be imputed to his wit : — 
A tree so tried, and bent, as Hwill not start : 
Wor doth he often orach a string of art ; 
Though there may other accidents as strange 



Happen, the weatJier of your looks may change, 

Or some high wind of misconceit arise, 

To cause an alteration in our skies : 

If so, we are sorry, that have so misspent 

Our time and tackle ; yet he''s confident, 

And vows, the next fair day he'll have us shoot 

The same match o\r for him, if you'll come toH. 



THE NEW INN; OR, THE LIGHT HEAET. 



TO THE READEE. 

Ip ftoii be such, I make tlios my patron, and dedicate the piece to thee: if not co rvuch, would I had been IX tht 
charjic o: thy better literature. Howsoever, if thou canst but spell, and join i:.-,y c..nso, tharo isjaore hope of thee, than 
o.'"a hundred fastidious inipertinenls, who were there present tlie fiVst day, yut novcr inado piece.' of their prospect the righl 
v.-aj'. What did tliey come for, then? thou wilt ask me. I will as punctually e.nsv/er: To see, and to be seen: td 
ir.aKe a general muster of themselves in their clothes of credit ; and possess tlie stage against the play : to dislike all, but 
mark nothing. And by their confidence of rising between the acts, in oblique lines, make affidavit to the whole house, 
of their not understanding one scene. Armed with this prejudice, as the stage furniture, or arras-clothes, they were 
there, as spectators, away : for the faces in tlie hangings, and they, beheld alike. So I wish they may do ever; and dc 
trust myself and my book, ratlier to thy rustic candor, than all the pomp of their pride, and solemn ignorance to boot. 
Fate tiiee well, and fall to. Head. Ben Jokson. 

But first, 

THE ARGUMENT. 

The Lord Frampul, a noble gentleman, well educated, and bred a scholar in Oxford, was married young, to a virtuous 
gentIev/o:r.an, Sylly's daugliter of the South, whose worth, though he truly enjoyed, he never could rightly value ; but, 
r.s m?.ny g?een luisbands, (given over to their extravagant delights, and some peccant humors of their own,>occasioned 
in his over-loving wife so deep a melancholy, by his leaving her in the time of her lying-in of her second daughter, she 
having brought him only two daughters, Frances and Laetitia : and (out of her hurt fancy) interpreting that to be a cause 
of her husband's coldness in affection, her not being blest with a son, took a resolution with Iierself, after her month's 
tirrie. and thanksgiving rightly in the church, to quit her home, with a vow never to return, till by reducing her lord, she 
could bring a wished happiness to the family. 

Ke ::; the mean time returning, and hearing of this departure of his lady, began, though over-late, to resent the injury 
he had done her : and out of his cock-brain'd resolution, entered into as solemn a quest of her. Since wlien, neither of 
them had been heard of. But the eldest daughter, Frances, by the title of Lady Frampul, enjoyed the estate, her sister 
briing lost young, and is the sole relict of tlie family. Here begins our Comedy 



ACT L 
This lady, being a brave, bountiful lady, and enjoying 
this free aiid plentiful estate, hath an ambitious disposition 
to be esteemed the mistress of many servants, but loves 
none. And hearing of a femous New-Inn, that is kept by 
a u'crry host, call'd Goodstock, in Barnet, invites some 
lords and gentlemen to wait on her thither, as well to see 
tlie fashions of tlie place, as to make themselves merry, with 
the accidents on the by. It happens there is a melancholy 
gentleman, one Master Lovel, hath been lodged there some 
riays before in the inn, who (unwilling to be seen) is sur- 
piised by the lady, and invited by Prudence, the lady's 
cliauibermaid, who is elected governess of the sports in the 
inn for that day, and install'd their sovereign. Lovel is 
persuaded by the host, and yields to the lady's invitation, 
which concludes the first act. Having revealed his quality 
before to the host. 

ACT IL 
In this. Prudence and her lady express their anger con- 
ceiv'd at the tailor, who had promised to make Prudence a 
new suit, and bring it home, as on the eve, against this day. 
But he failing of his word, the lady had commanded a 
standard of her own best apparel to be brought down; and 
Prudence is so fitted. The lady being put in mind, tliat she 
is there alone witliout other company of women, borrows, 
by the advice of Prue, the host's son of the house, whom 
they dress, with the host's consent, like a lady, and send 
out the coacliman with the empty coach, as for a kins- 
woman of her ladyship's, Mistress Laetitia Sylly, to bear 
her company : who attended with his nurse, an old chare- 
v.'oman in the inn, drest odiy by the host's counsel, is be- 
lieved to be a lady of quality, and so receiv'd, entertain'd, 
and love made to her by the young Lord Beaufort, &c. In 
the mean time the Fly of the Inn is discover'd to Colonel 
Glorious, with the Militia of the house, below the stairs, in 
the Drawer, Tapster, Chamberlain, and Hostler, inferior 
Officers ; with the Coachman Trundle, Ferret, &c. And 
ihe preparation is made to tlie lady's design upon Lovel, his 
upr.ii her, and the sovereign's upon both. 



ACT in. 

Here begins tlie Epilasis, or business of the Play. 
Lovel, by the dexterity and wit of the sovereign of the 
sports, Prudence, having two hours assign'd him of free 



colloquy, and love-making to his mistress, one after dinner, 
the other after supper, the court being set, is demanded by 
the Lady Frampul, what love is : as doubting if there were 
any sucJi power, or no. To whom he, first by definition, 
and after by argument, answers; proving and describing 
the effects of love so vively, as she who had derided the 
name of love before, hearing his discourse, is now so taken 
both with the man and his matter, as she confesseth herself 
enamour'd of liiin, and, but for the ambition she hath to en- 
joy the other hour, had presently declared herself: which 
gives both him and the spectators occasion to think she yet 
dissembles, notwithstanding the payment of her kiss, which 
he celebrates. And the court dissolves, upon news brought 
of a new lady, a newer coacii, and a new coachman call'd 
Barnabj'. 

ACT IV. 

The house being put into a noise, with the rumor of this 
new lady, and there being drinking below in the court, the 
colonel, Sir Glorious, with Bat Burst, a broken citizen, and 
Hodge Huffle, his cliampion ; she falls into their hands, and 
being attended but with one footman, is uncivilly entreated 
by tliem, and a quarrel commenced, but is rescued by tlio 
valor of Lovel ; which beheld by the Lady Frampul, from 
the window, slie is invited up for safety, where coming, 
and conducted by tlie host, her gown is first discovered to 
be the same with the whole suit, which was bespoken for 
Prue, and she herself, upon examination, found to be Pin- 
n^tcia Stuff, the tailor's wife, who was wont to be pre-occu- 
pied in all his customers' best clothes, by the footman iief 
husband. They are both condemned and censured, she stript 
like a doxy, and sent home a-foot. In the interim, the sec- 
ond hour goes on, and the question, at suit of the Lady 
Frampul, is changed from love to valor; which ended, ho 
receives his second kiss, and, by the rigor of the sovereign, 
falls into a fit of melancholy, worse, or more desperate tliati 
the first. 

ACT V. 

Is the catastrophe, or knitting up of all, where Fly brings 
word to the host of the Lord Beaufort's being married pri- 
vately in the New Stable, to the supposed lady, his son 
wliich the host receives as an oman of mirth ; but com 
plains that Lovel is gone to bed melancholic, when Pru 
deuce afipears drest in the new suit, applauded by her lady, 
and employed to retrieve Lovel. The host encounters 
them, with this relation of Lord Besufori's inarriai^e, wliicl. 
is seconded by the Lord Latimer, and rl' I'lr s irv;uUs oi 

5K- 



FROLOGCE. 



THE NEW INN. 



517 



tlie house. In this while, Lord Beaufort conies in, and 
professes it, calls for his bed and bride-bowl to bo made 
veady ; the host forbids both, shew^s wlioni lie hath married, 
and discovers him to be his son, a boy. The lord bride- 
groom confounded, the nurse enters like a frantic bedlamite, 
cries out on Fly, says she is undone in her daughter, who 
is confessed to be the Lord Frarapul's child, sister to the 



other lady, the host to be their father, she h's wife. H 
finding liis children, bestows them one on Level, the otiiel 
on the Lord Beaufort, the Inn upon Fly, who had been a 
gypsy with him ; offers a portion with Prudence, for hel 
wit, which is refused ; and she taken by the Lord Lati- 
mer, to wife ; for the crown of her virtue and goodness. 
And all are contented. 



DEAMATIS PERSONS. 



WITH SOME SHOUT CHARACTEEISII OF THE CHIEF ACTORS. 



GOOBSTOCK. the Iljst, (plaifd well,) alias the Lord Fram- 
PUL. He pretends to be a gentleman and a scholar, neg- 
lected by the times, turns host, and keeps an Inn, the sign 
of the Light-Heart, in Barnet : «j- supposed to have one only 
son, but isfouiid to have none, but two daughters, Frances, 
and LiETITiA, who was lost young, S{c. 

LOVEL, a complete Gentleman, a soldier and a scholar, is a 
melancholy guest in the Inn ; Jirst quarrelVd, after much 
honored and beloved by the host. He is known to have been 
Page to the old Lord BEAUFORT, follow'd him in the 
French wars, after a companion of his studies, and left 
guardian to his son. He is assistid in his love to the Lady 
FrampuL, by the host and the chambermaid PRUDENCE. 
He was one that acted well too. 

Ferret, who is called Stote and Vermin, is Lovel's 

Servant, a fellow of a quick, nimble wit, knows the manners 
and afflictions of people, and can make profitable and timely 
discoveries of them. 

Frank, supposed a hoy, and the hosl^s son, borrowed to be 
drest for a lady, and set up as a stale by PRUDENCE, to 
ca.'cA Beaufort or Latimer, prui^w to ic L.etitia, 
sister to Frances, and Lord Frampul'S younger daugh- 
ter, stolen by a beggar woman, shorn, put into boy's apparel, 
sold to the host, and brought up by him as his son. 

Nurse, a poor Chare-Woman in the Inn, with one eye, that 
tends the boy, is thought the Irish beggar that so!d him, but 
is truly the Lady Frampul, 7vho left her home melancholic, 
and jealous that her lord loved her not, because she brought 
him none but daughters ; and lives unknown to her husband, 
as he to her. 

f ranges, supposed the Lady FraMPUL, being reputed his 
sole daughter and heir, the barony descending upon her, 
is a lady of great fortune, and beauty, but phantastical ; 
thinks nothing a felicity, but to have a multitude of ser- 
vants, and be call'd mistress by them, comes to the Inn 
to be merry, with c chambermaid only, and her servants 
her quests, &c. 



Prudence, the Chambermaid, is elected sovereign of thd 
sports in the Inn, governs all, commands, and so orders, as 
the Lord Latimer is exceedingly taken with her, and takei 
her to his wife, in conclusion. 

Lord Latimer, and Lord Beaufort, are a pair of 
young lords, servants and gKcsts to the Lady Frampul ; 
but as Latimer falls enamour'd of PRUDENCE, so doth 
Beaufort on the boy, the host's son, set up for L^TITIA, 
the younger sislrr, which she proves to be indeed. 

Sir Glorious Tipto, a Knight, and Colonel, hath tht 
luck to think well of hirr.self, without a rival, talks glori- 
ously of any thing, b'ut very seldom is in the right. Hi 
is the lady's guest, ans her servant too ; but this day ut- 
tcrhj neglects his service, or that him. For he is so enam- 
our'd on the Fly of tKs tun, end the Militia below stairs, 
with Hodge Hufflk and Bat Burst, guests that conn 
in, and Trundle, Baenauy, ^c, as no other society 
relisheth with him. 

Fly, is the Parasite of the Inn, visitor- general of the house, 
one that had been a strolling gypsy, but now is reclaim'd, to 
be injlaiiier of the reckonings. 

Pierce, the Drawer, knighted by the Colonel, styled Sit 
Pierce, and Young Anon, one of the chief of the in 
fantry, 

Jordan, the Chamberlain, another of the Militia, and an 
Officer, commands the terlia of the beds. 

Jug, the Tapster, a thoroughfare of news. 

Peck, the Hostler. 

Bat Burst, a broken Citizen, an in-and-in man 

Hodge Huffle, a Clieatcr, his Champion 

Nick Stuff, the Ladies' Tailor. 

Pinnacia Stuff, his Wife. 

Trundle, a Coachman 

Barnaby, a hired Coachman. 

Staggers, the Smith, ) , . „ , 

Tree, the Saddler, \ ""'H ^^'"'^ ""• 



SCENE, — Baknet. 



THE PROLOGUE. 



You are welcome, icelcome all to the Neio Inn : 
Though the old house, ice hope our cheer loill zcin 
Your accejJtation : tee have the same cooh 
Still, and the fat, toho saijs, you shall not look 
hong for your bill of faro, but every dish 
Be serv'd in i' the time, and to your wish : 
If any thing be set to a lorong taste, 
Tis not the meat there, hut the mouth's dis]:laeed, 
Remove but that sick palate, all is well. 
For this tlie secure dresser bad/i me tell, • 

Nothing more hurts just meetings, than a croiod ; 
Or, lolion the expectation' s grown too loud : 
That the nice stomach wotild have this or that. 



And being ask'd, or urged, if knoios not lohat , 
When sharp or sweet, have been too much a feast, 
And both outlived the palate of the guest. 
Beware to bring such appetites to the stage, 
They do confess a weak, sick, queasy age ; 
And a shreiod grudging too of ignorance, 
IV/icn clothes and faces 'hove the men advaiice 
Hear for your health, then, but at any hand, 
Before you judge, vouchsafe to understand. 
Concoct, digest : if then, it do not hit, 
Some are in a consumption of wit. 
Deep he dares say, he toill ivjt think, that all — 
For hectics are net erddcmical. 



618 



THE NEW INN 



- ACT I. 

SCENE I. — A Room in the Inn. 

Enter Host, folloioed by Ferret. 

Host. I am not pleased, indeed, you are in the 
right ; 
Nor is my house pleased, if my sign coyld speak, 
The sign of the Light Heart. There you may 

read it ; 
So may ycur master too, if he look on it. [too : 
Aheartweigh'd with a feather, and outweigh'd 
A brain-child of my own, and I am proud on't ! 
And if his Avorship think, here, to be melancholy, 
In spite of me or my wit, he is deceived ; 
I will maintain the rebus against all humors, 
And all complexions in the body of man. 
That is my word, or in the isle of Britain ! 

Fer. You have reason, good mine host. 

Host. Sir, I have rhyme too. 
Whether it be by chance or art, 
A heavy inirse makes a light heart. 
There 'tis exprest : first, by a purse of gold, 
A heavy purse, and then two turtles, makes, 
A heart with a light stuck in it, a Light Heart. 
Old abbot Islip could not invent better. 
Or prior Bolton with his bolt and ton. 
I am an inn-keeper, and know my grounds. 
And study them ; brain o' man ! I study them. 
I must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, 
And whistling boys to bring my harvest home, 
Or I shall hear no flails thwack. Here, 3'our 

master 
And you have been this fortnight, drawing fleas 
Out of m.y mats, and pounding them in cages 
Cut out of cards, and those roped round with 

pack thread 
Drawn through birdlime, a fine subtility ! 
Or poring through a multiplying-glass, 
Upon a cai^tivated crab-louse, or a cheese-mite 
To be dissected, as the sports of nature. 
With a neat Spanish needle ! speculations 
That do become the age, I do confess ! 
As measuring an ant's eggs with the silk-worm's. 
By a phantastic instrument of thread, 
Shall give you their just difference to a hair ! 
Or else recovering of dead flies with crumbs. 
Another quaint conclusion in the physics. 
Which I have seen you busy at, through the 

key-hole 

But never had the fate to see a fly 

Enter Lovel. 
Alive in j'our cups, or once heard, Drink, mine 
host ! [you. 

Or such a cheerful chirping charm corne irom 
Lov. What's that, what's that ? 
Fer. A bvizzing of mine host 
About a fly ; a murmur that he has. 

Host. Sir, I am telling your Stote here, mon- 
sieur Ferret, - [sir. 
For that I hear's his name, and dare tell you, 
If you have a mind to be melancholy, and 
musty, [stocks, 
There's Footman's inn at the town's end, the 
Or Carrier's place, at sign of the Broken Wain, 
Mansions of state ! take up your harbor there, 



There are both flics arxd fleas, and all variety 
Of vermin, for inspection or dissection. [Heart, 

Lov. W^e have set our rest ui> here, sir, in j'our 

Host. Sir, set your heart at rest, yoxi shall not 
Unless you can be jovial. Braiii of man ! [dolt, 
Be jovial first, and drink, and dance, and drink. 
Your lodging here, and with yoiir daily dumps, 
Is a mere libel 'gain my house and me ; 
And, then, your scandalous commons — 

Lov. Hov/j mine host ! 

Host. Sir, they do scandal me upon the roact 
A poor quotidian rack of mutton, roasted [here, 
Dry to be grated ! and that driven down 
With beer and butter-milk, mingled together, 
Or clarif;.ed whey instead of claret ! 
It is against my freehold, my inheritance, 
Tsly !Magna Charta, cor Icetijicat, 
To drink such balderdash, or bonny-clabber ! 
Give rnc good wine, or catholic, or Christian, 
Wine is the word that glads the heart of man : 
And mine's the house of wine : Sack, says mj 

bush. 
Be merry, and drink sherry ; that's my posie ! 
For I shall never joy in my light heart, 
So long as I conceive a sullen guest. 
Or any thing that's earthy. 

Lov. Humorous host ! 

Host. I care not if I bo. 

Lov. But airy also ! 
Not to defraud you of your rights, or trench 
Upon your privileges, or great charter, 
For those are every hostler's language now, 
Say, you Avere born beneath those smiling stars, 
Have made you lord and owner of the Heart, 
Of the Light Heart in Barnet : suffer us 
W^ho are more saturnine, to enjoy the shade 
Of your round roof yet. 

Host, Sir, I keep no shades 
Nor shelters, I, for either owls or rere-mice. 

Enter I'li-iNK:. 

Fer. He'll make yo":i a bird of night, sir. 

Host. Bless youc child ! — [Aside to Frank. 
You'll make yourselves such. 

Lov. That 5'our son, mine host i 

Host. He's all the sons I have, sir. 

Lov. Pi-etty boy ! 
Goes he to school ? 

Fer. O lord, sir, he prates Latin, 
An it were a parrot, or a play-boy. 

Lov. Thou 
Commend'st him fitly ! 

Fer. To the pitch he flies, sir. 
He'll tell you what is Latin for a looking-glass, 
A beard-brush, rubber, or quick-warming pan. 

Lov. What's that ? 

Fer. A wench, in the inn-phrase, is all these ; 
A looking-glass in her eye, 
A beard-brush with her lij)s, 
A rubber with her hand, 
« And a warming 2>an with her hi2)s. 

Host. This, in your scurril dialect : but my inn 
Knows no such language. 

Fer. That's because, mine host. 
You do profess the teaching him j^o'drself. 

Host. Sir, I do teach him somewhat : by de« 
And with a funnel, I make shift to fill [grees 
The narrow vessel ; he is but yet a bottle. 

Lov. O let liim lose no .time though. 



THE NEW INN. 



519 



Host. Sir, he does not. 

Lov. And less his manners. 

Host. I provide for those too. — 
Come hither, Frank, speak to the gentleman 
In Latin ; he is melancholy : say, 
I long to see him merry, and so -would treat him. 

Pra. Suhtristis visu r.s esse aUquantulhm patri, 
qui to lautc excipere, ctiam ac tractare gestit. 

LoY. Pulchri.. 

Host. Tell him, I fear it bodes us some ill luck, 
His too reserveduess. 

Fra. Veretur pater, ne quid nobis mali ominis 
apportet iste nimis jn'escliisus vuUus. 

Lov. BeM. A fine child ! 
You will not part with him, mine host ? 

Host. Who told you 
I -would not ? 

Lov. I but ask you. 

Host. And I answer 
To whom ? for what ? 

Lov. To mc, to be my page. 

Host. I know no mischief yet the child hath 
To deseryo such a destiny. [done, 

Lov. Why ? 

Host. Go down, boy. 
And get your breakfast. [Exeunt Frank, and 

Ferret.] — Trust mc, I had rather 
Take a fair halter, wash my hands, and hang him 
Myself, make a clean riddance of him, than 

Lov. What? 

Host. Than damn him to that desperate course 
of life. 

Lov. Call you that desperate, Avhich by aline 
Of institution, from our ancestors. 
Hath been derived down to us, and received 
In a succession, for the noblest way 
Of breeding up our youth, in letters, arms. 
Fair mien, discourses, civil exercise, 
And all the blazon of a gentleman ? 
Where can he learn to vault, to ride, to fence, 
To move his body gracefuUer, to speak 
His language purer, or to tune his mind. 
Or manners, more to the harmony of nature. 
Than in these nurseries of nobility ? 

Host. Ay, that was -when the iiursery's self was 
noble. 
And only virtue made it, not the market. 
That titles were not vented at the drum, [ness, 
Or common out-cry ; goodness gave the great- 
And greatness worship : every house became 

An academy of honor,, and those parts 

We see departed, in the practice now 
Quite from the institution. 

Lov. Wiry do you say so, 
Or think so enviously r do they not still 
Learn there the Centaur's skill, the art of Thrace, 
To ride ? or Pollux' mystery, to fence ? 
The Pyrrhic gestures, both to dance and spring 
In armorj to be active for the wars ? 
To study figures, numbers, and proportions. 
May yield them great in counsels, and the arts 
Grave Nestor and the wise Ulysses practised. 
To make their English sweet upon their tongue, 
As reverend Chaucer says ? 

Host. Sir, you mistake ; 
To play sir Pandarus, my copy hath it, 
And carry messages to madame Cressid, 
Instead of backing the brave steed, o' mornings. 
To mount the chambermaid ; and for a leap 



Of the vaulting-horse, to ply the vaulting-house . 
For exercise of arms, a bale of dice, . 
Or two or three packs of cards to shew the cheat, 
And nimbleness of liand ; mistake a cloak 
From my lord's back, and pawn it ; ease his 

pockets 
Of a superfluous watch, or geld a jewel [tons 
Of an odd stone or so ; twinge three or four but- 
From off my lady's gown : these are the arts, 
Or seven liberal deadly sciences 
Of pagery, or rather paganism. 
As the tides run ! to which if he apply him, 
He may, perhaps, take a degree at Tyburn, 
A year the earlier : come, to read a lecture 
Upon Aquinas at St. Thomas a Waterings, 
And so go forth a laurcat in hemp circle ! 

Lov. You are tart, mine host, and talk above 
your seasoning. 
O'er what you seem : it should not come, me- 

thinks, 
Under your cap, this vein of salt and sharpness, 
These strikings upon learning, now and then. 
How long have you, if your dull guest may ask it, 
Drove this quick trade, of keeping the Light 

Heart, 
Your mansion, palace, here, or hostelry ? 

Host. Troth, I was born to somewhat, sir, 
above it. 

Lov. I easily suspect that : mine host, your 

Host. They call mc Goodstock. , [name ? 

Lov. Sir, and you confess it. 
Both in your language, treaty, and your bearing. 

Host. Yet all, sir, arc not sons of the white 
Nor can we, as the songster says, come all [hen : 
To be wrapt soft and warm in fortune's smock. 
When she is pleas 'd to trick ortromp mankind, 
Some may be coats, as in the cards ; but, then, 
Some must be knaves, some varlets, bawds, and 
As aces, duces, cards of ten, to face it [ostlers, 
Out in the game, which all the world is. — 

Lov. But, 
It being in your frce-wiU (as 'twas) to choose 
What parts you would sustain, methinks a man 
Of your sagacity, and clear nostril, should 
Have made another choice, than of a place 
So sordid, as the keeping of an inn : 
Where every jovial tinker, for his chink, 
May cry, ]\Iine host, to cranrbe ! Give us drink ; 
And d3 not slink, but skink, or else you stink. 
Rogue, bawd, and cheater, call you by the 

surnames. 
And known synonyma of your profession. 

Host. But if I be no such,"who then's the rogue, 
In understanding, sir, I mean ? who errs. 
Who tinkles then, or personates Tom Tinker? 
Your weazel here may tell you I taUt bawdy. 
And teach my boy it ; and you may believe him 
But, sir, at your own peril, if I do not ; 
And at his too, if he do lie, and affirm it. 
No slander strikes, less hurts, the innocent. 
If I be honest, and that all the cheat 
Be of myself, in keeping this Light Heart, 
Wh-ere, I imagine all the world's a play ; 
The state, and men's affairs, all passages 
Of life, to spring new scenes ; come in, go out. 
And shift, and vanish ; and if I have got 
A scat to sit at ease here, in mine inn. 
To see the comedy ; and laugh, and chuck 
At the varietv and throng of humors 



520 



THE NEW INN. 



And dispositions, that come justling in 
And out gtill, as tliey one drove hence another ; 
Why will you envy me my happiness ? 
Because you are sad and lumpish ; carry a load- 
stone 
In your pocket, to hang knives on ; or jet rings. 
To entice j'oung straws to leap at them ; are not 

taken 
With the alacrities of an host ! 'Tis more, 
And justlier, sir, my wonder, why you took 
My house up, Fidlers-hall, the seat of noise, 
Ajid mirth, an inn here, to be drowsy in, 
And lodge your lethargy in the Light Heart : 
As if some cloud from court had been your 
harbinger, [charge. 

Or Cheapside debt-books, or some mistress' 
Seeing your love grow corpulent, gave it a diet, 
By absence, some such mouldy passion ! 
Lov. 'Tis guess'd unhappily. \_Aslde. 

Re-enter Feiuiet. 

Fer. Mine host, you're called. 

Host. I come, boys. \_Exit. 

Lov. Ferret, have not j'ou been ploughing 
With this mad ox, mine host, nor he with you ? 

Fer, For what, sir ? 

Lov. Why, to find my riddle out. 

Fer. I hope you do believe, sir, I can find 
Other discourse to be at, than my master. 
With hosts and hostlers. 

Lov. If you can, 'tis well : 
Go down, and see, who they are come in, what 

guests ; 
And bring me word. [Exit Fehret. 

Lov. O love, what passion art thou ! 
So tyrannous and treacherous ! first to enslave, 
And then betray all that in truth do serve thee ! 
That not the wisest, nor the wariest creature. 
Can more dissemble thee, than ho can bear 
Hot burning coals, in his bare palm, or bosom : 
And less conceal, or hide thee, than a flash 
Of enflamed powder, whose whole light doth 
0]x;n to all discovery, even of those [lay it 

Who have but half an eye, and less of nose. 
An host, to find me ! who is, commonly, 
The log, a little of this side the sign-post ; 
Or at the best some round-grown thing, a jug 
Faced with a beard, that fills out to the guests. 
And takes in from the fragments of their jests ! 
But I may wrong this out of suUcnncss, 
Or my mistaking humor : pray thee, phant'sy, 
Be laid again : and, gentle melancholy. 
Do not oppress me ; I will be as silent 
As the tame lover should be, and as foolish. 

Re-enter Host. 
Host. Mj' guest, my guest, be jovial, I beseech 
thee. 
I have fresh golden guests, guests of the game. 
Three coachful ! lords ! and ladies ! new come in ; 
And I M'ill cry them to thee, and thee to them. 
So I can sjDrlng a smile but in this brow. 
That, like the rugged Roman alderman, 
Old master Gross, surnam'd l-lyiy.aaro?. 
Was never seen to laugh, but at an ass. 

Re-enter Ferret. 
Fer. Sir, hero's the lady Frampul. 
Lov. How ! 



Fer. And her train. 
Lord Beaufort, and lord Latimer, the colonel 
Tipto, with mistress Prue, the chambermaid. 
Trundle, the coachman 

Lov. Stop — discharge the house, 
And get my horses ready ; bid the groom 
Bring them to the back gate. [Exit Ferret. 

Host. What mean you, sir ? 

Lov. To take fair leave, mine host. 

Host. I hope, my guest, 
Tliough I have talked somewhat above my share; 
At large, and been in the altitudes, the extrava- 

gants. 
Neither my self nor any of mine have given you 
The cause to quit my house thus on the sudden. 

Lov. No, I afiirm it on my faith. Excuse mc 
From such a rudeness ; I was now beginning 
To taste and love you : and am heartily sorry, 
Any occasion should bo so compelling. 

To urge my abrupt departure thus. But 

Necessity's a tyrant, and commands it. 

Host. She shall command me first to fire my 
bush ; 
Then break up house : or, if that will not serve, 
To break with all the world ; turn country 

bankrupt 
In mine own town, upon the mai'kct-day. 
And be protested for my butter and eggs. 
To the last bodge of oats, and bottle of hay. 
Ere you shall leave me I will break my Heart ; 
Coach and coach-horses, lord and ladies pack : 
All my fresh guests shall stink. I'll pull my 

sign down. 
Convert mine Inn to an alms-house, or a spittle 
For lazars, or switch-sellers ; turn it to 
An academy of rogues ; or give it away 
For a free-school to breed up beggars in. 
And send them to the canting universities. 
Before you leave me ! 

Lov. Troth, and I confess 
I am loth, mine host, to leave you : your ex- 
pressions 
Both take and hold me. But, in case I stay, 
I must enjoin you and your whole family 
To privacy, and to conceal me ; for 
The secret is, I would not willingly 
See, or be seen, to any of this ging, 
Especially the lady. 

Host. Brain o' man ! 
What monster is she, or cockatrice in velvet. 
That kills thus ? 

Lov. O good words, mine host. She is 
A noble lady, great in blood and fortune, 
Fau', and a wit ! but of so bent a phant'sy. 
As she thinks nought a happiness, but to havt 
A multitude of servants ; and to get them, 
Though she be very honest, yet she ventures 
Upon these precipices, that would make her 
Not seem so, to some prying narrow natures. 
We call her, sir, the lady Frances Frampul, 
Daughter and heir to the lord Frampul. 

Host. Who ! 
He that did live in Oxford, first a student, 
And after, married with the daughter of 

Lov. Sylly. 

Host, ilight. 
Of whom the tale went, to turn puppet-master. 

Lov. And travel with young Goose, the 
motion-man- 



THE NEW INN. 



521 



Host. And lie and live with the gipsies half a 
Together, from his wife. [year 

Loo. The very same : 
The mad lord Frampul ! and this same is liis 

aaughter, 
But as cock-brain'd as o'er the father was ! 
There were two of them, Frances and Loetitia, 
But Lcetitia was lost young ; and, as the rumor 
Flew then, the mother upon it lost herself; 
A fond weak woman, went awaj^ in a melan- 
choly. 
Because she brought him none but girls, she 

thought 
Her husband loved her not : and he as foolish. 
Too late resenting the cause given, went after. 
In quest of her, and was not heard of since. 

Host, A strange division of a family ! 

Lov. And scattered as in the great confusion ! 

Host. But yet the lady, the heir, enjoys the 
land ? [sume it 

Lov. And takes all lordly ways how to con- 
As nobly as she can : if clothes, and feasting, 
And the authorised means of riot will do it. 

Host- She shews her extract, and I honor her 
for it. 

Re-enter Ferret, 

Fer. Your horses, sir, are ready ; and the 
Dis [house 

Lov. — Pleased, thou think'st ? 

Fer. I cannot tell ; discharged 
I am sure it is. 

Lov. Charge it again, good Ferret, [how. 

And make unready the horses ; thou know'st 
Chalk, and renew the rondels, I am now 
Resolved to stay. 

Fer. I easily thought so, 
When vou should hear what's purposed. 

Lov. 'What ? 

Fer. To throw 
The house out of the windoAv. 

Host. Brain o' man, 
I shall have the worst of that ! will they not 
throw [pet, 

My household stuff out first, cushions and car- 
Chairs, stools, and bedding ? is not their sport 
my ruin ? 

Lov. Fear not, mine host, I am not of the 
fellowship. 

Fer. I cannot see, sir, how you will avoid it ; 
lliey knov/ already, all, you are iir the house. 

Lov. Who know ? 

Fer. The lords : they have seen me, and en- 

Lov. Why were you seen ? [quired it. 

Fer. Because indeed I had 
No medicine, sii-, to go im'isible : 
No fern-seed in my pocket ; nor ctn opal 
Wrapt in bay-leaf, in my left fist, to charm 
Their eyes with. 

Host. He does give you reasons, [sir,] 
As round as Gyges' ring ; which, say the an- 
cients, 
Was a hoop ring ; and that is, round as a hoop. 

Lov. You will have your rebus still, mine 

Host. I must. [host. 

Fer. My lady too look'd out of the window, 
and call'd me. 
And see where secretary Prue comes from her, 
Employ'd upon some embassy unto you. 



Host. I'll meet her if she come upon em- 
ployment : — 

Enter Phudence. 
Fair lady, welcome, as your host can rr.ake you i 

Pru. Forbear, sir; I am first to have mine 
audience. 
Before the compliment. This gentleman 
Is my address to. 

Host. And it is in state. 

Pru. Isly lady, sir, is glad of the encounter 
To find a servant here, and such a servant, 
Wliom she so values ; with her best respects, 
Desires to be remember'd ; and invites 
Your nobleness to be a part, to-daj', 
Of the society, and mirth intended 
By her, and the young lords, your fellow- 
servants. 
"Who are alike ambitious of enjoying 
The fair request ; and to that end have sent 
Me, their imperfect orator, to obtain it. 
Which if I may, they have elected me. 
And crown'd me, with the title of a sovereign 
Of the day's sports devised in the inn. 
So you be pleased to add your suffrage to it. 

Lov. So I be pleased, my gentle mistress 
Prudence ! 
You cannot think me of that coarse disposition, 
To envy you any thing. 

Host. That's nobly said, 
And like my guest ! 

Lov. I gratulate your honor. 
And should, with cheer, lay hold en any handle 
That could advance it : but for me to think, 
I can be any rag or particle 
Of your lady's care, more than to f^.U her list. 
She being the lady, that professeth still 
To love no soul or body, but for ends, i'this, 

Wliich are her sports ; and is not nice to speak 
But doth proclaim it, in all companies — 
Her ladyship must pardon my Vt-oak counsels. 
And Aveaker will, if I decline to obey her. 

Pru. O, master Level, you must not give 
To all that ladies publicly profess, [credit 

Or talk o' the voice, unto their servants. 
Their tongues and thoughts oft-times lie far 
asunder, [counsels, 

Yet when they please, they have their cabinet- 
And reserv'd thoughts, and can retire them- 
As well as others, [selves 

Host. Ay, the subtlest of us. 
All that is born within a lady's lips 

Pru. Is not the issue of their hearts, mine 

Host. Or kiss, or drink afore me, [host 

Pru. Stay, excuse me ; 
Mine errand is not done. Yet, if her ladyship's 
Slighting, or disesteem, sir, of your service, 
Hath formerly begot any distaste. 
Which I not know of; here I vow unto you, 
Upon a chambermaid's simplicity, 
Beserving still the honor of my lady, 
I will be bold to hold the glass up to her, 
To shew her ladA'ship where she hath crr'd, 
And how to tender satisfaction ; 
So you vouchsafe to prove but the day's venture. 

Host. What say you, sir ? where are you, are 
you within ? [titrikes Lovel on the breast 

Lov. Yes, I will wait upon her and the com 
pany. 



522 



THE NEW INN. 



Host. It is enough, queen Prudence ; I -will 
bring him : 
And on this kiss. — [Kisses her. Exit Prudence.] 
I long'd to kiss a queen. 

Lov. There is no life on earth, but being in 
love ! 
There are no studies, no delights, no business, 
N"o intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul, 
But Avhat is love ! I was the laziest creature, 
The most unprofitable sign of nothing, 
The veriest drone, and slept away my life 
Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love ! 
And now, I can outwake the nightingale, 
Out-watch an usurer, and out-walk him too ; 
Stalk like a ghost, that haunted 'bout a treasure. 
And all that phant'sied treasure, it is love. 

Host. But is your name Love-ill, sir, or Love- 
I would know that. [well ? 

Lov. I do not know't myself, 
Whether it is ; but it is love hath been 
The hereditary passion of oiu- house. 
My gentle host, and, as I guess, my friend : 
The truth is, I have loved this lady long. 
And impotently, with desire enough. 
But no success : for I have still forborne 
To express it, in my person, to her. 

Host. How then ? 

Lov. I have sent her toys, verses, and ana- 
grams. 
Trials of wit, mere trifles she has commended, 
But knew not whence they came, nor could she 
guess. [wooing ! 

Host. This was a pretty riddling Avay of 

Lov. I oft have been too in her company ; 
And look'd upon her a whole day ; admired her ; 
Loved her, and did not tell her so ; loved still, 
Look'd still, and loved ; and loved, and look'd, 

and sigh'd : 
But, as a man neglected, I came off, 
And unregarded 

Host. Could you blame her, sir, 
When you were silent, and not said a word ? 

Lov. O but I loved the more ; and she might 
Best in my silence, had she been [read it 

Host. As melancholic [mute, sir ? 

As you are ! Pray you, why would you stand 

Lov. O, thereon hangs a history, mine host. 
Did j'ou e'or know, or hear of the lord Beaufort, 
Who serv'd so bravely in France ? I was his 

page, 
And ere he died, his friend : I foUow'd him. 
First, in the wars, and, in the times of peace, 
I Avaited on his studies ; which Avere right. 
He had no Arthurs, nor no llosiclecrs. 
No knights o' tlie sun, nor Amadis de Gauls, 
Primalions, Pantagruels, public nothings ; 
Abortives of the fabulous dark cloyster, 
Sent out to poison courts and infest manners ; 
But great Achilles, Agamemnon's acts, 
Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slig];t3, 
Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them 
In his immortal phant'sy, for examples 
Of the heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil, 
That master of the epic poem, limn'd 
Pious yEiicas, his religious prince. 
Bearing his aged parent on his shoulders, [son : 
Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young 
And these he brought to practice, and to use. 
He gave vaa first my breeding, I ackno'wiedgej 



Then shower'd his bounties on me, like tho 

That open-handed sit upon the clouds, [Hours, 

And press the liberality of heaven 

Down to the laps of thankful men ! But then 

The trust committed to me at his death. 

Was above all, and left so strong a tie 

On all my powers, as time shall not dissolve, 

Till it dissolve itself, and bury all ! 

The care of his brave heir, and only son : 

Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful 

Hath cast his first affections on this lady, [lord, 

And though I know, and may piosume her such, 

As, out of humor, Avill return no love ; 

And therefore might indifferently be made 

The courting-stock, for all to practice on. 

As she doth practice on all us, to scorn : 

Yet, out of a religion to my charge. 

And debt profess'd, I have made a self-decree, 

Ne'er to express my person, though my passion 

Burn me to cinders. 

Host. Then you are not so subtle 
Or half so read in love- craft as I took j-ou ; 
Come, come, you are no phosnix ; an you were, 
I should expect no miracle from your ashes. 
Take some advice. Be still that rag of love, 
You are : burn on till you turn tinder. 
This chambermaid may hap to prove the steel, 
To strike a sjjarkle out of the flint, your mis- 
tress. 
May beget bonfires yet ; you do not know, 
What light may be forced out, and from what 
darkness. 

Lov. Nay, I am so resolv'd, as still I'll love, 
Though not confess it. 

Host. That's, sir, as it chances ; 
We'll throw the dice for it : cheer up. 

Lov. I do. [Exeunt^ 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — A Boom in the Lin. 

Enter Lady Frampul, and Prudence pinninr/ on 
her lady's gown. 
Lady F. Come, wench, this suit will serve ; — 
dispatch, make read}' ; 
It was a great deal with the biggest for me, 
Which made me leave it off after once wearing. 
How does it fit ? will it come together ? 
Pru. Hardly. 

Lady F. Thou must make shift with it ; pi-ide 
feels no pain. 
Girt thee hard, Prue. Pox o' this errant tailor, 
He angers me beyond all mark of patience ! 
These base mechanics never keep their word, 
In any thing they promise. 

Pru. 'Tis their trade, madam, [breaking 

To swear and break ; they all grow rich by 
More than their words ; their honesties and 

credits, 
Are still the first commodity they put off. 

Lady F. And worst, it seems ; Avhich makes 
them do it so often. 
If he had but broke with mo, I had not cared. 

But with the company ! the body politic ! 

Pru- Frustrate our whole design, having that 
time, 
And the materials in, so long before I 



THE NEW INN. 



523 



LacJi/ F. And he to fail in all, and disappoint 
The rogue deserves a torture [us ! 

Pru. To be cropp'd 
With his own scissors. 

Ladi/ F. Let's devise him one. 

Priu And have the stumps sear'd up with 
his own searing candle. 

Ladi/ F. Close to his head, to trundle on his 

Ijillow. — [ures. 

I'll have the lease of his house cut out in meas- 

Pru. And he be strangled with them. 

Lady F. No, no life 
I would have touch' d, but stretch'd on his own 

yard 
He should be a little, have the strappado — 

Pru. Or an ell of taffata [fired 

Drawn through his guts, by way of glystcr, and 
With aqua vitae. 

Lady F. Burning in the hand 
With the pressing-iron cannot save him. 

Pni. Yes, 
Now I have got this on ; I do forgive him, 
What robes he should have brought. 

Lady F. Thou art not cruel, 
Although strait-laced, I see, Prue. 

Pru. This is well. 

Lady F. 'Tis rich enough, but 'tis not what I 
meant thee : 
I would have had thee braver than myself, 
And brighter far. 'Twill fit the jilayers yet. 
When thou hast done with it, and yield thee 
somewhat. [sordid 

Pru. Tliat were illiberal, madam, and mere 
In me, to lot a suit of yours come there. 

Lady F. Tut, all are players, and but serve 
the scene, Prue : 
Dispatch ; I fear thou dost not like the province, 
Thou art so long a fitting thyself for it. 
Here is a scarf to make thee a knot finer. 

Pru. You send me a-feasting, madam. 

Lady F. Wear it, wench. 

Pru. Yes ; but with leave of your ladyship, I 
Avould tell you. 
This can but bear the face of an odd journey. 

Lady F. AVhy, Prue ? 

Pru. A lady of your rank and quality. 
To come to a i^ublic inn, so many men. 
Young lords and others, in your company. 
And not a ^voman but myself, a chamber-maid ! 

Lady F. Thou doubt'st to be o'erlaid, Prue, 
fear it not, 
I'll bear my part, and share with thee in the 
venture. 

Pru. O but the censure, madam, is the main. 
What will they say of you, or judge of me, 
To be translated thus, above all the bound 
Of fitness or decorum ? 

Lady F. How now, Prue ! 
Turn'd fool upon the sudden, and talk idly 
In thy best clothes ! shoot bolts and sentences 
To affright babies with ! as if I lived 
To any other scale than what's my own. 
Or sought myself, Avithout myself, from home ! 

Pru. Your ladyship will pardon me my fault ; 
If I have over-shot, I'll shoot no more. 

Lady F. Yes, shoot again, good Prue ; I'll 
have thee shoot. 
And aim, and hit ; I know 'tis love in thee, 
And so I do interpret it. 



Pru. Then, madam, 
I'd crave a farther leave. • 

Lady F. Be it to license. 
It shall not want an ear, Prue. Say, what is it ? 

Pru. A toy I have, to raise a little mirth 
To the design in hand. 

Lady F. Out with it, Prue, 
If it but chime of mirth. 

Pru. Mine host has, madam, 
A pretty boy in the house, a dainty child. 
His son, and is of your ladyship's name, too 

Francis, 
Whom if your ladyship would borrow^ of him, 
And give me leave to dress him as I would. 
Should make the finest lady and kinswoman. 
To keep you company, and deceive my lords. 
Upon the matter, with a fountain of sport. 

Lady F. I apprehend thee, and the source of 
That it may breed ; but is he bold enough, [mirth 
The child, and Avell assured ? 

Pru. As I am, madam : 
Have him in no suspicion, more than me. 
Here comes mine host ; will you but please tc 
Or let me make the motion ? '"ask him. 

Lady F. Which thou wilt, Prue. 

Enter Host. 
Host. Your ladyship, and all your train are 
Lady F. I thank my hearty host. [welcome. 
Host. So is your sovereignty, 
Madam, I wish you joy of your new gown. 
Lady F. It should have been, my host ; but 
Stuff, our tailor. 
Has broke with us ; you shall be of the counsel. 
Pru. He will deserve it, madam. My lady has 
heard 
You have a pretty son, mine host, she'll see him 
Lady F. Ay, very fain ; I pray thee let me 

see him, host. 
Host. Your ladyship shall presently. — 

\_Goes to the door. 
Bid Frank come hither anon, unto my lady. — 
It is a bashful child, homely brought iip. 
In a rude hosteky : but the Light Hearty 
Is now his father's, and it may be liis. 
Here he comes. — 

Enter Frank. 

Frank, salute my lady. 

Fmnk. I do 
What, madam, I am design'd to do, by my bii-tli- 

right. 
As heir of the Light Heart, bid you most wel - 
come. 

Lady F. And I belicA'e your most, my pretty 
Being so emphased by you. [^oy» 

Frank. Your ladyship, madam, 
If you believe it such, are sure to make it. 

Lady F. Prettily answered ! Is your name 

Frank. Yes, m.adam. [Francis ? 

Lady F, I love mine own the better. 

Frank. If I knew yours, 
I should make haste to do so too, good madam. 

Lady F. It is the same with yours. 

Frank. Mine then acknowledges 
The lustre it receives, by being named after. 

Lady F. You will Avin upon me in compli- 

Frank. By silence. [ment 

Lady F. A modest and a fair well-spoken childi 



524 



THE NEW INN. 



Host. Hex ladyship shall have him, sovereign 
Prue, 
Or what I have beside ; divide my Heart 
Between you and youi\ lady : make your use 

of it : ^ 
My house is yours, my son is yours. Behold, 
I tender him to your service ; Frank, become 
What these brave ladies would have you. Only 

this, 
There is a chare-woman in the house, his nurse. 
An Irish woman, I took in a beggar, 
That waits upon him, a poor, silly fool, 
But an irapertinent and sedulous one 
As ever was ; will vex you on all occasions. 
Never be off, or from you, but in her sleep ; 
Or drink which makes it : she doth love him so, 
Or rather doat on him. Now, for her, a shape, 
And we may dress her, and I'll help to fit her. 
With a tuft-taffata cloke, an old French hood, 
And other pieces, hctorogene enough. 

Pru. We have brought a standard of apparel 
down, 
Because this tailor failed us in the main. 

Host. She shall advance the game. 

Pru. About it then, [me. 

And send but Trundle hither, the coachman, to 

Host. 1 shall : but, Prue, let Lovel have fair 
quarter. [Aside. 

Pru. The best. [Exit Host. 

Ladi/ F. Our host, methinks.is very gamesome. 

Pru. How like you the boy ? 

Lady F. A miracle ! 

Pru. Good madam. 
But take him in, and sort a suit for him. 
I'll give our Trundle his instructions ; 
And wait upon your ladyship in the instant. 

Lady F. But,"Prue, what shall we call him, 
Avhen we have drest him ? [^^ill. 

Pru. Illy lady Nobody, any thing, what you 

Lady F. Call him Lsetitia, by my sister's name. 

And so 'UviU mend our mirth too we have in 

hand. [Exit. 

Enter Trundle. 

Pru. Good Trundle, you must straight make 
ready the coach, 
And lead the horses out but half a mile, 
Into the fields, whither you will, and then 
Drive in again, with the coach-leaves put down. 
At the back gate, and so to the back stairs', 
As if you brought in somebody to my lady, 
A kinsvv'oman that she sent for. Make that an- 
swer, 
If you be ask'd ; and give it out in the house so. 

Trun. What trick is this, good mistress secre- 
You'd put upon us ? [tary, 

Pru. Us ! do you speak plural ? 

Trun. Me and my mares are us. 

Pru. If you so join them. 
Elegant Trundle, you may use yotu- figures : 
I can but urge, it is my lady's service. 

Tru)i. Good mistress Prudence, you can urge 
enough ; 
I know you arc secretary to my lady. 
And mistress steward. 

Pru. You will still be trundling. 
And have your wages stopt now at the audit. 

Trun. 'Tis true, you are gentlewoman o' the 
h3rse too ; 



Or what you will beside, Prue. I do think it 
My best t'obey yoii. 

Pru. And I think so too. Trundle. [Exeunt 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Lord Beaufort and Lord Latimer. 

Lord B. Why, here's return enough of both 
our ventures. 
If we do make no more discoverv. 

Lord L. What ? 
Than of this parasite ? 

Lord B. O he's a dainty one ! 
The parasite of the house. 

Lord L. Here comes mine host. 

Enter Host. 

Host. My lords, you both are welcome to the 

Lord B. To the Light Heart, we hope. [Heart. 

Lord L. And merry, I swear. 
We never yet felt such a fit of laughter, [ter'd. 
As your glad Heart hath offered us since we en- 

Lord B. HoAV came you by this property ? 

Host. Who, my Fly ? 

Lord B. Your Fly, if you call him sf» 

Host. Nay, he is that, 
And will be still. 

Lord B. In every dish and pot ? 

Host. In every cup and company, my lords, 
A creature of ail liquors, aU complexions, 
Be the drink what it will, he'll have hi§ sip. 

Lord L. He's fitted Avith a name. 

Host. And he joys in it. 
I had liim when I came to take the Inn here, 
Assigned me over in the inventory. 
As an old implement, a piece of household stuff, 
And so he doth remain. 

Lord B. Just such a thing 
AVe thought him. 

Lord L. Is he a scholar ? 

Host. Nothing less ; 
But colors for it as you see ; wears black, 
And speaks a little tainted, fly-blown Latin, 
After the school. 

Lord B. Of Stratford o' the Bov»- : 
For Lillie's Latin is to him unknown. 

Lord L. What calling has he ? 

Host- Only to call in still, 
Enflame the reckoning, bold to charge a bill, 
Bring up the shot in the rear, as his own word is. 

Lord B. And does it in the discipline of th 
house. 
As corporal of the field, maestro del campo ? 

Host. And visiter general of all the rooms : 
He has form'd a fine militia for the lun too. 

Lord B. And means to publish it ? 

Host. With all liis titles ; 
Some call him deacon Fly, some doctor Fly ; 
Some captain, some lieutenant : but my folks 
Do call him quarter-master Fly, which he is 

Enter Colonel Tipto and Fly 

Tip. Come, quarter-master Fly. 

Host. Here's one already 
Hath got his titles. 

Tip. Doctor. 

F/y. Noble colonel. 
No doctor, yet a poor prr>*'essor of ceremony. 



THE NEW INN. 



525 



Here in the Inn, retainer to the host, 
I discipline the house. 

Tij}. Thou read'st a lecture 
Unto the family here : -when is the day ? 

Fly. Tliis is the day. 

Tlj}. I'll hear thee, and I'll have thee a doctor, 
Thou shalt be one, thou hast a doctor's look, 
A face disputative, of Salamanca. 

Host. Who's this ? 

Lord L. The glorious colonel Tipto, host. 

Lord B. One talks upon his tiptoes, if you'll 
hear him. [Ely- 

Tip. Thou hast good learning in thee ; viacte, 

Flij. And I say made to my colonel. 

Hust. Well macted of them both. 

Lord B. They arc match' d, i'fuith. 

3"/)j. But, Fly, why made? 

Fly. Quasi magis aude, 
My honorable colonel. 

Tip. What a critic ! 

Host. There is another accession, critic Fly. 

Lord L. I fear a taint here in the mathematics. 
They say, lines parallel do never meet ; 
He has met his parallel in wit and school-craft. 

Lord B. They side, not meet, man ; mend your 
metaphor, 
And save the credit of your mathematics. 

Tip. But, Flj% how cam'st thou to be here, 
Unto this Inn ? [committed 

Flij. Upon suspicion of drink, sir. 
I was taken late one night here with the tapster, 
And the under officers, and so deposited. 

Tip. I vAW redeem thee. Fly, and place thee 
With a fair lady. [better, 

Flij. A lady, sweet sir Glorious ! 

Tip. A sovereign lady. Thou shalt be the bird 
To sovereign Prue, queen of our sports, her Flj', 
The Fly in household and in ordinary ; 
Bird of her ear, and she shall wear thee there, 
A Fly of gold, enamell'd, and a school-fly. 

Host. The school then, are my stables, or the 
cellar. 
Where he doth study deeply, at his hours. 
Cases of cups, I do not know how spiced [as 
With conscience, for the tapster and the hostler ; 
Whose horses may be cosen'd, or what jugs 
Fill'd up with froth ? that is his way of learning. 

Tip. What antiquated feather's that that talks ? 

Fly. The worshipful host, my patron, master 
Goodstock, 
A merry Greek, and cants in I^atin comely, 
Spins lilce the parish top. 

Tip. I'll set him up then. — 
Art thou the Dominus ? 

Host. Fac-totum here, sir. 

Tip. Host real of the house, and cap of main- 
tenance ? 

Host. The lord of the Light Heart, sir, cap- 
a-pie ; 
Whereof the feather is the emblem, colonel. 
Put uj) with the ace of hearts. 

Tip. But why in cuerpo ? 
I hate to see an host, and old, in cuerpo. 

Host. Cuerpo ! what's that ? 
Tip. Light-skipping hose and doublet. 
The horse-boy's garb ! poor blank and half blank 
They relish not the gravity of an host, [cuerpo, 
Who should be king at arms, and ceremonies, 
In his own house ; know all, to the gold weights. 



Lord B. Why, that his Fly doth for him here, 
3'our bird. 

Tip. But I Avould do it myself Avere I my host, 
I would not speak unto a cook of quality. 
Your lordship's footman, or my lady's Trundle, 
In cuerpo : if a dog but stay'd below. 
That were a dog of fashion, and well nosed. 
And could present himself; I would put on 
The Savoy chain about my neck, the ruff 
And cuffs of Flanders, then the Naples hat, 
With the Rome hatband, and the Florentine agat 
The Milan sword, the cloko of Genoa, set 
With Brabant buttons ; all my given pieces, 
Except my gloves, the natives of Madrid, 
To entertain him in ; and compliment 
With a tame coney, as with a j^rince that sent it-. 

Host. The same deeds, though, become not 
every man ; 
That fits a colonel will not fit an host. 

Tip. Your Spanish host is never seen in cuer- 
Without his paramentos, cloke and sword, [po, 

Fly. Sir, 
He has the father of swords within, a long sword ; 
Blade Cornish styled of sir llud Ilughdebras. 

Tip. And why a long sword, bully bird ? thy 
sense ? 

Fly. To note him a tall man, and a master of 
fence. [don Lewis ? 

Tip. But doth he teach the Spanish way of 

Fly. No, the Greek master he. 

Tip. What call you him ? 

Fly. Euclid. 

Tip. Fart upon Euclid, he is stale and antic ! 
Give me the moderns. 

Fly. Sir, he minds no moderns, 
Go by, Hicronimo ! 

Tip. What was he ? 

Fly. The Italian, 
That play'd with abbot Antony in the Friars, 
And Blinkinsops the bold. 

Tip. Ay, marry, those 
Had fencing names : What is become of them ? 

Host. They had their times, and we can say, 
they were. 
So had Caranza his ; so had don Lewis. 

Tip, Don Lewis of Madrid is the solo master 
Now of the world. 

Host. But this of the other world, 
Euclid demonstrates. He ! he is for all : 
The only fencer of name, now in Elysium. 

Fly. He does it all by lines and angles, 
colonel ; 
By parallels and sections, has his diagrams. 

Lord B. Wilt thou be flying. Fly ? 

Lord L. At all, why not ? 
The air's as free for a fly as for an eagle, [tion 

Lord B, A buzzard ! he is in his contempla- 

Tip. Euclid a fencei-, and in the Elysium ! 

Host. He play'd a prize last week svith Archi- 
And beat him, I assure you. [medes, 

Tip. Do you assure me ? 
For what ? 

Host. For four i' the hundred. Give mc five. 
And I assure you again. 

Tip. Host peremptory, [this : 

You may be ta'en. But where, whence had you 

Host. Upon the road. A post that came from 
thence. 
Three days ago, here, left it with the ta}:ster. 



526 



THE NEW INN. 



Fly. "Wlio is indeed a thoroughfare of news, 
Jack Jug with the broken belly, a witty fellow ! 

Host. Your bird hero heard him. 

Tij}. Did you hear him, bird ? 

Host. Speak in the faith of a Fly. [Exit. 

Fly. Yes, and he told us 
Of one that was the prince of Orange' fencer. 

Tip, Stevinus ? 

Fly. Sir, the same had challenged Euclid 
At thu'ty weapons more than Archimedes 
E'er saw, and engines ; most of his own inven- 
tion, [this ! 

Tyj. This may have credit, and cliimes reason, 
K any man endanger Euclid, bird. 
Observe, that had the honor to quit Europe 
This forty year, 'tis he. He put down Scaliger. 

Fly. And he was a great master. 

Lord B. Not of fence, Fly. 

Tip. Excuse him, lord, he went on the same 
grounds. [mortals. 

Lord B. On the same earth, I think, with other 

Tip. I mean, sweet lord, the mathematics. 
Basta ! 
When thou know'st more, thou wilt take less 

green honor. 
He had his circles, semicircles, quadrants — 

Fly. Ho writ a book of the quadrature of the 

Tip. Cyclometria, I read [circle — 

Lord B. The title only. 

Lord L. And indice. 

Lord B. If it had one ; of that, quffire ? — 
What insolent, half-witted things these are ! 

Lord L. So are all smatterers, insolent and 
impudent. 

Lord B. They lightly go together. 

Lord L. 'Tis my wonder 
Two animals should hawk at all discourse thus. 
Fly every subject to the mark, or retrieve 

Lord B. And never have the luck to be in the 

Lord L. 'Tis some folks fortune. [right ! 

Lord B. Fortune is a bawd, 
And a blind beggar ; 'tis their vanity, 
And shews most vilely. 

Tip. I could take the heart now 
To write unto don Lewis into Spain, 
To make a progress to the Elysian fields 
Next summer 

Lord B. And persuade him die for fame, 
Of fencing with a shadow ! Where's mine host ? 
I would he had heard this bubble break, i' faith. 

Re-enter Host, ioith Prudence richly dressed, 
Frank as a lady, Nurse, and Lady Frasipul. 

Host. Make place, stand by, for the queen- 
regent, gentlemen ! [sovereign. 

Tip. This is thy queen that shall be, bird, our 

Lord B. Translated Prudence ! 

Pru. Sweet.my lord, hand off: 
It is not now, as when plain Prudence lived, 
And reach'd her ladyship 

Host. The chamber pot. 

Pru. The looking-glass, mine host : lose your 
house metaphor ! 
Y'ou have a negligent memory indeed. 
Speak the host's language. Here is a young lord 
Will make't a precedent else. 

Lord L. Well acted, Prue. 

Host. First minute of her reign ! What Avill 
Forty years hence, God bless her ! [she do 



Pru. If you'll kiss, 
Or compliment, my lord, behold a lady, 
A stranger, and my lady's kinswoman. 

Lord B. I do confess my rudeness, that had 
To have mine eye directed to this beauty, [need 
Frank. It was so little, as it asked a perspicil. 
Lord B. Lady, your name ? 
Frank. My lord, it is Laetitia. 
Lord B. La?titia ! a fair omen, and I take it : 
Let me have still such Lettice for my lips. 
But that of j'our family, lady ? 
Frank. Sylly, sir. 
Lord B. My lady's kinswoman ? 
Frank. I am so honored. 
Host. Already it takes. [Aside to Lady F. 

Lady F. An excellent fine boy. [sir. 

Nurse. He is descended of a right good stock, 
Lord B. What's this, an antiquary .■' 
Host. An antiquity, 
By the dress, you'd swear ! an old Welsh her- 
ald's widow : 
She's a wild Irish born, sir, and a hybride. 
That lives with this young lady a mile off here. 
And studies Vincent against York. 

Lord B. She'll conquer 
If she read Vincent. Let me study her. 

Host. She's perfect in most pedigrees, most 

descents. 

Lord B. A bawd, I hope, and knows to blaze 

a coat. [Aside. 

Host. And judgoth all things with a single eye. 

Fly, come you hither ! no discovery [here, 

Of what you see, to your colonel Toe, cr Tip. 

But keep all close ; though you stand in the way 

o' preferment. 
Seek it ofi" from the road ; no flattery for't, 
No lick-foot, pain of losing your proboscis, 
My liquorish fly. [Aside to Fly. 

Tip. What says old velvet-head ? 
Fly. Ho Avill present me himself, sir, if you 

will not. 
Tip. Who, he present ! what ? whom ? an host, 
a groom. 
Divide the thanks with me ? share in my glories : 
Lay up : I say no more. 

Host. Then silence, sir. 
And hear the sovereign. 
Tip. Hostlers to usurp 
Upon my Sparta or province, as they say ! 
No broom but mine ! 

Host. Still, colonel, you mutter. 
Tip. I dare speuk out, as cuerpo. 

Fly, Noble colonel 

Tip. And carry what I ask 

Host. Ask what you can, sir. 
So it be in the house. 

Tij). I ask my rights and privileges } 
And though for form I please to call't a such 
I have not been accustomed to repulse. 

Pru. No, sweet sir Glorious, you may still 

command — 
Host. And go without. 
Pru. But yet, sir, being the first. 
And call'd a suit, you'll look it sh.ill be such 
As we may grant. 

Lady F. It else denies itself. 

Pru. You hear the opinion of the court. 

Tip, I mind no court opinions. 

Pru. 'Tis my lady's, though. 



THE NEW INN. 



527 



Tip. My lady is a spinster at tho law, 
A ad my petition is of right. 

Pru. ' What is it ? 

Tip. It is for this poor learned bird. 

Host. The fly. [ters. 

Tip. Professor in the Inn, here, of small mat- 

Lord L. How he commends him I 

Host. As to save himself in him. 

Ladi/ F. So do all politics in their commen- 
dations. 

Host. This is a state-bird, and the verier fly. 

Tip. Hear him problem atizo. 

Pru. Elcss US, what's that ? 

Tip. Or syllogize, elenchizc. 

Lady F. Sure, petards 
To blow us lip. 

Lord L. Some enginous strong words. 

Host. He means to erect a castle in the air, 
A.nd make his fly an elephant to carry it. 

Tip. Bird of the arts he is, and Fly by name. 

Pru. Buz ! 

Ilosi. Blow him off, good Prue, they'll mar all 
else. 

Tip. The sovereign's honor is to cherish 

Pru. What, in a fly ? [learning. 

Tip. In any thing industrious. 

Pru. But flies are busy. 

Ladi/ F. Nothing more troublesome, 
Or importune. 

Tip. There's nothing more domestic. 
Tame or familiar, than your fly in cucrpo. 

Host. That is Avhen his wings are cut, he is 
tame indeed, else 
Nothing more impudent and greedy ; licking — 

Ladi/ F. Or saucy, good sir Glorious. 

Pru. Leave your advocateship, 
Except that we shall call you orator Fly, 
And send you down to the dresser and the dishes. 

Host. A good flap tha.t ! 

Pru. Commit you to the steam. 

Ladij F. Or else condemn you to the bottles. 

Pru. And pots. 
There is his quarry. 

Host. He will chirp far better. 
Your bird, below. 

Ladi/ F. And make 5'ou finer music. 

Pri(. His buz will there become him. 

Tip. Come away, 
Buz, in their faces : give them all the buz. 
Dor in their cars and eyes, hum, dor, and buz ! 
I will statuminatc and under-pirop thee. 
If they scorn us, let us scorn them — We'll find 
The thoroughfare below, and qusere him ; 
Leave these relicts, buz : they shall see that I, 
Spite of their jeers, dare drink, and with a Ay. 
[Exeicnt Tipto and Fly. 

Li^rd L. A fair remove at once of two imperti- 
nents ! 
Excellent Prue, I love thee for thy wit. 
No less than state. 

Pru. One must preserve the other. 

Enter Lovel. 
Lady F. Who's here ? 
Pru. O liOvel, madam, your sad servant. 
Ladi/ F. Sad ! he is sullen still, and wears a 
cloud 
About his brows ; I know not how to approach 
hira. 



Pru. 1 will instruct 3'ou, madam, if that be all 
Go to him, and kiss him. 

Ladi/ F. How, Prue ! 

Pru. Go, and kiss him, 
I do command it. 

Ladi/ F. Thou art not A\'ild, wench. 

Pru. No, 
Tame, and exceeding tame, but still your sove- 
reign. 

Ladi/ F. Hath too much bravery made thee 

Pru. Nor proud. [mad 5 

Do what I do eiijoin you. No disputing 
Of my prerogative, with a front, or frown ; 
Do not detract ; jou know the authority 
Is mine, and I wiU exorcise it swiftly. 
If 5'ou provoke me. 

Ladi/ F. I have woven a net 
To snare myself in ! — [To Lovel.] Sir, I am en- 
To tender you a kiss : but do not know [join'd 
Why, or wherefore, only the pleasure royal 

Will have it so, and urges Do not you 

Triumph on my obedience, seeing it forced thus. 
There 'tis. [Kisses him. 

Lov. And welcome. — Was there ever kiss 
That relish'd thus ! or had a sting like this, 
Of so much nectar, but with aloes mixt ! [Aside. 

Pru. No murmuring nor repining, I am fixt. 

Lov. It had, m.ethinks, a quintessence of cither. 
But that which was the better, drown'd the bitter. 
How soon it passed awaj', how unrecover'd 1 
The distillation of another soul 
Was not so sweet ; and till I meet again 
Tliat kiss, those lips, like relish, and this taste, 
Let me turn all consumption, and here waste. 

[Aside. 

Pru. The royal assent is past and canr.o*' alter, 

Ladij F. You'll turn a t3'rant 

Pru. Be not you a rebel. 
It is a name is alike odious. 

Ladi/ F. You'll hear me ? 

Pru. No, not on this argument. 
Would you make laws, and be the first that break 
The example is pernicious in a subject, [them ? 
And of your quality, most. 

Lord L. Excellent princess ! 

Host. Just queen ! 

Lord L. Brave sovereign ! 

Host. A she Trajan, this ! 

Lord B. What is't ? proceed, incemparable 
Prue ; 
I am glad I am scarce at leisure to applaud thee. 

Lord L. It's well for you, you have so happy 
expressions. 

Lady F. Yes, cry her up with acclamations, do, 
And cry mo down ; run all with sovereignty : 
Prince Power v,'iU never want her parasites 

Pru. Nor murmur her pretences : master 
Lovel, 
For so your libel here, or bill of complaint, 
Exhibited, in our high court of sovereignty, 
At this first hour of our reign, declares 
Against this noble lady, a disrespect 
You have conceived, if not received, from her. 

Host. Received ; so the charge lies m our bill, 

Pru. We see it, his learned counsel, leave your 
We that do love our justice above all [planing 
Our other attributes, and have the nearness, 
To know your extraordinary merit. 
As also to discern this lady's goodness, 



528 



THE NEW INN. 



And find how loth she'd be to lose the honor 
And re])ntation she hath had, in having 
So M'orthy a sen^ant, tho' but for few minutes ; 
Do here enjoin — 
Host. Good ! 

Pni. Charge, Avill, and command 
Her ladyship, pain of our high displeasure, 
And the committing an extreme contempt 
Unto the court, our crown, and dignity — 

Host. Excellent sovereign, and egregious Prue ! 
Pri(. To entertain you for a pair of hours, 
Choose, ■\\'hon you please, this clay, A\ith all re- 
And valuation of a principal servant, [spccts, 
To give you all the titles, all the privileges, 
The freedoms, favors, rights, she can bestow — 

Host. Large ample words, of a brave latitude ! 

I'm. Or can be expected, from a lady of honor, 
Or quality, in discourse, access, address — 

Host. Good! 

Pru. Not to give ear, or admit conference 
With any person but yourself: nor there, 
Of any other argument but love, 
And the companion of it, gentle courtship. 
For which your two hours' service, you shall take 
Two kisses. 

Host. Noble! 

Pru. For each hour a kiss. 
To be ta'en freely, fully, and legally. 
Before ns ; in the court here, and our presence. 

Host. E-are ! 

Pru. But those hours past, and the two kisses 
Tho binding caution is, never to hope [paid, 
Renewing of the time, or of the suit. 
On any circumstance. 

Host. A hard condition ! 

Lord L. Had it been easier, I should have 
The sovereign's justice. [suspected 

Host. O you are [a] servant. 
My lord, unto the lady, and a rival : 
In point of law, my lord, you may be challenged. 

Lord L. I am not jealous. 

Host. Of so short a time 
Your lordship needs not, and being done inforo. 

Pru. What is the answer ? 

Host. He craves respite, madam, 
To advise with his learned council. 

Pru. Be you he. 
And go together quickly. 

[LovEL and Host jvaUc aside. 

Lady F. You are no tyrant ! 

Pru. If I be, madam, you were best appeal me. 

Lord L. Beaufort 

Lord B. I am busy, prithee let me alone ; 
I have a cause in hearing too. 

Lord L. At what bar ? 

Lord B. liOve's coxirt of Reqiiests. 

Lord L. Bring it into the sovereignty. 
It is the nobler court, afore judge Prue ; 
The only learned mother of the law, 
And lady of conscience, too ! 

Lord B. 'Tis well enough 
Before this mistress of requests, where it is. 

Host. Let them not scorn you : bear up, mas- 
ter Lovel, [tune. 
And take your hours and kisses, they are a for- 

Lov. Which I cannot approve, and less make 
use of. [use of ? 

Host. Still in this cloud ! why cannot you make 

Lov. Who would be rich to be so soon undone ? 



The beggar's best is wealth he doth not know : 
And, but to shew it him, inflames his want. 
Host. Two hours at height ! 
Lov. That joy is too, too narrow. 
Would bound a love so infinite as mine ; 
And being past, leaves an eternal loss. 
Who so prodigiously affects a feast. 
To fprfcit health and appetite, to see it ? 
Or but to taste a spoonful, would forego 
All gust of delicacy ever after ? 

Host. These, yet, are hours of hope, 
Lov. But all hours following 
Years of despair, ages of misery ! 
Nor can so short a happiness, but spring- 
A world of fear, with thought of losing it ; 
Better be never happy, than to feel 
A little of it, and then lose it ever. 

Host. I do confess, it is a strict injunction'; 
But then the hope is, it may not be kept. 
A thousand things may intervene ; we see 
The wind shift often, thrice a day sometimes 
Decrees may alter upon better motion, 
And riper hearing. The best bow may start, 
And the hand vary. Prue may be a sage 
In law, and yet not sour ; sweet Prue, smooth 
Soft, debonaire, and amiable Prue, [Prue, 

May do as well as rough and rigid Prue ; 
And yet maintain her, venerable Prue, 
Majestic Prue, and sercnissimous Prue. 
Try but one hour first, and as you like 
The loose of that, draw home and prove the other. 

Lov. If one hour could the other happy make, 
I should attempt it. 

Host. Put it on ; and do. 

Lov. Or in the blest attempt that I might die ! 

Host. Ay, marry, there were happiness indeed ! 
Transcendent to the melancholy, meant. 
It were a fate above a monument. 
And all inscription, to die so ! A death 
For emperors to enjoy, and the kings 
Of the rich East to pawn their regions for ; 
To sow their treasure, open all their mines. 
Spend all their spices to embalm their coi-ps, 
And wrap the inches up in sheets of gold, 
That fell by such a noble destiny ! [away, 

And for the wrong to yoxir friend, that fear's 
He rather wrongs himself, following fresh light, 
New eyes to swear by. If lord Beaufort change, 
It is no crime in you to remain constant. 
And upon these conditions, at a game 
So urg'd upon you. 

Pru. Sir, your resolution ? 

Host. How is the lady affected ? 

Pru. Sovereigns use not 
To ask their subjects' suffrage Avherc 'tis due, 
But where conditional. 

Host. A royal sovereign ! 

Lord L. And a rare stateswoman ! I admire hei 
In her new regiment. [bearing 

Host. Come, choose yoiir hours. 
Better be happy for a part of time, 
Than not the whole ; and a short part, than never. 
Shall I appoint them, pronounce for you ? 

Lov. Your pleasure. [dinner ; 

Host. Then ho designs his first hour after 
His second after supper. Say ye, content ? 

Pru. Content. 

Ladi/ F. I am content. 

Host. Content. 



THE NEW INN. 



529 



Frank. Content. 

Lord B. What's that? I am content too. 

Lord L. You have reason, 
Yon had it on the bye, and -we observed it. 

Nur, Trot' I am not content : in fait' I am not. 

Host. Why art not thoii content, good She- 
leenien r 

Kurse. He tank so desperate, and so dcbausht, 
So bandy like a courtier and a lord, 
God bless him, one that tak'tli tobacco. 

Host. Very well mixt ! 
What did he say? 

Nttrse. Nay, nothing to the pnrposh, 
Or very little, nothing at all to purposh- 

Host. Let him alone, Nurse. 

Nurse. I did tell him of Serlj' 
Was a great family come out of Ireland, 
Descended of O Neal, Mac Con, Mac Dcrmot, 
Mac Murrogh, but he raark'd not. 

Host. Nor do I ; 
Good queen of heralds, ply the bottle, and sleep. 

[Exeutit. 



SCENE I. 



ACT III. 



-1 Lower Room in the Lm. 



Enter Col. TrPTO, Fly, and Jug. 

Tiio. I lilie the plot of j'our militia well. 
It is a fine militia, and avcU ordcr'd, 
And the division's neat ! 'twill be desired 
Only, the expressions were a little more Spanish; 
For there's the best militia of the world. 
To call them tertias — tcrtia of the kitchen, 
Tertia of the cellar, tertia of the chamber. 
And tertia of the stables. 

Fly. That I can, sir ; 
And find out very able, fit commanders 
In every tertia. 

Tip. Now you are in the right. 
As in the tertia of the kitchen, yourself, 
Being a person elegant in sauces, 
There to command, as prime maestro del campo. 
Chief master of the palate, for that tertia, 
Or the cook under you ; 'cause you are the 

marshal, 
And the next officer in the field, to the host. 
Then for the cellar, you have young Anon, 
Is a rare fellow — what's his other name ? 

Flij. Pierce, sir. 

Tij). Sir Pierce, I'll have him a cavalier. 
Sir Pierce Anon will pierce us a now hogshead. 
And then your thoroughfare, Jug here, his 

alfarez : 
An able officer, give me thy beard, round Jug, 
I take thee by this handle, and do Love 
One of thy inches. In the chambers, Jordan 
He is the don del campo of the beds. [here ; 
And for the stables, what's his name ? 

Fly. Old Peck. [curt, 

Tip. Maestro del campo. Peck ! his name is 
A monosyllable, but commiands the horse well. 

Fly. O, in an inn, sir, we have other horse, 
Let those troops rest a while. Wine is the horse. 
That we must charge with here. 

Tip. Bring up the troops, 
Or call, sweet Fly ; 'tis an exact militia, 
And thou an exant professor ; Lipsius Fly 
Thou Shalt be call'd. and Jouse ; — 

34 



Enter Feruet and Trundle. 

Jack Ferret, welcome. 
Old trench-master, and colonel of the pioneers, 
What canst thou bolt us now ; a coney or two 
Out of Tom Trundle's burrow, here, the coach\ 
This is the master of the carriages. 
How is thy driving, Tom, good, as it was ? 

Trim. It serves my lady, and our officer Prue. 
Twelve miles an hour ! "rom has the old trundle 
still. 
Tip. I am taken with the family here, fine 
fellows ! 
Viewing the muster-roll. 
T'run. They are brave men. 
Fer. And of the Fly-blown discipline all, the 

quarter-master. 
Tip. The Fly is a rare bird in his profession. 
Let's sip a private pint with him : I Avould have 

him 
Quit this light sign of the Light Heart, my bird. 
And lighter house. It is not for his tall 
And growing gravity, so cedar-like. 
To be the second to an host in cuerpo. 
That knows no elegances : use his own 
Dictamen, and his genius : I would have him 
Fly high, and strike at all. — 

Enter Pierce. 

Here's j'oung Anon too. 
Pierce. What wine is't, gentlemen, white or 
Tij}. ^Vliito, [claret? 

My brisk Anon. 

Pierce. I'll draw you Juno's milk 
That dyed the lilies, colonel. [Exit 

Tip. Do so. Pierce. 

Enter Peck. 

Peck. A plague of all jades, what a clap he has 

Fly. Why, how now, cousin ? [gi'en me ! 

Tip. Who's that ? 

Fer. The hostler. 

Fly. AVhat ail'st thou, cousin Peck ? 

[Takes him asid^: 

Feck. O me, my handles ! 
As sure as you live, sir, he knew perfectly 
I meant to cozen him. He did leer so on me, 
And then he sneer'd, as Avho would say, take 

heed, sirrah ; 
And when he saw our half-peck, which you know 
Was but an old court-dish, lord, how he stamp' d, 
I thought 't had been for joy : wlien suddenly 
He cuts me a back-caper with liis heels, 
And takes me just o' the crupper. Down come I 
And my whole ounce of oats ! Then he ncigh'd 
As if he had a mare by the tail. [out. 

Fly. Troth, cousin. 
You are to blame to use the poor dumb Chris- 
tians 
So cruelly, defraud 'em of their dimenstitn. 
Yonder's the colonel's horse (there I look'd in) 
Keeping our Lady's eve ! the devil a bit 
He has got, since he came in yet ! there he stands 
And looks and looks, but 'tis your pleasure, coj. 
He should look lean enough. 

Peck. He has hay before him. 

Fly. Y'es, but as gross as hemp, and as soon 
will choke him, 
Unless he eat it butter'd. He had four shoes. 



30 



THE NEW INN. 



And good ones, when he came in : it is a -wonder, 
With standing still, he should cast three. 

Peck. Troth, quarter-master. 
This trade is a kind of mystery, that corrupts 
Our standing manners quickly : once a Aveek, 
I meet with such a brush to mollify me. 
Sometimes a brace, to awake my conscience, 
Yet still I sleep securely. 

Fltj. Cousin Peck, 
i'ou must use better dealing, faith, you must. 

PecJc. Troth, to give good example to my suc- 
cessors, 
I could be well content to steal but two girths, 
And now and then a saddle-cloth, change a 
For exercise ; and stay there. [bridle. 

Fly. If you could. 
There were some hope on you, coz: but the 
fate is, [saddles ; 

You are drunk so early, you mistake whole 
Sometimes a horse. 

Peck. Ay, there's 

Re-enter Piekce loith wine. 

Fly. The wine ! come, coz, 
I'll talk with you anon. {They come for xcard. 

Peck. Do, lose no time, 
Good quarter-master. 

Ti}}. There are the horse, come. Fly. 

Fly. Charge, in boys, in — 

Enter Jordan. 

Lieutenant of the ordnance. 
Tobacco and pipes. 

Tip. Who's that ? Old Jordan ! good. 
A comely vessel, and a necessary. 
New scour' d he is : Hero's to thee, marshal Fly ; 
In milk, my young Anon says. [Drinks. 

Pierce. Cream of the grape. 
That dropt from Juno's breasts and sprung the 

lily! 

I can recite your fables. Fly. Here is, too, 
The blood of Venus, mother of the rose ! 

[Music loithin. 

Jar. The dinner is gone up. 

Jug. I hear the whistle. 

Jor. Ay, and the fidlers : We must all go wait. 

Pierce. Pox o' this waiting, quarter-master 
Fly. 

Fly. When chambermaids are sovereigns, wait 
their ladies ; 
Fly scorns to breathe. — 

Peck. Or blow upon them, he. 

Pierce. Old parcel Peck, art thou there ? how 
now, lame ! 

Peck. Yes faith : it is iL halting afore cripples ; 
I have got a dash of a jade here, will stick by me. 

Pierce. O you have had some phant'sj^ fellow 
Some revelation [Peck, 

Peck. What? 

Pierce. To steal the hay 
O^t of the racks again. 

Fly. I told him so, 
When the guests' backs were turn'd. 

Pierce. Or bring his peck, 
The bottom upwards, neap'd with oats ; and cry. 
Here's the best measure upon all the road ! when, 
Y'ou know, the guest put in his hand to feel, 
And smell to the oats, that grated all his fingers 
Upon the wood 



Peck. Itfum ! 

Pierce. And found out your cheat. 

Peck. I have been in the cellai|, Pierce. 

Pierce. You were then there. 
Upon your knees, I do remember it. 
To have the fact conceal'd. I could tell more, 
Soaping of saddles, cutting of horse-tails. 
And cropping — pranks of ale, and hostelry • 

Fly. Which he cannot forget, he says, young 
knight, 
No more than you can other deeds of darkness, 
Done in the cellar. 

Tip. AVell said, bold professor. 

Fer. We shall have some truth explain' d. 

Pierce. We are all mortal. 
And have our visions. 

Peck. Truly, it seems to me. 
That every horse has his whole peck, and tum- 
Up to the ears in litter. [bles 

Fly. When, indeed. 
There's no such matter, not a smell of provender. 

Fer. Not so much straw as would tie up a 
horse-tail. 

Fly. Nor anything in the rack but two old 
cobwebs. 
And so much rotten hay as had been a hen's nest. 

Trun. And yet he's ever apt to sweep the 
mangers ! 

Fer. But puts in nothing. 

Pierce. These are fits and fancies. 
Which you must leave, good Peck. 

Fly. And you must pray 
It may be reveal'd to you at some times 
Whose horse you ought to cozen ; with what 
conscience ; [fer — 

The how, and when : a parson's horse may suf- 

Pierce. Whose master's double beneficed; put 
, in that. 

Fly. A little greasing in the teeth ; 'tis whole- 
And keeps him in a sober shuffle. [some j 

Pierce. His saddle too 
May want a stirrup. 

Fly. And, it may bo sworn, 
His learning lay o' one side, and so broke it 

Peck. They have ever oats in their cloke-bags, 
to affront us. 

Fly. And therefore 'tis an office meritorious, 
To tithe such soundly. 

Pierce. And a grazier's may 

Fer. O, they are pinching puckfists ! 

Trun. And suspicious. 

Pierce. Suffer before the master's face, somi5 
times. 

Fly. He shall think he sees his horse cat half 
a bushel — 

Pierce. When the slight is, rubbing his gums 
with salt 
Till all the skin come off, he shall but mumble, 
Like an old woman that were chewing brawn. 
And drop them out again. 

Tip. Well argued, cavalier. 

Fty. It may do well ; and go for an example. 
But, coz, have a care of understanding horses, 
Horses with angry heels, nobilitj' horses, 
Horses that know the world ; let them have meal 
Till their teeth ake, and rubbing till their ribs 
Shine like a wench's forehead : they are devils 
Will look into your dealings. [else, 

Peck. For mine own j)art. 



6CENE p. 



THE NEW INN. 



531 



The next I cozen of the pampcr'd breed, 
I wish he may fonndred. 

Flij. Foun-der-ed. 
Prolate it right. 

Peck. And of all four, I wish it, 
I love no crupper-compliments. 

Pierce. Whose horse was it r 

Peck. Why, master Burst's. 

Pierce. Is Bat Burst come ? 

Peck. An hour 
He has been here. 

Tip. What Burst ? 

Pierce. Mas Bartolmew Burst. 
One that hath been a citizen, since a courtier, 
And now a gamester : hath had all his whirls, 
And bouts of fortune, as a man would say. 
Once a bat and ever a bat ! a rerc-mouse, 
And bird of twilight, he has broken thrice. 

Tij). Your better man, the Genoway proverb 
Men are not made of steel. [says : 

Pierce. Nor are they bound 
Always to hold. 

Fly. Thrice honorable colonel. 
Hinges will crack. 

Tip. Though they be Spanish iron. 

Pierce. He is a merchant still, adventurer. 
At in-and-in ; and is our thoroughfare's friend. 

Tip. Who, Jug's ? 

Pierce. The same : and a fine gentleman 
Was with him. 

Peck. Master Huffle. 

Pierce. Who, Hodge HufHe ! 

Tip. What's he ? 

Pierce. A cheater, and another fine gentle- 
man, [Huffle, 
A friend o' the chamberlain's, Jordan's. Master 
He's Burst's protection. 

Fli/. Fights and vapors for him. 

Pierce. He will be drunk so civilly — 

Fli/. So discreetly — 

Pierce. And punctually! just at tliis hour. 

Fit/. And then 
Call for his Jordan with that hum and state, 
As if he piss'd the politics. 

Pierce. And sup [silently ! 

With his tuft-taffata night gear, here, so 

Fli/. Nothing but music. 

Pierce. A dozen of bawdy songs. 

Tip. And knows the general this ? 

Fhj. O no, sir ; clormit, 
Dormit /mtronus still, the master sleeps. 
They'll steal to bed. 

Pierce. In private, sir, and pay 
The fidlers with that modesty, next morning. 

Fly. Take a dejeime of muskadel and eggs. 

Pierce. And pack away in their trundling 
cheats, like gipsies. 

Trim. Mysteries, mj'sterics, Ferret. 

Fer. Ay, we see, Trundle, 
What the great officers in an inn maj' do ; 
I do not say the officers of the Crown, 
But the Light Heart. 

Ti/% I'll see the Bat and Huffle. 

Fer. I have some business, sir, I crave your 

Tip. What ? [pardon — 

Fer. To be sober. \Exit. 

Tip. Pox, go get you gone then. 
Trundle shall stay. 

Trun. No, I beseech you, colonel. 



Your lordship has a mind to be drunk jorivate, 
With these brave gallants : I will step aside 
Into the stables, and salute my mares. [Exit, 
Pierce. Yes, do, and sleep with them. — Let 
him go, base whip-stock ; 
He is as drunk as a fish now, almost as dead. 
Tip. Come, I will see the flicker-mouse, my 
Fly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same, fur- 
nishecl as a Tribunal, ^c. 

Music, Enter the Host, iishering Prudence, loho 
takes her seat of judicature, assisted by lord 
Be.a.ufort, and lord Latimer ; the Nurse, 
Frank, Jug, Jordan, Trundle, a7id Ferret. 

Pru. Here set the hour ; but first produce 
the parties ; 
And clear the court : the time is now of price. 
Host. Jug, get you down, and, Trundle, get 
you up, 
Y'ou shall be crier ; Ferret here, the clerk. 
Jordan, smell you without, till the ladies call 

}-ou; 
Take down the fidlers too, silence that noise. 
Deep in the cellar, safe. 

[Exeunt Jug, Jordan, and Musicians. 
Pru. Who keeps the watch ? 
Host. Old Shcelinin, here, is the niadam Tell» 

clock. 
Nurse. No fait' and trot' sweet maister, I 
r fait', I shall. [shall sleep : 

Lord B. I prithee do then, screech-owl. 
She brings to mind the fable of the dragon. 
That kept the Hesperian fruit. Would I could 
charm her ! 
Host. Trundle will do it with his hum. Come 
Precede him Ferret, in the form. [Trundle ; 
Fer. Oj'ez, oyez, oyez. 
Trun. Oyez, oyez, oyez. 

Fer. W^hereas there hath been awarded. 

Trun. Whereas there hath, &c. 

[As Ferret jvoclaiins, Trundle repeats after 
him, at the breaks here, and through the 
rest of this scene. 
Fer. By the queen regent of love, — — 

In this high court of sovereignty, 

Two special hours of address, 

To Herbert Level, appellant, 

Against the lady Frampul, defendant. 

Herbert Level come into the court, 

Make challenge to thy first hour, 

And save thee and thy bail, 

Trun. And save thee, &c. 

Enter Lovel, and ranges himself on the one side. 

Host. Lo, louting, where he comes into the 
court ! 
Clerk of the sovereignty, take his appearance, 
And how accoutred, how design'd he comes ! 

Fer. 'Tis done. Now, crier, call the lady 
And by the name of [Frampul, 
Frances, lady Frampul, defendant, 

Trun. Frances, lady Frampul, &c. 

For- Come into the court. 

Make answer to the award, 

And save thee and thy bail, 

Trun. And save thee, &c. 



532 



THE NEW INN. 



Enter Lady Frampul, and takes her 2)lace on the 
other side. 
Host. She makes a noble and a just appear- 
ance. 
Set it down likewise, and how arm'd she comes. 
Pru. Usher of Love's court, give them [both] 
their oath, 
According to the form, upon Love.'s missal. 
Host. Arise, and lay your hands upon the 
book. 

Herbert Lo\'el, appollant, nnd laily Frances Frampul, de- 
fendant, you shall swear upon the liturgy of Love, Ovid de 
arte aniandi, that you neither have, ne will have, nor in 
any wise bear about you, thing or things, pointed, or blunt, 
within these lists, other tlian what are natural and allow'd 
hy the court: no inchanted arms, or weapons, stones of 
virtue, herb of grace, cliarm, cliaracter, spell, philtre, or 
other power than Love's only, and tlie justness of your 
cause. So help you Love, his mother, and the contents of 
tiiis book : kiss it. [Lov. kisses the hook. 

Beturn unto your seats. — Crier, bid silence. 

Trim. Oyez, oyez, oyez, oyez. 

Fer- In the name of the sovereign of Love, — 

Trun. In the name of the, &c. 

Fer. Notice is given by the court, 

To the appellant, and defendant, 

That the first hour of address proceeds, 

And Love save the sovereigii, 

Trun. And LoA^e save, &c. [prisonment. 

Every man or woman keep silence, pain of im- 

Pru. Do your endeavors in the name of 
Love. [love. 

Lov. To make my first approaches, then, in 

Lady F. Tell us what love is, that we may be 
sure 
There's such a thing, and that it is in nature. 

Lov. Excellent lady, I did not expect 
To meet an infidel, much less an atheist. 
Here in Love's list ! of so much unbelief 
To raise a question of his being ! 

Host. Well charged ! 

Lov. I rather tliought, and Avith religion tliink. 
Had all the characters of love been lost, 
His lines, dimensions, and whole signature 
Razed and defaced, with dull humanity, 
That both his nature, and his essence, might 
Have found their mighty instauration here ; 
Here, Avhere the confluence of fair and good 
Meets to make up all beauty. Eor Avhat else 
Is love, but the most noble, pure affection 
Of what is truly beautiful and fair. 
Desire of union Avith the thing beloA'ed ? 

Lord B. Have the assistants of the court their 
A'otes, 
And Avrit of privilege, to speak them freely ? 

Pru. Yes, to assist, but not to interrupt. 

Lord B. Then I haA^e read somewhere, that 
man and Avoman 
Were, in the first creation, both one piece. 
And being cleft asunder, ever since 
Love Avas an appetite to be rejoin'd. 
As for example [Kisses Prank. 

Nurse. Cramo-cree ! AA'hat mean'sh tou ? 

Lord B. Only to kiss and part. 

Host. So much is laAvful. 

Lord L. And stands Avitli the prerogative of 
Love's court. 

Lov. It is a fable of Plato's, in his banquet, 
And utter' d there by Aristophanes. 



Host. 'Tis Avell remember'd here, and to good 
use. 
But on Avith your description, A\-hat love is : 
Desire of union Avith the thing beloved. 

Lov. I meant a definition. For I make 
The efficient cause, Avhat's beautiful and fair-, 
The formal cause, the appetite of union : 
The final cause, the unioir itself. 
But larger if j-ou'll have it ; by description, 
It is a flame and ardor of the mind. 
Dead, in the proper corps, quick in another's ; 
Transfers the lover into the be-loved. 
The he or she that loves, engraves or stamps 
The idea of Avhat they love, first in themselves '. 
Or hlce to glasses, so their minds take in 
The forms of their beloved, and then reflect. 
It is the likeness of afl'ections. 
Is both the parent and the nurse of love. 
LoA"c is a spiritual coupling of tAvo souls, 
So much more excellent, as it least relates 
Unto the body ; circular, eternal. 
Not feign'd, or made, but born ; and then so 

precious. 
As nought can A^alue it but itself ; so free, 
As nothing can command it but itself ; 
And in itself so round and liberal, 
As AA'here it favors it bestOAvs itself. 

Lord B. And that do I ; here my Avhole self I 
tender, 
According to the practice of the court. 

[To Frank. 

Nurse. Ay, 'tish a naughty practish, a leAvd 
practish, 
Be quiet man, dou shalt not leip her here. 

Lord B. Leap her ! 1 lip her, foolish queen 

at arms, [office ? 

Thy blazon's false : Avilt thou blaspheme thine 

Lov. But Ave must take and understand this 
Along still, as a name of dignity ; [love, 

Not pleasure. 

Host. Mark you that, my light young lord ? 

[To Lord B. 

Lov. True love hath no unAvorthy thought, 
no light. 
Loose, unbecoming appetite, or strain, 
But fixed, constant, pure, immutable. 

Lord B. I relish not these pliilosophica] 
feasts ; 
Give me a banquet of sense, like that of Ovid \ 
A form to take the ej'e ; a voice mine ear ; 
Pure aromatic to my scent : a soft. 
Smooth, dainty hand to touch ; and for my taste, 
Ambrosiac kisses to melt doAvn the palate. 

Lov. They are tlie earthly, loAver form of 
lovers. 
Are only taken Avith Avhat strikes the senses ; 
And love by that loose scale. Although I grant 
We like Avhat's fair and graceful in an object, 
And, true, Avould use it, in the all we tend to, 
Both of our civil and domestic deeds ; 
In ordering of an arm}', in our style. 
Apparel, gesture, building, or Avhat not : 
All arts and actions do afl'ect their beauty. 
But put the case, in travel I may meet 
Some gorgeous structure, a brave frontispiece. 
Shall I stay captive in the outer court, 
Surprised Avith that, and not advance to knoAv 
Vf\\o dwells there, and inhabiteth the house ? 
There is my friendship to be made, Avithin, 



THE NEW INN. 



CSS 



With what can lore me again : not with the 
walls, [cornice. 

Doors, windows, architraves, the frieze, and 
My end is lost in loving of a face. 
An eye, lip, nose, hand, foot, or other part, 
Whose all is but a statue, if the mind 
Move not, which only can make the return. 
The end of love, is to have two made one 
In will, and in affection, that the minds 
Be first inoculated, not the bodies. 
Lord B. Give me the body, if it be a good 
one. [Kisses Feank. 

Frank. Nay, sweet, my lord, I must appeal 
the sovereign 
For better quarter, if 3''ou hold your practice. 
Trim. Silence, pain of imprisonment ! hear 

the court. 
Lov. The body's love is frail, subject to change. 
And alters still with it ; the mind's is firm, 
One and the same, proceedeth first from weigh- 
ing, 
And well examining what is fair and good ; 
Then what is like in reason, fit in manners ; 
That breeds good-will : good-will desire of 
So knowledge first begets benevolence, [union. 
Benevolence breeds friendship, friendship love : 
And where it starts or steps aside from this, 
It is a mere dcgenerous appetite, 
A lost, obhquo, depraved affection. 
And bears no mark or character of love. 

Lady F. How am I changed ! by what al- 
chemy 
Of love, or language, am I thus translated ! 
His tongue is tipt with the plulosopher's stone. 
And that hath touched me through every vein ! 
I feel that transmutation of my blood. 
As I were quite become another creature, 
And all he speaks it is projection. [begin. 

Pru. Well feign'd, my lady : now her parts 
Lord L. And she will act them subtily. 
Pru. She fails me else. 

Lov. Nor do they trespass M'ithin bounds of 
pardon. 
That giving way, and license to their love, 
Divest him of his noblest ornaments. 
Which are his modesty and shaniefacedness : 
And so they do, that have unfit designs 
Upon the parties they pretend to love. 
For what's more monstrous, more a prodigy, 
Than to hear mo protest truth of affection 
Unto a person that I would dishonor ? 
And what's a more dishonor, than defacing 
Another's good with forfeiting mine own ; 
And drawing on a fellowship of sin ? 
From note of which, though for a while, we may 
Be both kept safe by caution, yet the conscience 
Cannot be cleans' d : for what was hitherto 
Call'd by the name of love, becomes destroy'd 
Then, with the fact ; the innocency lost, 
The bating of affection soon- will follow ; 
And love is never true that is not lasting : 
No more than any can be pure or perfect. 
That entertains more than one object. Dixi. 
Lady F. O speak, and speak forever ! let mine 
ear 
Be feasted still, and filled with this banquet ! 
No sense can ever surfeit on such truth, 
It is the marrow of all lovers' tenets ! 
Who hath read Plato, Heliodore, or Tatius, 



Sidney, D'Urfc, or all Love's fathers, like him . 
He's there the Master of the Sentences, 
Their school, their commentary, text, and glosS; 
And breathes the true divinity of love ! 

Pru. Excellent actor, how she hits this pas- 
sion ! 
Lady F. Where have I lived, in heresy, so long 
Out of the congregation of Love, 
And stood irregular, by all his canons ? 
Lord. But do you think she plays ? 
Pru. Upon my sovereignty ; 
Mark her anon. 

Lord L. I shake, and am half jealous. 
Lady F. What penance shall I do to be re- 
ceived. 
And reconciled to the church of Love ? 
Go on procession, barefoot, to his image. 
And say some hundred penitential verses, 
There, out of Chaucer's Troilus and Cressid ? 
Or to his mother's shrine, vow a wax-candle 
As large as the toAvn May-pole is, and pay it ? 
Enjoin me any thing this court thinks fit, 
For I have trespass'd, and blasphemed Love : 
I have, indeed, despised his deity, [not. 

Whom (till this miracle wrought on me) I knew 
Now I adore Love, and would kiss the rushes 
That bear this reverend gentleman, his priest. 

If that would expiate but I fear it will not. 

For, though he bo somewhat struck in years, and 
Enough to be my father, he is wise> [old 

And only wise men love, the other covet. 
I could begin to be in love with him. 
But will not tell him yet, because I hope 
To enjoy the other hour with more delight. 
And prove him farther. 

Pru. Most Socratic lady, 
Or, if you will, u-onic ! give you joy 
Of your Platonic love hero, master Level ! 
But pay him his first kiss yet, in the court, 
Which is a debt, and due : for the hour's run. 
Lady F. How swift is time, and slily steals 
away 
From them would hug it, value it, embrace it ! 
I should have thought it scarce had run ten 

minutes, 
When the whole hour is fled. Here, take your 

kiss, sir, 
"SMiich I most willingly tender you in court. 

[Kisses Lov. 
Lord B. And we do imitate. [Kisses Frank 
Lady F. And I could wish. 
It had been twenty — so the sovereign's 

Poor narrow nature had decreed it so 

Biit that is past, irrevocable, now : 

She did her kind, according to her latitude 

Pru. Beware you do not conjure up a spirit 
You cannot lay. 

Lady F. I dare you, do your worst : [yoti 
Shew me but such an injustice ; I would thank 
To alter your award. 

Lord L. Sure she is serious ! 
I shall have another fit of jealousy, 
I feel a grudging. 

Host. Cheer up, noble guest. 
We cannot guess what this may come to yet ; 
The brain of man or woman is uncertain. 

Lov. Tut, she dissembles ; all is personated, 
And counterfeit comes from her ! if it were not, 
The Spanish monarchy, with both the Indies, 



534 



THE NEW INN. 



Could not buy off the treasure of this kiss, 
Or half give balance for my happiness. 

Host. 'Wh.j, as it is yet, it glads my Light 
Heart 
To see you rouzed thus from a sleepy hunior 
Of drows}', accidental melancholy ; 
And all those brave parts of your soul awake, 
That did before seem drown'd, and buried in you. 
That you express yourself as you had back'd 
The Muses' horse, or got Bellerophon's arms — 

Enter Fly. 
What news with Fly ? 

Fly. News of a newer lady, 
A finer, fresher, braver, bonnier beauty, 
A very bona-roba, and a bouncer. 
In yellow, glistering, golden satm. 

Lady F. Prue, 
Adjourn the court. 

Pru. Cry, Trundle. 

Trim. Oycz, [attendance 

Any man, or woman, that hath any personal 
To give unto the court ; keep the second hour. 
And Love save the sovereign ! [Exeunt, 



ACT IV. 

. SCENE I. — A Room in the Inn. 

Enter Jug, Barnaby, and Jordan. 

Jug. O Barnaby ! [been ? 

Jar. Welcome, Barnaby ! where hast thou 

Bar. In the foul weather. 

Jug. Which has wet thee, Barnaby. 

Bar. As dry as a chip. Good Jug, a cast of thy 
As well as thy. office : two jugs. [name. 

Jug. By and by. [Exit, 

Jor. AVhat lady's this thou hast brought here ? 

Bar. A great lady. ! 
I know no more ; one that will try you, Jordan ; 
She'll find your gage, yoiu" circle, your capacity. 
How does old Staggers the smith, and Tree the 
Keep they their penny club still ? [sadler ? 

Jor. And the old catch too. 
Of W/wop- Bnr?iaby ! 

Bar. Do they sing at me ? 

Jor. They are reeling at it in the parlor now. 

Re-enter Jug loith wine. 
Bar. I'll to them : give me a drink first. 

[Drinks. 
Jor. Where's thy hat ? 

Bar. I lost it by the way — Give me another. 
Jug. A hat ! 
Bar, A drink. [Drinks. 

Jug. Take heed of taking cold, Bar 

Bar. The wind blcw't off at Highgate, and 
my lady 
Would not endure me light to take it up ; 
But made me drive bareheaded in the rain. 
Jor. That she might be mistaken for a count- 
ess ? 
Bar. Troth, like enough ; she might be an 
For aught I know. [o'ergrown dutchess, 

Jug. What, with one man ! 
Bar, At a time. 
They carry no more, the best of them. 



Jor. Nor the bravest. 

Bar. And she is very brave. 

Jor. A stately gown 
And petticoat, she has on ! 

Bar. Have you sj^ied that, Jordan ? 
You are a notable peerer, an old rabbi, 
At a smock's hem, boy. 

Jug. As he is chamberlain. 
He may do that by his place. 

Jor. What is her squire ? 

Bar. A toy, that she allows eight-pence a-day, 
A slight mannet, to port her up and down : 
Come, shew me to my play-fellows, old Staggers, 
And father Tree. 

Jor. Here, this way, Barnaby. [ExeunL 

SCENE II. — The Court of the Inn, 

Enter Tipto, Burst, Hdffle, and Fly. 

Tip. Come, let us take in fresco, here, one 
quart. [stinted. 

Burst. Two quarts, my man of war, let's not be 

Huf. Advance three Jordans, varlet of the 
house. 

Tip. I do not like your JJurst, bird ; he is 
Some shop-keeper he was ? [saucj- : 

Fly. Yes, sir. 

Tijy. I knew it, 
A brokc-wing'd shop-keeper ? I nose them 

straight. 
He had no father, I warrant him, that durst own 

him; 
Some foundling in a stall, or the church-porch ; 
Brought up in the hospital ; and so bound pren- 
tice ; 
Then master of a shop ; then one o* the inquest ; 
Then breaks out bankrupt, or starts alderman : 
The original of both is a church-porch 

Fly. Of some, my colonel. 

Tip. Good faith, of most 
Of your shop citizens : they are rude animals ! 
And let them get but ten mile out of town. 
They out-swagger all the wapentake. 

Fly. What's that r 

Tip. A Saxon word to signify the hundred. 

Burst. Come, lot us drink, sir Gloriou.?, some 
brave health 
Upon our tip-toes. 

Tip. To the health of the Bursts. 

Burst. Why Bursts? 

Tip. WhyTiptos? 

Burst. O, I cry you mercy ! 

Tip. It is sufficient. 

Huf. What is so sufficient .'' 

Tip. To drink to you is sufficient. 

Huf. On what terms ? 

Tip. That you shall give security to pledge 
m.e. 

Huf. So you will name no Spaniard, I wil] 
pledge you. [ever, 

Tip. I rather choose to thirst, and will thirst 
Than leave that cream of nations uncried up. 
Perish all wine, and gust of wine ! 

[ Thrones the wine at him 

Huf. How ! spill it ? 
Spill it at me ? 

Tip. I reck not ; but I spilt it. 

Fly. Nay, pray you be quiet, noble bloods. 



THE NEW INN. 



535 



Burst. No Spaniards, 
I cry, with my cousin Hufflc. 

Iluf. Spaniards ! pilcliers. [sleeps, 

Tij). Do not provoke my patient blade ; it 
And would not hear thee : Iluffle, thovi art rude, 
And dost not know the Spanish composition. 

Burst. What is the recipe ? name the ingre- 

Tip. Valor. [dients. 

Burst. Two ounces ! 

Tqi. Prudence. 

Burst. Half a dram ! 

Tip. Justice. 

Burst. A pennyweight ! 

Tip. Religion. 

Burst. Tlu-ce scruples ! 

Tip. And of gravidad. 

Burst. A face full. 

Tip. He carries such a dose of it in his looks, 
Actions and gestures, as it breeds respect 
To him from savages, and reputation 
With .all the sons of men. 

Burst. Will it give him credit 
With gamesters, courtiers, citizens, or trades- 
men ? 

Til). He'll borrow ntoney on the stroke of his 
beard, 
Or turn of his mustaccio ! his mere cuello. 
Or ruff about his neck, is a bill of exchange 
In any bank in Europe : not a merchant 
That sees his gait, but straight will furnish him 
Upon his pace. 

Huf. I have heard the Spanish name 
Is terrible to children in some covmtries ; [ter. 
And used to make them eat their bread and but- 
Or take their worm-seed. 

Tip. Huille, j'ou do shuffle. 

Enter Stuff, and Pixnacia his tvife richly hahited. 

Burst. 'Slid, here's a lady ! 

Huf, And a lady gaij ! 

Tip. A well-trimm'd lady ! 

Huf. Let us lay her aboard. 

Burst. Lot's hail her first. 

Tip. Bv your sweet favor, lady. [gers. 

Stuff. Good gentlemen, be civil, we are stran- 

Burst. And you were Flemings, sir — 

Huf. Or Spaniards — 

Tip. They are here, have bcoa at Scvil in their 
And at Madrid too. [days, 

Pin. He is a foolish fellow, 
I pray you mind him not, he is my Protection. 

Tip. In your protection he is safe, sweet lady. 
So shall you be in mine. 

Huf. A share, good colonel. 

Tip. Of what ? 

Huf. Of your fine lady : I am Hodge, 
My name is Hufilc. 

Til}. Huffling Hodge, be quiet. 

Burst. And I pray you, be you so, glorious 
Hodge Huftie shall be quiet. [colonel : 

Huf. [singing.] A lady gay, gay : [gay. 

For she is a lady gay, gay, gay. For she is a lady 

Tip. Bird of the vespers, vespertilio Burst, 
You are a gentleman of the first head ; 
But that head may be broke, as all the body is — 
Burst, if you tie not iip your HufHe quickly. 

Huf. Tie dogs, not men. 

Burst. Nay, pray thee, Hodge, be still, [vain. 

Tip. This steel here rides not on this thigh in 



Huf. Shew'st thou thy steel and thigh, thou 
glorious dirt ! 
Then Hodge sings Samson, and no ties shall hold. 

[Theyfght. 

Enter Pierce, Jug, and Jordan. 
Pierce. Keep the peace, gentlemen : what do 

you mean ? 
Tip. I will not discompose myself for HufHe. 
\ Exeunt all {but Stuff and Viif.) fighting. 
Pin. You see what your entreaty and press- 
ure still 
Of gentlemen, to be civil, doth bring on : 
A quarrel, and perhaps man-slaughter. You 
Will carry your goose about you still, your 

planing-iron ! 
Your tongue to smooth all ! is rtot here fine 
stuff ! 
Stuff. Why, wife ? 

Pin. Your wife ! have not I forbidden you 
that ? 
Do you think I'll call you husband in this gown, 
Or any thing, in that jacket, but protection ? 
Here, tie my shoe, and shew my velvet petticoat, 
And my silk stocking. Wiry do you make me a 

lady. 
If I may not do like a lad)' in fine clothes ? 
Stuff. Sweet heart, you may do what you will 

with me. 
Pin. Ay, I knew that at home ; what to do 
with you ; 
But why was I brought hither ? to see fashions ? 
Stiff. And M'car them too, sweet heart ; but 

this wild company ■ 

Pin. 'Way do you bring me in wild company J 
Y'ou'd have me tame and civil in wild company ! 
I hope I know wild company are fine company. 
And in fine company, where I am fine myself, 
A lady may do any thing, deny nothing 
To a fine party, I have heard you say it. 

Re-enter Pieece. 

Pierce. There are a company of ladies above 
Desire your ladyship's company, and to take 
The surety of their lodgings from the affront 
Of these half beasts were here e'en now, the 
Centaurs. 

Pin. Are they fine ladies ? 

Pierce. Some verj' fine ladies. 

Pin. As fine as I ? 

Pierce. I dare use no comparisons, 
Being a servant, sent 

Pin. Spoke like a fine fellow ! 
I would thou wert one ; I'd not then deny thee ; 
But, thank thy lady. 'Exit Piercf.. 

Enter Host. 

Host. Madam, I must crave you 
To afford a lady a visit, would excuse 
Some harshness of the hoirse, you have received 
From the brute guests. 

Pin, This is a fine old man ! 
I'd go with him an he were a little finer. 

Stuff. You may, sweetheart, it is mine host. 

Pin. Mine host ! 

Host. Yes, madam, I m".ist bid you welcome 

Pin. Do, then. 

Stuff. But do not stay. 

Pin. I'll be advised by you ! yes. [Exeunt, 



536 



THE NEW IXN. 



SCENE III. — A Room in the same. 

Enter Lord Latimer, Lord Beaufoht, Ladj' 
Frampul, Prudence, Frank, and Nurse. 
Lord L. What more than Thracian barbarism 

was this ? 
Lord B. The battle of the Centaurs with the 

Lapithes ! 
Lady F. There is no taming of the monster, 

drink. 
Lord L. But what a glorious beast our Tipto 
shew'd ! 
Ele would not discomj^ose himself, the don ! 
Your Spaniard ne'er doth discompose himself. 
Lord B. Yet, how he talk'd, and roar'd in the 

beginfting ! 
Pru. And ran as fast as a knock'd marrow- 
bone. 
Lord B. So they did at last, when Lovel went 
And chased them 'bout the court. [down, 

Lord L. For all's don Lewis, 
Or fencing after Euclid. 

Ladtj F. I ne'er saw 
A lightning shoot so, as my servant did, 
His rapier was a meteor, and he waved it 
Over them, like a comet, as they fled him. 
I mark'd his manhood ! every stoop he made 
Was like an eagle's at a flight of cranes : 
As I have read somewhere. 
Lord B. Bravely exprest. 
Lord L. And like a lover. 
Lady F. Of his valor, I am. 
He seem'd a body rarifled to air ; 
Or that his sword and arm were of a piece. 
They went together so ! — Here comes the lady. 

Enter Host, ^oith Pixnacia. 
. Lord B. A bouncing bona-roba ! as the Fly 
said. 

Frank. She is some giantess : I will stand off, 
For fear she swallow me. 

Lady F. Is not this our gown, Prue, 
That I bespoke of Stuff? 

Pru. It is the fashion. 

Lady F. Ay, and the sillc ; feel : sure it is the 
same ! 

Pru. And the same petticoat, lace and all ! 

Lady F. I'll sv/ear it. 
How came it hither ? make a bill of enquiry. 

Pru. You have a fine suit on, madam, and a 
rich one. 

Lady F, And of a curious making. 

Pru. And a new. 

Pin. As new as daJ^ 

Lord L. She answers like a fish-wife. 

Pin. I put it on since noon, I do assure you. 

Pru. Who is your tailor ? 

Lady F. Pray you, your fashioner's name ? 

Pin. My fashioner is a certain man of mine 
own ; 
He is in the house : no matter for his name. 

Host. O, but to satisfy this bevy of ladies. 
Of which a brace, here, long'd to bid you wel- 
come. 

Fin. He is one, in truth, I title my Protection : 
Bid him come up. 

Host, [calls.] Our now lady's Protection ! 
What is your ladyship's st)ie ? 



Pin. Countess Pinnacia, 

Host. Countess Pinnacia's man, come to your 
lady ! 

Enter Stuff. 

Pru. Your ladyship's tailor ! master Stuff! 

Lady F. How; Stuff! 
He the Protection ! 

Host. Stuff looks like a remnant. 

Stuff. I am undone, discover' d. 

[Falls on his knees 

Pru. 'Tis the suit, madam, 
Now, without scruple : and this some device 
To bring it home with. 

Pin. Why upon your knees ? 
Is this your lady godmother ? 

Stuff. Mum, Pinnacia. 
It is the lady Frampul ; my best customer. 

Lady F. What shew is this that you present 
us with ? 

Slu/f. I do beseech your ladyship, forgiYe me 
She did but say the suit on. 

Ladt/ F. Who ? which she ? 

Stuff". My wife, forsooth. 

Lady F. How ! mistress Stuff, your \vi£e ! 
Is that the riddle ? 

Pru. We all look'd for a lady, 
A dutchess, or a countess at the least. 

Stuff. She's my own lawfully begotten wile. 
In wedlock : we have been coupled now seven 
years. 

Ladi/ F. And why thus mask'd ? you like a 
And she your countess ! [footman, ha ' 

Pin. To make a fool of himself, 
And of me too. 

Stuff. I pray thee. Pinnace, peace. 

Pin. Nay, it sliall out, since you have call'd 
me wife. 
And openly dis-ladied me : Though I am dis- 

countess'd 
I am not yet dis-countenanced. These shall see. 

Host. Silence ! 

Pi)i. It is a foolish trick, madam, he has ; 
For though he be your tailor, he is my beast : 
I may be bold with him, and tell his story. 
Wlien he makes any fine garment will fit me. 
Or any rich thing that he thinks of price. 
Then must I put it on, and be his countess, 
Before he carry it home unto the owners. 
A coach is hired, and four horse ; he runs 
In his velvet jacket thus, to Rumford, Croydon, 
Hounslow, or Barnct, the next bawdy road : 
And takes nie out, carries me up, and throws me 
Upon a bed — 

Lady F. Peace, thou immodest woman ! — 
She glories in the bravery of the vice. 

Lord L. It is a quaint one. 

Lord B. A fine species 
Of fornicating with a man's own -wiie. 
Found out by — what's his name ? 

Lord L. Master Nic. Stuft". 

Host. The very figure of pre- occupation 
In all his customers' best clothes. 

Lord L. He lies 
With his own succuba, in all your names. 

Lord B. And all your credits. 

Host. Ay, and at all their costs. 

Lord L. This gown wc^s then bespoken for the 
sovereign. 



THE NEW INN. 



637 



Lord B. Ay, many was it. 

Lord L. And a main offence 
Committed 'gainst tlie sovereignty ; being not 

brought 
Home in the time : beside, the profanation 
Which may call on the censure of the court, 

Host. Let him be blanketted. Call up the 
Deliver liim o'er to Fly. [quarter-master. 

Enter Fly. 

Stuff. good, my lord. 

Host. Pillage the Pinnace. 

Lady F. Let his wife be stript. 

Lord B. BloAv off her ujjper deck, 

I-yord L, Tear all her tackle. 

Lady F, Pluck the polluted robes over her 
ears ; 
Or cut them all to pieces, make a fire of them. 

Prti. To rags and chiders burn th' idolatrous 
vestures. 

Host. Fly, and j'our fellows, see that the whole 
Be thoroughly executed. [censure 

Fly. We 11 toss him bravely, 
Till the stuff stink again. 

Host. And send her home. 
Divested to her flannel, in a cart. 

Lord L. And let her footman beat thp bason 

Fly. The court shall be obey'd. [afore her. 

Host. Fly, and his officers. 
Will do it fiercely. 

Stuff. Merciful queen Prue ! 

Fnt. I cannot help you. 

[Exit Fly, toith Stuff and Pinx.vcia. 

Lord B. Go thy ways, Nic. Stuff, 
Thou hast nickt it for a fashioner of vcnery. 

Lord L. For his own hell ! though he run ten 
mile for it. 

Pru, O, here comes Lovcl, for his second hour. 

Lord B. And after him the type of Spanish 
valor. 

Enter Lovel with a PajJer, followed by Tipto. 

Lady F. Servant, what have you there ? 

Lav. A meditation, 
Or rather a vision, madam, and of beauty, 
Our former subject. 

Lady F. Pray you let us hear it. 

Lov. li was a beauty that I saw. 

So pure, so perfect, as the frame 
Of all the universe was lame, 
To that one figure, could I draw, 
Or give least line of it a law ! 

A skein of silk without a knot, 
A fair march made without a halt, 
A curious form tcithout a fault, 
A printed book without a blot. 
All beauty, and without a spot ! 

Lady F. They are gentle words, and would 
Set to them, as gentle. [deserve a note, 

Lov. I have tried my skill. 
To close the second hour, if you will hear them ; 
My boy by that time will have got it perfect. 

Lady F. Yes, gentle servant. In what calm he 
speaks. 
After this noise and tumult, so unmoved, 
With that serenity of countenance. 



As if his thoughts did acquiesce in that 
Which is the object of the second ho\ir, 
Ajid nothing else. 

Pru. Well then, summon the court. 

Lady F. I have a suit to the sovereign of Love, 
If it may stand with the honor of the court. 
To change the question but from love to valor, 
To hear it said, but what true valor is, 
Which oft begets true love. 

Lord L. It is a question 
Fit for the court to take true knowledge of, 
And hath my just assent. 

Pru. Content. 

Lord B. Content. [oath. 

Frank. Content. I am content, give him liis 

Host. Herbert Lovel, Thou shall sioear tipon the 
Testament of Love, to make answer to this question 
propounded to thee by the court, U^iat true valor 
is f and therein to tell the truth, the lohole truth, 
and nothing but the truth. So help thee Love, and 
thy bright sword at need. 

Lov. So help mo, Love, and my good sword 
It is the greatest virtue, and the safety [at need. 
Of all mankind, tlie object of it is danger. 
A certain mean 'twixt fear and confidence : 
No inconsiderate rashness or vain appetite 
Of false encountering formidable things ; 
But a true science of distinguishing 
What's good or evil. It springs out .of reason 
And tends to perfect honesty, the scope 
Is always honor, and the public good : 
It is no valor for a private cause. 

Lord B. No ! not for reputation ? , 

LjOv. That's man's idol, 
Set up 'gainst God, the maker of all laws. 
Who hath commanded us we should not kill ; 
And yet we say, we must for reputation. 
What honest man can either fear his own, 
Or else wUl hurt another's reputation ? 
Fear to do base unworthy things is valor ; 
If they be done to us, to suffer them, 
Is valor too. The office of a man 
That's truly valiant, is considerable. 
Three ways : the first is in respect of matter, 
Which still is danger ; in respect of form, 
^Vherein he must preserve his dignity ; 
And in the end, which must be ever lawful. 

Lord L. But men, when they are heated, and 
Cannot consider. [in passion, 

Lov. Then it is not valor. 
I never thought au angry person valiant : 
Virtue is never aided by a vice. 
What need is there of anger and of tumult ; 
When reason can do the same things, or more ? 

Lord B. O yes, 'tis profitable, and of use ; 
It makes us fierce, and fit to undertake. 

Lov. Why, so will drink make us both bold 
and rash, 
Or phrensy if you vv'ill : do these make valiant ? 
They are poor helps, and virtue needs them not. 
No man is valianter by being angry, 
But he that could not valiant be without : 
So that it comes not in the aid of virtue, 
But in the stead of it. 

Lord L. He holds the right. 

Lov. And 'tis an odious kind of remedy, 
To owe our health to a disease. 

Tip. If man 



538 



THE NEW INN. 



Should follow the dictamen of his passion, 
He could not 'scape 

Lord B. To discompose himself. 

Lord L. According to don Lewis ! 

Host. Or Caranza ! [of valor, 

Lov. Good Colonel Glorious, whilst we treat 
Dismiss yourself. 

Lord L. You are not concern'd. 

Lov. Go drink, 
And congregate the hostlers and the tapsters, 
The under-officers of your regiment ; 
Compose with them, and be not angry valiant. 

[Exit TipTO. 

Lord B. IIow does that differ from true valor ? 

Lov. Thus. 
In the efficient, or that which makes it : 
For it proceeds from passion, not from judgment : 
Then brute beasts have it, wicked persons ; there 
It differs in the subject ; in the form, 
'Tis carried rashly, and with violence : 
Then in the end, where it respects not truth, 
Or public honesty, but mere revenge. 
Now confident, and undertaking valor, 
Sways from the true, two other ways, as being 
A trust in our own faculties, skill, or strength, 
And not the right, or conscience of the cause, 
That works it : then in the end, which is the 
And not the honor. [victory. 

Lord, B. But the ignorant valor, 
That knows not why it undertakes, but doth it 
To escape the infamy merely 

Lov. Is worst of all : 
That valor lies in the eyes o' the lookers on ; 
And is called valor with a witness. 

Lord B. llight. 

I^v. The things true valor's exercised about. 
Are povertj', restraint, captivity. 
Banishment, loss of children, long disease : 
The least is death. Here valor is beheld, 
Proi^erly seen ; about these it is j^resent : 
Not trivial things, which but require our confi- 
dence. 
And yet to those we must object ourselves, 
Only for honesty ; if any other 
Respects be mixt, we quite put out her light. 
And as all knowledge, when it is removed. 
Or separate from justice, is call'd craft, 
Rather than wisdom ; so a mind affecting. 
Or undertaking dangers, for ambition. 
Or any self-pretext not for the public, 
Deserves the name of daring, not of valor. 
.\nd over-daring is as great a vice. 
As over-fearing. 

Lord L. Yes, and often greater. 

Lov. But as it is not the mere punishment, 
But cause that makes a martyr, so it is not 
Fighting or dying, but the manner of it, 
Renders a man himself. A valiant man 
Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger, 
But worthily, and by selected ways : 
He undertakes with reason, not by chance. 
His valor is the salt to his other virtues, 
They are all unseasoned without it. The wait- 
ing-maids. 
Or the concomitants of it, are his patience, 
]Iis magnanimity, his confidence. 
His constancy, security, and quiet ; 
He can assure himself against all rumor, 
Despairs of nothing, laughs at contximelies, 



As knowing himself advanced in a height 
AVhere injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion 
Touch him with soil ! 

Lady F. Most manly utter'd all ! 
As if Achilles had the chair in valor. 
And Hercules were but a lecturer. 
Who would not hang upon those lips for ever, 
That strike such music ! I could run on them ; 
But modesty is such a school-mistress 

To keep our sex in awe 

Prit. Or you* can feign ; 
My subtle and dissembling lady mistress. 

Lord L. I fear she means it, Prue, in too good 

earnest. 
Lov. The purpose of an injury 'tis to vex 
And trouble me ; now nothing can do that 
To him that's valiant. He that is affected 
With the least injury, is less than it. 
It is but reasonable to conclude 
That sliould be stronger still which hurts, than 

tliat 
Which is hurt. Now no wickedness is stronger 
Than what opposeth it : not Fortune's self, 
When she encounters virtue, but comes off 
Both lame and less ! why should a wise man then 
Confess himself the weaker, by the feeling 
Of a fool's Avrong ? There may an injury 
Be meSnt me. I may choose, if I will take it. 
But we are now come to that delicacy, 
And tenderness of sense, we think an insolence 
Worse than an injury, bear Avords worse than 

deeds ; 
We are not so much troubled with the wrong, 
As with the opinion of the wrong 5 like children, 
Wc are made afraid with visors : such poor 

sounds 
As is the lie or common words of spite, 
Wise laws thought never worthy a revenge ; 
And 'tis the narrowness of human nature, 
Our poverty, and beggary of spirit, [at me ! 
To take exception at these things. He laugh'd 
He broke a jest ! a third took place of me ! 
How most ridiculous quarrels are all these ? 
Notes of a queasy and sick stomach, laboring 
AVith want of a true injury : the main part 
Of the wrong, is our vice of taking it. 
Lord L. Or our interpreting it to be such. 
Lov. You take it rightly. If a voman or child 
Give me the lie, would I be angry ? no, 
Not if I were in my wits, sure, I should think it 
No spice of a disgrace. No more is theirs, 
If I Avill think it, who are to be held 
In as contemptible a rank, or worse. 
I am kept out a masque, sometime thrust out. 
Made wait a day, two, three, for a great word, 
Which, when it comes forth, is all frown and 

forehead : 
What laughter should this breed, rather than 

anger ! 
Out of the tumult of so many errors. 
To feel with contemplation, mine own quiet ! 
If a great person do me an affront, 
A giant of the time, sure I will bear it 
Or out of patience, or necessity : 
Shall I do more for fear, than for my judgment ! 
For me now to be angry with Hodge Huffle, 
Or Burst, his broken charge, if he bo saucy, 
Or our own type of Spanish valor, Tipto, 
Who were he now necessited to beg, 



THE NEW INN. 



539 



Would ask an alms, like Concle Olivares, 

Were just to make myself such a vain animal 

A3 one of them. If light -wrongs touch me not, 

No more shall great; if not a few, not many. 

There's nought so sacred with us but may find 

A sacrilegious jierson, yet the thing is 

No less divine, 'cause the profane can reach it. 

He is shot free, in battle, is not hiirt, 

Not that he is not hit : so he is valiant, 

TTiat yields not unto wrongs ; not he that 'scaj^es 

them. 
The}' that do pull down churches, and deface 
The holiest altars, cannot hurt the Godhead. 
A calm wise man may shew as much true valor, 
Amidst these popular provocations, 
As can an able captain shew security 
Bj-'his brave conduct, through an enemy's coun- 
try. 
A wise man never goes the people's way : 
But as the planets still move contrary 
To the Avorld's motion ; so doth he, to opinion. 
He Avill examine, if those accidents [him 

Which common fame calls injuries, ha]-)pen to 
Deservedly or no ? Come they deservedly. 
They are no wrongs then, but his punishments : 
If undeservedly, and he not guilty, 
The doer of them, first, should blush, not he. 
Lord L. Excellent ! 
Lord B. Truth, and right ! 
FranJi. An oracle 
Could not have spoken more ! 

Lady F. Been more-believed ! [sir : 

Pru. The whole court runs into your sentence, 
And see your second hour is almost ended. 
Lady F. It cannot be ! O clip the wings of 
time. 
Good Prue, or make him stand still with a charm. 
Distil the gout into it, cramps, all diseases 
To arrest him in the foot, and fix him here : 
O, for an engine, to keep back all clocks. 
Or make the sun forget his motion ! — 
If I but knew what drink the time noAV loved, 
To set my Trundle at him, mine own Barnaby ! 
Pru. Why, I'll consult our Shelee-nien Thom- 
as. [Shakes her. 
Nurse. Er grae Chreest. 
Lord B. Wake her not. 
Nurse. Toicer een cuppaio 
D'usque-bagh, doone. 

Pru. Usquebaugh's her drink, 
But 'twill not make the time drunk. 

Host. As it hath her. 
Away with her, my lord, but marry her first. 

[Exit LoED B. loith Fe.\nk. 
Pru. Ay, 
That will be sport anon too for my lady, 
But she hath other game to fly at yet. — 
The hour is come, your kiss. 

Ladij F. My servant's song, first. 
Pm. 1 say the kiss, first ; and I so enjoin'd it : 
At your own peril, do, make the contempt. 
Ladi/ F. Well, sir, j-ou must be pay'd, and le- 
gally. [Kisses LovEL. 
Pru. Nay, nothing, sir, beyond. 

Lav. One more 1 except. 

This was but half a kiss, and I would change it. 
Pru. The court's dissolv'd, removed, and the 
play ended. 
No sound, or air of love more, I decree it. 



Lov. From what a happiness hath that one 
Thrown me into the gulph of misery ! [word 
To what a bottomless despair ! how like 
A court removing, or an ended play. 
Shews my abrupt precipitate estate, 
By how much more my vain hopes were increased 
By these false hours of conversation ! 
Did not I prophesy this of myself. 
And gave the true prognostics ? O my brain. 
How art thou turned ! and my blood congeal' d, 
My sinews slacken'd, and my marrow melted, 
That I remember not where I have been. 
Or what I am ! only my tongue's on fire ; 
And burning downward, hurls forth coals and 

cinders. 
To tell, this temple of love -will soon be ashes ! 
Come, indignation, now, and be my mistress. 
No more of Love's ungrateful tyranny ; 
His wheel of torture, and his pits of birdlime, 
His nets of nooses, whirlpools of vexation. 
His mills to grind his servants into powder — 
I Avill go catch the wind fii-st in a sieve, 
Weigh smoak, and measure shadows : plough 

the water. 
And sow my hopes there, ere I stay in love. 
Lo)-d L. My jealousy is off, I am now secure. 
[Aside and exit. 
Lov. Farewell the craft of crocodiles, women's 
piety, 
And practice of it, in this art of flattering. 
And foaling men ! I have not lost my reason, 
Though I haA'c lent myself out for two hours, 
Thiis to be bafHed by a chambermaid. 
And the good actor, her lady, afore mine host 
Of the Light Heart, here, that hath laugh'd at 

Host. Who, I ? ' [all 

Lov. Laugh on, sir, I'll to bed and sleep, 
And dream away the vapor of love, if the house 
And your leer drunkards let me. 
[Exeimt all but Lady F., Prudence, and Nurse. 
Ladij F. Prue ! 
Pru. Sweet madam. 

Ladij F. Why would you let him go thus ? 
Pru. In Avhose power 
Was it to stay him, properer than my lady's ? 
Ladij F. Why in your lady's ? are not you the 

sovereign ? 
Pru. Would you in conscience, madam, have 
His patience more ? [me vex 

Lady F. Not, but apply the cure. 
Now it is vext. 

Pru. That's but one body's work ; 
Two cannot do the same thing handsomely. 
Lady F. But had not you the authority abso- 
lute ? 
Pru. And were not you in rebellion, lady 
From the beginning ? [Frampul, 

Lady F. I was somewhat froward, 
I must confess, but frowardness, sometime 
Becomes a beauty, being but a visor 
Put on. You'll let a lady wear her mask, Prue ! 
Pru. But how do I know when her ladyship 
is pleased 
To leave it off, except she tell me so ? 

Lady F. You might have known that by my 
looks, and language, 
Had you been or regardant, or observant. 
One woman reads another's character 
Without the tedious trouble of decixAeringr, 



640 



THE NEW INN. 



AOTV 



If she but give her mmd to't ; you knew well, 
It could not sort with any reputation 
Of mine, to come in first, having stood out 
So Ion"-, without conditions for mine honor. 

Ffu^l thought you did expect none, you so 
jeer'd him, 
And put him off with scorn. 

Ladi/ F. Who, I, with scorn ? 
I did express my love to idolatry rather. 
And so am justly plagued, not understood. 

Pm. I swear I thought you had dissembled, 
madam, 
Ajid doubt you do so yet. 

Ladi/ F. bull, stupid wench ! 
Stay in thy state of ignorance still, be damn'd, 
An "idiot chambennaid ! Hath all my care, 
My breeding thee in fashion, thy rich clothes. 
Honor, and titles wrought no brighter effects 
On- thy dark soul, than thus ? Well ! go thy 

ways ; 
Were not the tailor's wife to be demolish'd, 
Ruin'd, uncased, thou should'st be she, I vow. 

Fru, Why, take your spangled properties, 
your goAvii 
And scarfs. [Tearing off lier goion. 

Lady F. Prue, Prue, what dost thou mean ? 

Pm. I will not buy this play-boy's bravery 
At such a price, to be upbraided for it, 
Thus, every minute. 

Lady F. Take it not to heart so. 

Pru. The tailor's wife ! there was a word of 
scorn ! 

Lady F. It was a word fell from me, Prue, by 
chance. 

Pru. Good madam, please to undeceive your- 
self, [darted 
I know when words do slip, and when they are 
With all their bitterness : uncased, demolish'd ! 
An idiot chambermaid, stupid and dull ! 
Be damn'd for ignorance ! I will be so ; 
And think I do deserve it, that, and more, 
Much more I do. 

Lady F. Here comes mine host : no crying, 
Good Prue ! — 

Re-enter Host. 
Where is my servant Lovel, host ? 
Host. You have sent him up to bed^ would 
you would follow him, 
And make my house amends ! 
Ladij F. Would you advise it ? 
Host. I would I could command it ! !My light 
heart 
Should leap till midnight. 

Lady F. Pray thee be not sullen, [Prue, 

I yet must have thy counsel. Thou shalt wear, 
The new gown yet. 

Pru. After the tailor's wife ! 
Lady F. 6ome, be not angry or grieved : I 
have a project. 

[Exeiait Lady F. and Pru. 
Host. Wake Shelee-nien Thomas ! Is this 
your heraldry. 
And keeping of records to lose the main r 
Where is your charge ? 
Nurse. Grae Chreest.' 
Host. Go ask the oracle 
Of tlie bottle, at your girdle, there you lost it : 
You arc a sober setter of the v/atch ! [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. —A Room in the Lin. 

Enter Host and Fly. 

Host. Come, Fly and Legacy, the bird o' the 
Heart : [ter, 

Prime insect of the Inn, professor, quartcr-mas- 
As ever thou.deserved'st thy dailj'' drink, 
Padling in sack, and licking in the same, 
Now shew thyself an implement of price, 
And help to raise a nap to us out of nothing. — 
Thou saw'st them married ? 

Fly. I do think I did. 
And heard the words, I Philip take thee Lcetice. 
I gave her too, was then the father Fly, 
And heard the priest do his part, far as five no- 
bles 
Would lead him in the lines of matrimony. 

Host. Where were they married ? 

Fly. In the new stable. 

Host. Ominous ! 
I have knoAvn manj' a church been made a stable. 
But not a stable made a church till now : 
I wish them joy. Fly, was he a full priest ? 

Fly. He belly'd for it, had his velvet sleeves, 
And his branch'd cassock, a side sweeping gown, 
All his formalities, a good cramm'd divine ! 
I went not far to fetch him, the next inn, 
Where he was lodged, for the action. 

Host. Had they a license ? 

Fly. License of love ; I saw no other ; and 
purse 
To pay the duties both of charch and house - 
The angels flew about. 

Host. Those birds send luck ; 
And mirth will follow. I had thought to have 

sacrificed 
To merriment to-night in my Light Heart, Fly, 
And like a noble poet, to have had 
My last act best ; but all fails in the plot. 
Lovel is gone to bed ; the lady Frampul 
And sovereign Prue fall'n out : Tipto and his 
regiment [Barnaby, 

Of mine-men, all drunk dumb, from his Avhoop 
To his hoop Trundle : they are his two tropics. 
No project to rear laiightcr on, but this. 
The marriage of lord Beaufort with La;titia. 
Stay, what is here ? the satin gown redeem' d, 
And Prue restored in't to her lady's grace ! 

Fly. She is set forth in't, rigg'd for some 
employment ! 

Host. An embassy at least. 

Fly. Some treaty of state. 

Host. 'Tis a fine tack about ; and A\'orth the 
observing. , [They stand aside. 

Enter Lady Frampul, and Prudence magnifi- 
cently dressed. 
Lady F. Sweet Prue, ay, now thou art a queeij 

indeed ! 
These robes do royally, and thou becom'stthem ! 
So they do thee ! rich garments only fit 
The parties they are made for ; they shame 

others. 
IIow did they shew on goody tailor's back ? 
Like a caparison for a sow, God save us ! . 



THE NEW INM. 



6il 



Thy putting 'eai on hath purged and hallow'd 

them 
From all pollution meant by the mechanics. 

Pru. Hang him, poor snip, a secular shop-wit ! 
He hath nought but his sheers to claim by, and 

his measures : 
His prentice maj- as well put in for his needle, 
And plead a stitch. 

Ladij F. They have no taint in them 
Now of the tailor. 

Pru. Yes, of his wife's hanches, 
Thus thick of fat ; I smell them, of the say. 
Ladij F. It is restorative, Prue : with thy but 
chafing it. 
A barren hind's grease may work miracles. — 
Find but his chamber- door, and he will rise 
To thee ; or if thou pleasest, feign to be [him 
The wretched party herself, and com'st iinto 
In forma pauperis, to crave the aid 
Of his knight-errant valor, to the rescue 
Of thy distressed robes : name but thy gown. 
And he will rise to that. 

Pru. I'll fire the charm first. 
I had rather die in a ditch with mistress Shore, 
Without a smock, as the pitiful matter has it. 
Than owe my wit to clothes, or have it beholden. 
Host. Still spirit of Prue ! 
Fit/. And smelling of the sovereign ! 
Pru. No, I will tell him, as it is indeed ; 
I come from the fine, froward, frampul lady, 
One was run mad with pride, wild with jelf-love. 
But late encountering a wise man who scorn'd 

her. 
And knew the way to his own bed, without 
Borrowing her warming-pan, she hath rccovcr'd 
Part of her wits ; so much as to consider [how, 
How far she hath trespass' d, upon whom, and 
And now sits penitent and solitary, 
Like the forsaken turtle, in the volary 
Of the Light Heart, the cage, she hath abused, 
Mourning her folly, weeping at the height 
She measures with her eyes, from Avhence she 

is fall'n. 
Since she did branch it on the top o' the wood. 
Ladi/ F. I prithee, Prue, abuse me enough, 
that's use me [me. 

As thou think'st fit, any coarse way, to humble 
Or bring me home again, or Lovel on : 
Thou dost not know my suff'orings, what I feel, 
My fires and fears are met ; I burn and freeze. 
My liver's one great coal, my heart shrunk up 
AVith all the fibres, and the mass of blood 
Within me, is a standing lake of fire, 
Curl'd Avith the cold wind of my gelid sighs, 
That drive a drift of sleet through all my body, 
And shoot a February through my veins. 
Until I sec him, I am drunk with thirst, 
And surfeited with hunger of his presence. 
I know not wher I am, or no ; or speak, 
Or whether thou dost hear me. 

Pru. Spare expressions. 
I'll once more venture for your ladyship. 
So you will rise your fortunes reverently. 

Ladi/ F. Religiously, dear Prue : Love and 
his mother, ' [altars, 

rU build them several churches, slirines, and 
And over head, I'll have, in the glass windows, 
The story of this day be painted, round, 
lor the poor laity of love to read : 



I'll make myself their book, nay, their example, 
To bid them take occasion by the forelock, 
And play no after-games of love hereafter. 

Host, [coming forward loith Fly.] And here 
your host and's Fly witness your vows, 
And like two lucky birds, bring the presage 
Of a loud jest ; Lord Beaufort's married. 

Ladi/ F- Ha ! 

Fli/. All to-be-married. 

Pru. To whom, not your son ? 

Host. The same, Prue. If her ladyship could 
take truce 
A little with her passion, and give way 
To their mirth now running — 

Lady F. Iluns it mirth ! let it come. 
It shall be well received, and much made of it. 

Pru. We must of this, it was our own concep- 
tion. 

Enter Lord Latimer. 

Lord L. Room for green rushes, raise the fid- 
lers, chamberlain. 
Call up the house in arms ! 

Host. This will rouse Lovel 

Fly. And bring him on too. 

Lord L. Sheelee-nien Thomas 
Runs like a heifer bitten with the brize, 
About the court, crying on Fly, and cursing. 

Fly. For what, my lord ? 

Lord L. You were best hear that from her. 
It is no office, Fly, fits my relation. 
Here come the happy couple ! — 

Enter Lord Beaufort, Frank, Ferret, Jordaj", 
and Jug, Fiddlers, Servants, A-c. 

Joy, lord Beaufort ! 

FJy. And my young lady too. 

Host. Much joy, my lord ! 

Lord B. I thank you all ; I thank thee, father 
Fly. 
Madam, my cousin, you look discomposed, 
I have been bold with a sallad after supper, 
Of your own lettice here. 

Lady F. You have, my lord : 
But laws of hospitality, and fair rites, 
Would have made me acquainted. 

Lord B. In your own house, 
I do acknowledge ; else I mu'ch had trespass'd. 
But in an inn, and public, where there is license 
Of all communitj' ; a pardon of course 
May be sued out. 

'Lord L. It will, my lord, and carry it. 
I do not see, how any storm or tempest 
Can help it now. 

Pru. The thing being done and past. 
You bear it wisely, and like a lady of judgment. 

Lord B. She is that, secretary Prue. 

Pru. Why secretary. 
My wise lord ? is your brain [too] lately married ! 

Lord B. Your reign is ended, Prue, no sov- 
ereign now : 
Y'our date is out, and dignity expired. 

Pru. I am annulled ; how can I treat with 
AVithout a new commission ? [Lovel, 

Lady F. Thy gown's commission. 

Host. Have i)atience, Prue, expect, bid the 
lord joy. 

Pru. And this brave lady too. I wish them 

Pierce. Joy ! [joy ! 



542 



THE NEW INN. 



Jor Joy ! 
Jug. Ail joy ! 

Host. Ay, the house full of joy. 

Fly. Play the bells, fiddlers, crack your strings 

with joy. \'Music. 

Pnt. But, lady Ltetice, you shew'd a neglect 

TJn-to-be-pardon'd, to'ards my lady, your kins- 

Not to advise with her. "woman. 

Lord B. Good politic Prue, 
Urge not your state-advice, you after-wit ; 
'Tis near upbraiding. Get our bed ready, cham- 
berlain. 
And host, a bride-cup ; you have rare conceits, 
And good ingredients ; ever an old host, 
Upon the road, has his provocative drinks. 
Lord L. lie is either a good bawd, or a phy- 
sician. 
Lord B. 'Twas well he heard you not, his back 
was turn'd. 
A bed, the genial bed ! a brace of boys, 
To-night, I play for. 

Pru. Give us points, my lord. 
Lord B. Here take them, Prue, my cod-piece 
point, and all. 
I have clasps, my Lactice' arms ; here take tnem, 
boys. [Throws off his doublet, &c. 

What, is the chamber ready ' Speak, Avhy stare 
On one another ? [j'ou 

Jor. No, sir. 
Lord B. And why no ? 

Jor. ]My master has forbid it : he yet doubts, 
That you are married. 

Lord B. Ask his vicar-general. 
His Fly, here. 

Fly. I must make that good ; they are married. 

Host. But I must make it bad, my hot young 

lord. — 

Give him his doublet again, the air is piercing ; 

You may take cold, my lord. See whom you have 

married, 
Your host's son, and a boy ! 

[Pulls off Frank's head-dress. 
Fly. Y'ou are abused. 
Lady F. Much joy, my lord ! 
Pru. If this be your Lsetitia, [lady. 

She'll prove a counterfeit mirth, and a clipp'd 
Ser. A boy, a boy, my lord has married a boy ! 
Lord L. Raise all the house in shout and 

laughter, a boy ! 
Host. Stay, what is here ! peace, rascals, stop 
j'our throats. — 

Enter Nurse, hastily. 
Nurse. That maggot, worm, that insect ! O 
my child. 
My daughter ! where's that Fly ? I'll fly in his 
The vermin, let me come to him. [face. 

Fly. AVhy, nurse Sheelce ? 
Nurse. Hang thee, thou parasite, thou son of 
crumbs 
And orts, thou hast undone me, and my child. 
My daughter, my dear daughter ! 
Host. What means this ? 
Nurse. O, sir, my daughter, my dear child is 
ruin'd, 
By this your Fly, here, married in a stable, 
And sold unto a' husband. 

Host. Stint thy cry, 
Hfu-lot, if that be all ; didst thou not sell him 



To me for a boy, and brought' st him in boj'-'s ruga 
Here to my door, to beg an alms of me ? 

Nurse. I did, good master, and I crave your 
But 'tis my daughter, and a girl. [pardon : 

Host. Why saidst thou 
It was a boy, and sold'st him then to me 
With such entreaty, for ten shillings, carlin ? 
Nurse. Because you were a charitable man, 
I heard, good master, and would breed him well ; 
I would have given him you for nothing gladly. 
Forgive the He of my mouth, it was to save 
The fruit of my womb. A parent's needs are 

urgent, 
And few do know that tj'rant o'er good natures : 
But j'ou relieved her, and me too, the mother, 
And took me into your house to be the nurse. 
For which heaven heap all blessings on your 
Whilst there can one be added. [head, 

Host. Sure thou speak'st 
Quite like another creature than thou hast lived 
Here, in the house, a Sheclce-nien Thomas, 
An Irish beggar. 

Nurse. So I #m, God help me. 
Host. What art thou ? tell : the match is a 
good match, 
For aught I see ; ring the bells once again. 

[Mtcsic. 
Lord B. Stint, I say, fidlers. 
Lady F. No going off, my lord. 
Lord B. Nor coming on, sweet lady, things 

th«s standing. 
Fly. But what's the heinousness of mj' offence 
Or the degrees of wrong you suffer'd by it ? 
In having your daughter match'd thus happily. 
Into a noble house, a brave young blood, 
And a prime peer of the realm ? 

Lord B. AVas that your plot. Fly ? 
Give me a cloke, lake her again among you. 
I'll none of your Light Heart fosterlings, no in- 
mates, 
Supposititious fruits of an host's brain, 
And his Fly's hatching, to be put upon me. 
There is a royal court of the Star-chamber, 
Will scatter all these mists, disjjerse these vapors. 
And clear the truth : Let beggars match with 

beggars — 
That shall decide it ; I will try it there. [see, 
Nurse. Nay then, my lord, it's not enough, I 
You are licentious, but you will be wicked. 
Y'ou are not alone content to take my daughter, 
Against the law ; but having taken lier, 
Y'"ou would repudiate and cast her off. 
Now at your pleasure, like a beast of power, 
AVithout all cause, or color of a cause, 
That, or a noble, or an honest man. 
Should dare to except against, her poverty ; 
Is joovertj' a vice ? 

Loirl B. The age counts it so. 
Nurse. God help your lordship, and your peers 
that think so, 
If any be ; if not, God bless them all, 
And help the number of the virtuous, 
If poverty be a crime ! Y'ou may object 
Our beggary to us, as an accident. 
But never deeper, no inherent baseness. 
And I must tell you now, young lord of dirt, 
As an incensed mother, she hath more, 
And better blood, running in those small veinSj 
Than all the race of Beauforts have in mass, 



SCENE I. 



THE NEW INN. 



643 



Though they distil their drops from the left rib 
Of John o' Gaunt. 

Host. Old mother of records, 
Thou know'st her pedigree then : Avhose daugh- 
ter is she ? 
Nurse. The daughter and co-heir to the lord 
Frampul, 
This lady's sister. 

Ladij F. Mine ! what is her name ? 

Nurse. Laetitia. 

Lady F. That was lost ! 

Nurse. The true Lsetitia. 

Lady F. Sister, O gladness ! Then you are our 

mother ? 
Nurse. I am, dear daughter. 
Lady F. On my knees I bless 
The light I see you by. 

Nurse. And to the author 
Of that blest light, I ope my other eye. 
Which hath almost, now, seven years been 

shut. 
Dark as my vow was, never to see light, 
Till such a light restored it, as my children, 
Or 3'our dear father, who, I hear, is not. 

Lord B. Give me my wife, I own her now, 

and will have her. 
Host. But you must ask my leave first, my 
young lord. 
Leave is but light. — Ferret, go bolt your master, 
Here's gear will startle him. [Exit Ferret.] — I 

cannot keep 
The passion in me, I am e'en turn'd child, 
And I must weep. — Fly, take away mine host, 
[Pulls off his disguise. 
My beard and cap here from me, and fetch my 
lord. — [Exit Fly. 

I am her father, sir, and you shall now 
Ask my consent, before you have her. — Wife ! 
My dear and loving wife ! my honor'd wife ! 
Who hero hath gain'd but I ? I am lord Frampul, 
The cause of all this trouble ; I am he 
Have measured all the shires of England over, 
Wales, and her mountains, seen those wilder na- 
tions 
Of people in the Peak, and Lancashire ; 
Their pipers, fidler,^, rushers, puppet-masters, 
Jugglers, and gipsies, all the sorts of canters, 
And colonies of beggars, tumblers, ape-carriers ; 
For to these savages I was addicted. 
To search their natirres, and make odd discov- 
eries : 
And here my wife, like a she-Mandevile, 
Ventured in disquisition after me. 

Re-enter Fly, %oith Lord Frampul's robes. 

Nurse. I may look up, admire, I cannot speak 
Sfct to my lord. 

Host. 'Take heart, and breathe, recover, 
'ThovL hast recover'd me, who here had coffin'd 
Myself alive, in a poor hostelry. 
In penance of my wrongs done unto thee. 
Whom I long since gave lost. 

Nurse. So did I you. 
Till stealing mine own daughter from her sister, 
I lishted on this error hath cured all. 



Lord B. And in that cure, include my trespass, 
mother, 

And father, for my wife • 

Host. No, the Star-chamber. 
Lord B. Away with that, yon sour the sweet- 
est lettice 
Was ever tasted. 

Host. Give you joy, my son ; 
Cast her not oif again. — 

Enter Lovel. 

call me father, 
Lovel, and this your mother, if you like. 
But take yoiu- inistrcss, first, my child ; I have 

power 
To give her now, with her consent ; her sister 
Is given already to your brother Be&ufort. 

Lov. Is this a dream now, after my first sleep, 
Or are these jjhant'sies made in the Light Heart, 
And sold in the New Inn ? 

Host. Best go to bed, 
And dream it over all. Let's all go sleep, 
Each with his turtle. Fly, provide us lodgings, 
Get beds prepared ; you are master now of the 
The lord of the Light'Heart, I give it you. [inn, 
Fly was my fellow-gipsy. All my family. 
Indeed, were gipsies, tapsters, ostlers, chamber- 
lains. 
Reduced vessels of civility. — 
But here stands Prue, neglected, best ■deserving 
Of all that are in the house, or in my Heart, 
Whom though I caiuiot help to a fit husband, 
I'll help to that will bring one, a just portion : 
I have two thousand pound in bank for Prue, 
Call for it when she will. 
Lord B. And I as much. 
Host. There's somewhat yet, four thousand 
pound 1 that's better, 
Than sounds the proverb,/oe»- bare legs in a bed. 
Lov. Me and her mistress, she hath power to 
Up into what she will. [coin 

Lady F. Indefinite Prue ! 
Lord L. But I must do the crowning act of 

bounty. 
Host. What's that, my lord ? 
Lord L. Give her myself, which here 
By all the holy vows of love I do. 
Spare all your promised portions ; she's a dowry 
So all-sufficient in her virtue and manners. 
That fortune cannot add to her. 

Pru. My lord. 
Your praises are instructions to mine ears. 
Whence you have made your wife to live your 
servant. 
Host. Lights ! get us several lights ! 
Lov. Stay, let my mistress 
But hear my vision sung, my dream of beauty. 
Which I have brought, prepared, to bid us joy, 
And light us all to bed, 'twill be instead 
Of airing of the sheets with a sweet odor. 

Host. 'Twill be an incense to our sacrifice 
Of love to-night, where I will woo afresh, 
And like Maecenas, having but one Avife, 
I'll marry her every hour of life hereafter. 

\Exeunt with a song 



544 



THE NEW INN, 



EPILOGUE. 



Plays ill themselves have neither /topes nor fears ; 

Their fate is only in tJieir hearers' ears : 

If you expect more than you had to-night, 

The maher is sick, and sad. But do him right : 

He meant to phase you : for he sent things fit. 

In all the numbers hoth of sense and xoit ; 

If they have not miscarried ! if they have. 

All that his faint and faltering tongue doth crave. 

Is, that you not impitte it to his hrain. 

That's yet unhurt, although, set round with pain 

It cannot long hold out. All strength must yield; 

Yet judgment would the last be in the field, 



With a true poet. He could have haled in 
The drunkards, and the noises of the Inn, 
In his last act ; if he had thought it fit 
To vent you vapoi-s in the place of wit : 
But better 'ticas that they slmuld sleep, or spue. 
Than in the scene to offend or him or you. 
This he did think ; and this do you forgive : 
Whsne'er the carcass dies, this art will live. 
And had he lived the care of king and queen, 
His art in something more yet had been seen ; 
But mayors and shrieves mmj yearly fill the stage: 
A king's, or poet's birth doth ask an age. 



ANOTHER EPILOGUE THERE WAS, MADE FOR THE PLAY, IN THE POET'S DEFENCE. 
BUT THE PLAY LIVED NOT, IN OPINION, TO HAVE IT SPOKEN. 



A jovial host, and lord of the Xew Inn, 
' C'lept the Light Heart, icith all that past tlierein. 
Hath been the subject of our pilay to-night. 
To give the king, and queen, and court delight. 
But then loe mean the court above the stall's, 
And past the guard ; men that have more of ears. 
Than eyes to judge us : such as ioill tiot hiss, 
Because the chambermaid teas named Cis. 



We think it would have served our scene as true. 

If, as it is, at first ice had call'cl her Prue, 

For any mystery toe there have found, 

Or magic in the letters, or the sound. 

She only meant was for a girl of loi^. 

To whoni iter lady did a province fit : 

U'Tiich she loould have dischf.rg'd, and done as tvell, 

Had she been christen' d Joyce, Grace, Doll, or Nell, 



THE JUST INDIGNATION THE AUTHOR TOOK AT THE VULGAR CENSURE OF HIS PLAT, 
BY SOME MALICIOUS SPECTATORS, BEGAT THIS POLLOWING 

ODE 

(TO himself). 



Come leave the loathed stage, 

And the more loathsome age ; 
Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, 

Usurp the chair of -wit ! 
Indicting and arraigning every day, 
Something they call a play. 

Let their fastidious, vain 

Commission of the brain 
Run on and rage, sweat, censure and condemn ; 
They were not made for thee, less thou for them. 

Say that thou pour'st them wheat, 

And they will acorns eat ; 
'Twere simple fury still thyself to waste 

On such as have no taste ! 
To offer them a surfeit of pure bread, 
"Whose appetites are dead ! 

No, give them grains their fill. 

Husks, draff to drink and swill : 
If they love Ices, and leave the lusty wine, 
Envy them not, their palate's with the swine. 

No doubt some mouldy tale, 

Like Pericles, and stale 
As the shrieve's crusts, and nasty as his fish — 

Scraps, out of every dish 
Thrown forth, and raked into the common tub, 
May keep up the Play-club : 

There, sweepings do as well 

As the best-order'd meal ; 
For who the relish of these guests will fit. 
Needs set them but the alms-basket of wit. 



And much good do't you then : 
Brave plush and velvet-men. 
Can feed on orts ; and, safe in your stage-clothes, 
Dare quit, upon your oaths, [peers, 
The stagers and the stage-wrights too, your 
Of larding your large ears 
With their foul comic socks. 
Wrought upon twenty blocks ; [enough. 
Which if they are torn, and turn'd, and patch' d 
The gamesters share your gilt, and you their 

■ stuff.— 
Leave things so prostitute, 
And take the Alcaic lute ; 
Or thine own Horace, or Anacreon's lyre ; 

Warm thee by Pindar's fire : [cold 

And though thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be 
Ere years have made thee old, 
Strike that disdainful heat 
Throughout, to their defeat. 
As curious fools, and envious of thy strain. 
May, blushing, swear no palsy's in thy brain. 

But when they hear thee sing 

The glories of thy king. 
His zeal to God, and his just awe o'er men : 

They may, blood-shaken then. 

Feci such a flesh-quake to possess their power? 

As they shall cry " Like ours, 

In sound of peace or wars, 

No harp e'er hit the stars. 
In tuning forth the acts of his sweet reign ; 
And raising Charles his chariot 'bove his Wain.'' 



THE NEW INN. 



643 



AN ANSWER TO THE ODE, 

" Co)ne leave the loathed Stage," l;c, 
(by owex felthaji.) 



Come leave this saucy way 

Of baiting those that pay 
Dear for the sight of your declining -wit : 

'Tis known it is not fit, 
That a sale poet, just contempt once thrown, 
Should cry up thus his own. 

I wonder by what dower, 

Or patent, you had power 
From all to rape a judgment. Lot't suffice. 
Had you been modest, you'd been granted wise. 

'Tis known you can do well. 

And that you do cxcell, 
As a Translator : But when things require 

A genius, and fire. 
Not kindled heretofore by others pains ; 
As oft you've wanted brains 

And art to strike the white. 

As you have Icvell'd right : 
Yet if men vouch not things apocryphal. 
You bellow, rave, and spatter round your gall. 

Jug, Pierce, Peck, Fly, and all 

Your jests so nominal, 
Are things so for beneath an able brain, 

As they do throw a stain 
Through all th' unlikely plot, and do displease 
As deep as Pericles, 

Where, yet, there is not laid 

Before a chambermaid 
Discourse so weigh'd as might haA'e serv'd of old 
For schools, when they of love and valor told. 



Why rage then ! when the show 

Should judgment be and know- 
ledge, there are in plush who scorn to drudge 

For stages, yet can judge 
Not only poets looser lines, but wits, 
And all their perquisits. 

A gift as rich, as high 

Is noble poesie : 
Yet though in sport it be for kings a play, 
'Tis next mechanics, when it works for i)ay. 

Alcajus lute had none. 

Nor loose Anacreon 
Ere taught so bold assuming of the ba5''S, 

When they deserv'd no praise. 
To rail men into approbation. 
Is new to yours alone ; 

And prospers not : for know, 

Fame is as coy, as you 
Can be disdainful ; and who* dares to prove 
A rape on her, shall gather scorn, not love. 

Leave then this humor vain, 

And this more humorous strain, 
Where self-conceit, and eholer of the blood 

Eclii^se what else is good : 
Then if you please those raptures high to touch, 
Whereof you boast so much ; 

And but "forbear your crown. 

Till the world puts it on : 
No doubt from all you may amazement draw, 
Since braver theme no Phoebus ever saw. 



AN ANSWER TO BEN JONSON'S ODE, 



TO PEESUADE HIM NOT TO LEAVE THE STAGE. 



(by T. RANDOLPH.) 



Ben, do not leave the stage, 

'Cause 'tis a loathsome age : 
For pride and impudence will grow too bold. 

When they shall hear it told 
They frighted thee ; stand high as is thy cause. 

Their hiss is thy ajiplause : 

More just were thy disdain. 

Had they approved thy vein : 
So thou for them, and they for thee were born. 
They to incense, and thou as much to scorn. 

Will't thou engross thy store 

Of wheat, and pour no more. 
Because their bacon-brains have such a taste, 

As more delight in mast : 
No ! set them forth a board of dainties, full 

As thy best Muse can cull ; 

Whilst they the Avhile do pine 

And thirst, midst all their wine. 
Wliat greater plague can hell itself devise, 
Than to be willing thus to tantalize ? 
'65 



Thou canst not find them stuff. 

That will be bad enough 
To please their palates : let 'em them refuse, 

For some Pye- Corner Muse ; 
She is too fair an hostess, 'twere a sin 

For them to like thine Lm : 

'Twas made to entertain 

Guests of a nobler strain ; 
Yet if thqy will have any of thy store. 
Give them some scraps, and send them from thy 

[door, 

And let those things in plush, 

Till they be taught to blush. 
Like what they will, and more contented be 

With what Brome swept from thee. 
I know thy worth, and that thy lofty strains 

Write not to clothes, but brains ; 

But thy great spleen doth rise, 

'Cause moles will have no eyes : 
This only in my Ben I faulty find, 
He's angry, they'll not see him that are blind 



546 



THE NEW INN. 



AVhy should the scene be mute, 

'Cause thou canst touch thy lute. 
And strin" thy Horace ? let each Muse of nine 

Claim thee, and say, Thou'rt mine. 
'Twere fond to let all other flames expire, 

To sit by Pindar's fire : 

For by so strange neglect, 

I should myself suspect, 
Tlie palsy were as well thy brain's disease. 
If they could shake thy Muse which way they 
please. 



And though thou well canst sing 

The glories of thy King ; 
And on the wings of verse his chariot bear, 

To heaven, and fix it there ; 
Yet let thy Muse as well some raptui es raise, 

To please him, as to praise. 

I would not have thee choose 

Only a treble Muse ; 
But have this envious, ignorant age to know, 
Thou that canst sing so high, canst reach as low. 



TO BEN JONSON, 

Ul'ON OCCASION OF HIS ODE OF DEFIANCE ANNEXED TO HIS PLAT OF THE NEW INN. 

(by T. CAREW.) 



'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastizing hand 
Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand 
To their swoln pride, and empty scribbling due ; 
It can nor judge, nor write : and yet 'tis true. 
Thy comic Muse from the exalted line 
Touch' d by the Alchemist, doth since decline 
From that her zenith, and foretels a red 
And blushing evenjng, when she goes to bed ; 
Yet such, as shall outshine the glimmering light, 
With which all stars shall gild the following 

night. 
Nor think it much (since all thy eaglets may 
Endiire the sunny trial) if we say 
This hath the stronger wing, or that doth shine, 
Trick'd up in fairer plumes, since all are thine : 
Who hath his flock of cackling gease compared 
With thy tuned c^uire of swans ? or else who 

dared 
To call thy births deform' d ? but if thou bind. 
By city custom, or by gavel-kind. 
In equal shares thy love on all thy race. 
We may distinguish of their sex, and place ; 
Though one hand form them, and though one 

brain strike 
Souls into all, they are not all alike. 
Why should the follies then of this dull age 
Draw from thy pen such an immodest rage, 
As seems to blast thy else-immortal bays, 



When thine own tongue proclaims thy itch of 

praise ? 
Such thirst will argue drought. No, let be hurl'd 
Upon thy works, Ijy the detracting world, 
AVliat malice can suggest : let the rout say, 
" The running sands, that, ere thou make a play, 
Count the sIoav minutes, might a Godwin frame, 
To swalloAV, when thou hast done, thy ship- 

wreck'd name." 
Let them the dear expense of oil upbraid, [tray'd 
Suck'd by thy watchful lamp, " that hath be- 
To theft the blood of martyr'd authors, spilt 
Into thy ink, whilst thou grow'st pale with 

Repine not at the taper s thrifty waste. 
That sleeks thy terser poems ; nor is haste 
Praise, but excuse ; and if thou overcome 
A knotty writer, bring the booty liome : 
Nor think it theft if the rich spoils, so torn 
From conquer'd authors, be as trophies worn. 
Let others glut on the extorted praise 
Of vulgar breath, trust thou to after days : 
Thy labor'd works shall live, when Time devours 
The abortive off'spring of their hasty hours. 
Thou art not of their rank ; the quarrel lies 
Within thine own verge : then let this suffice, 
The wiser world doth greater thee confess 
Than all men else, than thyself only less. 



ODE TO BEN JONSON, 

UPON lilS ODE TO HIMSELF, 

(by J. CLEVELAND.) 



Proceed in thy brave rage, 
Which hath rais'd vip our stage 

Unto that height, as Rome in all ner state. 
Or Greece might emulate ; 

Whose greatest senators did silent sit. 
Hear and applaud the wit. 
Which those more temperate times. 
Used when it tax'd their crimes : 

Socrates stood, and heard with true delight, 

All that the sharp Athenian Muse could write 

Agamst his supposed fault ; 
And did digest the salt 
That from that full vein did so freely flow : 
And though that we do know 



The Graces jointly strove to make that breast 
A temjjle for their rest, 

AVe must not make thee less 

Than Aristophanes : 
He got the start of thee in time and place, 
But thou iiast gain'd the goal in art and grace 

But if thou make thy feasts 
For the high-rclish'd guests. 
And that a cloud of shadows shall break in, 

It were almost a sin 
To think that thou shouldst equally delight 
Each several appetite ; 
Though Art and Nature strive 
Thy banquets to contrive : 



THE NEW INN. 



547 



Thou art our whole Menander, and dost look 
Like the old Greek; thuik, then, but on his 
Cook. 

If thou thy full cups bring 
Out of the Muses' spring, 
Ajid there are some foul mouths had rather 
drink 

Out of the common sink ; 
There let them seek to quench th' hydropic 
thirst, 
Till the swoln humor burst . 
Let him who daily steals 
From thy most precious meals, 
Since thy strange plenty finds no loss by it, 
Feed himself with the fragments of thy wit. 

And let those silken men 
That know not how, or Avhen 
To spend their money, or their time, maintain 

With their consumed no-brain. 
Their barbarous feeding on such gross base 
stuff 

As only serves to puff 
Up the weak empty mind. 
Like bubbles full Avith wind. 



And strive f engage the scene with their damu'd 

oaths. 
As they do with the privilege of their clothes. 

Whilst thou tak'st that high spirit. 
Well purchas'd by thy merit : 
Great Prince of Poets, though thy head be gray. 

Crown it with Delphic bay. 
And from the chief [pin] in Apollo's quire. 
Take down thy best tuned lyre, 
AVhose sound shall pierce so far 
It shall strike out the star. 
Which fabulous Greece durst fix in heaven^ 

whilst thine, 
With all due glory, here on earth shall shine. 

Sing, English Horace, sing 

The wonders of thy King ; 
Whilst his triumphant chariot runs his whole 

Bright course about each polo : 
Sing down the Roman harper ; he shall rain 
His bounties on thy vein ; 

And AA-ith his golden rays. 

So gild thy glorious bays, 
That Fame shall bear on her unwearied wing, 
WTiat the best Poet suns' of the best King. 



THE MAGNETIC LADY; OR, HUMORS RECONCILED. 



DRAMATIS PERSON.^. 



Compass, a Scholar Mathematic. 
Captain Ironside, his Brother, a Soldier. 
Parson Palate, Prelate of the Parish. 
Rut, Physician to Lady LOADSTONE. 
Tim. Item, his Myothccanj. 

Sir Diaphanous Silkworm, a Courtier. 

Practice, a Lawyer. 

Sir JMoTH Interest, an Usurer, or Money-Bawd. 

Bias, a Vi-Politic, or Sub-Secretary. 

Needle, the Lady's Steward and Tailor. 



Lady Loadstone, the Magnetic Lady. 
Polish, her Gossip and She-Parasite, 
Placentia, her M'icce. 
Pleasance, Iter Waiting-Woman. 
Keep, the Niece's JVurse. 
Chair, the Midwife. 

Servant to Sir Moth, Serjeants, S/-c. 

The Chorus (Probee, Damplay, and BOY of the Itovsc) 
by loay of Induction. 



SCENE, — London. 



INDUCTION, OR CHORUS. 



THE STAGE. 



Enter Master Probee and Master Damplay, met 
by a Boy of the house. 

Boy. What do you lack, gentlemen, vihat is't you 
lack .? any fine fancies, figures, humors^ characters, 
ideas, definitions of lords and ladies ? Waiting- 
toomen, parasites, knights, captains, courtiers, law- 
yers ? ichat do you lack ? 

Pro. A jn-etty prompt hoy for the poetic shop ! 

Dam. And a hold! Where's one of your mas- 
ters, sirrah, the poet ? 

Boy. Which of them, sir ? we have divers that 
drive that trade, noio ; p)oets, x)oetaccios, poetasters, 
poetitos 

Dam. And all haberdashers of small wit, I pre- 
sume; we would speak with the poet of the day, 
boy. 

Boy. Sir, he is not here. But I have tlie domin- 
ion of the shop, for this time, under him, and can 
sheio you all the variety the stage icill afford for the 
present. 

Pro. Therein you will express your own good 
parts, boy. 

Dam. And tie us two to you for the gentle office. 

Pro. We are a pair of public persons (this gen- 
tleman and myself) that are sent thus coupled tmto 
you, upon state-business. 

Boy. It concerns but the state of the stage, I hope. 

Dam. O, you shall know that by degrees, boy. 
No man leaps into a business of state, loithout ford- 
ing first tlie state of the business. 

Pro. We are sent unto you, indeed, from the 
people. 

Boy. The people ! which side of the people ? 

Dam. The venison side, if you, know it, boy. 

Boy. Thafs the left side. I had rather they had 
been the right. 

Pro. So they are. Not the fmces, or grounds of 
ycur people, that sit in the oblique caves and wedges 

of your house, your sinfid sixpenny mechanics 

Dam. But the better and braver sort of your 



people, jjlush and velvet oidsides ! that stick yowr 
house round like so many eminences 

Boy. Of clothes, not understandings ! they arc 
at pawn. Well, I take these as a part of your peo 
pie though ; what bring you to vie from these 
people ? 

Dam. You have heard, hoy, the ancient x>oets had 
it in their 20iiipose, still to please this people. 

Pro. Ay, their chief aim teas 

Dam. Populo ut placerent : if he understands 
so much, — 

Boy, Qua3 fecissent fabulas. — I undm-stand 
that since I learned Terence, in tJji third form at 
Westminster : go on, sir. 

Pro. Now, tJiese people have employed ^w to you, 
in all their names, to enirecU an excellent play 
from you. 

Dam. For they have had very tnean ones from 
this shop of late, the stage as you call it. 

Boy. Troth, gentlemen, I have no wares which 1 
dare thrust ttpon the people with praise. But this, 
such as it is, I tcill venture with your people, your 
gay gallant peopile : so as you, again, will undertake 
for them, that they shall kno%o a good pilay when 
they hear it ; and loill have the conscience and in- 
genuity beside to confess it. 

Pro. Well pass our loords for that ; you shah 
have a brace of its to engage ourselves. 

Boy. You II tender your names, gentlemen, to ozir 
book then ? 

Dam. Yes; ha'c's master Probee, a man of mos' 
powerful speech, and parts to piersuade. 

Pro. And master Damplay loill make good all Tit 
xmdertakes. 

Boy. Good rnaster Probee, and master Damplay '. 
I like your securities : whence do you tvrite your- 
selves ? 

Pro, Of London, gentlemen ; hut knights' broth- 
ers, and knights' friends, I assure you. 

Dam. Arid knights' felloics too : every pod 
writes squire now. 

5'13 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



649 



Boy. You are good names ! very good ltten, both 
of you,- I accept you. 

Dam. And what is the title of your play here. 
The Magnetic Lady ? 

Boy. Yes, sir, an attractive title the auditor has 
^iven it. 

Pro. A magncte, I warrant you. 

Dam. O no, from magnus, magna, magmim. 

Boy. This gentleman hath found the true magni- 
tude 

D.-.m. Of his portal or entry to the toorlc, accord- 
ing to Vilruvius. 

Boy. Sir^ all our work is done without a portal, 
or Vitruvius. In foro, as a true comedij should he. 
And what is concealed within, is brouffhi out, and 
made preseiit by report. 

Dam. We see not that always observed by your 
authors of these times ; or scarce any other. 

Boy. Whc7-e it is not at all known, how shoidd 
it be observed i The most of those your people call 
authors, never dreamt of any decorum, or what was 
proper in the scene ; hit grope at it in the dark, and 
feel or fumble for it : I speak it, both with their 
leave, and the leave of your people. 

Dam. But, ichy Humors Reconciled, / umdd 
fain know ? 

Boy. / ca7i satisfy you there too, if you toill. 
But pierhaps you desire not to he satisfecl. 

Dam. No ! why shoidd you conceive so, boy ? 

Boy. My conceit is not ripe yet ; I'll tell you that 
anon. The author beginning his studies of this 
kind, toith Every Man in his Humor ; and after 
Every Man out of his Humor ; a)id since, con- 
tinuing in all his plays, especially those of the comic 
thread, ichereof the New Inn icas the last, some 
recent humors still, or manners of me)i, that icent 
along with the times ; finding himself now near the 
close, or shutting up of his circle, hath fancied to 
himself, in idea, this Magnetic Mistress : a lady, a 
brave bountiful housekecjwr, and a virtuous widow ; 
who having a young niece, ripe for a man, and mar- 
riageable, he makes that his centre attractive, to 
draw thither a diversity of guests, all persons of 
different humors to make np his perimeter. And 
this he hath called HuMOKS Reconciled. 

Pro. A bold undertaking, and far greater than 
the reconciliation of both chimhes ; the quarrel be- 
tween humors having been much the ancicnter ; and, 
in my 2^oor opinion, the root of all schism and fac- 
tion both in church and commonweallh. 

Boy. Such is the opinion of many iciss men, that 
meet at this shop still ; but hoio he tvill speed in if, 
we cannot tell, and he himself, it seems, less cares : 
for he tcill not be entreated by us, to give it a pro- 
logue. He has lost too much that loay already, he 
says. He loill not woo the gentle ignorance so much. 
But careless of all imlgar censure, as not depending 
on common approbation, he is confident it shall 
super-please judicious spectators, and to them he 
leaves it to work ivith the rest, by example or other- 
wise. 

Dam. Ha may be deceived in that, boy : few fol- 
low examples now, especially if they be good. 

Boy. The play is ready to begin, gentlemen ; I 
tell you, lost you might defraud the expectation of the 
people, for whom you are delegates : 'please you take 
a couple of scats, and pkmt yourselves, here, as near 
my standing as you can : fly every thing you see to 
the mark, and censun it freely ; so you interrupt 



not the series or thread of the cirgument, to break or 
pucker it, witJi unnecessary questions. For, I musi 
tell you, (not oirt of mine oicn dictamen, bid tha 
author's,) a good pilay is like a skein of silk ; which 
if you take by the right end, you may loind off at 
pleasure, on the bottom or card of your discourse, in 
a tale or so ; how you toill : but if you light on the 
wrong end, you will 2Jull all into a knot or elf-lock ; 
which nothing but the sheers, or a candle, will undo 
or separate. 

Dam. Stay, who be these, I pray you ? 

Boy. Because it is your first question, and these 
be the prime persons, it icould in civility require an 
answer : but I have heard the poet affirm, that to be 
the most unlucky scene in a play, xchich needs an in- 
terpreter ; esjjccially, when the auditory are awake . 
and such are you he piresumes ; ergo 



ACT L 

SCENE I. — The Street beforeLtidy Loadstone's 
House. 

Enter Compass, and Captain Ironside, meeting. 

Com. Welcome, good captain Ironside, and 
brother ; 
You shall along Avith me. I am lodged hard by, 
Here, at a noble lady's house, in the street, 
The lady Loadstone's, one will bid us "welcome , 
Where there are gentlewomen and male guests, 
Of several humors, carriage, constitution, 
Profession too ; but so diametral 
One to another, and so much opposed. 
As if I can but hold them altogether. 
And draw them to a sufferance of themselves. 
But till the dissolution of the dinner, 
I shall have just occasion to believe 
My -wit is magisterial ; and ourselves 
Take infinite delight in the success. 

Iron. Troth, brother Compass, you shall par- 
don me ; 
I love not so to multiply acquaintance 
At a meal's cost ; "twill take off o' mj' freedom 
So much ; or bind me to the least observance. 

Com, Why, Ironside, you know I am a scholar, 
And part a soldier ; I have been employ' d 
By some the greatest statesmen of the kingdom. 
These many years ; and in my time convers'd 
With sundry humors, suiting so myself 
To company, as honest men and knaves, 
Good-fellows, hypocrites, all sorts of people, 
Though never so divided in themselves, 
Have studied to agree still in the usage 
And handling of me, which hath been fair too. 

Iron. Sir, I confess you to be one well read 
In men and manners ; and that usually, 
The most ungoyern'd persons, you being present. 
Rather subject themselves unto your censure, 
Than give you least occasion of distaste, 
By making you the subject of their mirth. 
But, to deal plainly with you, as a brother, 
Whenever I distrust in my own valor, 
I'll never bear me on another's wit, 
Or offer to bring off, or save myself, 
On the opinion of your judgment, gravity, 
Discretion, or what else. But, being away, [er, 
You are sure to have less wit-work, gentle broth« ■ 



650 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



My humor being as stubborn as the rest, 
And as unmanageable. 

Com. You do mistake. 
My caract of your friendship all this while, 
Or at what rate I reckon your assistance ; 
Knowing by long experience, to such animals, 
Half-hearted creatures, as these are, your fox 

there, 
UnkennelI'd with a choleric, ghastly aspect, 
On two or three comminatory terms, 
Would run their fears to any hole of shelter, 
Worth a day's laughter ! I am' for the sport ; 
For nothing else. 

Iron. But, brotlspr, I have seen 
A coward meeting with a man as valiant 
As our St. George, not knowing him to be such, 
Or having least opinion that he was so, 
Set to him roundly, ay, and swinge him soundly ; 
And in the vh-tue of that error, having 
Once overcome, resolved for ever after 
To err ; and think no person, nor no creature 
More valiant than himself. 

Co?n. I think that too : 
But, brother, could I over eiitrcat you, 
I have some little plot upon the rest, 
If you would be contented to endure 
A sliding reprehension at my hands. 
To hear yourself or your profession glanced at 
In a few slighting terms ; it would beget 
Me such a main authority, on the bye. 
And do yourself no disrepute at all. 

Iron. Compass, I know that universal causes 
In nature produce nothing, but as meeting 
Particular causes to determine those, 
And specify their acts. This is a piece 
Of Oxford science, stays with me e'er sinca 
I left that place ; and I have often found 
The truth thereof, in my [own] private passions : 
For I do never feel myself perturb'd 
With any general words 'gainst my profession, 
Unless by some smart stroke upon myself 
They do awake, and stir me : else, to wise 
And well experienced men, words do not signify ; 
They have no power, save with dull gramma- 
rians, 
Whose souls arc nought but a syntaxis of them. 

Coni. Here comes our parson, parson Palate 
here, 
A venerable youth, (I must salute him,) 
And a great clerk ! he's going to the ladies ; 
And though you see him thus, without his cope, 
I do assure you he's our parish pope. — 

Eiiier Palate. 
God save my reverend clergy, parson Palate ! 
Pal. The witty master Compass ! how is't 
with you ? [counsel, 

Com. My lady stays for you, and for your 
Touching her niece, mistress Placentia Steel, 
Who strikes the iirc of full fourteen to-day, 
Ripe for a husband ! 

Pal. Ay, she chimes, she chimes. 
Saw you the doctor liut, the house physician ? 
He's sent for too. 

Com. To council ! time you were there : 
Make haste, and give it a round quick dispatch. 
That we may go to dinner betimes, parson ; 
And drink a health or t •wo more to the business. 

'Exit Palate. 



Iron, ffhis is a strange put off; a revereria 
youth ! 
You use him most surreverently methihks. 
What call you him ? Palate Please, or Parson 
Palate ? 
Com. All's one, but shorter. I can give you 
his character. 

He is the prelate of tlie parish here, 

And governs all the dames, appoints the clieer, 

Writes doion the hills of fare, 2)ricks all the guests. 

Makes all tlie matches and the marriage feasts 

Within the luard ; draws all the parisn wills, 

Designs the legacies, and strokes the gills 

Of the chief mourners ; and, xohoever lacks, 

Of all the kindred, he hathfrst his hlacks. 

Thus holds he weddings up, and burials, 

As his main tithing ; with the gossips stalls, 

Their pews ; he's top still, at the j)ublic mess . 

Comforts the widoic, and the fatherless. 

In funeral sack ; sits 'bove the alderman. 

For of the wardmote quest, he better can 

The mystery, than the Lcvitlc law : 

Thai piece of clerkship doth his vestry aice. 

He is as he conceives himself, a fine 

Well furnish' d, and apparelkd divine. 

Iron. AVho made this epigram, you ? 
Co7n. No, a great clerk 
As any is of his bulk, Ben Jonson, made it. 
Iron. But what's the other character, doctor 

Rut ? 
Com. The same man made them both ; but his 
is shorter, 
And not in rhyme, but blanks : I'll teU you 
that, too. 

Piut is a, young phi/sician to the family r 
Thai, letting God alone, ascribes to nature 
More than her share ; liceiitious in discourse. 
And in his life a profesi voluptuary ; 
The slave of money, a buffoon in manners , 
Obscene in language, which he vents for wit ; 
Is saucy in his logics, and disputing. 
Is anything but civil, or a man — 

Re-enter Palate with Rut and Lady Loadstone, 

in dlseoiirse. 
See here thej' are ! and walking -s^-ith my lady. 
In consultation, afore the door ; 
AYe will slip in, as if we saw them not. 

[Ikox. and Com. go into the house. 

Lady L. Ay, 'tis his fault she's not bestovv'd, 
Mv brother Interest's. 

'Pal. Who, old sir Moth ? 

Lady L. He keeps off all her suitors, keeps 
the portion 
Still in his hands ; and will not part withal. 
On any terms. 

Pal. Ilinc iU(B lachrynice : 
Thence flows the cause of the main grievance. 

Rut. That ! — 
It is a main one ; how much is the portion ? 

Lady L. No petty sum. 

Pal. But sixteen thousand pound. [dcwai '• 

Rut. He should be forced, madam to lav it 
When is it payable ? 

Lady L. When she is murrie-d. 

Pal. Marry her, marry her, mada.m 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



651 



Rut. Get her married. 
Lose not a day, an hour ■ 

Fal. Not a minute. 
Pursue your project real, master Compass 
Advised j'ou to : he is the perfect instrument 
Your ladyship should sail by. 

Rut. Master Compass 
Is a fine witty man : I saw him go in, now. 

Ladij L. Is he gone in ? 

Pal. Yes, and a feather with him ; 
He seems a soldier. 

Rut. Some new suitor, madam. [ever 

Lady L. I am beholding to him ; he brings 
Variety of good persons to my table. 
And I must thank him, though my brother In- 
terest 
Dislike of it a little. 

Pal. He likes nothing 
That runs your Avay. 

Rut. Troth, and the other cares not. 
He'll go his own way, if he think it right. 

Lady L. He's a true friend : and there is mas- 
ter Practice, 
The fine young man of law, comes to the house : 
My brother brooks him not, because he tliinks 
Ee is by me assigned for my niece : 
He will not hear of it. 

Rut. Not of that ear ; 
But yet your ladyship doth wisely in it. 

Pal. 'Twill make him to lay down the portion 
sooner, 
If he but dream 3^ou'll match her with a lawyer. 

Lady L. So master Compass says. It is between 
The lawyer, and the courtier, which shall have 
her. 

Pal. Who, sir Diaphanous Silkworm ? 

Rut. A fine gentleman. 
Old master Silkworm's heir. 

Pal. And a neat courtier. 
Of a most elegant thread. 

Lady L. And so my gossip 
Polish assures me. Here she comes. — 

Eater Mistress Polish. 

Good Polish, 
Welcome in troth ! how dost thou, gentle Polish ? 

Rut. Who's this ? [Aside to Palate. 

Pal. Dame Polish, her she-parasite. 
Her talking,soothing, sometime governing gossip. 

Pol. Your ladyship is still the lady Loadstone, 
That draws, and draws unto you, guests of all 

sorts ; 
The courtiers, and the soldiers, and the scholars, 
The travellers, physicians, and divines. 
As doctor Ridley wrote, and doctor Barlow : 
Thej-^ both have writ of you and master Compass. 

Lady L. We mean they shall write more ere 
it be long. 

Pol. Alas; they are both dead, an't please you ! 
but 
STour ladyship means well, and shall mean well, 
So long as I live. How does your fine niece. 
My charge, mistress Placentia Steel ? 

Lady L. She is not well. 

Pol. Not well ? 

Lady L. Her doctor says so. 

Rut. Not very well ; she cannot shoot at butts. 
Or manage a great horse ; but she can cranch 
A sack of small-coal, eat you lin:. , and hair, 



Soap-ashes, loam, and has a dainty spice 
Of the green sickness 

Pol. 'Od shield ! 

Rut. Or the dropsy : 
A toy, a thing of nothing. But my lady, here^ 
Her noble aunt — 

Pol. She is a noble aunt ; 
And a right worshipful lady, and a virtuous ; 
I know it well ! 

Rut. Well, if you know it, peace. 

Pal. Good sister Polish, hear yonr betters 
speak. [leave, 

Pol. Sir, I will speak, with my good lady' s 
And speak, and speak again ; I did bring up 
!My lady's niece, mistress Placentia Steel, 
With my own daughter, who's Placentia too. 
And waits upon my lady, is her woman : — 
Her ladyship well knows, mistress Placentia 
Steel, as I said, her curious niece, was left 
A legacy to me, by father and mother, 
With the nurse Keep that tended her : her mother 
She died in child-bed of her, and her father 
Lived not long after : for he loved her mother I 
They were a godly couple ; yet both died, 
As we must all. — No creature is immortal, 
I have heard our x^astor say ; no, not the faith- 
ful ! 
And they did die, as I said, both in one month — 

Rut. Sure, she is not long-lived if she spend 
breath thus. • [hand, 

Pol. And did bequeath her to my care and 
To polish and bring up. I moulded her. 
And fashion'd her, and form'd her ; she had the 

sweat 
Both of my brows and brains, my lady knows it. 
Since she could write a quarter old. 

Lady L. 1 know not 
That she could write so early, my good gossip : 
But I do know she was so long yotu- care, 
Till she was twelve year 0I4 ; that I call'd for 
her, [Polish, 

And took her home ; for which I thank you, 
And am beholden to you. 

Rut. I sure thought 
She had a lease of talking for nine lives 

Pal. It may be she has. 

Pol. Sir, sixteen thousand pound 
Was then her portion, for she was, indeed, 
Their only child : and this was to be paid 
Upon her marriage, so she married still 
With my good lady's lilcing hero, her aunt : 
I heard "the Avill read. Master Steel, her father, 
The world condemn' d him to be very rich. 
And very hard ; and he did stand condemn' d 
With that vain Avorld, till, as 'twas proved after, 
He left almost as much more to good uses 
In sir Moth Interest's hands, my lady's brother, 
Whose sister he had married : he holds all 
In his close gripe. But master Steel was liberal, 
And a fine man ; and she a dainty dame, 
And a religious, and a bountiful 

Eater Compass, and Ikonside/;-ow t7io house. 
You know her, master Compass — 

Com. Spare the torture, 
I do confess without it. 

Pol. And her husband, [lived — 

What a fine couple they were, and how they 

Com. Yes. 



652 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



Pol. And loved together like a pair of turtles— 

Com. Yes. 

Pol. And feasted all the neighbors- ? 

Com. Take her off, 
Somebody that hath mercy — 

Eut. O he knows her, 
It seems. 

Com. Or any measure ol compassion : 
Doctors, if you be Christians, vmdertake 
One for the "soul, the other for the body. 

Pol. She would dispute with the doctors of 
divinity, 
At her own tabic ; and the Spittle preachers : 
And find out the Ai-menians. 

Rut. The Arminians. 

Pol. I say, the Armenians. 

Com. Nay, I say so too. 

Pol. So master Pohsh call'd them, the Ar- 
menians. 

Com. And Medes and Persians, did he not ? 

Pol. Yes, he knew them, 
And so did mistress Steel ; she was his pupil. 
The Armenians, he would say, were worse than 

papists : 
And then the Persians were our Puritans, . 
Had the fine piercing wits. 

Com. And who, the Medes ? [tants. 

Pol. The middle men, the luke-warm protes- 

Rut. Out, out 1 

Pol. Sir, she would find them by their branch- 
ing : [branch'd doctrine. 
Their branching sleeves, branch'd cassocks, and 
Beside their texts. 

Rut. Stint, carline ; I'll not hear. 
Confute her, parson. 

Pol. I respect no parsons, 
Chaplains, or doctors, I will speak. 

Lady L. Yes, so it be reason, 
Let her. 

Rut. Death, she cannot speak reason. 

Com. Nor sense, if we be master of our senses. 

Iron. What mad woman have they got hero 
to bait ? 

Pol. Sir, I am mad in truth, and to the pur- 
pose ; 
And cannot but be mad, to hear my lady's 
Dead sister slighted, witty mistress Steel, 

Iron. If she had a wit, death has gone near to 
Assure yourself. [spoil it, 

Pol. She was both witty and zealous, 
And lighted all the tinder of the truth 
(As one said) of religion, in our parish ; 
She was too learned to live long with lis ! 
She could the Bible in the holy tongue, 
And read it without pricks ; had all her Maso- 
reth, [gent. 

Knew Burton and his Bull, and scribe Prynne 
Preesto-be-gone, and all the Pharisees. 

Lachj L. Dear gossip. 
Be you gone, at this time, too, and vouchsafe 
To see your charge, my niece. 

Pol. I shall obey 
If your wise ladyship think fit : I know 
To yield to my superiors. [Exit. 

Lady L. A good woman ! 
But when she is impertinent, grows earnest, 
A little troublesome, and out of season : 
Her love and zeal transport her. 
Com. I am srlad 



That any thing could port her hence : we now 

Have hope of dinner, after her long grace. 

I have brought your ladyship an hungry guest 

here, 
A soldier, and my brother, captain Ironside ; 
Who being by custom grown a sangviinary, 
The solemn and adopted son of slaughter, 
Is more delighted in the chase of an enemy. 
An execution of three days and nights. 
Than all the hope of numerous succession. 
Or happiness of issue could bring to him. 

Rut. He is no suitor then ! [yiside to Pal, 

Pal. So it should seem. 

Com. And if he can get pardon at heaven's 
For aU his murthers, is in as good case [hand 
As a new christen'd infant : his employments 
Continued to him, without interruption, 
And not allowing him or time or place 
To commit any other sin, but those. — 
Please you to make him welcome for a meal, 
madam ? 

Lady L. The nobleness of his profession makes 
His welcome perfect ; though your coarse de- 
Would seem to sully it. [scription 

Iron. Never, Avhere a beam 
Of so much favor doth illustrate it, 
Right knowing lady. 

Pal. She hath cured all M'ell. 

Rut. And he hath fitted well the compliment. 

Enter Sir Diaphanous Silicwor:m and PiiACxicE. 

Com. No, here they come ; the prime magnetic 
guests 
Our lady Loadstone so respects : the Arctic, 
And the Antarctic ! sir Diaphanous Silkworm, 
A courtier extraordinary ; who by diet 
Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 
Choice music, frequent baths, his horary shifts 
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 
Mortality itself, and makes the essence 
Of his whole happiness the trim of court. 

Sir Dia. I thank you, master Compass, for 
Encomiastic. [your short 

Rut. It is much in little, sir. 

Pal. Concise and quick ; the true style of an 
orator. 

Com. Biit master Practice here, my lady's 
lawyer, 
Or man of law, (for that is the true Avriting,) 
A man so dedicate to his profession, 
And the preferments go along with it, 
As scarce the thiindering bruit of an invasion. 
Another eighty- eight, threatening his country 
With ruin, would no more work upon him, 
Than Syracusa's sack on Archimede ; 
So much he loves that night-cap ! the bench- 
gown, [man 
With the broad gard on the back ! these shew a 
Betrothed unto the study of our laws. 

Prac. Which you but think the craft}' impo- 
sitions 
Of subtile clerks, feats of fine understanding, 
To abuse clots and clowns with, master Compass; 
Having no ground in nature to sustain it, 
Or light, from those clear causes, to the inquirj' 
And search of which, your mathematical head 
Hath so devow'd itself. 

Com. Tut, all men are 
Philosophers, to their inches. There's within 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



553 



Sir Interest, as able a philosopher, 

In buying and selling ! has reduced his thrift 

To certain principles, and in that method. 

As he Avill tell you instantly, by logarithms, 

The utmost profit of a stock employed ; 

Be the commodity what it will : the place, 

Or time, but causing very very little. 

Or, I may say, no parallax at all. 

In his pecuniary observations ! 

He has brought your niece's portion with him, 

madam ; 
At least, the man that must receive it : here 
They come negotiating the affair ; 
You may perceive the contract in their faces, 
And read the indenture. If you'll sign them, so ! 

Enter Sir Moth Interest ayid Bias. 
Pal. What is he, master Compass ? 
Com. A vi-politic, 
Or a sub-aiding instrument of state : 
A kind of a laborious secretary 
To a great man, and likely to come on ; 
Full of attendance, and of such a stride 
In business politic or economic, 
As well his lord may stoop to advise with him, 
And be i)rescribed by him in affairs 
Of highest consequence, when he is duU'd, 
Or wearied with the less. 

Sir Dia. 'Tis master Bias, 
Lord "NVhach'um's politic. 
Com. You know the man. 
Sir Dia. I have seen him wait at court, there, 
Of papers and petitions. [with his maniples 

Prac- He is one 
That over-rules though, by his authoritj- 
Of living there ; and cares for no man else : 
Neglects the sacred letter of the law ; 
And holds it all to be but a dead heap 
Of civil institutions : the rest only 
Of common men, and their causes, a farrago. 
Or a made dish in court ; a thing of nothing. 
Com. And that's your quarrel at him ! a just 
plea. 

Sir Moth. I tell you, sister Loadstone 

Com. Hang your oars 
This way, and hear his praises : now Moth opens. 

[Aside. 
Sir Moth. I have brought you here the very 
man, the jewel 
Of all the court, close master Bias, sister ! 
Apply him to your side : or you may Avear him 
Here on your breast, or hang him in your ear, 
He's a fit pendant for a lady's tip ! 
A chrysolite, a gem, the very agate 
Of state and policy, cut from the quar 
Of Machiavel ; a true Cornelian 
As Tacitus himself, and to be made 
The brooch to any true state-cap in Europe ! 
Ladi/ L. You praise him, brother, as you had 

hope to sell him. 

Cum. No, madam, as he had hope to sell your 

Unto him. [niece 

Ladi/ L. 'Ware your true jests, master Cora- 

They will not relish. [pass ; 

Sir Moth. 1 will tell you, sister, 
I cannot cry his caract \ip enough ; 
lie is unvaluable : all the lords 
Eave him in that esteem for his relations, 
Corants, avisos, correspondences 



With this ambassador, and that agent ! he 

Will screw you out a secret from a statist 

Co?n. So easy, as some cobler worms a dog. 
Sir Moth. And lock it in the cabinet of his 

memoiy 

Com. Till it turn a politic insect or a fly, 
Thus long ! • 

Sir Moth. Y'ou may be merry, master Com- 
pass ; 
But though you have the reversion of an office, 
You are not in it, sir. 
Bias. Remember that. 

Com. Why should that fright mo, master Bi— , 
Whose — ass you are ? [from telling 

Sir Moth. Sir, he is one can do 
His turns there, and deliver too his letters 
As punctually, and in as good a fashion. 
As e'er a secretary can in court. 

Iron, Why, is it any matter in what fashion 
A man deliver his letters, so he not open them ? 
Bias. Y'es, we have certain precedents in court, 
From which we never swei-ve once in an age : 
And (whatsoe'er he thinks) I know the arts 
And sciences do not directlier make 
A graduate in oiu- universities. 
Than an habitual gravity prefers 
A man in court. 

Com. Which, by the truer style. 
Some call a formal fiat servility. 

Bias. Sir, you may call it what you please ; 
but we 
That tread the path of public businesses. 
Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrink ; 
The wearing the callot, the politic hood. 
And twenty other parerga, on the bye, 
Y''ou seculars understand not : I shall trick him. 
If his reversion come in my lord's way. 

Sir Dia. What is that, master Practice ? you 
Master Compasses reversion .'' [sure know ; 

Prac. A fine place. 
Surveyor of the projects general; 
I would I had it. 

Pal. What is't worth ? 
Prac. O sir, 
A nemo scit. 

Lady L. We'll think on't afore dinner. 

[Exeunt. 
Boy. Now, gentlemen, tohat censxire you of out 
jJrotatis, or first act? 

Pro. Well, boy, it is a fair 2^resentmcnt of your 
actors ; and a handsome promise of somewhat to 
come hereafter. 

Dam. But there is nothing done in it, or con- 
cluded : therefore I say, no act. 

Boy. A fine jiicce of logic! do you hoh, master 
Damplay,for conclusions in a 2^>'otasis ? I thought 
the laio of comedy had reserved [them] to the catas- 
trophe ; and that the epitasis, as zee are taught, 
and the catastasis, had been intervening parts, to 
have been expected. But you would have all come 
together, it seems : the clock should strike five at 
once, with the acts. 

Dam. Why, if it could do so, it were well, boy. 
Boy. Yes, if the nature of a clock toere ij. 
speak, not strike. So, if a child could be bom in 4 
play, and groio tip to a man, in the first scene, be- 
fore he ivent off the stage : and then after to conu 
forth a squire, and be made a knight : and thai 
knight to travel betioeen tlie acts, and do wonders ir>^ 



5Si 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



the Ilohj Land or elsewhere ; kill Paynims, icild 
boars, dan cows, and of her monsters ; beget him a 
reputation and marri/an emijoror s daughter for his 
mistress : conveH her father's country ; and at l<ist 
come home lame, and all-to-be laden with miracles. 
Dam. These miracles would j)lease, I assure you, 
andHake the people : for there be of the people, thM 
will expect miracles, and more than miracles from 
this pen. 

Boy. Do they thinh this pe« can juggle ? I 
would ice had Hokos-pokos for 'em then, your peo- 
ple ; or Travitanto Tudesco. 
Dam. Who's that boy ? 

Boy. Another juggler, with a long name. Or 
that your expecters woidd be gone hence now, at 
the frst act,; or expiect no more hereafter than they 
understand. 

Dam. Why so, my peremp)tory Jack ? 

Boy. My name is John, indeed Because, 

who expect what is impossible or beyond nature, 
defraud themselves. 

Pro. Nay, there the boy said loell ; they do de- 
fraud themselves, indeed. 

Boy. And therefore, master Damplay, unless, 
like a solemn justice of wit, you will damn our 
play xmheard or unexamined, I shall entreat your 
mistress, mada?n Expectation, if she be among 
these ladies, to have patience but a 2'>issing lohile ; 
give our springs leave to open a little, by degrees ; 
a source of ridiculous matter may break forth anon, 
that shall steep their temples, and bathe their 
brains in laughter, to the fomenting of stupidity 
itself, and the awaking any velvet lethargy in the 
house. 

Pro. Why do you maintain your poet's quarrel 
so with velvet and good clothes, boy ? we have seen 
him in indifferent good clothes ere now. 

Boy. And may do in better, if it 2ilease the king 
his master to say Amen to it, and allow it, to lohom 
he acknowlcdgeth all. But his clothes shall never 
he the best thing about him, though ; he will have 
someivhat beside, either of human letters, or severe 
honesty, shall speak him a man, though he went 
naked. 

Pro. He is beholden to you, if you can make this 
good, boy. 

Boy. Himself hath done that already, against 
envy. 

Dam. What is your name, sir, or your coimtry ? 
Boy. John Try-gust my name ; a Cornish youth, 
and the poet's servant. 

Dam. West country breed I thought, you were so 
loUl. 

Boy. Or rather saucy ; to find out your imlate, 
master Damplay. 'Faith we call a, spade a spade, 
in Cornwall. If you dare damn our play in the 
wrong place, we shall take heart tc t^li you so ! 
Pro. Good boy. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I A Room in LacV? Loadstone's 

Home. 

Enter Nurse Keep, Placextia, and Plbasakce. 
Keep. Sweet mistress, pray you t»o merry ; 
you are sure 
To have a hxisl; and now. 



Pla. Ay, if the store 
Hurt not the choice. 

Plea. Store is no sore, young mistress, 
!My mother is -vvont to say. 

Keep. And she'll say wisely 
As any mouth in the parish. Fix on one, 
Fix uj^on one, good mistress. 

Pla. At this call too. 
Here's master Practice who is call'd to the bench 
Of purpose. 

Keep. Yes, and by my lady's means. 

Plea. 'Tis thought to be the man. 

Keep). A lawyer's wife. 

Plea. And a fine lawyer's wife. 

Keep. Is a brave calling. 

Plea. Sweet mistress Practice ! 

Keep. Gentle mistress Practice ! 

Plea. Fair, open mistress Practice ! 

Keep. Ay, and close, 
And cunning mistress Practice ! 

Pla. I not like that ; 
The courtier's is the neater calling. 

Plea. Yes, 
My lady Silkworm. 

Kcepi. And to shine in plush. 

Plea. Like a young night-crow, a Diai^hanoua 
Silkworm. 

Keep. Lady Diaphanous sounds most delicate. 

Plea. Which would you choose now, mistress 

Pla. Cannot tell. 
The copy does confound one. 

Plea. Here's my mother. 

Enter Polish. 
Pol. How now, my dainty charge, and diligent 

nurse ? 
What were j'ou chanting on ? [Pleasance 

kneels.^ God bless you, maiden. 
Keep. We are inchanting all ; wishing a hus- 
band 
For my young mistress here : a man to please her. 
Pol. She shall have a man, good nurse, and 

must have a man, 
A man and a half, if we can choose him out ; 
We are all in council within, and sit about it : 
The doctors and the scholars, and my lady, 
Who's wiser than all us. — Where's master 

Needle ? 
Her ladyship so lacks him to prick out 
The man ! [Exit Pleasance.] How does my 

young sweet mistress .'' 
Y^ou look not well, methinks ; how do you, dear 

charge ? 
You must have a husband, and you shall have 

a husband. 
There's two put out to malting for you ; a third 
Y''our uncle promises : but j'ou must still 
Be ruled by your aunt, according to the will 
Of your dead father and mother, who are in 

heaven. 
Y^our lady-aunt has choice in the house for you : 
We do not trust your uncle : he would keepyou 
A batchelor still, by keeping of your portion ; 
And keep you not alone without a husband, 
But in a sickness ; ay, and the green sickness, 
The maiden's malady ; which is a sickness ; 
A kind of a disease, I can assure you, 

And like the fi&h our mariners call remcra 

Keep. A remora, mistress ! 



THE MAGNETIC LADY, 



555 



Pol. How now, goody nurse, 
Dame Keep of Katerns ? what ! have you an oar 
In the cock-boat, 'cause you are a sailor's wife, 
And come from Shadwell ? 

Enter Needle. 

I say a reraora, 
For it will stay a ship that's under sail ; 
And stays are long and tedious things to maids ! 
And maidens are young ships that would be 

sailing 
When they be rigg'd ; wherefore is all their 
trim else ? 

Nee. True ; and for them to be staid 

Pol. The stay is dangerous : 
Yon know it, master Needle. 

Nee. I know somewhat ; 
And can assure you from the doctor's mouth. 
She has a dropsy, and must change the air, 
Before she can recover. 

Pol. Say you so, sir ? 

Nee. The doctor says so. 

Pol. Says his worship so ? [times 

I warrant them he says true then ; they some- 
Are soothsayers, and always cunning men. 
Which doctor was it ? 

Nee. E'en my lady's doctor, 
The neat house doctor ; but a true stone doctor. 

Pol. Wliy, hear j'ou, nurse ? how comes this 
gecr to pass ? 
This is your fault in truth ; it shall be your fault. 
And must be your fault : why is your mistress 

sick ? 
She had her health the while she was with me. 

Keep. Alas, good mistress Polish, I am no saint. 
Much less my lady, to be urged give health. 
Or sickness, at my will : but to await 
The stars' good pleasure, and to do my duty. 

Pol. You must do more than your duty, 
foolish nurse : 
You must do all you can, and more than you can, 
More than is possible ; when folks are sick, 
Especially a mistress, a young mistress. 

Keej}. Here's master doctor himself cannot do 
that. [Exit. 

Enter Lady Loadstone and Rut. 

Pol. Doctor Do-all can do it ; thence he's 

Rut. Whence ? what is he call'd ? [call'd so. 

Pol. Doctor, do all you can, 
I pray you, and beseech you, for my charge here. 

Ladi/ L. She is my tendering gossip, loves my 
niece. 

Pol. I know you can do all things, what you 
please, sir. 
For a young damsel, my good lady's niece, here ; 
You can do what j'ou list. 

Rut. Peace, Tiffany. 

Pol. Especially in this new case of the dropsy. 
The gentlewoman, I do fear, is leaven' d. 

Rut. Leaven'd ! Avhat'sthat? 

Pol. Puft, blown, an't please your worship. 

Rut. What ! dark by darker ? what is blown, 
English — [puft ? speak 

Pol. Tainted, an't please you, some do call it. 
She swells, and so swells with it 

Rut. Give her vent. 
If she do swell. A gimblet must be had ; 
It is a tympanites she is troubled with. 



There are three kinds : the fitst is anasarca, 

Under the flesh a tumor ; that's not her's. 

The second is ascites, or aquosus, 

A watery humor ; that is not her's neither. 

But tympanites, which we call the drum, 

A wind-bombs in her belly, must be unbraced, 

And with a faucet or a peg, let out. 

And she'll do well : get her a husband. 

Pol. Yes, 
I say so, master doctor, and betimes too. 

Ladi/ L. As soon as we can : let her bear up 
to-day, 
Laugh and keep company at glcek or crimp. 

Pol. Your ladyship says right, crimp sure 
will cure her. 

Rut. Yes, and glcck too ; peace, gossip Tittle- 
tattle. 
She must to-morrow down into the country. 
Some twenty miles ; a coach and six Ijravo 

horses : 
Take the fresh air a month there, or five weeks 
And then return a bride up to the town. 
For any husband in the hemisphere 
To chuck at, when she has dropt her tympany. 

Pol. Must she then drop it ? 

Rut. Thence 'tis call'd a dropsy. 
The tympanites is one spice of it : 
A toy, a thing of nothing, a mere vapor ; 
I'll blow't away. 

Ladi/ L. Needle, get you the coach. 
Ready, against to-morrow morning. 

Nee. Yes, madam. [Exit. 

Lady L. I'll down with her myself, and thank 
the doctor. 

Pol. AYc all shall thank him : but, dear madam, 
think. 
Resolve upon a man this day. 

Ladi/ L. I have done it. 
To tell you true, sweet gossip — here is none 
But master doctor, he shall be of the council. — ■ 
The man I have design'd her to, indeed, 
Is master Practice ; he's a neat young man. 
Forward, and growing up in a profession : 
Like to be somebody, if the Hall stand. 
And pleading hold ! A prime young lawyer's 
Is a right happy fortune. [wife. 

Rut. And she bringing 
So plentiful a portion, they maj' live 
Like king and queen at common law together : 
Sway judges, guide the courts, command the 

clerks. 
And fright the evidence ; rule at their pleasures, 
Like pcttv sovereigns in all cases. 

Pol. 0,'that 
Will be a work of time ; she may be old 
Before her husband rise to a chief judge. 
And all her flower be gone. No, no, a lady 
Of the first head I would have her, and in court, 
The lady Silkworm, a Diaphanous lady : 
And be a vicountess, to carry all 
Before her, as we say, her gentleman-usher, 
And cast off pages, bare, to bid her aunt 
Welcome unto her honor, at her lodgings. 

Rut. You say well, lady's gossip ; if my lady 
Could admit that, to have her niece precede her. 

Ladi/ L. For that, I must consult mine own 
My zealous gossip. [ambitionj 

Pol. O, you shall precede her : 
You shall be a countess, sir Diaphanous 



£56 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



ACT 11. 



Shall get j-ou made a countess ! here he comes 
Has my voice, certain. 

Enter behind Sir Diaphanous Silkworm and 
Palate in discourse. 

O fine courtier ! 
O blessed man ! the bravery pick'd out, 
To make my dainty charge a vicountess. 
And my good ladj', her aunt, countess at large ! 

Sir Dia. I tell thee, parson, if I get her, reckon 
Thou hast a friend in court ; and shalt command 
A thousand pound, to go on any errand. 
For any church-preferment thou hast a mind to. 

Pal. I thank your -worship ; I -will so vi'ork 
for you, 
As you shall study all the ways to thank me : 
I'll Avork my lady, and my lady's friends ; 
Her gossip, and this doctor, and squire Needle, 
And master Compass, who is all in all ; 
The very fly she moves by : he is one 
That went to sea with her husband, sir John 
Loadstone, [wealth 

And brought home the rich prizes ; all that 
Is left her ; for which service she respects him : 
A dainty scholar in the mathematics ; 
And one she wholly employs. Now dominus 

Practice 
Is yet the man, appointed by her ladyship ; 
But there's a trick to set his cap aMTy, 
If I know any thing : he hath confest 
To me in private that he loves another, [fore 
My lady's woman, mistress Plcasance ; there- 
Secure you of rivalship. 

Sir Dia. I thank thee, 
My noble parson ; there's five hundred pound . 
Waits on thee more for that. 

Pal. Accost the niece. 
Yonder she Avalks alone ; I'll move the aunt : 
But here's the gossip ; she expects a morsel. 
Have you ne'er a ring or toy to throw away ? 

Sir Dia. Yes, here's a diamond of some three- 
I pray you give her that. [score pound, 

Pal. If she Avill take it. [too : 

Sir Dia. And there's an emerald for the doctor 
Thou parson, thou shalt coin me ; I am thine. 

Pal. Hero master Comixass comes. 

Enter Compass. 

Do you see my lady, 
And all the rest, hovv- they"do flutter about him ? 
He is the oracle of the house and family. 
Now is your time ; go nick it with the liiece : 

[Exit Sir Dia. 
I will w,alk by, and hearken how the chimes go. 

[ Walks aside. 
Com. Nay, parson, stand not off: you may 
approach ; 
lliis is no such hid point of state we handle. 
But you may hear it ; for we are all of counsel. 
The gentle master Practice hath dealt clearly. 
And nobly with you, madam. 

Lady L. Have you talk'd with him, 
And made the overture ? 

Com. Yes, first I moved 
The business trusted to me by your ladyship, 
In your own words, almost your very syllables. 
Save where my memory trespass'd 'gainst their 

elegance, 
For whicli I hope your pardon. Then I enlarged, 



In my own homely style, the special goodness 
And greatness of your bounty in your choice, . 
And free conferring of a benefit 
So Avithout ends, conditions, any tie 
But lus mere virtue,* and the value of it, 
To call him to your kindred, to your veins. 
Insert him in your f imily, and to make him 
A nephew by the offer of a niece, [heard, 

With such a portion ; which when he had 
And most maturely acknowledg'd (as his call- 
Tends all unto maturity) he return'd [ing 
A thanks as ample as the courtesy, 
In my opinion : said it was a grace 
Too great to be rejected or accepted 
By him : but as the terms stood with his fortune, 
He was not to prevaricate with your ladyship. 
But rather to require ingenuous leave. 
He might with the same love that it was offer'd 
Refuse it, since he could not with his honesty, 
(Being ho was engaged before,) receive it. 

Pal. The same he said to me. 

Com. And named the party ? 

Pal. He did and he did not. 

Com. Come, leave your schemes. 
And fine amphibolies, parson. 

Pal. You'll hear more. 

Pol. Why, now your ladyship is free to choose 
The courtier sir Diaphanous : he shall do it, 
I'll move it to him myself. 

Ladij L. AVhat will you move to him ? 

Pol. The making you a countess. 

Lady L. Stint, fond woman. 
Know you the party master Practice means ? 

Com. No, but your parson says he knows, 
madam. [know 

Lady L. I fear he fables ; parson, do you 
Where master Practice is engaged ? 

Pal. I'll tell you. 
But under seal; her mother must not know : 
'Tis with your Ladysliip's Avoman, mistress Pleas- 

Coni. How ! [ance. 

Lady L. He is not mad ? 

Pal. O hide the hideous secret 
From her ; she'll trouble all else. You do hold 
A cricket by the Aving. 

Com. Did he name Pleasance ? 
Are you sure, parson ? 

Lady L. O 'tis true, your mistress ! [pass : 
I find Avhcre your shoe Avrings you, master Com- 
But you'll look to him there. 

Com. Yes ; here's sir Moth, 
Your brother, Avith his Bias, and the party 
Deep in discourse; 'tAvill be a bargain and sale, 
I see, by their close Avorking of their heads. 
And running them together so in counsel. 

Enter at a distance, in discourse, Sir Moth Inter- 
est, Practice, and Bias. 

Lady L. Will master Practice be of counsel 
against us ? [fee, 

Com. He is a lawyer, and must speak for his 
Against his father and mother, all his kindred, 
His brothers or his sisters ; no exception 
Lies at the common laAV. He must not alter 
Nature for form, but go on in his path ; 
It may be, he'll be for us. Do not you 
Offer to meddle, let them take their course. 
Dispatch, and marry her off to any husband ; 
Be not you scrupulous ; let who can have her " 



THE SIAGNETIC LADY. 



557 



So he lay down the jjortion, though he geld it, 
It will maintain the suit against liim, somewhat ; 
Something in hand is bettor than no birds ; 
He shall at last accompt for the utmost farthing, 
If you can keep your hand from a discharge. 

[Exit Lady L. 
Pol. [to Diaphanous.] Sir, do but make her 
worshipful aunt a countess, 
And she is yours, her aunt has worlds to leave 

you: 
The wealth of six East-Indian fleets at least. 
Her husband, sir John Loadstone, was the gov- 
Of the companj' seven years. [ernor 

Sir Dm. And came there home 
Six fleets in seven years ? 

Pol. I cannot tell, 
I must attend my gossip her good ladyship. 

[Exit. 
Pla. And will you make me a vicountess too. 
How do they make a countess ; in a chair, [sir ? 
Or on a bed ? [you. 

Sir Dia. Both ways, sweet bird ; I'll shew 
[Exeunt Sir Diaphanous and Placentia. 
Sir Moth, [coining forward,^ The truth is, 
master Practice, now we are sure 
That you are off, we dare come on the bolder ; 
The portion left was sixteen thousand pound, 
I do confess it, as a just man should. 
And call here master Compass, with these gen- 
To the relation ; I will still be just. [tleraen, 
Now for tlie profits every way arising, 
It was the donor's Avisdom, those should pay 
Me for my watch, and breaking of my sleeps ; 
It is no petty charge, you know, that sum. 
To keep a man awake for fourteen year. 

Prac. But, as you knew to use it in that time, 
It would reward your waking. 

Sir Moth. That's my industry, [sel, 

As it might be your reading, study, and coun- 
And now your pleading ; who denies it you ? 
I have my calhng too. Well, sir, the contract 
Is with this gentleman ; ten thousand pound. 
An ample portion for a younger brother. 
With a soft, tender, delicate rib of man's flesh. 
That he may work like wax, and print upon. — 
Ho expects no more than that sum to be tender' d, 
And he receive it; these arc the conditions. 
Prac. A direct bargain, and sale in open 

market. 
Sir Moth. And what I have furnish'd liim 
withal o' the by, 
To appear or so ; a matter of four hundred, 

To be deduced upon the payment 

Bia. liight : 
You deal like a just man still. 

Sir Moth. Draw up this, 
Good master Practice, for us, and be speedy. 
Prac. But here s a mighty gain, sir, you have 
made 
Of this one stock : the principal first doubled. 
In the lii-st seven year ; and that redoubled 
In the next seven ! beside six thousand pound, 
There's threescore thousand got in fourteen year, 
After the usual rate of ten in the hundred. 
And the ten thousand paid. 
Sir Moth. I think it be. 

Prac. How will you 'scape the clamor and 

the envy ? [care I ? 

Sir Moth. Let them exclaim and envy, what 



Their murmurs raise no blisters in my flesh. 
My monies are my blood, my parents, kindred 
And he that loves not these, he is unnatural. 
I am persuaded that the love of money 
Is not a virtue only in a subject. 
But might befit a prince : and were there need, 
I find me able to make good the assertion, 
To any reasonable man's understanding. 
And make him to confess it. • 

Com. Gentlemen, 
Doctors, and scholars, you'll hear this, and look 

for 
As much true secular wit, and deep lay-sense. 
As can be shown on such a common place. 
Sir Moth. First, avc all know the soul of maq 
is infinite 
In what it covets. Who desireth knowledge. 
Desires it infinitely ; who covets honor. 
Covets it infinitely : It ■^^'ill be then 
No hard thing for a coveting man to prove, 
Or to confess, he aims at infinite wealth. 
Com. His soul lying that way. 
Sir Moth. Next, every man 
Is in the hope or possibility [nothing, 

Of a whole world ; this present world being 
But the dispersed issue of [the] first one. 
And therefore I not see, but a just man 
May, with just reason, and in office ought 

Propound unto himself 

Com. An infinite wealth ! 
I'll bear the burden ; go you on, sir Moth. 

Sir Moth. Thu-dly, if we consider man a mem- 
But of the body politic, we know 'hex 

By just experience, that the prince hath need 
More of one wealthy, than ten fighting men. 
Com. There you went out of the road, a little 

from us. 
Sir Moth. And therefore, if the prince's aims 
It must be in that which makes all. [be infinite. 
Com. Infinite wealth ! 

Sir Moth. Fourthly, 'tis natural to all good 
subjects. 
To set a price on monej', more than fools 
Ought on their mistress' picture ; every piece. 
From the penny to the twelve-pence, bemg the 

hieroglyphic. 
And sacred sculpture of the sovereign. 

Com. A manifest conclusion, and a safe one ! 
Sir Moth. Fifthly, wealth gives a man the 
leading voice 
At all conventions ; and displaceth worth. 
With general allowance to all parties : 
It malv.es a trade to take the wall of virtue. 
And the mere issue of a shop right honorable. 
Sixthly, it doth enable him that hath it, 
To the performance of all real actions. 
Referring him to himself still, and not binding 
His will to any circumstance, without him. 
It gives him precise knowledge of himself ; 
For, be he rich, he straight with evidence knowa 
Whether he have any compassion, 
Or inclination unto virtue, or no ; 
Where the poor knave erroneously believes. 
If he were rich, he wovild build churches, or 
Do such mad things. Seventhly, your wise pool 
Have ever been contented to observe [men 

Rich fools, and so to serve their turns upon 

them ; 
Subjecting all their wit to the others wealth. 



668 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



And become gentlemen parasites, squire bawds, 
To feed their patron's honorable humors. 
Eighthly, 'tis certain that a man may leave 
His wealth, or to his children, or his friends ; 
His v/it he cannot so dispose by legacy, 
As they shall be a Harrington the better for't. 

Enter Caj^tain Iroxside. 
Com. He may entail a jest upon his house. 
Or leave a tale to his posterity. 
To be told after him. 

Iron. As you have done here ? 
To invite your friend and brother to a feast, 
Where all the guests are so mere heterogene, 
And strangers, no man knows another, or cares 
If they be Christians, or Mahometans, 
That here are met. 

Co7n. Is't any thing to you, brother, [for ? 
To know religions more than those j'ou fight 

Iron. Yes, and with whom I eat. I may dis- 
j)ute, 
And how shall I hold argument with such, 
I neither know their humors, nor their heresies. 
Which arc religions now, and so received ? 
Here's no man among these that keeps a servant. 
To inquire his master of ; yet in the house 
I hear it buzz'd there are a brace of doctors, 
A fool, and a physician ; with a courtier. 
That feeds on mulberry leaves, like a true silk- 
A lawyer, and a mighty money-bawd, [worm : 
Sir Moth, has brought his politic Bias with him, 
A man of a most animadverting humor ; 
Who, to endear himself unto his lord, 
Will tell him, you and I, or any of us. 
That here are met, are all pernicious spirits. 
And men of pestilent purpose, meanly affected 
Unto the state we live in ; and beget 
Himself a thanks with the great men of the time. 
By breeding jealousies in them of us. 
Shall cross our fortunes, frustrate our endeavors, 
Twice seven years after : and this trick be call'd 
Cutting of throats Avith a whispering, or a pen- 
knife. 
I must cut his throat now : I am bound in honor. 
And by the law of arms, to see it done ; 
I dare to do it, and I dare profess 
The doing of it ; being to such a rascal. 
Who is the common offence grown of mankind. 
And worthy to be torn up from society. 

Com. Y'ou shall not do it here, sir. 

Iron. Why, will you 
Entreat yourself into a beating for hhn. 
My courteous brother ? If you \vill, have at you. 
No man deserves it better, now I think on't. 
Than you, that will keep consort with such 

fidlers. 
Pragmatic flics, fools, publicans, and moths. 
And leave your honest and adopted brother. 

Sir Moth. Best raise the house upon him to 
secure us ; 
He'll kill us all ! [Exit. 

Pal. I love no blades in belts. [E.vit. 

Rut. Nor I. [Exit. 

Bia. Would I were at my shop again, 
lu court, safe stow'd up with my politic bundles. 

[Exit. 

Com. How they are scattered ! 

Iron. Run away like cimici. 
Into the crannies'of a rotten bed-stead. 



Com. I told you, such a passage would dis- 
perse them. 
Although the house were their fee-simple in law 
And they possest of all the blessings in it. 

Iron. Pray heaven they be not frighted from 
their stomachs. 
That so my lady's table be disfurnish'd 
Of the provisions ! 

Com. No, the parson's calling. 
By this time, all the covey again together. 
Here comes good tidings — 

Enter Pleasance. 
Dinner's on the board — [Exit Ironside. 
Stay, mistress Pleasance, I must ask you a 
Have you any suits in law ? [question : 

riea. I, master Compass ! 

Com. Answer me briefly, it is dinner-tirne. 
They say you have retain' d brisk master Prac- 
tice, 
Here, of your counsel ; and are to be join'd 
A patentee with him. 

Plea. In what ? who says so ? 
You are disposed to jest. 

Com. No, I am in earnest. 
It is given out in the house so, I assure you ; 
But keep your right to yourself, and not acquaint 
A common lawyer with your case : if he 
Once find the gap, a thousand will leap after. 
I'll tell you more anon. [Exit. 

Plea. This riddle shews 
A little like a love trick, o' one face. 
If I could understand it. I will study it. [Exit. 

Dam. But whom doth your poet mean noto by 
this master Bias ? lohat lord's secretary doth he 
purpose to personate or perstringe ? 

Boy. You might as loell ask me, tchat alderman, 
or alderman's mate, he meant by sir Moth Interest, 
or lohat eminent laioyer, by the ridiculous master 
Practice ? \oho hath rather his name invented for 
laughter, than any offence or injury it can stick 
on the reverend professors of the law : and so the 
toiso ones loill think. 

Pro. It is an insidious question, brother Dam- 
play : iniquity itself would not have %irged it. It 
is picking the lock of the scene, not op)ening it th-e 
fair loay loith a key. A play, though it apparel 
and piresent vices in general, flies from all particu- 
larities in persons. Would you ask of Plautus, and 
Terence, if they both lived now, ivho iccre Davus or 
Pseudolus in the scene, icho Pyrgopolinices or Thra- 
so ? who Euclio or Menedemus ? 

Boy. Yes, he would : and enquire of Martial, 
or any other ep>igrammatist, ivhom he ineant by 
Titius or Seius, (the co7nmo>i John a Noke, or 
John a Stile,) under ichom they note all vices and 
errors ta.vable to the times? as if there could not 
be a name for a folly fitted to the stage, but there 
must be a person in nature found out to oicn it. 

Dam. Why, I can fancy a 2>erso}i to myself, boy, 
who shall hinder me ? 

Boy. And in not piublishing him, you do no man 
an injury. But if you will utter your own ill 
meaning on that pierson, under the author's worda, 
you make a libel of 7iis comedy. 

Dam. O, he told us that in a prologue, long since* 

Boy. If you do the same reprehensible ill things, 
still the same repreheiision will serve you, though 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



559 



you heard it afore : tliey are his oicn words, I can 
invent iio better, nor he. 

Pro. It is the solemn vice of interpretation that 
deforms the figure of many a fair scene, by drawing 
it aierij ; and, indeed, is the civil murder of most 
c/ood plays : if I see a thing vivehj presented on 
the stage, that the glass of custom, which is comedy, 
is so held up to me by the poet, as I can therein 
view the daily examples of men's lives, and images 
of truth, in their manners, so drawn for my de- 
light or pirqfit, as I may, either xoay, use tliem : 
and will I, rather than make that true use, hunt 
out the p)ersons to defatne by my malice of misap- 
plying, and impieril the innocence and candor of the 
author by this calumny ! It is an unjust way of 
hearing and beholding plays, this, and most unbe- 
coming a gentleman to a2ypcar malignantly witty in 
another's work. 

Boy. They are no other but narroio and shrunk 
natures, shrivell'd up, poor things, that cannot think 
toell of themselves, lolio dare to detract others. 
That signature is tipon them, and it tcill last. A 
half-ioitted barbarism, which no barber's art, or his 
balls will ever expunge or take out I 

Dam. Why, boy, this were a strange empire, or 
rather a tyranny, youtoould entitle your poet to, over 
gentlemen, that they should come to hear and see 
plays, and say nothing for their money. 

Boy. O, yes, say what you will ; so it be to piur- 
pose, and in p)laee. 

Dam. Can any thing be out ofinnpose at a play ? 
1 see no reason, if I come here, and give my eigh- 
teen pience or two shillings for my seat, but I should 
take it out in censure on the stage. 

Boy. Your two shilling xoorth is allowed you : but 
you icill take your ten shilling worth, your tiventy 
shilling icorth, and more ; and teach otliers about 
you to do tlie like, that follow your leading face ; as 
if you toere to cry tip and doicn every scene by con- 
federacy, be it right or ivrong. 

Dam. Who should teach us the right or lorong at 
a play f 

Boy. If your own science cannot do it, or the 
to^'e of modesty and truth ; all other entreaties or 
attempts are vain. You are fitter spectators for the 
bears, than us, or the puppets. This is a jjopular 
ignorance indeed, somewhat better apparelled in you, 
than the people ; but a hard-handed and stiff igno- 
rance ivorthy a trowel or a hammerman ; and not 
only fit to be scorned, but to be triumphed over. 

Dam. By ioho7n, boy? 

Boy. No particular, but the general neglect and 
filcnce. Good jnaster DampAay, be yourself still, 
without a second : few here are of your opinion 
to-day, I hope ; to-morrow, I am sure there will be 
none, lohen they have ruminated this. 

Pro. Let us mind tchat you come for, the play, 
which will draio on to the e2ntasis noio. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Lady Loadstone's 
House. 

Enter Timothy Item, Needle, and Nurse Keep. 
Item. Where's master doctor ? 
Nee. O, master Timothy Item, 



His learned pothecary, you are welcome ! 
He is Avithiu at dinner. 

Item. Dinner ! death, 
That he will eat now, having such a business, 
That so concerns him ! 

Nee. Why, can any business 
Concern a man like his meat ? 

Item. O, twenty millions. 
To a physician that's in practice : I 
Do bring him news from all the points o' tho 

compass, 
That's all the parts of the sublunary globe 
Of times and double times. 

Nee. In, in, sweet Item, 
And furnish forth the table with your news : 
Deserve your dinner, sow out your whole bag;- 
The guests will hear it. [fuU; 

Item. I heard they were out. 

Nee. But they are pieced, and put together 
again ; 
You maj' go in, you'll find them at high eating : 
The parson has an edifying stomach, 
And a persuading palate, like his name ; 
He hath begun three draughts of sack in doc- 
trines, 
And four in uses. 

Item. And they follow him ? 

Nee. No, sir Diaphanous is a recusant 
In sack ; he only takes it in French wine, 
With an allay of water. In, in, Item, 
And leave your peeping. \_Exit Ite.aj. 

Keep. I have a month's mind 
To peep a little too. Sweet master Needle, 
How are they set ? 

Nee- At the board's end, my lady 

Keep. And my young mistress by her ? 

Nee. Yes, the parson 
On the right hand (as he'll not lose his place 
For thrusting) and against him mistress Polish 
Next, sir Diaphanous against sir Moth ; 
Knights, one again another : then the soldier. 
The man of war ; and man of peace, the lawyer ; 
Then the pert doctor, and the politic Bias, 
And mastcy Compass circumscribeth all. 

[A noise within 

Plea, [within.] Nurse Keep, nurse Keep I 

Nee. What noise is that within ? 

Plea, [within.] Come to my mistress, all their 
weapons are out. 

Nee. Mischief of men, what day, what hour 
is this ! 

Keep. Run for the cellar of strong waters, 
quickly. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the Same. 

Enter Iiio^side, folloioed by Compass. 

Co7n. AVere you a madman to do this at table, 
And trouble all the guests, to affright the ladies, 
And gentlewomen ? 

Iron. Pox upon your women. 
And your half-man there, court sir Ambergris, 
A perfumed braggart ! he must drink hi? wine 
With three parts water ; and have amber in that 
too! 

Com. And you must therefore break his face 
And wash his nose in wine ? ^with a glass, 

Iron. Cannot he drink 



56C 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



In orthodox, but he must have his gums, 
And paynim drugs ? 

Com. You should have used the glass 
Rather as balance, than the sword of Justice : 
But you have cut his face with it, he bleeds. 
Come, you shall take your sanctuary with nie ; 
The whole house will hQ up in arms against you 

else. 
Within this half hour : this way to my lodging. 

\_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Hut, Lady Lo.vdstone, Polish, and Keep, 

carrying Placenti.\. : Pleasancb and Item 

folloioing. 

Rut. A most rude action ! carry her to her bed ; 
And use the fricace to her, with those oils. 
Keep your news, Item, now, and tend this busi- 

Lady L. Good gossip, look to her. [ncss. 

Pol. How do j^ou, sweet charge ? 

Keep. She's in a sweat. 

Pol, Ay, and a faint sweat, marry. 

Rut. Let her alone to Tim ; he has directions : 
I'll hear your news, Tim Item, when you have 
done. 

\_Excunt Item, Polish, Keep, and Pleasance, 
loith Placentia. 
Lady L. Was ever such a guest brought to my 

table r 
Rut. These boisterous soldiers have no bettor 
Here master Compass comes : [breeding. 

Enter Compass. 

Where is your captain, 
Rudhudibrass de Ironside ? 
Com. Gone out of doors. 
Lady L. Would he had ne'er come in them, I 
may wish ! 
He has discredited my house and board, 
With his rude swaggering manners, and en- 

danger'd 
My niece's health, by drawing of his weapon, 
God knows how far ; for master Doctor docs not. 

Com. The doctor is an ass then, if he say so, 
j\jid cannot with his conjuring names, Hippoc- 
Galen or Rasis, Avicen, Averroes, [rates, 

Cure a poor wench's falling in a swoon ; 
Which a poor farthing changed in rosa solis, 
Or cinnamon water Avould. 

Re-enter Keep and Polish. 
Lady L, How now ! how does she ? 
Keep. She's somewhat better : master Item 
A little about. [has brought her 

Pol. But there's sir Moth, your brother, 
■"■s fallen into a fit o' the happyplex ; — 
It were a happy place for him and us, 
If he could steal to heaven thus ! all the house 
Are calling master Doctor, master Doctor. 

[Exit Rut. 
The parson he has given him gone, this half 

hour ; 
He's pale in the mouth already for the fear 
Of the fierce captain. 

Lady L. Help me to my chamber. 
Nurse Keep ; Avould I could see the day no 
more, 



But night hung over mo, like some dark cloud ; 
That, buried -with this loss of my good name, 
I and my house might perish thus forgotten ! 

[Exexmt Lady L., Keep, and Polish. 
Coyn. Her taking it to heart thus more afflict?! 
me 
Than all these accidents, for they'll blow over 

Enter Practice and sir Diaphanous Silicworm 

Prac. It was a barbarous injury, I confess : 
But if you will be counsell'd, sir, b)' me. 
The reverend law lies open to repair 
Your reputation. That will give you damages : 
Five thousand pound for a finger, I liave known 
Given in court ; and let me pack your jurj'. 

Sir Dia. There's nothing vexes me, but that 
he has stain' d 
My new white satin doublet, and bespatter'd 
My spick and span s ilk -.s to e^' lungs on the day 
They were drawn on ; end here's a spot in my 
hose too ! ed desperately ; 

Com. Shrewd malms ! your clothes are wound- 
And that, I think, trouble;J a courtier more, 
An exact courtier, than a gash in his flesh. 

Sir Dia. ily flesh ! I swear had he given mo 
twice so much, 
I never should have rcckon'd it : but my clothes 
To be defaced and stigmatized so foully ! 
I take it as a contumely done me, 
Above the wisdom of our laws to right. 

Com. Why, then you'll challenge him > 

Sir Dia. I will advise ; 
Though master Practice here doth urge the law, 
And reparation it Avill make me of credit. 
Beside great damages — lot him pack my jury. 

Com. He speaks like master Practice, one 
that is 
The child of a profession he is vow'd to. 
And servant to the study he hath taken, 
A pure apprentice at law ! but you must have 
The counsel of the sword, and square your 

action 
Unto their canons, and that brotherhood, , 
If you do right. 

Prao. I tell you, master Compass, 
You speak not like a friend unto the laws, 
Nor scarce a subject, to persuade him thus 
Unto the breach of the peace : sir, you forget 
There is a court above, of the Star-chamber, 
To punish routs and riots. 

Com. No, young master. 
Although your name' bo Practice there in term- 
I do remember it. But you'll not hear [time, 
What I was bound to say ; but like a wild 
Young haggard justice, fly at breach of the 

peace. 
Before you know whether the amorous knight 
Dares break the i^eace of conscience in a duel. 

Sir Dia. Troth, master Compass, I take you 
my friend ; 
You shall appoint of me in any matter 
That's reasonable, so we may meet fair, 
On even terms. 

Com. I shall persuade no other ; 
And take your learned counsel to advise you, 
I'll run along with him. You say you'll meet 
On even terms. I do not see indeed [hina 

How that can be 'twixt Ironside and you, 
i Now I consider it : he is my brother, 



SCENE I. 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



561 



I do confess Ave have call'd so twenty year : 
But you are, sir, a knight in court, allied there. 
And so befriended, you may easily answer 
The worst success : he a known, noted, bold 
Boy of the sword, hath all men's eyes upon him ; 
And there's no London jury, but are led 
In evidence, as far by common fame, 
As they are by present deposition. 
Then you have many brethren, and near kins- 
men. 
If he kill you, it will be a lasting quarrel 
'Twixt them and him : whereas E-ud Ironside, 
Although he have got his head into a beaver, 
With a huge feather, is but a crurier's son, 
And has not two old cordovan skins to leave 
In leather caps to mourn him in, if he die. 
Again ; you are generally beloved, he hated 
So much, that all the hearts and votes of men 
Go with you, in the wishing all prosperity 
Unto your purpose : he is a fat, corpulent, 
Unwieldy fellow ; j'ou, a dieted spark, 
Fit for the combat. He has kill'd so many. 
As it is ten to one his turn is next : 
You never fought with any, less, slew any ; 
And therefore have the [bettor] hopes before 

you. 
I hope these things, thus specified unto you, 
Are fair advantages ; you cannot encounter 
Him upon equal terms. Beside, sir Silkworm, 
lie hath done you Avrong in a most high degree ; 
And sense a f such an injury received 
Should so exacuate, and whet your choler. 
As you should count yourself an host of men, 
Compared to him : and therefore you, brave sir, 
Have no more reason to provoke, or challenge 
Him than the huge great porter has to try 
His strength upon an infant. 
Sir Dia. Master Compass, 
You rather spur me on, than any way 
Abate my coiirage to the enterprise. 

Com. All counsel's as 'tis taken: if yoii stand 
On point of honor, not to have any odds, 
I have rather then dissuaded you, than other- 
wise : 
If upon terms of humor and revenge, 
I have encouraged you. So that I think, 
1 have done the part of a friend on either side ; 
In furnishing your fear Avith matter first. 
If you have any , or, if you dare fight. 
To heighten and confirm your resolution. 

Prac. I noAV do crave your pardon, master 
Compass : 
I did not apprehend j'our Avay before. 
The true perimeter of it : you have circles, 
And such fine draughts about ! 
Sir Dia. Sir, I do thank you, 
I thank you, master Compass, heartily. 
I must confess, I never fought before. 
And I'd bo glad to do thing* orderly. 
In the right place ; I pray 5'ou instruct me, sir : 
Id't best I fight ambitiously, or maliciously r 

Com. Sir, if you never fought before, be Avary, 
Trust not yourself too much. 

Sir Dia. Why ? I assure you, 
1 am A^ery angry. 

Com. Do not suff'er, though, 
The flatuous, Avindy choler of your heart. 
To move the clapper of your understanding. 
Which is the guiding faculty, your reason . 

36 



You knoAv not, if you'll fight, or no, beini> 
Upon the place. [brought 

Sir Dia. O yes, I have imagined 
Him treble arin'd, provoked too, and as furious 
As Homer makes Achilles ; and I find 
Myself not frighted Avith his fame one jot. 

Coin. Well, yet take heed. These fights im- 
aginary. 
Are less than "skirmishes ; the fight of shadoAvs : 
For shadoAvs have their figure, motion. 
And their umbratil action, from the real 
Posture and motion of the body's act : 
Whereas imaginarily, many times, [other, 

Those men may fight dare scarce eye one an- 
And much less meet. But if there be no help, 
Faith I Avould Avish you send hiin a fair chal- 

Sir Dia. I Avill go pen it presently. [lenge. 

Com. But Avord it 
In the most generous terms. 

Sir Dia. Let me alone. 

Prac. And silken phrase ; the courtliest kind 
of quarrel. 

Co7n. He'll make it a petition for his peace. 

Prac. O, yes, of right, and he may do't by law. 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV, 



Another Room in the same. 



Enter Rut, Palate, and Bias, briiicjing out Sir 
Moth Interest in a c/mir : Item and Polisk 
folUnoing. 

Rut. Come, bring him out into the air a little i 
There, set him doAvn. Boav liim, yet boAV him 

more, 
Dash that same glass of Avater in his face ; 
NoAV tAveak him by the nose — hard, harder yet : 
K it but call the blood up from the heart, 
I ask no more. See, Avhat a fear can do ! 
Pinch him in the nape of the neck noAV ; nip him, 
nip him. 

Item. He feels ; there's life in him. 

Pal. He groans, and stirs. 

Rut. Tell him the captain's gone. 

Sir Moth. Ha ! 

Pal, He's gone, sir. 

Rut. Give him a box, hard, hard, on his left 

Sir Moth. O ! 'car. 

Rut. HoAV do you feel yourself ? 

Sir Moth. Sore, sore. 

Rut. But Avhere ? 

Sir Moth. In my neck. 

Rut. I nipt him there. 

Sir Moth. And in my head. 

Rut. I box'd him tAvice or thrice, to move those 

Bias. I SAvear you did. [sinews, 

Pol. What a brave man's a doctor. 
To beat one into health ! I thought his bloAVS 
Would e'en have kill'd him ; he did feel no more 
Than a great horse. 

Sir Moth. Is the wild captain gone. 
That man of murder ? 

Bias. All is calm and quiet. 

Sir Moth. Say you so, cousin Bias, then all's 

Pal. IIoAV quickly a man is lost 1 ^vell. 

Bias. And soon recover'd ! 

Pol. Where there are means, and doctors 
learned men. 
And th(:rc apothecaries, Avho are not noAV, 
As Chaacer says, their friendship to begin. 



562 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



Well, could they teach each other how to win 
In their swath bands 

Rut. Leave your poetry, good gossip. 
Your Chaucer's clouts, and wash your dishes 

Avith them ; 
We must rub up the roots of his disease, 
And crave your peace a while, or else your ab- 
sence. 

Pol. Nay, I know when to hold my peace. 

Ru(. Then do it. — 
Give me your hand, sir Moth. Let's feel your 
It is a pursiness, a kind of stoppage, [pulse ; 
Or tumor of the purse, for want of exercise, 
That you are troubled with : some ligatures 
In the neck of your vesica, or niarsupium, 
Are so close knit, that you cannot evaporate ; 
And therefore you must use relaxatives. 
Beside, they saj', you are so restive grown. 
You cannot but Avith trouble put your hand 
Into your pocket to discharge a reckoning, 
And this we sons of physic do call chira/jra, 
A kind of cramp, or hand-gout. You shall 
purge for't. [advise him 

Item. Indeed joiw worship should do well to 
To cleanse his body, all the three high-ways ; 
That is, by sweat, purge, and plllebotom5^ 

Rut. You say well, learned Tim ; I'll first 
prescribe him 
To give his purse a purge, once, tmcc a-week 
At dice, or cards ; and Avhcn the Aveather is open, 
Sweat at a bowling-alley ; or be let blood 
In the lending A^ein, and bleed a matter of fifty 
Or threescore ounces at a time ; then put your 

thumbs 
Under your girdle, and have somebody else 
Pull out A'our purse for you, till Avith more ease, 
And a good habit, a'ou can^'do it j-ourself. 
And then be sure ahvaj-s to keep good diet, 
And have your table furnish'd from one end 
Unto the t'other ; it is good for the eyes : 
But feed you on one dish still, haA^e j'our diet- 
Ever in bottles ready, Avhich must come [drink 
From the King's-head : I Avill prescribe you 

nothing, 
But Avhat I'll take before you mine OAvnself ; 
That is my course Avith all my patients. 

Pal. Yery methodical, secundum artcm. 

Bias. And A^ery safe pro captu o-ecipientis. 

Pol. All errant-learned men, hoAV they 'spute 
Latin ! 

Rut. I had it of a Jew, and a great rabbi, 
Who every morning cast his cup of Avhite-Avinc 
With sugar, and by the residence in the bottom, 
Would make report of any chronic malady. 
Such as sir Moth's is, being an oppilation 
In that you call the neck of the money-bladder, 
Most anatomical, and by dissection 

Enter Nurse Keep, hastily. 

Keep. 0, master doctor, and his 'pothecary. 
Good master Item, and my mistress Polish, 
Wc need you all above ! she's fallen again 
In a Avorsc fit than ever. 

Pol. Who? 

Keep. Your charge. 

Pol. Come aAvaA% gentlemen. 

^ir Moth. This fit Avith the doctor 
Hath mended me past expectation. 

[Exeunt all but Bias. 



Enter Compass, Sir Diaphaxous Silkwokm. and 
Phactice. 

Com. sir Diaphanous ! have you done? 

Sir Dia. I have brought it. 

Prac. That's avcII. 

Com. But Avho shall carry it noAv ? 

Sir Dia. A friend : 
I'll find a friend to carry it ; master Bias here 
Will not deny me that. 

Bias. What is't ? 

Sir Dia. To can-y 
A challenge I have writ unto the captain. 

Bias. Faith, but I Avill, sh ; you shall pardon 
me [lenges ; 

For a twi-reason of state : I'll bear no chal- 
I A\ill not hazard my lord's favor so ; 
Or forfeit mine OAvn judgment Avith his honor, 
To turn a ruffian : I haA'e to commend me 
Nought but his lordship's good opinion ; 
And to it my kalligraphy, a fair hand. 
Fit for a secretary : noAv you know, a man's hand 
Being his executing part in fight. 
Is more obnoxious to the common peril. 

Sir Dia. You shall not fight, sir, you shall 
only search 
My antagonist ; commit us fairly there 
Upon the ground on equal terms. 

Bias. O, sir. 
But if my lord should hear I stood at end 
Of any quarrel, 'twere an end of me 
In a state-course ! I have read the politics ; 
And heard the opinions of our best divines. 

Com. The gentleman has reason. Where Avas 
first 
The birth of j-our acquaintance, or the cradle 
Of your strict friendship made ? 

Sir Dia. We met in France, sir. 

Co7n. In France ! that garden of humanity, 
The A'ery seed-plot of all courtesies : 
I Avonder that your friendship suck'd that ali- 
ment. 
The milk of France ; and see this sour effect 
It doth produce, 'gainst all the sweets of travel. 
There, every gentleman professmg arms, 
Thinks ho is bound in honor to embrace 
The bearing of a challenge for another, 
Witliout or questioning the cause, or asking 
Least color of a reason. There's no coAvardice, 
No poltronery, like iirging Avhy ? wherefore .' 
But carry a challenge, do the thing, and die. 

Bias. Why, hear you, master Compass, I but 
crave 
Your ear in private : [talies him aside.'\ I Avould 

carry liis challenge. 
If I but hoped your captain angry enough 
To kill him ; for, to tell you truth, this knight 
Is an impertinent in court, avo think him, 
And troubles my lord's lodgings, and his table 
With frequent and unnecessary visits, 
Which Ave, the better sort of servants, like not x. 
Being his fellows in all other places. 
But at our master's board ; and Ave disdain 
To do those servile offices, oft-times, 
His foolish pride and empire Avill exact, 
Against the heart, or humor of a gentleman. 

Com. Truth, master Bias, I would not have 
you think 
I speak to flatter you ; but you are one 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



56o 



Of tlie deepest politics I ever met, 
And the most subtly rational. I admire you. 
But do not you conceive in such a case, 
That you are accessary to his death, 
From whom you carry a challenge -with such 
purpose ? [ture, 

Bias. Sir, the corruption of one thing in na- 
Is held the generation of another ; 
And therefore, I had as lief be accessary 
Unto his death, as to his life. 

Com. A new 
Moral philosophy too ! 5'ou'll carry it then ? 

Bias. If I were sure 'twould not incense his 
To beat the messenger. [choler 

Com. O, I'll secure you ; 
You shall deliver it in my lodging, safely, 
And do your friend a service worthy thanks. 

Enter Ironside. 

Bias. I'll venture it upon so good induction, 
To rid the court of an impediment, 
This bagn-age knight. 

Iron. Peace to you all, gentlemen, 
Save to this mushroom, who I hear is menacing 
Me with a challenge ; which I come to anticipate. 
And save the law a labor. — Will you fight, sir ? 

Sir Dia, Yes, in my shirt. 

[Throios off his doublet. 

Iron. O, that's to save your doublet ; 
1 know it a court-trick ; you had rather have 
An ulcer in yoMX body, than a pink 
More in your clothes. 

Sir Dia. Captain, you are a coward, 
K you'll not fight in your shirt. 

Iron. Sir, I do not mean 
To put it off for that, nor yet my doublet : 
You have cause to call me co\»ard, that more fear 
The stroke of the common and life-giving air. 
Than all your fury, and the panoplj^ — 

Prac. Which is at best, but a thin linen armor. 
I think a cup of generous wine were better. 
Than fighting in your shirts. 

Sir Dia, Sir, sir, my valor. 
It is a valor of another nature. 
Than to be mended by a cup of wine. 

Com. I should be glad to hear of any valors. 
Differing in kind ; who have known hitherto, 
Only one virtue they call fortitude. 
Worthy the name of valor. 

Iron. Which who hath not. 
Is justly thought a coward ; and he is such. 

Sir Dia. O, you have read the play there, the 
New Inn, 
Of Jonson's, that decries all other valor, 
But what is for the public. 

Iron. I do that too. 
But did not learn it there ; I think no valor 
Lies for a private cause. 

Sir Dia. Sir, I'll redargue you 
By disputation. 

Com. O, let's hear this : 
I long to hear a man dispute in his shirt 
Of A'alor, and his sword drawn in his hand ! 

Prac. His valor will talie cold, put on your 
doublet. 

Com. His valor will keep cold, you are de- 
ceived ; 
And relish much the sweeter in our ears ; 
It may be too, in the ordinance of nature. 



Their valors are not j*et so combatant, 

Or truly antagonistic, as to fight, 

But may admit to hear of some divisions 

Of fortitude, may put them off their quarrel. 

Sir Dia. I would have no man think me so 
Or subject to my passion but I can [ungovern'd, 
Read him a lecture 'twixt my undertakings 
And executions : I do know all kinds 
Of doing the business, which the town calls valor. 

Com. Yes, he has read the town, ToAvn-top's 
Your first ? [his author ! 

Sir Dia. Is a rash headlong unexperience. 

Com. Which is in children, fools, or your 
street- gallants 
Of the first head. 

Prac. A pretty Idnd of valor ! [shirt, 

Com. Commend him, he will spin if out m's 
Fine as that thread. 

Sir Dia. The next, an indiscreet 
Presumption, grounded upon often scapes. 

Com. Or the insufficiency of adversaries : 
And this is in your common fighting brothers. 
Your old Perdue's, Avho, after time, do think. 
The one, that they are shot-free, the other sword- 
Your third ? [free. 

Sir Dia. Is nought but an excess of choler, 
That reigns in testy old men 

Com. Noblemen's porters. 
And self-conceited poets. 

Sir Dia. And is rather 
A pceAdshness, than any part of valor. 

Prac. He but rehearses, he concludes no valor. 

Com. A history of distempers as they aro 
practised. 
His harangue undertaketh, and no more. 
Your next ? 

Sir Dia. Is a dull desperate resolving. 

Com. In case of some necessitous misery; or 
Incumbent mischief. 

Prac. Narrowness of mind, 
Or ignorance being the root of it. 

Sir Dia. Which you shall find in gamesters 
quite blown up. 

Com. In bankrupt merchants, and discovered 
traitors. 

Prac. Or your exemplified malefactors. 
That have survived their infamy and punishment. 

Com. One that hath lost his ears by a just 
sentence 

Of the Star-chamber, a right valiant knave • 

And is a histrionical contempt 

Of Avhat a man fears most ; it being a mischief 

In his own apprehension unavoidable. 

Prac. Which is in coAvards Avoimdcd mortally 
Or thieves adjudged to die. 

Com. This is a valor 
I should desire much to see encouraged ; 
As being a special entertainment 
For our rogue people, and make oft good sport 
Unto them, from tlie galloAVs to the ground. 

Sir Dia. But mine is a judicial resolving. 
Or liberal undertaking of a danger 

Com. That might be avoided. 

Sir Dia. Ay, and Avith assurance. 
That it is found in noblemen and gentlemea 
Of the best sheaf 

Com. Who having lives to lose. 
Like private men, have yet a Avorld of honor 
And public reputation to defend. 



564 



THE MAGNETIC LAT>Y. 



ACT III, 



Sir Diet. ^Vhich in the brave historilied Greeks, 
And Romans, you shall read of. 

Co?n. And no doubt. 
May in our aldermen meet it, and their deputies, 
The soldiers of the city, valiant blades. 
Who, rather than their houses should be ran- 

sack'd, 
Would fight it out, like so many wild beasts ; 
Not for the fury they are commonly arm'd with, 
But the close manner of their fight and custom 
Of joining head to head, and foot to foot. 

Iron. And Avhich of these so well-prest reso- 
Am I to encounter now ? for commonly, [lutions 
Men that have so much choice before them, have 
Some trouble to resolve of any one. 

Bias. There are three valors yet, which sir 
Hath, with his leave, not touch'd. [Diaphanous 

Si?- Dfj. Yea ! wliich are those ^ 

Prac. He perks at that. 

Com. Nay, he does more, he chatters. 

Bias. A philosophical contempt of death. 
Is one ; then an infused kind of valor. 
Wrought in us by our genii, or good spirits ; 
Of which the gallant ethnics had deep sense, 
^Vho generally held that no great statesman. 
Scholar, or soldier, e'er did anything 
Sine divino aliquo afflatu. 

Prac. But there's a christian valor 'bovc these 
two. 

Bias. Which is a quiet patient toleration 
Of whatsoever the malicious world 
With injury doth unto you ; and consists 
In passion more than action, sir Diaphanous. 

Sir Dia. Sure, I do take mine to be christian 
valor. [tifV) 

Com. You may mistake though. Canyoujus- 
On any cause, this seeking to deface 
The divine image in a man ? 

Bias. O, sir. 
Let them alone : is not Diaphanous 
As much a divine image, as is Ironside ? 
Let images fight, if they will fight, a God's 
name. 

Enter Nurse Keep, hastily. 

Keep. Where's master Needle ? saw you mas- 
We are undone. [ter Needle ? 

Com. What ails the frantic nurse ? [out ! 

Keeji. My mistress is undone ! she's crying 
Where is this man trow, master Needle ? 

Eater Needle. 
Nee. Here. [ Takes her aside. 

Keep. Run for the party, mistress Chair, the 
midwife. 
Nay, look how the man stands as he were 

gowk'd ! 
She's lost if you not haste away the party. 
Nee. Where is the doctor ? 
Keep. Where a scoffing man is, 
And his apothecary little better ; 
They laugh and jeer at all: will you dispatch. 
And fetch the party quickly to our mistress .'' 
We are all undone ! the tympany will out else. 
\_Exeunt Needle and Keep. 

E)i.tcr Sir Moth Interest. 
Sir Moth. News, news, good news, better than 
butter' d news ! 



My niece is found with child, tlie doctor tells 
And fallen in labor. [me, 

Com. How ! I Ejcit 

Sir Moth. The portion's paid. 

The portion the captain ! is he hero : 

■ Exit. 

Prac. He has spied your swords out: put 

them up, put up, [rel's ended. 

You have driven him hence, and yet your quar- 

Iron, In a most strange discovery, 

Prac. Of light gold. 

Sir Dia. And cracked within the ring. J 
As a good omen. [take the omen 

Prac. ITien put up your sword, 
And on your doublet. Give the captain thanks. 

Sir Dia. I have been slurr'd else. Thank 
you, noble c&ptain ! 
Yoiu' quaiTelling caused all this. 

Iron. Where' t> Compass ? 

Prac. Gone, 
Shrunk hence, contracted to his centre, I fear. 

Iron. The slip is liis then. 

Sir Dia. I had like t' have been [me, 

Abused in the business, had the slip slurr'd on 
A counterfeit. 

Bias. Sir, we are all abused, 
As many as were broiight on to be suitors ; 
And we will join in thaiiks all to the captain. 
And to his fortune that so brought us off. 

[Exeunt. 

Dam. This teas a pitiful poor shift of your poet, 
boy, to make his prime looman loith child, and fall 
in labor, just to compose a quarrel. 

Boy. With whose borrowed ears have you heard, 
sir, all this lohile, that you can mistake the current 
of our scene so ? The stream of the aryument 
threatened her being ivith child from the very begin- 
ning ; for it presented her in the first of t/ie second 
act loith some apparent note of infirmity or defect, 
from k/iowledge of which the auditory were rightly 
to be suspended by the author, till the quarrel, which 
was but the accidental cause, hastened on the dis- 
covery of it, in occasioning her affright, tchich made 
her fall intoherthroes presently, and ivithin that com- 
pass of time alloioed to the comedy : loherein the poet 
exprest his prime artifice, rather than any error, 
that the detection of her being with child shoidd de- 
termine the quarrel, which had produced it. 

Pro. The boy is too hard for you, brotJier Dam- 
play ; but mark the play, and let him alone. 

Dam. I care not for marking the play ; Til damn 
it, taUi, and do that I come for, I will not h-ave 
gentlemen lose their 2}t'ioilege, nor I myself my pre- 
rogative, for never an overgrown or superannuated 
poet of them all. He shall not give me.the laiv : 1 
will censure and be toitty, and take my tobacco, and 
enjoy my Magna Charta of reprehension, as my 
predecessors have done before me. 

Boy. Even to license and absurdity. 

Pro. Not now, because the gentleiooman is in 
travail, and the midwife may come on the sooner, 
to put her and %is out of our j^ain. 

Dam. Well, look to your business afterward, boy, 
that all things be clear, and come properly forth, 
suited and set together ; J'or I tvill search what fol- 
lows severely, and to the nail. 

Boy. Let your nail run smooth then, and not 
scratch, leat the author be bold to pare it to the 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



565 



quick, and viake it ?mart : you'll find him as severe 
as yourself. 

Dam. A skreiod boi/, and has me every where ! 
The midwife is come, she has made haste. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Lady Loadstone's 
House. 

Enter Mother Chaik and Needle. 

Chair. Stay, master Needle, j'ou do prick too 
^ fast 
Upon the business, I mrist take some breath ; 
Lend me my stool ; you have drawn a stitch 

upon mo. 
In faith, son Needle, with your haste. 

Nee. Good mother, 
Piece up this breach ; I'll give you a new gown, 
A new silk grogoran gown ; I'll do it, mother. 

Enter Nurse Keep. 

Keep. AVhat will you do ! you have done too 

much already, [tor Needle. 

With your prick-seam, and through-stitch, mas- 

I i^ray you sit not fabling here old tales, 

GDod mother Chair, the midwife, but come up. 

[Exeunt Chair and Needle. 

Enter Compass and Pkactice. 

Co7n. How now, Nurse ! where's my lady ? 
Keep. In her chamber, 
Lock'd up, I think : she'll speak with nobody. 

Com. Knows she of this accident ? 
Keep. Alas, sir, no : 
Would she might never know it ! \^Exit. 

Prac. I think her ladyship 
Too virtuous, and too nobly innocent, 
To have a hand in so ill-form' d a business. 

Com. Your thought, sir, is a brave thought, 
and a safe one : 
The child now to be born is not more free 
From the aspersion of all spot than she. 
She have her hand in a plot 'gainst master 

Practice, 
If there were nothing else, whom she so loves. 
Cries up, and values ! knows to be a man 
Mark'd out for a chief justice in his cradle, 
Or a lord paramount, the head of the hall, 
The top, or the top-gallant of our law ! 
Assure yourself she could not so deprave 
The rectitude of her judgment, to wish you 
Unto a wife might prove your infamy. 
Whom she_ esteem'd that part of the common- 
wealth. 
And had [raised] up for honor to her blood. 

Prac. I must confess a great beholdingness 
Unto her ladyship's offer, and good wishes : 
But the truth is, I never had affection. 
Or any liking to this niece of hers. 

Com. You foresaw somewhat then J 

Prac. I had my notes. 
And my prognostics. 

Com. You read almanacs. 
And study them to some purpose, I believe. 

Prac. I do confess I do believe, and pray too, 
According to the planets, at some times 



Com. And do observe the sign in making 

Prac. As in phlebotomy. [love ' 

Com. And choose your mistress 
By the good days, and leave her by the bad / 

Prac. I do and I do not. 

Com. A little more 
Would fetch all his astronom.3,' from Allestrce. 

Prac. I tell you, master Compass, as mj 
friend, 
And under seal, I cast my ej'es long since 
Upon the other wench, my lady'.s woman. 
Another manner of piece for handsomeness, 
Than is the niece : but that is sub sigillo. 
And as I give it you, in hope of your aid 
And counsel in the business. 

Com. You need counsel ! 
The only famous counsel of the kingdom, 
And in all courts ! That is a jeer in faith. 
Worthy your name, and j^our profession too, 
Sharp master Practice. 

Prac. No, upon my law. 
As I am a bencher, and now double reader, 
I meant in mere simplicity of request. 

Com. If you meant so, the affairs are no-^v 
perplex'd, [tling. 

And full of trouble ; give them breath and set- 
I'U do my best. But in meantime do you 
Prepare the parson. — I am glad to know 
This ; for myself liked the young maid before, 
And loved her too. [.4s«fc.] — Have you a li- 

Prac. No ; [cense ? 

But I can fetch one straight. 

Com. Do, do, and mind [ness ; 

The parson's pint, to engage him [in] the busi- 
A knitting cup there must be. 

Prac. i shall do it. {Exit. 

Enter BLi.s and Sir ^Ioth Interest. 

Bias. 'Tis an affront from you, sir; you here 
brought me 
Unto my lady's, and to woo a vnie, 
"Which since is proved a erack'd commodity : 
She hath broke bulk too soon. 

Sir Moth. No fault of mine, 
If she be erack'd in pieces, or broke round : 
It was mjr sister's fault that owns the house 
Where she hath got her clap.makes all this noise. 
I keep her portion safe, that is not scatter'd ; 
The monies rattle not, nor are they thrown. 
To make a muss yet, 'mong the gamesome 
suitors. 

Com. Can you endure that flout, close master 
And have been so bred in the p'oUtics ? [Bias, 
The injury is done you, and by him only : 
He lent you imprest money, and upbraids it ; 
Furnish'd you for the wooing, and now waves 
you. 

Bias. That makes me to expostulate the 
So with him, and resent it as I do. [wrong 

Com. But do it home then. 

Bias. Sir, my lord shall know it. 

Com. And all the lords of the court too. 
.« Bias. What a Moth 
You are, sir Interest ! 

Sir Moth. Wherein, I entreat you, 
Sweet master Bias ? 

Com. To draw in young statesmen. 
And heirs of policy into the noose 
Of an infamous matrimony. 



566 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



Bias. Yes, 
Infamous, quasi in communem famam : 
And matrimony, qicasi, matter of money. 

Com. Learnedly urged, my cunning master 

Bias. 
Bias, ^^'itll his lewd known and prostituted 
niece. [mistake, 

Sir Moth. My known and prostitute ! how you 
A.nd ran upon a false ground, master Bias ! 
Your lords will do me right. Now she is pros- 
titute. 
And that I know it, please you understand me, 
I mean to keep the portion in my hands, 
And pay no monies. 

Com. Mark you that, don Bias ? 
And you shall still remain in bonds to him, 
For wooing furniture, and imprest charges. 
Sir Moth. Good master Compass, for the sums 
he has had 
Of me, I do acquit him ; they arc his own : 
Here, before \o\\, I do release him. 
Coyn. Good ! 
Bias. O sir — 

Com. 'Slid, take it ; I do witness it : 
He cannot hurl away his money better. 

Sir Moth. He shall get so much, sir, by my 
acquaintance. 
To be my friend ; and now report to his lords 
As I deserve, no otherwise. 

Ccm. But well ; 
And I will witness it, and to the vakie : 
Four hundred is the price, if I mistake not, 
Of your true friend in court. Take hands, you 
And bought him cheap. [have bought him, 

Bias. I am his worship's servant. 
Com. And you his slave, sir Moth, scal'd and 
delivcr'd. 
Have you not studied the court-compliment ? — 
[Exeunt Sir Moth ajul Bias. 
Hero arc a pair of humoks reconciled now, 
That money held at distance, or their thoughts, 
Saser than money. 

Enter Polish, drivinj in Nurse Keep. 

Pol. Out, thou caitiff witch, 
Bawd, beggar, gipsey ; any thing, indeed. 
But honest woman ! 

Keep. What j-ou please, dame Polish, 
My lady's stroker. 

Com. What is here to do ! 
The gossips out ! [Aside. 

Pol. Thou art a traitor to mo. 
An Eve, the apple, and the serpent too ; 
A vi^jcr, that hast eat a passage through me, 
Through mine own bowels, by thy recklessness. 

Com. What frantic fit is this ? I'll stop aside, 
And hearken to it. [Retires. 

Pol. Did I trust thee, wretch. 
With such a secret, of that consequence, 
Did so concern me, and my child, our livelihood. 
And reputation I and hast thou undone us, 
By thy connivance, nodding in a corner. 
And suffering her be got with child so basely ? ^ 
Sleepy, unlucky hag ! — thou bird of night. 
And all mischance to me ! 

Keep. Good lady empress, 
Had I the keeping of your daughter's clicket 
In charge, was that committed to my trust ? 

Com. Her daughter ! lAside. 



Pot. Softly, de-\Tl, not so loud : 
l^'ou'd have the house hear and be TOtness, 
would you ? 

Keep. Let all the world be witness ; afore I'll 
Endure the t^^ranny of such a tongue, 
And such a jiride 

Pol. What will you do ? 

Keep. Tell truth. 
And shame the she-man-devil in pufTd sleeves 
Run any hazard, by revealing all 
Unto my lady ; how you changed the cradles. 
And changed the children in them. 

Pol. Not so high ! 

Keep. Calling your daughter Pleasance there 
Placentia, 
And my true mistress by the name of Pleasance 

Com. A horrid secret this ; worth the discov- 

Pol. And must you be thus loud ? [ery. 

Keep. I will be louder, [room, 

And cry it through the house, through every 
And every office of the laundry-maids, 
Till it be borne hot to my lady's eai'S : 
Ere I will live in such a slavery, 
I'll do away myself. 

Pol. Didst thou not swear 
To keep it secret ! And upon what book ? — 
r ^0 remember now. The Practice of Piety. 

Keep. It was a practice of impiety. 
Out of your wicked foi-ge, I know it now, 
My conscience tells me ; first, against the infants. 
To rob them of their names and their true par- 
ents ; 
To abuse the neighborhood, keep them in error ; 
But most my lady ; she has the main wrong. 
And I will let her know it instantly. 
Repentance, if it be true, ne'er comes too late. 

[Exit. 

Pol. What have I done ? conjured a spirit up, 
I shall not lay again ! dra^\m on a danger 
And ruin on myself thus, by provoking 
A peevish fool, whom nothing will pray off 
Or satisfy, I fear ! her patience stirr'd. 
Is turn'd to fury. I have run my bark 
On a sweet rock, by mine own arts and trust ; 
And must get off again, or dash in pieces. [Exii. 

Com. [coming forward.] This was a business 
worth the listening after. 

Enter Pleasance. 

Plea. O master Compass, did j'ou see my 
Mistress Placentia, my lady's niece, [mother ? 
Is newly brought to bed oi" the bravest boy ! 
AVill you go see it ' 

Com. First, I'll know the father. 
Ere I approach these hazards. 

Plea. Mistress midwife 
Has promised to find out a f;ither for it, 
If there be need. 

Com. She may the safolicr do it, 
By virtue of her place. — But, pretty Pleasance, 
I have a news for you I think will please you. 

Pica. What is it, master Compass ? 

Com. Stay, you must 
Deserve it ere you know it. Where's my lady ? 

Plea. Retired unto her chamber, and shut up. 

Com. She hears of none of this yet ? Well, 
do you 
Command the coach, and fit yourself to travel 
A little way with me. 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



561 



Plea. Whither, for God's sake ? 

Com. Where I'll entreat you not to your loss, 
If you dare trust yourself. [believe it, 

Pica. With you the Avorld o'er. 

Co?n. The news Avill well req^uite the pains, I 
assiu'e you, 
And in this tumult you -will not be miss'd. 
Command the coach, it is an instant business, 
Will not be done without you. [Ej:it Pleasance. 

Enter Palate. 

Parson Palate ! 
Most opportunely met ; step to my chamber ; 
I'll come to you presently : there is a frieird 
Or two will entertain you. [Exit Palate. 

Enter Practice. 

Master Practice, 
Have you the license ? 
Prac. Here it is. 
Com. Let's see it : 
Your name's not in it. 

Prac. I'll fill that presently. 
It has the seal, which is the main, and rcgister'd ; 
The clerk knows mc, and trusts mo. 
Com. Have you the parson ? 
Prac. They say he's here, he 'pointed to come 
hither. [world. 

Com. I Avould not have liim seen here for a 
To breed suspicion. Do you intercept him. 
And prevent that. But take your license with 

you, 
And fill the blank ; or leave it here with mc, 
I'll do it for you ; stay you for us at his church, 
Behind the Old Exchange, we'll come in the 

coach, 
And meet you there within this quarter at least. 
Prac. I am much bound unto j'ou, master 
Compass ; [tice 

You have all the law and parts of squire Prac- 
For ever at your use. I'll toll you news too : 
Sir, your reversion's fallen ; Thinwit's dead, 
Surveyor of the projects general. 
Com. When died he ? 
Prac. Even this morning ; I received it 
From a right hand. 

Cotn. Conceal it, master Practice, 
And mind the main aftair you are in hand with. 

[Exit Pkactice. 

Re-enter Pleasaxce. 
Pka. The coach is ready, sir. 
Com. 'Tis well, fair Pleasance, [man 

Though now we shall not use it ; bid the coach- 
Drive to the parish church, and stay about there. 
Till master Practice come to him, and employ 
him. {Exit Pleasance. 

I have a license now, which must have entry 
Before my lawyer's. — 

R3-enter Palate. 

Noble parson Palate, 
Thou shalt be a mark advanced ; here is a piece, 
[Gives him money. 
And do a feat for me. 

Pal. What, master Compass ? 
Com. But run the words of matrimony over 
My head and mistress Pleasaiice's in my cham- 
There's captain Ironside to be a witness, [ber ; 



And here's a license to secure thee. — Parson, 
What do you stick at .'' 

Pal. It is afternoon, sir ; 
Directly against the canon of the church : 
You know it, master Compass : and beside, 
I am engaged unto your worshipful friend, 
The learned master Practice, in that business. 

Com. Come on, engage yourself: who shall 
be able 
To say you married us but in the morning, 
The most canonical minute of the daj-, 
If you affirm it ? That's a spiced excuse, _ 
And shews you have set the canon law before 
Any profession else, of love or friendship. 

Be-entcr Pleasance. 
Come, mistress Pleasance, Ave cannot prevail 
With the rigid Parson here ; but, sir, I'll keep 

you 
Lock'd in my lodging, till't be done elsewhere, 
And under fear of Ironside. 

Pal. Do you hear, sir .' 

Com. No, no, it matters not. 

Pal. Can you think, sir, 
I would deny you any thing, not to loss 
Of both my livings ? I will do it for you j 
Have you a Avedding ring r 

Com. Ay, and a posie : 
Annulus hie nobis, quod sic uterque, dabit. 

Pal. Good ! ♦ 

This ring will gioe you what you both desire. 
I'll make the whole house chant it.and the jDarisli . 

Com. Why, well said, parson. Now, to you 
my news, 
That comprehend my reasons, mistress Pleas- 
ance. ^Exeuni. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Mother Chair with a child, Polish, Keep, 
and Needle. 

Chair. Go, get a nurse, procure her at what 
rate 
You can ; and out of the ho«use Avith it, son 
It is a bad commodity. [Needle ; 

Nee. Good mother, 
I knoAV it, but the best Avould noAV be made on't. 
[Exit with the child. 

Chair. And shall. You should not fret so, 
mistress Polish, 
Nor A'ou, dame Keep ; my daughter shall do Avell, 
When she has ta'en my caudle. I have knoAvn 
TAventy such breaches pieced up and made whole, 
Without a bum of noise. You tAvo fall out, 
And tear up one anothci ! 

Pol. Blessed Avoman ! 
Blest be the peace-maker ! 

Keep. The pease-dresser ! 
I'll hear no peace from her. I have been wrong' d. 
So has my lady, my good lady's Avorship, 
And I Avill right her, hoping she'll right me. 

Pol. Good gentle Keep, I pray thee mistress 
Pardon my passion ; I Avas misadvised ; [nurse, 
Be thou yet better, by this grave sage woman, 
Who is the mother of matrons and great per- 
And knoAvs the Avorld. [sons, 

Keep. I do confess, she knows 
Something and I know something — 



568 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



Pol. Put your somethings 
Together then. 

Chair. Ay, here's a chance fallen out 
You cannot help ; less can this gentlewoman ; 
I can, and will, for both. First, I have sent 
By-chop away ; the cause gone, the fame ceas- 
Then by my caudle and my cullice, I set [eth. 
My daughter on her feet, about the house here ; 
She's young, and must stir somewhat for ne- 
cessity, 
Her youth will bear it out. She shall pretend 
To have had a fit o' the mother ; there is all. 
If you have but a secretary laundress, 
To blanch the linen — Take the former counsels 
Into you ; keep them safe in j'our own breasts, 
And make your market of them at the highest. 
Will you go peach, and cry yourself a fool 
At grannam's cross ! be laugh'd at and despised ! 
Betray a purpose, which the deputy 
Of a double ward, or scarce his alderman, 
With twelve of the wisest questmen could find 
Employed by the authority of the city ! [out, 
Come, come, be friends ; and keep these women- 
matters, 
Smock-sccrets to ourselves, in our own verge : 
We shall mar all, if once we ope the mysteries 
Of the tiring-house, and tell what's done within. 
No theatres are more cheated with appearances, 
Or these shop-lights, than the ages, and folk in 
That seem most curious. , [them, 

Pol. Breath of an oracle ! 
You shall bo my dear mother ; wisest woman 
That ever tipp'd her tongue with point of rea- 
sons, 
To turn her hearers ! Mistress Keep, relent, 
I did abuse thee ; I confess to penance, 
And on my knees ask thee forgiveness. [Kneels. 

Chair, liise, 
She doth begin to melt, I see it. 

Keep. Nothing [bawd : 

Grieved me so much as when you call'd me 
Witch did not trouble me, nor gipsey ; no. 
Nor beggar : but a bawd was such a name ! 

Chair. No more rehearsals ; repetitions 
Make things the »-orse : the more Ave stir — you 
The proverb, and it signifies — a stink. [know 
What's done and dead, let it be buried : 
New hours will fit fresh handles to new 
thoughts. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Sir Moth Interest and Servant. 

Sir Moth. Run to the church, sirrah ; get all 

the drunkards 
To ring the bells, and jangle them for joy : 
My niece has brought an lieir unto the house, 
A lusty boy ! [Exit Servant,] Where is my sister 

Loadstone ? — 

Eater Lady Lo.vdstoxe. 
Asleep at atternoons ! it is not wholesome ; 
Against all rules of physic, lady sister. 
The little doctor will not like it. Our niece 
Is new deliver' d of a chopping child. 
Can call the father by the name already, 
If it but ope the mouth round. Master Compass, 
He is the man, they say, fame gives it out, 



Hath done that act of honor to our house, 
And friendship, to pump out a son and hek 
That sliall inherit nothing, surely nothing 
From me, at least. 

Enter Compass. 
I come to invite your ladyship 
To be a -witness ; I will be your partner. 
And give it a horn spoon, and a treen-dish, 
Bastard, and beggar's badges, with a blanket 
For dame the doxy to march round the circuit, 
With bag and baggage. 

Com. Thou malicious knight, [thee, 

Envious sir INIoth, that eats on that Avhich feeds 
And frets her goodness that sustains thy being ! 
What company of mankind would own thy 

brotherhood, 
But as thou hast a title to her blood, 
Whom thy ill-nature hath chose out t' insult on, 
And vox thus, for an accident in her house. 
As if it were her crime, good innocent lady ! 
Thou shew'st thyself a true corroding vermin. 
Such as thou art. 

Sir Moth. Why, gentle master Compass ? 
Because I wish you joy of your young son. 
And heir to the house, you have sent us ? 

Com. I have sent you ! 
I know }iot -what I shall do. Come in, friends : 

Enter Ironside, Sir Di.vpiianous Silkworm, 

Palate, and Pleasance. 
^ladam, I pray you be pleased to trust yourself 
Unto our company. 

Lady L. I did that too late ; 
Which brought on this calamity upon me. 
With all the infamy I hear ; your soldier. 
That swaggering guest. 

Com. Who is retvirn'd here to you. 
Your vowed friend and servant ; comes to sup 

with you, 
(So Ave do all,) and AA'ill prove he hath deserv'd 
That special respect and favor from you. 
As not your fortunes, Avith yourself to boot, 
Cast on a feather-bed, and spread on the sheets 
Under a brace of your best Persian carpets. 
Were scarce a price to thank his happy merit. 

Sir Moth. What impudence is this ! can you 
To hear it, sister ? [endure 

Com. Yes, and you shall hear it. 
Who AAill endure it Avorse. What deserves he, 
In your opinion, madam, or Aveigh'd judgment. 
That, things thus hanging as they do in doubt, 
Suspended and suspected, all invoh^'d, 
And Avrapt in error, can resolve the knot ? 
Redintegrate the fame first of your house. 
Restore your ladyship's quiet, render then 
Your niece a virgin and unvitiated. 
And make all plain and perfect as it Avas, 
A practice to betray you, and your name .'' 

Sir Moth. He speaks impossibilities. 

Com. Here he stands, [thank him 

Whose fortune hath done this, and you must 
To AA'hat you call his swaggering, Ave OAve all 

this : 
And that it may have credit with you, madam. 
Here is your niece, Avhom I have married, AA-it- 
ness [son, 

These gentlemen, the knight, captain, and par* 
And this grave politic toll-troth of the court. 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



5r,9 



Lady L. What's she that I call niece then ? 

Com. Polish's daughter : 
Her mother, goody Polish, has confcss'd it 
To grannam Keep, the nurse, how they did 
The children in their cradles. [change 

Lachj L. To what purpose ? 

Com. To get the portion, or some part of it. 
Which you must now disburse entire to me, sir. 
If I but gain her ladyship's consent. 

Lady L. I bid God give you joy, if this be true. 

Com. As true it is, lady, lady, in the song. 
The portion's mine, Avith interest, sir Moth ; 
I will not bate you a single Harrington, 
Of interest iipon interest : In mean time, 
I do commit you to the guard of Ironside, 
My brother here, captain Iludhudibrass ; 
From whom I will expect you or your ransom. 

Sir Moth. Sir, you must prove it, and the pos- 
Ere I believe it. [sibility. 

Com. For the possibility, 
I leave to trial. 

Enter Practice. 
Truth shall speak itself. 
O, master Practice, did you meet the coach ? 
Prac. Yes, sir, but empty. 
Com. Why, I sent it for you. 
The business is dispatch'd here ere you come : 
Come in, I'll tell you how ; you are a man 
Will look for satisfaction, and must have it. 
All. So we do all, and long to hear the right. 

\_Exeunt. 

Dam. Troth, I am one of those that labor tvith 
the same longing, for it is almost 2^uckerd, and 
pulled into that knot by your jjoet, which I cannot 
easily, with all the strength of my imagination, 
untie. 

Boy. Like enough, nor is it in your office to be 
troubled or jierplexed loith it, but to sit still, and ex- 
peat. The more your imagination busies itself, the 
nuyn; it is intangled, especially if (as I told in the 
heyinniag) you happen on the lorong end. 

Pro. He hath said sufficient, brother Damplay : 
our parts that are the spectators, or s/wuld hear a 
comedy, are to icait the process and events of things, 
as the jioet p)resents them, not as toe xooulA corruptly 
fashion them. We come here to behold plays, and 
censure them, as they are made, and fitted for us ; 
not to beslave our own thoughts, with censorious 
spittle temjiering the pocfs clay, as we toere to motdd 
every scene ancio : that were a mere plastic or pot- 
ter's ambition, most unbecoming the name of a gen- 
tleman. No, let us mark, and not lose the busi- 
ness on foot, by talking. Follow the right thread, 
or find it. 

Dam. Why, here his play might have ended, if 
he woidd have let it ; and have spared us the vexa- 
tion of a fifth act yet to come, which every one here 
knows the issue of already, or may in part conjec- 
ture. 

Boj'. That conjecture is a kind of figure-fling- 
ing, or throwing the dice, for a meaning was never 
in the poet's purpose perhaps. Stay, and see his 
last act, his catastrophe, how he loill perplex that, 
or spring some fresh cheat, to entertain the specta- 
tors, with a convenient delight, till some unexpected 
and neio encounter break out to rectify all, and 
ma/ce good the conclusion. 



Pro. Which eliding here, would have shown dull, 
flat, and unpointed : witlwut any shape or sharp- 
ness, brother Damplay. 

Dam. Well, let us expect then : and wit be with 
us, on the poet's part. 



ACT V. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Lady Loadstc .vu's 
Ilov^e. 

. Enter Needle and Item. 

Nee. Troth, master Item, here's a house di- 
vided, [gine, 
And quarter'd into parts, by your doctor's in- 
He has cast out such aspersions on my lady's 
Niece here, of having had a child ; as hardly 
Will be wiped off, I doubt. 

Item. Why, is't not true ? 

Nee. True ! did you think it ? 

Item. Was she not in labor. 
The midwife sent for ? 

Nee. There's yovir error now ! 
You have drunk of the same water. 

Item. I believed it. 
And gave it out too. 

Nee. More you wrong'd the party ? 
She had no such thing about her, innocent 

Item. What had she then ? [creature ! 

Nee. Only a fit of the mother : 
They burnt old shoes, goose-feathers, assafcetida. 
A few horn-shavings, with a bone or two, 
And she is well again, about the house. 

Item. Is't possible ? 

Nee. See it, and then report it. 

Item. Our doctor's urinal judgment is half- 
crack'd then. 

Nee. Crack'd in the case most hugely with 
my lady, 
And sad sir Moth, her brother ; who is now 
Under a cloud a little. 

Item. Of what .' disgrace ? 

Nee. He is committed to Iludhudibrass, 
The captain Ironside, upon displeasure, 
From master Compass ; but it will blov/ off. 

Itetn. The doctor shall reverse this instantly, 
And set all right again ; if you'll assist 
But in a toy, squire Needle, comes in my nod- 
dle now. 

Nee. Good ! Needle and noddle ! Avhat may't 
be ? I long for't. 

Item. Why, but to go to bed, feign a distem- 
Of Avalking in your sleep, or talking in't [per, 
A little idly, but so much, as on it 
The doctor may have ground to raise a cure 
For his reputation. 

Nee. Any thinf;, to sen'e 
The worship of the man I love and honor. 

'[Exeutit, 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Polish and Pleasance. 
Pol. O ! give you joy, mademoiselle Compass,, 
You are his whirlpool now : all-to-be-married. 
Against vour mother's leave, and without coun- 
sel ! 



570 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



He has iisli'cl fair, and caught a frog, I fear it. 
What fortune have you to bring him in dower ? 
You can tell stories now ; you knoAV a world 
Of secrets to discover. 

Plea. I know nothing 
But what is told me, nor can I discover 
Any thing. 

Pol. No, you shall not, I'll take order. 
Go, get you in there: [Exit Pleasaxce.] It is 

Ember-week, 
I'll keep you fasting from his flesh awhile. 

Enter Chair and Keep loith Placentia. 

Chair. See who is here ! she has been with 
my lady. 
Who kist her, all-to-be-kist her, twice or thrice. 

Keep. And call'd her niece again, and view'd 
her linen. 

Pol. You have done a miracle, mother Chair. 

Chair. Not I, [heartily. 

My caudle has done it : thank my caudle 

Fol. It shall be thank' d, and you too, wisest 
mother ; [hat. 

You shall have a new, brave, four-pound beaver 
Set with enamell'd studs, as mine is here ; 
And a right pair of crystal spectacles, 
Crystal o' the rock, thou mighty mother of 

dames ! 
Hung in an ivory case, at a gold belt ; 
And silver bells to gingle, as you jiace 
Before your fifty daughters in procession 
To church, or from the church. 

Chair. Thanks, mistress Polish. 

Keep. She does deserve as many pensions 

As there be pieces in a maiden-head. 

Were I a prince to give them. 

Pol. Come, sweet charge, 
You shall present yourself about the house ; 
Be confident, and bear up ; you shall be seen. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Compass, Ironside, and Practice. 

Com. What ! I can make you amends, my 
And satisfy a greater injury [learned counsel. 
To chafed master Practice. W^ho Avould think 
That you could be thus testy ? 

Iron. A grave head. 
Given over to the study of our laws. 

Coin. And the prime honors of the common- 

Iron. And you to mind a wife ! [wealth. 

Com. What should you do [you, 

With such a toy as a wife, that might distract 
Or hinder j'ou in your course ? 

Iron. He shall not think on't. 

Cotn. I will make over to you my*possession 
Of that same place is fall'n, you know, to sat- 
Surveyor of the projects general. [isfy ; 

Iron. And that's an office you know how to 

Com. And make your profits of. [stir in. 

Iron. Which are indeed 
The ends of a gown'd man : shew your activitj'. 
And how you are built for business. 

Prac. I accept it 
As a possession, be it but a reversion. 

Com. You first told me 'twas a possession. 

Prac. Ay, 
I told ytiu that I heard so. 



Iron, All is one, 
He'll make a reversion a possession quickly. 

Com. But I must have a general release from 

Prac. Do one, I'll do the other. I you 

Com. It's a match. 
Before my brother Ironside. 

Prac. 'Tis done. 

Com. We two are reconciled then. 

Iron. To a lawyer. 
That can make use of a place, any half title 
Is better than a wife. 

Co7n. And will save charges 
Of coaches, vellute gowns, and cut-work smocks. 

Iron. He is to occupy an office wholly. 

Com. True ; I must tallc with you nearer, 
master Practice, 
About recovery of my wife's portion. 
What way I were best to take. 

Prac. The jjlainest Avay. 

Com. What's that, for plainness ? 

Prac. Sue him at common law : 
Arrest him on an action of choke-bail. 
Five hundred thousand pound ; it will affright 
him, [riage ? 

And all his sureties. You can prove your mar- 
Cow. Yes. 
We'll talk of it within, and hear my lady. 

\^Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Sir Moth Interest, and Lady Loadstone. 
Sir Moth. I am sure the vogue of the houso 

went all that way ; 
She was Avith child, and master Compass got it. 
Ladt/ L. Why, that, you see, is manifestly 

false ; 
He has married the other, our true niece, he 

says. 
He Avould not avoo them both : he is not such 
A stallion, to leap all. Again, no child 
Ai^pears, that I can find Avith all my search. 
And strictest Avay of inquiry, I have made 
Through all my family. A fit of the mother. 
The Avomen say she had, which the midAvife 

cured. 
With burning bones and feathers. 

Enter But. 

Here's the doctor. 
Sir Moth. O, noble doctor, did not you and 
your Item 
Tell me our niece Avas in labor ? 

Rut. If I did, 
What follows ? 

Sir Moth. And that mother Midnight 
W"as sent for ? 

Rut. So she Avas, and is in the house still. 
Sir Moth. But hero has a noise been since, she 
was deliver' d 
Of a braA'e boy, and master Compass's getting. 
Rut. I knoAv no rattle of gossips, nor theii 
noises : 
I hope you take not me for a pimp-errant, 
To deal in smock affairs. Where is the patient, 
The infirm man I Avas sent for, squiie Needle J 
Ladi/ L. Is Needle sick ? 
Rut. My pothecary tells me 
He is in danger — 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



571 



Enter Item. 
How is it, Tim ? where is lie ? 
Iie7n. I cannot hold him down. He is up and 
walks, 
And talks, in his perfect sleep, with his eyes shut, 
As sensibly as he were broad awake. 
See, here he comes ; he's fast asleep, observe him. 

Enter Needle, /o?fo!t'efZ bij Polish, Chair, Keep, 
and Placextia . 

Rut. He'll tell us wonders. What do these 
Avomen here, 
Hunting a man half naked ? you are fine beagles, 
You'd have his douccts ! 

Nee. I have linen brecks on. 

Rut. He hears, but he sees nothing. 

A^ee, Yes, I see 
Who hides the treasure yonder. 

Sir Moth. Ha ! what treasure .' 

But. If you ask questions, he wakes presently, 
And then you'll hear no more till his next fit. 

Nee. And whom she hides it for. 

Rut. Do you mark, sir, list. 

Nee. A fine she spirit it is, an Indian magpye. 
She was an alderman's widow, and fell in love 
With our sir Moth, ray lady's brother. 

Rut. Hear you ? 

Nee. And she has hid an alderman's estate, 
Dropt through her bill, in little holes, in the 

garden, 
And scrapes earth over them ; where none can 

spy 

But I, who see all by the glow-worm's light. 

That creeps before. 

[Exeunt Needle, Chaik, Keep, and Placextia. 

Pol. I knew the gentlewoman. 
Alderman Parrot's widow, a fine sj)eaker, 
As any was in the clothing, or the bevy ; 
She did become her scarlet and black velvet, 
Her green rnd pui-ple 

Rut. Save thy colors, rainbow ! 
Or she wiL run thee o'er, and all thy lights. 

Pol. She d'Ti'elt in Do-little-lane, a top o' the 
hill there, 
In the round cage was ta^er sir Chime Squirrel's : 
She would eat nought but almonds, I assure you. 

Rut. Would thou hadst a dose of pills, a 

double dose, [way ! 

Of the best purge to make thee turn tail t'other 

Pol. You are a foul-mouth' d, purging, absurd 
doctor ; 
I tell you true, and I did long to tell it you. 
You have spread a scandal in my lady's house 

here. 
On her sweet niece, you never can take off 
With all your purges, or your plaister of oaths ; 
Though you distil your damn-me, drop by drop. 
In your defence. That she hath had a child, 
Here she doth spit upon thee, and defy thee. 
Or I do't for her ! 

Rut. Madam, pray you bind her 
To her behavior : tie your gossip up, 
Or send her unto Bethlem. 

Pol. Go thou thither. 
That better hast deserv'd it, shame of doctors ! 
Where could she be deliver' d ? by what charm. 
Restored to her strength so sooii ? who is the 
father, 



Or where the infant ? ask your oracle, 
That walks and talks in his sleep. 

Rut. AVhere is he gone ? 
You have lost a fortune, listening to her tabor 
[Aside to Sir Moth, 
Good madam, lock her up. 

Lady L. You must give losers 
Their leave to speak, good doctor. 

Rut. Follow his footing 
Before he get to his bed ; this rest is lost else. 
{E.veunt Rut and Sir Moth. 

Enter Compass, Phactice, and Iroxside. 
Com. Where is ray wife ? what have you done 
with my wife, 
Gossip of the counsels ? 

Pol. I, sweet master Compass ! 
I honor you and your wife. 

Com. Well, do so still! 
I will not call you mother though, but Polish. 
Good gossip Polish, where have you hid my wife? 
Pol. I hide your w^ife ! 
Com. Or she is run away. 
Lady L. That would make all suspected, sir, 
afresh : 
Come, we will find her if she be in the house. 
Pol. Why should I hide your wife, good mas 

ter Compass ? 
Com. I know no cause, but that you arc goody 
Polish, 
That's good at malice, good at mischief, all 
That can perplex or trouble a business thor- 
oughly. 
Pol. You may say what you will ; you are 
master Compass, 
And carry a large sweep, sir, in. your circle. 
Lady L. I'll sweep all corners, gossip, to spring 
this, 
If 't bo above groujid. I Avill have her cried 
By the common-crier, thorough all the wai'd. 
But I will find her. 

L-on. It will be an act 
Worthy your justice, madam. 

Prac. And become 
The integrity and worship of her name. 

\ExcimU 

SCENE V. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Rut and Sir Moth Ixterest. 

Rut. 'Tis such a fly, this gossip, with her buz, 
She blows on everything, in every place ! 

Sir Moth. A busy woman is a fearful griev- 
Will he not sleep again ? [ance ! 

Rut. Yes, instantly, 
As soon as he is warm. It is the nature 
Of the disease, and all these cold dry fumes 
That are melancholic, to work at first, 
Slow and insensibly in their ascent ; 
Till being got up, and then distilling down 
Upon the brain, they have a pricking quality 
That breeds this restless rest, Avhich we, the sons 
Of physic, call a walking in the sleep. 
And telling mysteries, that must be heard 
Softly, with art, as we were sewing pillows 
Under the patient's elbows ; else they'd fly 
Into a phrensy, run into the woods, 
Where there are noises, huntings, shoutings, 
hallowings, 



572 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



AOT V 



Amidst the brakes and furzes, over bridges 
Fall into waters, scratch their flesh, sometimes 
Drop down a precipice, and there be lost. 

Enter Item. 
How now ! what does he ? 

Item. He is up again, 
And 'gins to talk. 
Sir Moth. Of the former matter, Item ? 
Item. The treasure and the lady, that's his 
argument. [off it : 

Sir Moth. O me, [most] happy man ! he cannot 
I shall know all then. 

Rut. With A^'hat appetite 
Our own desires delude us ! [J««(;?e.] — Hear 

you, Tim, 
Let no man interrupt us. 

Item. Sir Diaphanous 
And master Bias, his court-friends, desire 
To kiss his niece's hands, and gratulate 
The firm recovery of her good fame 
And honof . 

Sir Moth. Good ! Say to them, master Item, 
My niece is on my lady's side ; they'll find her 

there. 
I pray to be but spared for half an hour : 
I'll see them prescntl}'. 

Rut. Do, put them off, Tim, 
And tell them the importance of the business. 
Here, he is come ! sooth ; and have all out of 
him. 

Enter Needle, talking as in his sleep. 

Nee. How do you, ladj'-bird r so hard at work, 

still ! [bird, 

What's that you saj' ? do you bid me walk, sweet 

And tell our knight ? I will. How ! toalk, knave, 

walk ■' 
I think vou're angrv with mo, Pol. Fine Pol ! 
Pol is a fine bird ! "O find lady Pol ! 
Almond for Parrot. Parrot's a brave bird. 
Three hundred thousand pieces have you stuck 
Edge-long into the ground, within the garden ? 
O bounteous bird ! 
■ Sir Moth. And me most hajppy creature ! 

Rut. Smother your joy. 

Nee. How ! and dropp'd twice so many 

Sir Moth. Ha ! -sA-here ? 

Rut. Contain youi-self. 

Nee. In the old well ? [blood : 

Sir Moth. I cannot, I am a man of flesh and 
Who can cont'ain himself, to hear the ghost 
Of a dead lady do such works as these, 
And a city ladj- too of the strait Avaist ? 

Nee. I will go try the truth of it. [Exit. 

Rut. He's gone. 
Follow him, Tim ; see what he does. [Exit Item.] 

If he bring you 
A say of it now ! — 

Sir Moth. I'll say he's a rare fellow, 
And has a rare disease. 

Rut. And I Avill work 
As rare a cure upon him. 

Sir Moth. How, good doctor ? 

Rut. When he hath utter'd all that you would 
know of him, 
I'll cleanse him with a pill as small as a pease, 
And stop his mouth : for there his issue lies, 
Between the muscles of the tongue. 



Re-enter Item. 

Sir Moth. He's comb. 

Rut. What did he. Item ? 

Item. The first step he stept 
Into the garden, he puU'd these five pieces 
Up, in a finger's breadth one of another : 
The dirt sticks on them still. 

.S';> Moth. I know enough. 
Doctor, proceed with your cure, I'll make thee 

famous. 
Famous among the sons of the physicians, 
Machaon, Podalirius, Esculapius. [had; 

Thou shalt have a golden beard, as Avell as he 
And thy Tim Item here, have one of silver ; 
A livery beard ! and all thy pothecaries 
Belong to thee. — Where is sqi;ire Needle ? gone ? 

Item. He is prick' d away, now he has done 
the work. 

Rut. Prepare his pill, and give it him afore 
supper. [Exit Item. 

Sir Moth. I'll send for a dozen of laborers to- 
To turn the surface of the garden np. [morrow, 

Rut. In mold ! bruise every clod. 

Sir Moth. And have all sifted. 
For I'll not lose a piece of the bird's bountj'- ; 
And take an inventory of all. 

Rut. And then, 
I would go down into the well ■ 

Sir Moth. Myself ; 
No trusting other hands : six hundred thousand, 
To the first three ; nine hundred thousand 
pound — 

Rut. 'Twill purchase the whole bench of alder- 
Stript to their shirts. [manity. 

Sir Moth. There never did accriie 
So great a gift to man, and from a lady 
I never saw but once : now I remember, 
We met at Merchant-tailors-hall, at dinner, 
In Threadneedle-street. 

Rut. Which was a sign squire Needle 
Should have the threading of this thread. 

Sir Moth. 'Tis true ; 
I shall love parrots better while I know him. 

Rut. I'd have her statue cut now in white 
marble. 

Sir Moth. And have it painted in most orient 
colors. 

Rut. That's right ! all city statues must be 
painted, 
Else they bo worth nought in their subtle judg- 
ment. 

Enter Bias. 

Sir Moth. My truest friend in court, dear 
master Bias ! 
You hear of the recovery of our niece 
In fame and credit ? 

Bias. Yes, I have been with her, 
And gratulatcd to her ; but I am sorry 
To find the author of the foul aspersion 
Here in your company, this insolent doctor. 

Sir Moth. You do mistake him ; he is clear 
got off on't : 
A gossip's jealousy first gave the hint. 
He drives another way now as I woiild have him ; 
He's a rare man, the doctor, in his way, 
He has done the noblest cure here in the house. 
On a poor squire, my sister's tailor. Needle, 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



573 



That talk'd in's sleep ; would -walk to St. John's 

wood, 
And Waltham forest, scape by all the ponds 
And pits in the way ; run over two-inch bridges, 
With his eyes fast, and in the dead of night ! — 
I'll have you better acquainted with him. 

Doctor; 
Here is my dear, dear, dearest friend in court, 
Wise, poAverful master Bias ; pray j'ou salute 
Each other, not as strangers, but true friends. 

Rut. This is the gentleman you brought to- 
A suitor to your niece. [day, 

.S(V Moth. Yes. 

Rut. Y''ou were 
Agreed, I heard ; the writings drawn between 

Sir Moth. And seal'd. [yoT-i- 

Rut. What broke you off ? 

Sir Moth. This rumor of her: 
Was it not, master Bias ? 

Bias. Which I find 
Now false, and therefore come to make amends 
In the first place. I stand to the old conditions. 

Rut. Faith, give them him, sir Moth, whate'er 
they were. 
You have a brave occasion now to cross 
The flanting master Compass, who pretends 
Right to the portion, by the other intail. 

Sir Moth. And claims it. Y^ou do hear he's 
married ? 

Bias. We hear his wife is run away from him, 
Within : she is not to be found in the house, 
With all the hue and cry is made for her 
Through every room ; the larders have been 

scarch'd, 
The bake-houses and boulting tub, the ovens, 
Wash-house and brew-house, nay the very fur- 
And yet she is not heard of, [nace, 

Sir Moth. Be she ne'er heard of. 
The safety of Great Britain lies not on't. 
Y^ou are content with the ten thousand pound, 
Defalking the four hundred garnish-money ? 
That's the condition here, afore the doctor. 
And your demand, friend Bias ? 

Bias. It is, sir Moth. 

Enter Palate. 
Rut. Here comes the parson then, shall make 

all sure. 
Sir Moth. Go you with mv friend Bias, jDarson 
Palate, 
Cnto my niece ; assure them we are agreed. 
Pal. And mistress Compass too is found with- 
Sir Moth. Where was she hid ? [in. 

Pal. In an old bottle-house. 
Where they scraped trenchers ; there her mother 
had thrust her. 
Rut. Y'ou shall have time, sir, to triumph on 
him, 
When this fine feat is done, and his Rud-Iron- 
side. [Exeunt. 

SCENE VI. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Compass, Lady Loadstone, Practice, 
Polish, Chair, and Keep. 

Com- Was ever any gentlewoman used 
Bo barbarously by a malicious gossip, 
Pretending to be mother to her too .' 



Pol. Pretending ! sir, I am her mother, and 
challenge 
A right and power for what I have done. 

Com. Out, hag ! 
Thou that hast put all nature off, and woman, 
For sordid gain, betray'd the trust committed 
Unto thee by the dead, as from the living ; 
Changed the poor innocent infants in their cra- 
dles ; [names, 
Defrauded them of their parents, changed their 
Calling Placentia, Pleasance : Pleasance, Pla- 
centia. 

Pol. How knows he this ? [Aside. 

Com. Abused the neighborhood ; 
But most this lady : didst enforce an oath 
To this poor woman, on a pious book, 
To keep close thy impiety. 

Pol. Have you told this ? [Aside to the Nurse, 

Keep. I told it ! no, he knows it, and much 
As he's a cunning man. |more 

Pol. A cunning fool. 
If that be all. 

Com. But now to your true daughtej. 
That had the child, and is the proper Pleasance 
We must have an account of that too, gossip. 

Pol. This is like all the rest of master Com- 
pass. 

Enter Rut, running. 

Rut. Help, help, for charity ! sir Moth Inter- 
Is fallen into the well. [est 

Ladjj L. Where, where ? 

Rut. In the garden. 
A rope to save his life ! 

Com. How came he there ? [tuno 

Rut. He thought to take possession of a for- 
There newly dropt him, and the old chain broke, 
And down fell he in the bucket. 

Com. Is it deep ? [rope •' 

Rut. We cannot tell. A x'ope, help with a 

Enter Sir Diaphanous Silkworm, Ironside, Item, 

and Needle, leading in Sir Moth Interest. 

Sir Dia. He is got out again. The knight is 
saved. [saved him. 

Iron. A little soused in the water ; Needlo 

Item. The Avater saved him, 'twas a fair escape. 

Nee. Have you no hurt ? 

Sir Moth. A little wet. 

Nee. That's nothing. 

Rut. I wish'd you staj^, sir, tiU to-morrow; 
and told you 
It was no lucky hour : since six o'clock 
All stars were retrograde. 

Ladg L. In the name 
Of fate or folly, how came you in the bucket ? 

Sir Moth. That is a qiiare of another time, 
sister ; 

The doctor will resolve you who hath done 

The admirablest cure upon your Needle ! 
Give me thy hand, good Needle ; thou cam's* 

timely. 
Take off my hood and coat ; and let me shake 
Myself a little. I have a world of business. 
Where is my nephew Bias r and his wife ? 

Enter Blvs and Placenti.\ 
Who bids God give then joy ? here they both 
stand. 



o7i 



THE MAGNETIC LADY. 



As sure affianced as the parson, or -words, 
Can tie them. 

Rut. We all -wish them joy and happiness. 

Sir Dia- I saw the contract, and can witness it. 

Sir M. He shall receive ten thousand pounds 
to-morrow. 
You look't for't, Compass, or a greater sum, 
But 'tis disposed of, this, another way : 
I have but one niece, verily, [master] Compass. 

Enter a Serjeant. 

Com. I'll find another. — Varlet, do your office. 

Serj. I do arrest your body, sir Moth Interest, 
In the king's name ; at suit of master Compass, 
And dame Placentia his Avife. The action's en- 
Five hundred thousand pound. [ter'd. 

Sir Moth. Hear you this, sister ? 
And hath your house the ears to hear it too. 
And to resound the affront ? 

Lady L. I cannot stop 
The laws, or hinder justice : I can be 
Your bail, if it may be taken. 

Com. With the captain's, 
I ask no better. 

Rut. Here are better men. 
Will give their bail. 

Com. Eut yours will not be taken, 
Worshipful doctor ; j'ou are good security 
For a suit of clothes to the tailor that dares trust 

you: 
But not for such a sum as is this action. — 
Varlet, you know my mind. 

Serj. You must to prison, sir, 
Unless you can find bail the creditor likes. 

Sir Moth. I would fain find it, if you'd shew 
me where. 

Sir Dia. It is a terrible action ; more indeed 
Than many a man is worth ; and is call'd Fright- 
bail, [peril. 

Iron. Faith, I will bail him at mine own ap- 
Varlet, begone : I'll once have the reputation, 
To be security for such a sum. 
Bear up, sir Moth. 

Rut. He is not worth the buckles 
About his belt, and yet this Ironside clashes ! 

Sir Moth. Peace, lest he hear you, doctor ; 
we'll make use of him. [side, 

What doth your brother Compass, captain Iron- 
Demand of us, by way of challenge, thus ? 

Iron. Your niece's portion ; in the right of his 
wife. 

Sir Moth. I have assured one portion to one 
niece, [of : 

And have no more to account for, that I know 
What I may do in charity — if my sister 
Will bid an offering for her maid and him. 
As a benevolence to them, after supper, 
I'll spit into the bason, and entreat 
My friends to do the like. 

Com. Spit out thy gall, 
And heart, thou viper ! I Avill now no mercy. 
No pity of thee, thy false niece, and Needle ; 

. Enter Pleasance. 
Bring forth your child, or I appeal you of murder. 
You, and this gossip hero, and mother Chair. 

Chair. The gentleman's fallen mad ! 

Plea. No, mistress midwife. 
I saw the child, and you did give it me, 



And put it in my arms ; by this ill token, 
You wish'd me such another ; and it cried. 

Prac. The law is plain ; if it were heard to 
And you produce it not, he may indict [cry. 
All that conceal it, of felony and murder. 

Com. And I will take the boldness, sir, to do it; 
Beginning with sir Moth here, and his doctor. 

Sir Dia. Good faith, this same is like to turn 
a business. 

Pal. And a shrewd business, marry ; thay all 
start at it. 

Com. I have the right thread now, and I will 
keep it. 
You, goody Keep, confess the truth to my lady, 
The truth, the wliolc truth, nothing but the 
truth. 

Pol. I scorn to be prevented of my glories. 
I plotted the deceit, and I will own it. 
Love to my child, and lucre of the portion 
Provoked me ; Avheroin, though the event hath 

fail'd 
In part, I will make use of the best side. 
This is my daughter, [points to Placentia.] and 

she hath had a child 
This day, unto her shame, I now profess it. 
By this mere false stick, squire Needle ; but 
Since this wise knight hath thought it good to 
The foolish father of it, by assuring [change 
Her to his dear friend, master Bias ; and him 
Again to her, by clapping of him on 
With his free promise of ten thousand pound. 
Afore so many witnesses 

Sir Dia. Whereof I 
Am one. 

Pal. And I another. 

Pol. I should be unnatural 
To my own flesh and blood, would I not thank 

him. — 
I thank you, sir ; and I have reason for it. 
For here your true niece stands, fine mistress 

Comjiass, 
(I'll tell you truth,you have deserv'd it from me,) 
To whom you are by bond engaged to pay 
The sixteen thousand pound, which is her por- 
Due to her husband, on her marriage-day. [tion, 
I speak the truth, and nothing but the truth. 

Iron. You'll pay it now, sir Moth, M'ith in- 
terest : [you. 
You see the truth breaks out on every side of 

Sir Moth. Into v;hat nets of cozenage am I 
cast 
On every side ! each thread is grown a noose, 
A very mesh : I have run myself into 
A double brake, of paying twice the money. 

Bias. You shall be released of paying me a 
With these conditions. [penny, 

Pol. Will you leave her then ? 

Bias. Yes, and the sum twice told, ere take a 
wife. 
To pick out monsieur Needle's basting-threads. 

Cotn. Gossip, you are paid : though he be a 
fit nature. 
Worthy to have a whore jiistly put on him ; 
He is not bad enough to take your daughter, 
On such a cheat. W'ill you j-et pay the portion 

Sir Moth. What will you bate ? 

Com. No penny the law gives. 

Sir Moth. Yes, Bias's money. 

Com. What, j'our friend in court I 



SCENE VI. 



THE MAGNETIC LADi'. 



575 



I Avill n:* rob you of him, nor the purchase, 
Nor your dear doctor here ; stand all together, 
Birds of a nature all, and of a feather. 

Lady L. Well, we are all now reconciled to 
There rests yet a gratuity from me, [truth. 

To be conferr'd upon this gentleman ; 
Who, as my nephew Compass says, was cause 
First of the offence, but since of all the amends. 
The quarrel caused the affright, that fright 
brought on [on 

The travail, which made x^eace ; the peace drew 
This new-d;scovery, which endcth all 

In EECONCILEJIENT. 

Com. When the portion 
Is tender'd, and received. 

Sir Moth. Well, you must have it ; 
As good at first as last. 

Lady L. 'Tis M-ell said, brother. 
Audi, if tb,is good captain will accept me, 



Give him myself, endow him with my estate, 
And make him lord of me, and all my fortunes : 
He that hath saved my lionor, though by chance, 
I'll really study his, and how to thank him. 
L-on. And I embrace you, lady, and your 

goodness. 
And vow to quit all thought of war hereafter ; 
Save what is fought under your colors, madam. 
Fal. More work then for the parson ; I shall 

cap 
The Loadstone with an Ironside, I see. 

L-on. And take in these, the forlorn couple, 

with us. 
Needle and his Thread, whose portion I wil 

think on ; 
As being a business waiting on my bounty : 
Thus I do take possession of you, madam. 
My true Magnetic mistress, and my lady. 



CHORUS 



CHANGED INTO AN EPILOGUE TO THE KING. 

Well, geiitlemcn, I now tytiist, under seal, 
And the author's eharge, icave you, and make my appeal 
To the supremest joower, my lord the king ; 
Who best can judge of lohat ice humbly bring. 
He knows our toeakness, and the jooet' s faults ; 
Where lie doth stand upright, go firm, or halts ; 
And he toill doom him. To lohich voice he ataiuis, 
And prefers thai, 'fore all the j-niople's Aa/i/fe. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



DRAMATIS PERSONyE. 



ClIANOM (Canon) Hugh, Vicar of Pancras, and Cap- 
tain TlIUMS. 

Squire Tub, or Tripoly, of Totten-Court. 

Basket Hilts, his Man and Oorernor. 

Justice Preamble, alias Bramble, of Marihone. 

Miles Metaphor, his Clirk. 

Pol Martin, Uaisher to Lady Tub. 

TOBIE TuRFE, IJicrh Constable of Kentish. Tom. 

John Clay, of Kilborn, Tilcmakcr, the Bridegroom. 

IN-AND-Ii\ Medlay, of Islington, Cooper and Head- 
borough, 

Easi' Clench, 0/ Hamstcad, Farrier and Petty Con- 
stable. 



To-Pan, rm'.cr, or Metal-Man ofBelsise, Third-hcrough 
Diogenes Scriben, nf Chaleot, the great- Writer. 
Hannibal (Ball) Puppy, the High Constablc^s Man 
Father Rosin, the Minstrel, and his two Boys. 
Black Jack, Lady Tub's Butler. 

Lady Tub, of Totten, the Squire's Mother. 

TilVO WispE, her Woman. 

Sibil Turfe, Wife to the High Constable. 

Awdrey Turfe, her Daughter, the Bride. 

Joan, Joy'ce, Madge, Paunel, Grisel, and Kate, 

Maids of the Bridal. 
Servants. 



SCENE, — EiNSBUiiY Hundred. 



PROLOGUE. 

No state-affairs, nor any jmlitic club, 
Pretend we in our Tale, here, of a Tub : 
But acts of cloicns and constables, to-day 
Stuff out-the scenes of our ridiculous j^lay. 
A cooper's toil, or some such busy spark, 
Illumining the high constable, and his clerk, 
And all the neighborhood, from old records, 
Of antique 2)roverbs, drawn from Whitson-lords . 
And their authorities, at Wakes and Ales, 
With country precedents, and old teives' tales. 
We bring you noio, to shew what different things 
The cotes of clowns are from the courts of kings. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Totten- Court. — Before Lady Tub's 
House. 

Enter Canon Hugh. 

Hugh. Now on my faith, old bishop Valentine, 
You- have brought us nipping weather. — Feb- 

ruere 
Doth cut and shear — your day and diocese 
Are very cold. All your parishioners, 
As well your laics as your quiristcrs, 
Had need to keeji to their warm feather beds. 
If they be sped of loves : this is no season, 
To seek now makes in ; though sir Hugh of 

Pancras 
Be hither come to Totten, on intelligence, 
To the young lord of the manor, 'squire Tripoly, 
On such an errand as a mistress is. 
What, 'squire ! I say. — [Calls.] Tub I should 

call him too : 
Sir Peter Tub was his father, a saltpetre-man ; 
Who left his mother, lady Tub of Totten- 
Court, here, to revel, and keep open house in ; 
With the young 'squire her son, and's governor 

Rasket- 



Hilts, both by sword and dagger : [calls again.] 

Domino 
Armiger Tub, 'squire Tripoly ! Expergiscere ! 
I dare not call aloud lest she should hear me, 
And think I conjured up the spirit, her son, 
Li priest's lack-Latin : O she is jealous 
Of all mankind for him. 

Tub. [appears at the windoic.'] Canon, is't you ? 
Hugh. The vicar of Pancras, 'squire Tub ! 

wa'hoh ! 

Tub. I come, I stoop unto the call, sir Hugh ! 

Hugh. He knows my lure is from his love, 

fair Awdrey, 

The high constable's daughter of Kentish-toAra 

Tobias Turfe. [here, master 

Enter Tub in his night-gown. 
Tub. What news of him .' 
Hugh. He has waked me 
An hour before I would, sir ; and my duty 
To the young Avorship of Totten-Court, 'squire 
Tripoly ! [tresa 

Who hath my heart, as I have his : Your mis- 
Is to bo made away from you this morning, 
St. Valentino's day : there are a knot of clowns, 
The council of Finsbury, so they are styled. 
Met at her father's ; all the Avise of the hun- 
dred ; 
Old Rasi' Clench of Hamstead, petty constable, 
In-and-in Medlay, cooper of Islington, 
And headborough ; with loud To- Pan, the 

tinker, 
Or metal-man of Bclsise, the thirdborough ; 
And D'ogencs Scriben, the great writer of Chal- 
Tub. And why all these ? [cot, 

Hugh. Sir, to conclude in council, 
A husband or a make for mistress Awdrey ; 
W^hom they have named and pricked down, 

Clay of Kilborn, 
A tough young fellow, and a tilemaker. 
Tub. And what must he do ? 
Hugh. Cover her, they say ; [Turfo, 

And keep her warm, sir : mistress Awdrey 
Last night did draw him for her Valentine ; 
676 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



577 



Which chance, it hath so taken her father and 

mother, 
(Because themselves drew so on Valentine's eve 
Was thirty year,) as they -will have her married 
To-day by any means; they have sent a mes- 
senger 
To Kilborn, post, for Clay ; ■v\-hlch Avhen I knew, 
I posted with the like to worshipful Tripoly, . 
The squire of Tottcn : and my advice to cross it. 

Tub. What is't, sir Hugh ? 

Hugh. Where is your governor Hilts •' 
Basket must do it. 

Tub. Basket shall be call'd. — 
Hilts ! can you see to rise r [Aloud. 

Hilts. \cip2^cars at the ^oindolc.\ Gham not blind, 
sir, 
With too much light. 

Tub. 02:)cn your t'other eye. 
And view if it be day. 

Hilts. . Che can spy that 
At's httle a hole as another, through a millstone. 

[Exit above. 

Tub. He will have the last word, though he 
talk bilk for't. 

Hutjh. Bilk ! what's that ? 

Tub. Why, nothing : a word signifying 
Nothing ; and borrowed here to express noth- 

Hugh. A fine device ! [iii-g* 

Tub. Yes, till we hear a finer. 
What's your device now, canon Hugh ? 

Hugh. In private, 
Lend it j'our ear ; I will not trust the air with it. 
Or scarce my shirt ; my cassock shall not know 
If I thought it did I'd burn it. [it ; 

Tub. That's the way. 
You have thought to get a new one, Hugh : is't 
Let's hear it first. [worth it r 

Hug?!,. Then hearken, and receive it. 

[ Whis2)ers him. 
This 'tis, sir. Do you relish it? 

Enter Hilts, and xcalhs by, maldng himself ready. 

Tub. If Hilts 
Be close enough to carry it ; there's all. 

Hilts. It is no sand, nor butter-milk : if it be, 
Ich'am no zive, or watering-pot, to draw 
Knots i' your 'casions. If you trust me, zo ! 
If not, praform it your zelvcs. Cham no man's 

wife, 
But resolute Hilts : you'll vind me in the buttry. 

[Exit. 

Tub. A testy, but a tender clown as wool, 
And melting as the weather in a thaw ! [you 
He'll weep you like all April ; but he'll roar 
Like middle March afore : he will be as mellow, 
And tipsy too, as October ; and as grave 
And bound up like a frost (with the new year) 
In January ; as rigid as he is rustic. 

Hugh. You know his nature, and describe it 
I'll eavc hina to your fashioning. [well ; 

Tub. Stay, sir Hugh ; 
Take a good angel with you for your guide ; 

[Gices him apiece of money. 

And let this guard you homeward, as the 
blessing 
To our device. [Exit. 

Hugh. I thank you, 'squire's worship, [of. 
Most humbly — for the next : for this I am sure 
O for a quire of these voices, now, 

37 



To chime in a man's pocket, and cry chink ! 
One doth not chirp, it makes no harmony. 
Grave justice Bramble next must contribute ; 
His charity must offer at his wedding : 
I'll bid more to tire bason and the bride-ale. 
Although but one can bear away the bride. 
I smile to think how like a lottery [sion, 

These weddings are. Clay hath her in posses- 
The 'squire he hopes to circumvent the Tile-kin ; 
And now, if justice Bramble do come off, 
'Tis two to one but Tub may lose his bottom. 

[Exi,t. 



SCENE IL — Kentish Town. 
Turfe's House. 



■ A Room, in 



Enter Clench, Medlay, D'oge Scuiben, Ball, 

Puppy, and Pax. 

Clench. Why, it is thirty yeai', e'en as this day 

now, [yoT^i > 

Zin Valentine's day, of all days kursin'd, look 

And the zame day o' the month as this Zin 

Valentine, 
Or I am vowly deceived — ■ 

Med. That our high constable, [ried : 

Master Tobias Turfc and his dame were mar- 
I think you are right. But what was that Zin 

Valentine ? 
Did you ever know '\u\, goodman Clench >' 

Clench. Zin Valentine ! 
He was a dcadl}'- zin, and dwelt at Highgate, 
As I have heard ; but 'twas avore my time : 
Ho was a cooper too, as you are, ^ledlay. 
An In-and-in : a woundy brag j'oung vellow. 
As the 'port went o' hun then, and in those 
days. 
Scri. Did he not write his name Sim Valen 
tine ? 
Vor I have met no Sin in Finsbury books ; 
And yet I have writ them six or seven tinres 
over. 
Pan. O you mun look for the nine deadly 
Sins, [constable's ; 

In the church-books, D'oge : not [in] the high 
Nor in the county's : ziire, that same zin Valen- 
He was a stately zin, an' he were a zin, [tino, 
And kept brave house 

Clench. At the Cock-and-Hen in Highgate. 
You have fresh'd my memory well in't, neigh- 
bor Pan : 
He had a place in last king Harry's time. 
Of sorting all the young couples ; joining them. 
And putting them together ; which is yet 

Praform' d, as on his day zin Valentine : 

As being the zin of the shire, or the whole 

county : 
I am old Kivet still, and boar a brain. 
The Clench, the varrier, and true leach of Ham- 
stead. 
Pan. You arc a shrewd antiquity, neighbor 
And a great guide to all the parishes ! [Clench, 
The very bell-wcathcr of the hundred, here. 
As I may zay. Master Tobias Turfe, 
High constable, would not miss you, for a score 

on us. 

When he do 'scourse of the great charty to us. 

Pup. What's that, a horse ? can 'scourse 

nought but a horse, [o' hun. 

And that in Smithveld. Charty ! I ne'er read 



678 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



In the old Fabian's chronicles ; nor I think 
In any now : he may be a giant there, 
For aught I know. 

Scri. You should do well to study 
Records, fellow Ball, both law and poetry. 

Pup. Why, alFs but writing and reading, is 
it, Scriben ? 
An it be any more, it is mere cheating zure, 
Vlat, cheating ; all your law and poets too. 

Pan. Master high constable comes. 

Enter Turfe. 
Pup. I'll zay't afore 'hun. 
Turfe. "What's that makes you all so merry 
and loud, sirs, ha ? ^ 
I could have heard you to my privy walk. 
Clench. A contrevarsie 'twixt two learned men 
here : 
Hannibal Puppy says that law and poetry 
Are both fiat cheating ; all's but -writing and 
He says, be't verse or prose. [reading, 

Turfe. I think in conziencc, 
He do zay true : Avho is't do thwart 'vm, ha ? 
Med. Why, my friend Scriben, an it please 

your worship. 
Turfe. Who, D'oge, my D'ogcnes r a great 
writer, marry ! 
He'll vace mc down [sirs,] me myself sometimes. 
That verse goes upon veet, as you and I do : 
But I can gi' un the hearing ; zit me down. 
And laugh at 'un ; and to mj-solf conclude. 
The greatest clerks are not the wisest men 
Ever. Here they are both ! what, sirs, dis- 
puting. 
And holding arguments of verse and prose, 
And no green thing afore the door, that shews, 
Or speaks a wedding ! 

Scri. Those were verses now. 
Your Vi'orship spake, and run upon vive veet. 
Turfe. Feet, vrom my mouth, D'oge ! leave 
your 'zurd upinions, 
And get me in some boughs. 

Scri. Let them have leaves first 
There's nothing green but bays and rosemarj'. 
Pup. And they are too good for strewings, 

your maids say. 
Turfe. You take up 'dority still to vouch 
against me. 
All the twelve smocks in the house, zure, are 

your authors. 
Get some fresh hay then, to lay under foot ; 
Some holly and ivy to make vine the posts : 
Is't not zon Valentine's day, and mistress 

Awdrey, 

Your young dame, to be married r {Exit Puppy.] 

I wonder Clay [tine : 

Should be so tedious ? he's to play son Valen- 

Aird the clown sluggard is not come fro' Kil- 

born yet ! 

.Med. Do you call j'our son in law clown, an't 

please your warshij) ? 
Turfe. Yes and vor worship too, my neighbor 
Medlay, 
A Middlesex clown, and one of Finsbury. 
They were the first colons of the kingdom here. 
The primitory colons, my Diogenes says, 
Where's D'ogcnes, my writer, now ? What 

were those 
You told me, D'ogcnes, were the first colons 



Of the country, that the llomans brought in 
here ? 
Scri. The coloni, sir ; co!o)ms is an inhabitant, 
A clown original : as you'd say, a farmer, 
A tiller of the earth, e'er since the Romans 
Planted their colony first ; which was in Mid- 
dlesex. 
Turfe. Why so ! I thank you heartily, good 
Diogenes, 

Y'ou ha' zertified me. I had rather be 
An ancient colon, (as they say,) a clown of 

Middlesex, 
A good rich farmer, or high constable. 
I'd play hun 'gain a knight, or a good 'squire. 
Or gentleman of any other county 
In the kingdom. 

Pan. Outccpt Kent, for there they landed 
All gentlemen, and came in with the conqueror. 
Mad Julius Ctcsar, who built Dover-castle : 
jNIy ancestor To-Pan, beat the first kettle-drum 
Avore 'hun, here vrom Dover on the march. 
Which piece of monumental copper hangs 
Up, scour' d, at Hammersmith yet ; for there 

they came 
Over the Thames, at a low water-mark ; 
Vore either London, ay, or Kingston-bridge, 
I doubt, were kursin'd. 

Re-enter Puppy with John Clay. 
Turfe. Zee, who is here : John Clay ! 
Zon Valentine, and bridegroom ! have you zeen 
Y'our Valentine-bride yet, .sin' you came, John 
Clay ? 
Clay. No, wussc. Che lighted I but now iu 
the yard. 
Puppy has scarce unswaddled my legs yet. 
Turfe. What, wisps on your wedding day, 
zon ! this is right 
Originous Clay, and Clay o' Kilborn too ! 
I would ha' had boots on this day, zure, zon 
John. 
Clay. I did it to save charges : we mun dance, 
On this day, zure ; and who can dance in boots ? 
No, I got on my best straw-color'd stockings, 
And swaddled them over to zave charges, I. 
Turfe. And his new chamois doublet too with 
points ! 
I like that yet : and his long sausage-hose. 
Like the commander of four smoaking tile-kilns, 
AVhich he is captain of, captain of Kilborn ; 
Clay with his hat turn'd up o' the leer side too, 
As if he would leap my daughter yet ere nighi, 
And spring a new 'lurfe to the old house ! — 

Enter Joice, Joan, and the other Maids, loith 

ribands, rosemary., and bay for the bride-men. 
Look ! an the wenches ha' not found 'un out, 
And do parzcnt 'un with a van of rosemary. 
And bays, to vill a bow-pot, trim the head 
Of my best voro-horse ! we shall all ha' bride- 
laces. 
Or points, I zee ; my daughter will be valiant. 
And prove a very Mary Ambry in the business. 
Clench. They zaid your M'orship had 'sured 
her to 'squire Tub [on't. 

Of Totten- Court here ; all the hundred rings 
Turfe. A Tale of a Tub, sir, a mere Tale of a 
Tub. 
Lend it no car, I pray you : the 'squire Tub 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



579 



Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man, 

And Ijas a lady Tub too to his mother ; 

I'll deal -with none of these fine silken Tubs : 

John Clay and cloth-breech for my money and 

daughter. 
Here comes another old boy too vor his colors, 

Enter Rosix, and his two Boj'S. 
Will stroak down my -wives udder of purses, 

empty 
Of all her millc-money this winter quarter : 
Old father Ilosin, the chief minstrel here, 
Chief minstrel too of Highgate, she has hired him 
And all his two boys, for a day and a half ; 
And now they come for ribanding and rosemary : 
Give them enough, girls, give them enough, 

and take it 
Out in his tunes anon. 

Clench. I'll have Toyn Tiler, 
For our John Clay's sake, and the tile-kilns, zure. 
Med. And I the Jolly Joiner for mine own sake. 
Pan. I'll have the Jovial Tinher for To-Pan's 

sake. 
Turfe. We'll all be jovy this daj' vor son Val- 
entine, 
My sweet son John's sake. 

Scri. There's another reading now : 
My master reads it Son and not Sin Valentine. 
Fiq}. Nor Zim : and he's in the right ; he is 
high-constable, , 
And who should read above 'un, or avore 'hun ? 
Turfe. Son John shall bid us welcome all, this 
day ; 
We'll zervc under his colors : lead the troop, 

John, ' 

And Puppy, see the bells ring. Press all noises 
Of Finsbury, in our name : Diogenes Scriben 
Shall draw a score of warrants vor the business. 
Does any wight perzent hir majesty's person. 
This hundred, 'bove the high constable ? 

All. No, no. [on't. 

Turfe. Use our authority then to the utmost 

[^E.veunt. 

SCENE III. — Marihone. — A Room in Justice 
Preamble's House. 

Enter Canon Hugh and Justice Preamble. 
Hugh, So you are sure, sir, to prevent them all. 
And throw a block in the bridegroom's way, 

John Clay, 
That he will hardly leap o'er. 

Pre. I conceive you. 
Sir Hugh ; as if your rhetoric would say. 
Whereas the father of her is a Turfe, 
A very superficies of the earth ; 
He aims no higher than to match in claj', 
And there hath pitch' d his rest. 

Hugh. Ilight, justice Bramble ; 
You have the winding wit, compassing all. 
Pre. Subtle sir Hugh, you now are in the 
wron£r. 
And err ■^^'ith the whole neighborhood, I must 

tell you, 
For you mistake my name. Justice Preamble 
I write myself ; which, with the ignorant clowns 

here. 
Because of my profession of the law. 
And place of the peace, is taken to be Bramble : 



But all my warrants, sir, do run Preamble, 
Richard Preamble. 

Hugh. Sir, I thank you for it. 
That your good worship would not let me run 
Longer in error, but would take me xvp thus. 

Pre. You are my learned and canonic neigh- 
bor, 
I would not have you stray ; but the incorrigible 
Nott-headed beast, the clowns, or constables, 
Still let them graze, eat sallads, cheAV the cud : 
All the town music will not move a log. 

Hugh. The beetle and wedges Avill where yovt 
will have them. 

Pre. True, true, sir Hugh. — 

Enter Metaphor. 
Here comes Miles Metaphor, 
My clerk ; he is the man shall carry it, canon, 
By my instructions. 

Hugh. He will do it ad unguem, 
Miles IMetai)hor ! he is a pretty fellow. 

Pre. I love not to keep shadows, or half-wits, 
To foil a business. — Metaphor, you have seen 
A king ride forth in state. 

Met. Sii', that I have : 
King Edward our late liege, and sovereign lord , 
And have set down the pomp. 

Pre. Therefore I ask'd you. . [ber 

Have you observ'd the messengers of the cham* 
What habits they were in ? 

Met. Yes, minor coats. 
Unto the guard, a dragon and a greyhound, 
For the supporters of the arms. 

Pre. Well mark'd ! 
Y''ou know not any of them r 

3Iet. Here's one dwells 
In Maribone. 

Pre. Have you acquaintance with him, 
To borrow his coat an hour ? 

Hugh. Or but his badge, 
'Twill serve ; a little thing he wears on his breast. 

Pre. His coat, I say, is of more authority : 
Borrow his coat for an hour. I do love 
To do all things completely, canon Hugh ; 
Borrow his coat. Miles Metaphor, or nothing. 

Met. The taberd of his office I will call it, 
Or the coat-armor of his place ; and so 
Insinuate with him by that trope. 

Pre. 1 know [of? 

Y'our powers of rhetoric. Metaphor. Fetch him 
In a fine figure for his coat, I sa3^ 

[Exit Metaphor 

Hugh. I'll take my leave, sir, of your worship 
Because I may expect the issue anon. [toO; 

Pre. Stay, my diviner counsel, take your fee 
We that take fees, allow them to our counsel ; 
And our prime learned counsel, double fees. 
There are a brace of angels to sujiport you 
In yoiu' foot-walk this frost, for fear of falling. 
Or spraying of a f)oint of matrimony, 
When you come at it — 

Hugh. In your worship's service : 
That the exploit is done, and j'ou possest 
Of mistress Awdroy Turfe. — 

Pre. I like your project. [E.vit, 

Hugh. And I, of this effect of two to one ; 
It worketh in my pocket, 'gainst the 'squire, 
And his half bottom here, of half a piece, [for : 
Which was not worth the stepping o'er the stile 



580 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



His mother has quite marr'd him, lady Tub, 
She's such a vessel of fseces : all dried earth, 
Terra damnata ! not a drop of salt, 
Or petre in her ! all her nitre is gone. \Exit. 



SCENE IV. 



- Totteii- Court. — Befora Lady 
Tub's House. 



Enter Lady Tub and Pol Martin. 

Lady T. Is the nag ready, Martin ? call the 
'squire, 
This frosty morning we will take the air, 
About the fields ; for I do mean to be 
Somebody's Valentino, in my velvet gown. 
This morning, though it be but a beggar-man, 
Why stand you still, and do not call my son ? 

Pol. Madam, if he had couched with the lamb. 
He had no doubt been stirring with the lark : 
But lie sat up at play, and watch'd the cock, 
Till his first warning chid him off to rest. 
Lato watchers are no early Avakcrs, madam : 
But if your ladyship will have him call'd — 

Lady T. Will have him call'd ! wherefore did 
I, sir, bid him 
Be call'd, you weazel, vermin of an huishor? 
You will return your wit to your first stile 
Of -\Iartin Polecat, by these stinking tricks, 
If you do use them ; I shall no more call you 
Pol Martin, by the title of a gentleman, 
If you go on thus. 

Pol. I am gone. [Exit. 

Lady T. Be quick then. 
In your come off ; and make amends, you stote ! 
Was ever such a fulmart for an huisher, 
To a great Avorshipful lady, as myself ! [cat. 

Who, when I heard his name first, Martin Pole- 
A stinking name, and not to be pronounced 
In any lady's presence without a reverence ; 
My very heart e'en yearn'd, seeing the fellow 
Young, pretty, and handsome ; being then, I 

say, 
A basket-carrier, and a man condcmn'd 
To the salt-petre works ;' made it my suit 
To master Peter Tub, that I might change it ; 
And call him as I do now, by Pol Martin, 
To have it sound like a gentleman in an ofRce, 
And made him mine own foreman, daily waiter. 
And he to serve me thus ! ingratitude. 
Beyond the coarseness j^et of any clownage, 
Shewn to a lady ! — 

Re-enter Pol Martin. 

What now, is he stirring ? 
Pol. Stirring betimes out of his bed, and ready. 
Lady T. And comes he then ? 
Pol. No, madam, ho is gone. 
Lady T. Gone ! whither ? Ask the porter 

where is he gone. 
Pol. I met the porter, and have ask'd him for 
him ; 
He says, he let him forth an hour ago. 

Lady T. An hour ago ! what business could 
he have 
So early ; where is his man, grave Basket-hilts, 
His guide and governor ? 
Pol, Gone with his master. 
Lady T. Is he gone too ! that same surly 
knave 



Is his right-hand ; and leads my son amiss. 
He has carried him to some drinking match OT 
Pol Martin, — I will call you so again, [other. 
I am friends M'ith you now — go, get your horse 

and ride [are„ 

To all the towns about here, where his haunts 
And cross the fields to meet, and bring me word ; 
He cannot be gone far, being a-foot. 
Be cuiious to inquire him : and bid Wispe, 
My woman, come, and wait on me. [Exit PoL.j 

The love 
We mothers bear our sons we have bought with 

pain. 
Makes us oft view them Avith too careful eyes, 
And overlook them with a jealous fear, 
Out-fitting mothers. 

Enter Dido Wispe. 

Lady T. How now, Wispe ! have you 
A Valentine yet ? I am taking the air to choosp 
one. 

Wispe. Fate send your ladyship a fit one then 

Lady T. What kind of one is that ? 

Wispe. A proper man 
To please your ladyship. 

Lady T. Out of that vanity 
That takes the foolish eye ! any poor creature. 
Whose want may need my alms or courtesy, 
I rather wish ; so bishop Valentine 
Left us example to do deeds of charity ; 
To feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit 
The weak and sick ; to entertain the poor. 
And give the dead a christian funeral ; 
These were the works of pietA^ he did practise^ 
And bade us imitate ; not look for lovers, 
Or handsome images to please our senses. — 
I pray thee, AVisjie, deal freely with me now, 
We arc alone, and may be merry a little : 
Thou art none of the court glories, nor the won 
For wit or beauty in the city ; tell me, [dera 
What man would satisfy thy present fancy. 
Had thy ambition leave to choose a Valentine, 
Within the queen's dominion, so a subject ? 

Wispe. You have given me a large scope, 
madam, I confess. 
And I will deal with your ladyship sincerely ; 
I'll utter my whole heart to you. I would have 

him 
The bravest, richest, and the properest, man 
A tailor could make up ; or all the poets, 
With the perfumers : I Vv-ould have him such, 
As not another woman biit should spite me ; 
Three city ladies should run mad for him. 
And country madams infinite. 

Lady T. You would spare me. 
And let me hold my wits ? 

Wispe. I should with you. 
For the young 'squire, my master's sake, dispense 
A little, but it should be very little. 
Then all the court-wives I'd have jealous of me,. 
As all their husbands jealous too of them ; 
And not a lawyer's puss of any qutdity. 
But lick her lips for a snatch in the term-time 

Lady T. Come, 
Let's Avalk ; we'll hear the rest as we go on : 
You are this morning in a good vein, Uido ; 
Would I could be as merry ! My son's absence 
Troubles me not a little, though I seek 
These ways to put it off; which will not help 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



581 



Care that is entered once into the breast, 
Will have the whole possession ere it rest. 

\_Exeuni. 

ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The Fields tiear Taiicras. 

Enter, in procession, with ribands, rosemary and 
bay, TuiiFE, Clay, Mbdlay, Clench, To-Pan, 
ScRiBEN', and Puppy, with the bride-cake, as 
going to church. 

Turfe. Zon Clay, cheer up, the better leg 
avore, 
This is a veat is once clone, and no more. 

Clench. And then 'tis done vor ever, as they 

say. 
Med. Right ! vor a man has his hour, and a 

dog his day. 
Turfe. True, neighbor ]Mcdlay, you are still 

In-and-in. 
Med. I -would be, master constable, if che 

could "win. 

Pan. I zay, John Clay keep still on his old 

Wedding and hanging both go at a rate, [gate : 

Turfe. AVell said, To-Pan ; you have still the 

hap to hit [never 

The nail o' the head at a close : I think there 

Marriage was managed with a more avisement. 

Than was this marriage, though I say it that 

should not ; 
Especially 'gain my own flesh and blood, 
My wedded wife. Indeed my wife would ha' had 
All the young batchelors, and maids forsooth, 
Of the zix parishes hereabouts ; but I 
Cried none, sweet Sybil ; none of that gear, I : 
It would lick zalt, I told her, by her leave. 
No, three or vour our wise, choice, honest neigh- 
bors, 
Ubstantial persons, men that have born office. 
And mine own family would bo enough 
To eat our dinner. What ! dear meat's a thief; 
I know it by the butchers and the market-volk. 
Hum drum, I cry. No half ox in a pye : 
A man that's bid to a bride-ale, if he have cake 
And drink enough, he need not vear his stake. 
Clinch. 'Tis right ; he has spoke as true as a 
gun, believe it. 

Enter Dame Turfe and Awdrey, folloiced by 

Joan, Joi"CE, Madge, Parnel, Grisel, and 

Kate, dressed for the toedding. 

Turfe. Come, Sybil, come ; did not I tell you 
o' this, 
This pride and muster of women would mar all ? 
Six women to one daughter, and a mother ! 
The queen (God save her) ha' no more herself. 

Dame T. Why, if you keep so manv, master 
Turfe, 
Why should not all present our service to her ? 

Turfe- Your service ! good ! I think you'll 
write to her shortlj^ 
Yoxir very loving and obedient mother. 
Come, send your maids off, I will have them sent 
Home again, wife ; I love no trains of Kent, 
Or Christendom, as they say. 

Joyce. We will not back, 
And leave our dame. 



Madge. Why should her %\'orship lack 
Her tail of maids, more than you do of men ? 

Turfe. What, mutining, Madge ? 

Joan. Zend back your clowns agen. 
And we will vollow. 

All. Elsewe'll guard our dame. 

Turfe. I ha' zet the nest of wasps all on n 
flame. [Turfe, 

Dame T. Come, you are such another, master 
A clod you should be call'd, of a high constable : 
To let no music go afore your child [ing ! 

To church, to chear her heart up this cold morn- 

Tiirfe. You are for father Rosin and his con- 
sort 
Of Fiddling boys, the great Feates and the less ; 
Because you have entertain'd them all from 

Highgatc. 
To show your pomp, 3'ou'd have your daughters 
and maids [frost. 

Dance o'er the fields like faies to church, this 
I'll have do rondels, I, in the queen's paths ; 
Let 'em scrape the gut at home, where they have 
At afternoon. [fiU'd it, 

Dame T. I'll have them play at dinner. 

Clench. She is in the right! sir ; vor your wed- 
Is starv'd A\ithout the music. [ding-dinner 

Med. If the pies [erb. 

Come not in piping hot, you have lost that prov- 

Turfe. I yield to truth : wife, are you sus- 
sificd ? 

Pan. A right good man ! when he knows 
right, he loves it. 

Scri. And he will know't and shew't too by 
his place 
Of being high constable, if no where else. 

Enter Hilts, loith a false beard, booted and spurred. 

Hilts. Well overtaken, gentlemen ! I pray you 
Which is the queen's high constable among you r 

Pup. The tallest man ; who should be else, do 
you think ? 

Ililts. It is no matter what I think, young 
Your answer savors of the cart. [clown ; 

Pup. How! cart [to? 

And cloivn I do yoir know whose team you speak 

Ililts. No, nor I care not: Whose jade may 
you bo ? 

Pup. Jade ! cart ! and cloion ! O for a lash of 
Three knotted cord ! [whip-cord 

Hilts. Do you mutter ! sir,'snorle this way, 
That I may hear, and answer what you say, 
With my school-dagger 'bout your costard, sir. 
Look to't, young growse : I'll lay it on, and sure ; 
Take't off who wuU. [Draws his sword. 

Clench. Nay, 'pray you, gentlemen 

Hilts. Go to, I will not bate him an ace on't. 
What rowly-powly, maple face ! all fellows ! 

Pup. Do you hear, friend ? I woiild wish you, 
for your good. 
Tie up your brended bitch there, your dun, rusty, 
Pannier-hilt poniard ; and not vex the youth 
With shewing the teeth of it. We now are going 
To church in way of matrimony, some on \is ; 
They ha' rung ail in a' ready. If it had not. 
All the horn-beasts are grazing in this close 
Should not have puU'd me hence, till this ash- 
plant 
Had rung noon on your pate, master Broom- 
beai"d. 



582 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



nuts. That I would fain zee, quoth the blind 
Of HoUoway : come, sir. [George 

Awd. O tlicir naked -weapons ! 

Pan. For the jjassion of man, hold gentleman 
and Pujipy. 

Clay. Murder, O murder ! 

Awd. O my father and mother ! 

Dame T. Husband, Avhat do j^ou mean? son 
Clay, for God's sake 

Titrfe. I charge you in the queen's name, 
keep the peace. 

Ililts. Tell me o' no queen or keysar ; 1 must 
A leg or a hanch of him ere I go. jhave 

Med. But, zir, 
You must obey the queen's high officers. 

Hilts. Why must I, goodman Must ? 

Med. Yoa must an' you wall. 

Turfe. Gentlemen, I am here for fault, high 
constable 

nuts. Are you zo ! what then ? 

Turfe. I pray you, sir, put up 
Your -weajDons ; do, at tq.j request : for him, 
On my authority, he shall lie by the heels, 
Verbatim contincnte, an I live. 

Dame T. Out on him for a knave, what a dead 

fright [shake. 

He has put mc into ! corae, Awdrey, do not 

Awd. But is not Puppy hurt, nor the t'other 
man ? 

Clai/. No bun ? but had not I cried murder, I 

AVUSS 

Pup. Sweet goodman Clench, I pray you re- 
vise my master, [past, 
1 may not zit in the stocks till the Avedding be 
Dame, mistress Awdrey : I shall break the 
bride-cake else. [Puppy. 

Clench. Zonaething must be to save authority, 

Dame T. Husband 

Clench. And gossip 

Aiod. Father 

Turfe. 'Treat me not. 
It is in vain. If he He not by the heels, 
I'll lie there for 'un ; I will teach the hind 
To carry a tongue in his head to his superiors. 

Hilts. This's a wise constable ! where keeps 
he school ? 

Clench. In Kentish-town ; a very servere man. 

Hilts. But, as servere as he is, let me, sir, tell 
him 
He shall not lay his man by the heels for this. 
This was my quarrel ; and by his office' leave, 
If it carry 'un for this, it shall carry double ; 
Vor he shall carry me too. 

Turfe. Breath of man ! 
He is my chattel, mine own hired goods : 
An if you do abet 'un in this matter, 
I'll clap you both by the heels, ankle to ankle. 

Hilts. You'll clap a dog of wax as soon, old 
Blurt. 
Come, spare not me, sir, I am no man's wife ; 
I care not I, sir, not three skips of a louse for 
An you were ten tall constables, not I. [you, 

Turfe. Nay, pray you, sir, be not angry, but 

content ; [ask 'un. 

My man shall make you what amends you'll 

Hilts. Let 'un mend his manners then, and 
know his betters ; 
It's all I ask 'un ; and 'twill be his own, 
And's master's too another day ; che ,vore '\n\. 



Med. As right as a club still ! Zure this an- 
gry man 
Speaks verj' near the mark when he is pleased. 
Pu}}. I thank j-ou, sir, an' I meet you at 
Kentish-town, 
I ha' the courtesy o' the hundred for you. 
Hilts. Gramercy, good high constable's hind ! 
But hear you.' 
Mass constable, I have other manner of matter 
To bring you about than this. And so it is, 
I do belong to one of the queen's captains, 
A gentleman o' the field, one captain Thums, 
I know not whether you know 'un or no : it 

may bo 
You do, and it may be you do not again. 

Turfe. No, I assure you on my constableship, 
I do not know 'un. 

Hilts. Nor I neither, I faith. — [Aside. 

It skills not much ; my captain and myself 
Having occasion to come riding by here 
This morning, at the corner of St. John's wood, 
Some mile [west] o' this town, Avere set upon 
By a sort of country-foUoAvs, that not only 
Beat us, but robb'd us mbst sufficiently, 
And bound ris to our behavior hand and foot ; 
And so they left us. Noav, don constable, 
I am to charge you in her majesty's name, 
As you Avill answer it at your apperil, 
That fortliAvith you raise hue and cry in the 

hundred. 
For all such persons as you can despect. 
By the length and breadth of your office : for I 

tell you. 
The loss is of some value ; therefore look to't. 

Turfe. As fortune mend me noAV, or any office 
Of a thousand i^ound, if I knoAV AA'hat to zay. 
Would I Avere dead, or A'aire hang'd up at 

Tyburn, 
If I do know Avhat course to take, oi' hoAV 
To turn myself just at this time too, noAV 
My daughter is to be married ! I'll but go 
To Pancridge- church hard b)'', and return in- 
stantly. 
And all my neighborhood shall go aboxit it. 
Hilts. Tut, Pancridge me no Pancridge ! if 
you let it 
Slip, you Avill answer it, an your cap be of avooI ; 
Therefore take heed, you'll feel the smart else, 
constable. [ Going. 

Turfe. Nay, good sir, stay. — Neighbors> 
Avhat think you of this ? 

Dame T. Faith, man 

Turfe. Odds precious, Avoman, hold your 
tongue, [must 

And mind your pigs on the spit at home ; you 
Have [an] oar in every thing. — Pray you, sir," 
Of felloAvs Avere they ? [Avhat kind 

Hilts. Thieves-kind, I have told you. 
Turfe. I mean, what kind of men ? 
HUts. Men of our make. 
Turfe. Nay, but Avith patience, sir : W^e that 
are officers 
Must 'quire the special marks, and all the tokens 
Of the despected parties ; or perhaps else 
Be ne'er the near of our purpose in 'prehending 

them. 
Can you tell what 'parrel any of them AA-ore ? 

Hilts. Troth, no ; there were so many o' 'em 
So one another ; noAV I remember me, [all like 



A TALE OF A ITTB. 



583 



There was one busy fellow was their leader, 
A blunt squat swad, but lower than yourself; 
He had on a leather-doublet with long points, 
And a pair of pinn'd-up breeches, like pudding- 
bags, 
With yellow stockings, and his hat turn'd up 
With a s'lver clasp on his leer side. 

Dame T. By these [man ! 

Marks it should be John Clay, now bless the 

Tarfe. Peace, and be nought ! I think the 

Avoman be phrensic. 
llilts, John Claj' ! what's he, good mistress r 
Awd. He that shall be 
My husband. 

Ililts. How ! your husband, pretty one ? 

Aiod. Yes, I shall anon be married ; that is he. 

Turfe. Passion o' mo, undone ! 

Fu2). Bless master's son ! 

UiUs. 0, you are well 'prehcnded : know you 

me, sir r 
P/rty. No's my record ; I never zaw you avore. 
Hills. You did not ! where were your eyes 

then, out at washing ? 

Turfe. What should a man zaj% who should 

he trust 

In these days ? Hark you, John Clay, if you 

liavc [devil. 

Done anj' such thing, tell troth and shame the 

Clench. Yaith, do ; mj' gossip Turfe zays well 

to you, John. 
Med. Speak, man ; but do not convcss, nor be 

avraid. 
Van. A man is a man, and a beast's a beast, 

look to't. 
Dame T. In the name of men or beasts, what 
do you do ? 
Hare the poor fellow out on his five wits. 
And seven senses ! do not weep, John Clay. 
I swear the poor wretch is as guilty from it 
As the child was, was born this very morning. 
Clay. No, as I am a kyrsin soul, would I 
were hang'd 

If ever I alas, I would I were out 

Of my life; so I would I were, and in again — 
Puj}. Nay, mistress Awdrcy will say nay to 
that ; 
No, in-and-out : an you were out of your life. 
How should she do for a husband ? who should 

fall 

Aboard of her then ? — Ball ? he's a puppy ! 

No, Hannibal has no breeding ! well, I say little ; 

But hitherto all goes well, pray it prove no 

better. [Aside. 

Aicd. Come, father ; I would we were married ! 

I am a-cold. 
Hilts. Well, master constable, this your fine 
groom here. 
Bridegroom, or what groom else soe'er he be, 
I charge him with the felony, and charge you 
To carry him back forthwith to Paddington 
Unto my captain, who stays my return there : 
I am to go to the next justice of peace, 
To get a warrant to raise hue and cry. 
And bring him and his fellows all afore 'un. 
Faie you well, sir, and look to 'un, I charge you 
As you will answer it. Take heed ; rtie bushiess 
If yoti defer, may prejudicial you 
More than you think for ; zay I told you so. 

[Exit. 



Turfe. Here's a bride-ale indeed ! ah zou 
John, zon Clay ! 
I little thought you would have proved a piece 
Of such false metal. 

Clay. Father, will you believe me ? 
Would I might never stir in my neAV shoes. 
If ever I would do so voul a fact. 

Turfe. Well, neighbors, I do charge you to 
assist me 
With 'un to Paddington. Be he a true man, so ! 
The better for 'un. I will do mine office. 
An he wese my own begotten a thousand times. 
Dame T. Why, do you hear, man ? husband, 
master Turfe ? 
What shall my daughter do ? Puppy, stay here. 
[Exeunt all but Awdrey and PurPY. 
Awd. Mother, I'll go with you and with my 

father 
Pup. Nay, stay, sweet mistress Awdrey : hero 
are none 
But one friend, as they zay, desires to speak 
A word or two, cold with you : how do you veel 
Yourself this frosty morning ? 

Aied. What have you 
To do to ask, I pray you ? I am a-cold. 

Pu]}. It seems you are hot, good mistress 

Awdrey. 
Awd. You lie ; I am as cold as ice is, feci else. 
Pu2}. Nay, you have cool'd my courage ; I am 
past it, 
I ha' done feeling with you. 

Awd. Done with me ! 
I do defy you, so I do, to say 
Y''ouha' rfone with me : you arc a saucy Puppy. 
Pup. O you mistake ! I meant not as you 

mean. 
Awd. jSIeant you not knavery. Puppy? 
Pup. No, not I. 
Clay meant you all the knavery, it seems, 
Who rather than he would be married to you. 
Chose to be wedded to the gallows first. 

Awd. I thought he was a dissembler ; he 
would prove 
A slippery merchant in the frost. He might 
Have married one first, and have been hang'd 

after. 
If he had had a mind to't. But you nien — 
Fie on you ! 

Pup. Mistress Awdrey, can you vincl 
In your heart to fancy Puppy ? me poor Ball ? 
Azcd, You are disposed to jeer one, master 
Hannibal. — 

Re-enter Hilts. 
Pity o' mo, the angry man v\'ith the beard ! 

Hilts. Put on thy hat, I look for no despect. 
AVhere is thy master ? 

Pap. Marry, he is gone 
With the picture of despair to Paddington. 

Hilts. Prithee run after 'un, and tell 'un he 
shall 
Find out my captain lodged at the Red- Lion, 
In Paddington ; that's the inn. Let 'un ask 
Yor captain Thums ; and take that for thy pains , 
He may seek long enough else. Hie thee again. 

Pup. Yes, sir ; you'll look to mistress bride 
the while ? 

Hills. That I will : prithee haste. [Exit Puppy 

Awd. What, Puppy ! Puppy ! 



584 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Hilts. Sweet mistress bride, he'll come again 
presently. — 
Here was no subtle device to get a wench ! 
This Canon has a bravo pate of his own, 
A shaven pate, and a right monger y' vaith ; 
This was his plot. I follow captain Thums ! 
We robb'd in St. John's wood ! In my t'other 
hose ! — [have 

I laugh to think Avhat a fine fool's finger they 
O' this wise constable, in pricking out [see 

This captain Thums to his neighbors : you shall 
The tile-man too set fire on his own kiln, 
And leap into it to save himself from hanging. 
You talk of a bride-ale, here was a bride-ale 
broke [bride 

In the nick ! Well, I must yet dispatch this 
To mine own master, the young 'squire, and then 
My task is done. — [Aside.'] — Gentlewoman, I 
have in sort [what right 

Done you some wrong, but now I'll do you 
I can: it's true, you are a proper woman ; 
But to be cast away on such a clown-pipe 
As Clay ! mcthinks your friends are not so wise 
As nature might have made 'em ; well, go to : 
There's better fortune coming towards you. 
An you do not deject it. Take a vool's 
Counsel, and do not stand in your own light ; 
It may prove better than you think for, look 
you. 

Awd. Alas, sir, what is't you would have me 
I'd fain do all for the best, if I know how. [do ? 

Hilts. Forsake not a good turn when it is 

off'er'd you, [it. 

Fair mistress Awdrej' — that's your name, I take 

Awd. No mistress, sir, my name is Awdrey. 

Hilts. Well; so it is, there is a bold young 
'squire, 
The blood of Totten, Tub, and Tripoly 

Aiod. 'Squire Tub, you mean : I know him, 
he knows me too. [mad for you. 

Hilts. He is in love with you ; and more, he's 

Awd. Ay, so he told me in his Avits, I think. 
But he's too fine for me ; and has a lady 
Tub to his mother. 

Enter Tub. 

Here he comes himself ! 

Tub. O you are a trusty governor ! 

Hilts. What ails you 5 
You do not know when you are well, I think. 
You'd ha' the calf with the white face; sir, 

w'ould you ? 
I have her for you here ; what would j'ou more ? 

Tub. Quietness, Hilts, and hear no more of it. 

Hilts. No more of it, quoth you ! I do not care 
If some on us had not heard so much of it. 
I tell you true ; a man must carry and vetch 
Like Bungy's dog for you. 

Tub. What's he ? 

Hilts. A spaniel — [dog 

^nd scarce be sjoit in the mouth for't. A good 
Deserves, sir, a good bone, of a free master ; 
But, an your turns be serv'd, the devil a bit 
You care for a man after, e'er a laird of you. 
Like will to like, y-faith, quoth the scabb'd 'squire 
To the mangy knight, when both met in a dish 
Of butter'cl vish. One bad, there's ne'er a 

good ; 
And not a barrel the better herring among you. 



Tub. Nay, Hilts, I pray thee grow not fram 

pull now. 
Turn not the bad cow after thy good soap. 
Our plot hath hitherto ta'en good eff"ect, 
And should it now be troubled or stopp'd up, 
'Twould prove the utter ruin of my hopes. 
I pray thee haste to Pancridge, to the Canon, 
And give him notice of our good success. 
Will him that all things be in readiness : 
Fair Awdrey and myself will cross the fields 
The nearest path. Good Hilts, make thou some 

haste, [AAvdry. 

And meet us on the way. — Come, gentle 

Hilts. Vaith, would I had a few more geances 

on't ! 
An you say the word, send me to Jericho. 
Outcept a man were a post-horse, I have not 

known 
The like on it ; yet, an he had [had] kind words 
'Twould never irke 'un : but a man may break 
His heart out in these days, and get a fiap 
With a fox-tail, when he has done — and there 

is all ! 
Tub. Nay, say not so. Hilts : hold thee, there 

are crowns 
My love bestows on thee for thy reward ; 
If gold will please thee, all my land, shall drop 
In bountj- thus, to recompense thy merit. 
Hilts. 'Tut, keep your land, and your gold 

too, sir, I 
Seek neither — neither of 'un. Learn to get 
More ; you will know to spend that zum you 
Early enough ; you are assured of me : [have 
I love you too too well to live o' the si^oil — 
For your o^^•n sake, would there were no worse 

than I ! 
All is not gold that glisters. I'll to Pancridge. 

\Exit crying. 
Tub. See how his love does melt him into 

tears ! 
An honest faithful servant is a jev.-el. — 
Now the advent'rous squire hath time and 

leisure 
To ask his Awdrey how she docs, and hear 
A grateful answer from her. She not si)caks. — 
Hath the proud tyrant Frost usurp'd the seat 
Of former beauty, in my love's fair check ; 
Staining the roseate tincture of her blood 
With the dull dye of blue congealing cold ? 
No, sure the M-eatber dares not so presume 
To hurt an object of her brightness. Yet, 
The more I view her, she but looks so, so. 
Ha ! give me leave to search this mystery — 

now I have it : Bride, I know your grief ; 
The last night's cold hath bred in you sich 

horror 
Of the assigned bridegroom's constitution. 
The Kilborn clay-jjit ; that frost- bittoii marl, 
That lump in courage, melting cake of ice ; 
That the conceit thereof hath almost kill'd thee , 
But I must do thee good, wench, and refresh 

thee. 
Awd. You are a merry man, 'squire Tub of 

Totten ! [your deeds, 

1 have heard much o' your Avords, but not o 
Tub. Th»u sayst true, sweet ; I have been too 

slack in deeds. 
Aiod. Yet I Avas never so strait-laced to you 
'squire. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



61^5 



Tii/j. Why, did you ever love me, gentle 
Awdrey ? 

Awcl. Love you ! I cannot tell : I must hate 
My father says. [nobody, 

Tub. Yes, Clay and Kilborn, Awdrey, 
You must liate them. 

Awd. It shall be for your sake then. 

Tub. And for my sake shall yield you that 
gratuity. [ Offers to kiss her. 

Awd. Soft and fair, 'squire, there go two 
words to a bargain. [Puts him back. 

Tub. ^Vhat are those, Awdrey ? 

Awd. Nay, I cannot tell. 
My mother said, zure, if you married me. 
You'd make me a lady the first week ; and put 
In — I know not what, the very day. [me 

Tub. ^^'hat was it ? 
Speak, gentle Awdrey, thou shalt have it j^et. 

Awd. A velvet dressing for my head, it is, 
They say, will make one brave ; I will iiot know 
Bess Moale, nor Margery Turn-up : I will look 
Another way upon them, and be proud. 

Tub. Troth, I could wish my wench a better 
wit ; 
But what she wanteth there, her face supplies. 
There is a pointed lustre in her eye [heart : 

Hath shot quite through me, and hath hit my 
And thence it is I first received the wound, 
That rankles now, which only she can cure. 
Fain would I work myself from this conceit ; 
But, being flesh, I cannot. I must love her, 
The naked truth is ; and I will go on, 
Were it for nothing but to cross my rivals. 

[Asid'C. 
Come, Awdrey, I am now resolv'd to have thee. 

E/iter Justice Pheamble, and Metaphor dis- 

(juised as a j^ursuivant. 
Pre. Nay, do it quickly, MUes ; why shak'st 
thou, man ? 
Speak but his name, I'll second thee mj'self. 
Met. What is his name ? 
Pre. 'Squire Tripoly, or Tub ; 

Any thing • 

Met. 'Squire Tub, I do arrest you 
In the queen's majesty's name, and all the coun- 
Tub. Arrest me, varlet ! [cil's. 

Pre. Keej) the peace, I charge you. 
Tub. Are you there, justice Bramble ! where's 

your \\-arrant ? 
Pre. The warrant is directed here to me, 
From the whole table ; wherefore I would pray 

you, 
Be patient 'squire, and make good the peace. 
Tub. Well, at your pleasure, justice. I am 
wrong' d : 
Sirrah, what are you have arrested me ? 

Pre. He is a pursuivant at arms, 'squire Tub. 
Met. I am a pursuivant ; see by my coat else. 
Tub. Well, pursuivant, go with mc : I'll give 

you bail. 
Pre. Sir, he may take no bail : it is a warrant 
In special from the council, and commands 
Your personal appearance. Sir, your weapon 
[ must require ; and then deliver you 
A prisoner to this officer, 'squire Tub. 
I pray you to conceive of me no other. 
Than as your friei^.d and neighbor : let my person 
Be sever'd from my office in the fact, 



And I am clear. Here, pursuivant, receive hiia 
Into your hands, and use him like a gentleman. 

Tub. I thank you, sir : but whither must I 
go now ? (come 

Pre. Nay, that must not be told you till you 
Unto the place assign'd by his instructions : 
I'll be the maiden's convoy to her father. 
For this time, 'squire. 

Tab. I thank you, master Bramble. 
I doubt or fear you will make her the balance 
To weigh your jiistice in. Pray ye do me right 
And lead not her, at least, out of the way : 
Justice is blind, and having a blind guide, 
She may be apt to slip aside. 

Pre. I'll see to her. [Exit Pre. with Awd 

Tub. I see my wooing will not thrive. Ar- 
As I had set my rest up for a wife ! [rested, 
And being so "fair for it as I was ! — Well, for- 
Thou art a blind bawd and a beggar too, [tune. 
To cross me thus ; and let my only rival 
To get her from me ! that's the spight of spights. 
But most I muse at, is, that I, being none 
O' the court, am sent for thither by the council ; 
ISIy heart is not so light as it was in the morning. 

Be-enter Hilts. 

Hilts. Y''ou mean to make a hoiden or a hare 

Of me, to hunt counter thus, and make theso 

doubles : 
And you mean no sucli thing as you send about. 
Where is your sweetheart now, I marie ? 
Tub. Oh Hilts ! 

Hilts. I know you of old ! ne'er halt afore a 

cripple. [speak. 

WUl you have a caudle ? where's your grief, sir ? 

Met. Do you hear, friend, do you serve this 

gentleman ? 

Hilts. How then, sir? what if I do? perad- 

venture yea, 

Peradventure nay ; what's that to you, sir ? say. 

j\let. Nay, pray you, sir, I meant no harm in 

But this good gentleman is arrested. [truth; 

Hilts. How! 
Say me that again. 

Tub. Nay, Basket, never storm ; 
I am arrested here, upon command 
From the queen's council ; and I must obey. 

Met. You say, sir, very true, you must obey. 
An honest gentleman, in faith. 
Hilts. He must ! 

Tub. But that which most tom^enteth me ig 
this, [drey. 

That justice Bramble hath got hence my Aw- 
Hilts. How! how ! stand by a little, sirrah, you 
With the badge on your breast. [Draws his sioord. 
Let's know, sir, what you are. 
Met. I am, sir, — pray you do not look so 
A pursuivant. " " 'terribly — 

Hilts. A pursuivant ! your name, sir? 

Met. My name, sir • 

Hilts. What is't ? speak. 
Met. Miles Metaphor ; 
And justice Preamble's clerk. 
Tub. AVhat says lie ? 
Hilts. Pray you. 
Let us alone. Yoti are a ptu-sulvaut ? 

Met. No, faith, sir, would I might never ath 
from you, 
I is made a pursuivant against my will. 



586 



A. TALE OF A TUB. 



Hilts. Ha ! and Avho made you one ? tell true, 
Shall make you nothing instantly, [or my will 

Met. [hieeh.] Put up 
Your frightful blade, and your dead-doing look. 
And I shall tell you all. 

Hilts. Speak then the truth, 
And the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

Met. My master, justice Bramble, liearing 
your master, 
The 'squire Tub, was coming 6n this way. 
With mistress Awdrey, the high constable's 

daughter, 
Made me a pursuivant, and gave me warrant 
To arrest him ; so that he might get the lady. 
With whom he is gone to Pancridge, to the vicar, 
Not to her father's. Tliis was the device. 
Which I beseech you do not tell my master. 

Tub. O wonderful ! well. Basket, let him rise ; 
And for mj' free escape forge some excuse. 
I'll post to Paddington to acquaint old Turfe 
With the whole business, and so stop the mar- 
riage. [Exit. 

Hilts. Well, bless thee : I do vish thee grace 
to keep 
Ihy master's secrets better, or be hang'd. 

Met. [rises.] I thank you for your gentle 
admonition. 
Pray you, let me call you god-father hereafter : 
And as your godson Metaphor, I promise 
To keep my master's privities scal'd up 
In the vallies of my trust, lock'd close for ever, 
Or let me be truss'd up at Tyburu shortly. 

Hilts. Thine own wish save or choke thee ! 
come away. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Kentish Town. 

Cnfer Turfe, Clexch, Medl.vy, To-Pan, Scriben, 
and Clay. 

Turfe. Passion of mc, was ever a man thus 
cross' d ! 
All things run arsie versie, up-side down. 
High constable! now by our lady of Walsingham, 
I had rather be mark'd out Tom Seavinger, 
And Avith a shovel make clean the highways, 
Than have this office of a constable. 
And a high constable ! the higher charge, . 
It brings more trouble, more vexation Avith it. 
Neighbors, good neighbors, 'vize me what to do ; 
How Ave shall bear us in this hue and cry. 
We cannot find the captain, no such man 
Lodged at the Lion, nor came thither hurt, 
The morning wc have spent in privy search : 
And by that means the bride-ale is deferr'd : 
The bride, she's left alone in Pupp}''s charge ; 
The bridegroom goes under a pair of sureties. 
And held of all as a respected person. [sel 

How should we bustle for^vard ? give some coun- 
How to bestir our stumps in these cross ways. 

Clench. Faith, gossip Turfe, you have, you say, 
remission 
To comprehend all such as are despected : 
NoAv would I make another privy search 
Thorough this town, and then you have search'd 
two towns. 



Med. Masters, take heed, let us not vind too 

many: 
One is enough to stay the hangman's stomach. 
There is John Clay, who is yvound already, 
A proper man, a tile-man by his trade, 
A man, as one would zay, moulded in clay ; 
As spruce as any neighbor's child among you : 
And he (you zee) is taken on conspition. 
And two or three, they zay, what call you 'em t 
Zuch as the justices of coram nobis [on 'em, 

Grant — I forget their names, you have many 

Master high constable, they come to you. 

I have it at my tongue's ends — coney-boroughs, 

To bring him straight avore the zessions-house. 

Turfe. you mean warrens, neighbor, do 

you not ? [enough. 

Med. Ay, ay, thik same ! you knoAV 'em well 
Turfe. Too well, too well ; Avould I had never 

known them ! 
We good A'reeholders cannot live in quiet. 
But every hour ncAV piircepts, hues and cries. 
Put us to requisitions night and day. — 
What shud a man say .' shud Ave leave the 
I am in danger to reburse as much [zearch, 

As he Avas robb'd on ; ay, and pay his hurts. 
If I should voUow it, all the good cheer 
That Avas provided for the Avedding-dinner 
Is spoil'd and lost. O, there are tAvo A-at pigs 
A zindging by the vire : noAv by St. Tony, 
Too good to eat, but on a Avedding-day ; 
And then a goose Avill bid you all, come cut me- 
Zon Clay, zon Clay, for I must call thee so, 
Be of good comfort : take my miickinder. 
And dry thine eyes. If thou be'st true and 

honest. 
And if thou find'st thy conscience clear A'rom it, 
Pluck up a good heart, Ave'll do Avell enough : 
If not, confess a-trixth's name. But in faith, 
I durst be sworn upon all holj^ books, 
John Clay would ne'er commit a robbery 
On his own head. 

Clay. No, truth is my rightful judge ; 
I have kept my hands herehence from evil- 
speaking. 
Lying, and slandering ; and my tongue from 

stealing. 
He do not live this day can say, John Clay, 
I have zeen thee, but in the Avay of honesty. 
Pan. Faith, neighbor Medlay, I durst be hia 

burrough. 
He AA'ould not look a true man in the vace. 
Ckuj. I take the tOAvn to concord, Avhere I 

chvell, 
AU Kilborn be my Avitness, if I were not 
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shame- 

facedncss. 
Let 'un bring a dog but to my A'ace that can 
Zay I have beat 'un, and Avithout a vault ; 
Or but a cat Avill swear upon a book, 
I have as much as zet a vire her tail. 
And I'll give him or her a croAvn for 'mends. 
But to giA'e out and zay I haA'C robb'd a caj)tain '. 
Receive me at the latter day, if I [it. 

E'er thought of any such matter, or could mind 
Med. No, John, you are come of too good 

personage : 
I think my gossip Clench and master Turfe 
Both think you Avould ratempt no such voul 

matter. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



587 



Turfc. But how unhappily it comes to pass 
Just on the Aveclcling-day ! I cry me mercy, 
I had almost forgot the hue and cry : 
Good neighbor Pan, you are the thirdborough, 
And D'ogenes Scriben, j'ou my learned writer, 
Make out a new purccpt — Lord for thy good- 
I had forgot my daughter all this while ! [ness, 
The idle knave hath brought no news from her. 
Here comes the sneaking puppy. — 

Enter Puppy and dame Tukfe, on different sides. 

"What's the news ? 
My heart ! my heart ! I fear all is not well. 
Something's mishapp'd ; that he is come without 
her. [master ? 

Pup. O, Where's my master, my master, my 
Dame T. Thy master ! what would'st have 
with thy master, man ? 
There is thy master. 

Turfe. What's the matter, Puppy ? ter ! 

Piq}. O master, oh dame ! oh dame ! oh mas- 
Darne T. What say'st thou to thy master or 

thy dame ? 
Pup. Oh, John Clav, John Clav, John Clay ! 
Turfe. What of John Clay ? 
Med. Luck grant he bring not news he shall 

be hang'd ! 
Clench. The world forfend ! I hope it is not 

so well. 
Cla^j. O Lord ! oh me ! what shall I do r poor 

John! 
Pup. Oh John Clay, John Clay, John Clay ! 
Clay. Alas, 
That ever I was born ! I will not stay by't, 
For all the tiles in Kilborn. [Runs off. 

Dame T. AVhat of Clay ? 
Speak, Puppy ; what of him ? 

Pup. He hath lost, he hath lost — 

Turfe. For luck sake .speak, Puppy, what 

hath he lost ! 
Pup. Oh Awdrey, Awdroy, Awdrey ! 
Dame T. What of my daughter Awdrey ? 
Pup. I tell you, Awdrey — do you under- 
stand me ? 
Awdrey, sweet master, Awdroy.my dear dame — 
Turfe. Where is she ? what's become of her, 

I pray thee ? 
Pup. Oh, the serving-man, the serving-man, 

the serving-man ! 
Turfe. What talk'st thou of the serving-man ! 

Where's Awdrey ? 
Pup. Gone with the serving-man, gone with 

the serving- man. 
Dame T. Good Pu^ipy, whitlg^r is she gone 
with him ? [word 

Pup. I cannot tell : he bade me bring you 
Tlie captain lay at the Lion, and before 
I came again, Awdrey was gone with the serv- 
ing-man ; 
I. tell you, Awdrey's run away with the serving- 
man, [do now ? 
Turfe. 'Od'socks, my woman, what shall we 
Dame T. Now, so you help not, man, I know 

not, I. 
Turfe. This was your pomp of maids ! I told 
you on't. 
Six roaids to voUow you, and not leave one 
To wait upon your daughter ! I zaid pride 
Would be paid one day her old vi'pence, wife. 



Med. What of John Clay, Ball Puppy ? 

Pup. He hath lost ' 

Med. His life for velony ? 
Pup. No, his wife by villany. 
Turfe. Now villains both ! oh that same hue 
and cry ! 
Oh neighbors ! oh that cursed serving-man ! 

maids ! O Avifo ! but John Clay, where is 

he? — 
How ! fled for fear, zay ye ? will he slip us now 
We that are sureties must require 'un out. 
How shall we do to find the serving-man ? 
Cock's bodikms, we must not lose John Clay : 
Awdrey, my daughter Awdrey too ! let us zend 
To all the towns and zeek her ; — but, alas, 
The hue and cry, that must be look'd unto. 

Enter Tub. 

Tub. AYhat, in a passion, Turfe ? 

Turfe. Ay, good 'squire Tub. 
Were never honest varmers thus perplext. 

Tub. Turfe, I am privy to thy deep unrest : 
The ground of which springs from an idle plot. 

Cast by a suitor to your daughter Awdrey 

And thus much, Turfe, lot me advertise you ; 
Your daughter Awdrey met I on the way. 
With justice Bramble in her company ; 
Who means to marry her at Pancras-church. 
And there is canon Hugh to meet them ready : 
Which to prevent, you must not trust delay ; 
But winged speed must cross their sly intent : 
Then hie thee, Turfe, haste to forbid the banes. 

Turfe. Hath justice Bramble got my daughter 
Awdrey ? 
A little while shall he cnj«y her, zurc. 
But O, the hue and cry ! that hinders me ; 

1 must pursue that, or neglect my journey : 
I'll e'en leave all, and with the patient ass. 
The over-laden ass, throw off my biu-dcn. 
And cast mine office : pluck in my large ears 
Betimes, lest some disjudge 'em to be horns : 
I'll leave to beat it on the broken hoof. 

And ease my pasterns ; I'll no more high con- 
stables, [troubled 

Tub. I cannot choose but smile to see thee 
With such a bald, half-hatched circumstance. 
The captain was not robb'd, as is reported ; 
That trick the justice craftily devised. 
To break the marriage with the tileman Clay 
The hue and cry was merely counterfeit : 
The rather you may judge it to be such, 
Because the bridegroom was described to be 
One of the thieves first in the felony ; 
Which, how far 'tis from him, yourselves may 

guess. 
'Twas justice Bramble's fetch to get the wench 

Turfe. And is this true, 'squire Tub ? 

Tub. Believe me, Tiirfe, 
As I am a 'squire ; or less, a gentleman. 

Turfe. I take my office back, and my authority 
Upon your worship's words : — Neighbors, I am 
High constable again. Where's my zon Clay 2 
He shall be zon yet ; wife, yoiu- meat by leisure , 
Draw back the spits. 

Dame T. That's done already, man. 

Turfe. I'll break this marriage off ; and after- 
She shall be given to her first betroth'd. [ward. 
Look to the meat, wife, look well to the roast. 
\^Exit,folloiced hy his neighbors 



588 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Tub. I'll follow him aloof to see the event. 

[Exit. 

Pup. Dame, mistress, though I do not turn 
I hope yet the pig's head. [the spit, 

Dame T. Come up. Jack sauce ; 
It shall be serv'd into you. 

Pup. No, no service. 
But a reward for service. 

Dame T. I still took you 
For an unmannerly Puppy : will you come. 
And vetch more wood to the vire, master Ball ? 

[Exit. 

Pup. I, wood to the vire ! I shall piss it out first : 
You think to make me e'en your ox or ass, 
Or any thing : though I cannot right myself 
On yoti, I'll sure revenge me on j'our meat. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — 77(6 Same. — Before Turfe's 
House. 

Enter Lady Tub, Pol, Ma.rtix, and Wispe. 

Pol. !Madam, to Kentish Town we are got at 
length ; 
But by the way we cannot meet the 'squire, 
Nor by inquiry can we hear of him. 
Here is Turfe's house, the father of the maid. 

Ladi/ T. Pol Martin, see ! the streets are 
strew' d with herbs ; 
And here hath been a Avedding, Wispe, it seems. 
Pray heaven this bride-ale be not for my son ! 
Good Martin, knock, knock quickly ; ask for 

Turfe. 
My thoughts misgive me, I am in such a doubt — 

Pol. [knocking.'] Who keeps the house here ? 

Pup. [xcith.in.] Why the door and walls 
Do keep the house. 

Pol. i ask then, who's within ? 

Pup. [within.] Not you that are without. 

Pol. Look forth, and speak 
Into the street here. Come before my lady. 

Pup. [icithin.'] Before my lady ! Lord haA'e 
mercy upon me : 
If I do come before her, she will sec 
The handsomest man in all the town, pardee ! 

Enter Vvvvy from the house. 
Now stand I vorc her, what zaith velvet she ? 
Lady T. Sirrah, whose man are you ? 
Pup. Madam, my master's. 
Ladij T. And who's thy master ? 
Pup. What you tread on, madam. 
Lady T. I tread on an old Turfe. 
Pup. That Turfe's my master. 
Lady T. A merry fellow ! what's thy name ? 
Pup. Ball Puppy 
They call me at home : abroad Hannibal Puppy. 
Lady T. Come hither, I must kiss thee, val- 
entine Puppy. 
Wispe, have you got a valentine ? 

Wispe. None, madam : 
He's the first stranger that I saw. 

Lady T. To me 
He is so, and as such, let's share him equally. 
[They struggle to kiss him. 
Pup. Help, help, good dame ! A rescue, and 
in time. 
Instead of bills, with colstaves come ; instead 
of spears, with spits , 



Your slices servo for slicing swords, to save ma 

and my wits : 
A lady and her woman here, their huisher eke 

by side, 
(But he stands mute,") have plotted how your 

Puppy to divide. 

Enter Dame Tukfe, Joan, Joyce, Madge, &;€. 
Dame T. How now, what noise is this with 

you. Ball Puppy ? 
Pu]). Oh dame, and fellows of the kitchen ! 
arm , 
Arm, for my safety ; if you love your Ball : 
Here is a strange thing call'd a lady, a mad- 
dame. 
And a device of hers, yclcj^t her woman. 
Have plotted on me in the king's highwaj', 
To steal me from myself, and cut mc in halfs, 
To make one valentine to serve them both : 
This for my right-side, that my left-hand love. 
Dame T. So saucj^ Puppy ! to use no more 
reverence 
Unto my lady and her velvet gown ? 

Lady T. Turfe's wife, rebuke him not ; youi 
man doth please ir.e 
With his conceit : hold, there are ten old nobles, 
To make thee merrier yet, half- valentine. 

Pup. I thank you, right side ; could my left 
as much, [nibal ! 

'T would make me a man of mark, young Han ■ 
Lady T. Dido shall make that good, or I will 
for her. 
Here, Dido Wispe, there's for your Hannibal ; 
He is your countryman as well as valentine. 
Wis2K. Here, master Hannibal, my lady'i 
bounty 
For her poor woman, Wispe. 

Pup. Brave Carthage queen ! 
And such was Dido : I will ever be 
Champion to her, who Juno is to thee. 

Dame T. Your ladj-ship is very welcome here. 
Please you, good madam, to go near the house. 
Lady T. Turfe's wife, I come thus far to seek 
thy husband, 
Having some business to impart unto him ; 
Is he at home ? 

Dame T. O no, an it shall please you : 
He is posted hence to Pancridge, with a witness. 
Young justice Bramble has kept level coyl 
Here in our quarters, stole away our daughter, 
And master Turfe's run after, as he can, 
To stop the marriage, if it will be stopp'd. 

Pol. Madam, these tidings are not much amiss : 
For if the justtce have the maid in keep. 
You need not fear the marriage of your son. 
Lady T. That somewhat easeth my suspicious 
breast. 
Tell mo, Turfe's Avife, Avhen Avas my son Avith 

AAvdrcy ? 
HoAv long is it since you saAV him at your house ? 
Pup. Dame, let me take this rump out of 

your mouth. 
Dame T. What mean you by that, sir ? 
Pup. Rump and taile's all one, 
But I AA'ould use a reverence for mj' lady : 
I Avould not zay, sur-rcA-erence, thu tale 
Out of your mouth, but rather take the rump. 
Dame T. A well-bred youth ! and vull of fa- 
vor you are. • 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Pup. What might they z-iy, -when I \vere 
gone, if I 
Not -weigh'd my -words ? This Puppy is a vool, 
Great Hamiibaf s an ass ; he hath no breeding : 
No, lady gay, you shall not zay 
That your Val. Puppj-, was so unlucky. 
In speech to fail, as to name a tail, 
Ee as be may be, 'vore a fair lady. [our son. 

Ladtj T. Leave jesting ; tell us when you saw 

Pup. Marry, it is two liours ago. 

Ladij T. Since you saw him ? 

Pup. You might have seen hira too, if j'ou 
had look'd up ; 
For it shined as bright as day. 

Liuhj T. I mean my son. 

Pup. Your sun, and our sun, are they not all 
one? 

Lady T. Fool, thou mistak'st , I ask'd thee 
for my son. 

Pup. I had thought there had been no more 
sons than one. 
I know not what you ladies have, or may have. 

Pol. Didst thou ne'er hear my lady had a son ? 

Pup. She may have twenty ; but for a son, 
unless 
She mean precisely, 'squire Tub, her zon. 
He was here now, and brought my master word 
That justice Bramble had got mistress Awdrey : 
But whither he be gone, here's none can tell. 

Lady T. Martin, I wonder at this strange dis- 
course : 
The fool, it seems, tells true ; my son the squire 
Was doubtless here this morning : forthe miitch, 
I'll smother what I think, and staying here. 
Attend the sequel of this strange beginning. — 
Turfe's wife, my people and I ^vill trouble thee 
Until we hear some tidings of thy husband ; 
The rather for my party-valcndne. [Exeunt. 

SCENE 111. — Pancnts 

Enter TuKFE, Awdrey, Clkxch, Medlay, Pan, 
and SciiiB3N. 

Turfe. Well, I have carried it, and v/ill tri- 
umph 
Over this justice as becomes a constable, 
And a high constable : next our St. George, 
Who rescued the king's daughter, I will ride ; 
Above prince Arthur. 

Clench. Or our Shoreditch duke. 

Mc'd. Or Pancridge earl. 

Pan. Or Bevis, or sir Guy, 
Who were high constables both. 

Clench. One of Southampton 

Med. The t'other of W'arwick castle. 

Turfe. Y'ou shall work it 
v'lto a story for me, neighbor Mcdlay, 
Over my chimney. 

Scri. I can give you, sir, 
A lloman story of a petty-constable. 
That had a daughter that was call'd Virginia, 
Like mistress Awdrey, and as young as she ; 
And how her father have him in the business, 
'Gainst justice Appius, a decemvir in Home, 
And justice of assize. 

Turfe. That, that, good D'ogenes ! 
A learned man is a chronicle. 

iSc77'. I can tell you 



A thousana cf great Fompey, Ceesar, Trajan. 
All the high constables there. 

Turfe. That was their place ! 
They were no more. 

Scri. Dictator and high constable 
Were both the same. 

Med. High constable was more though : 
He laid Dick Tator by the heels. 

Pan. Dick Toter ! 
He was one o' the waights o' the city, I i^ave 

read o' 'un ; 
He Avas a fellow would be drunk, debauch'd — 
And he did zct 'un in the stocks indeed : 
His name was Vadian, and a cunning toter. 
Awd. Was ever silly maid thus posted off, 
That should have had three husbands in one day : 
Y''et, by bad fortune, am possest of none ! 
I went to church to have been wed to Clay, 
Then 'squire Tub he seized me on the way, 
And thought to have had me, but he mist his 

aim , 
And justice Bramble, nearest of the three. 
Was well nigh married to me ; when by chance, 
In rush'd my father, and broke off that dance. 
Turfe. Ay, girl, there's ne'er a justice on 
'em all 
Shall teach the constable to guard his own : 
Let's back to Kentish-town, and there make 

merry : 
These news will be glad tidings to my M'ife. 
Thou shalt have Clay, my weiich : that word 
shall stand. [drown'd ; 

He's found by this time, sure, or else he's 
The wedding-dinner will be spoil'd : make 
haste. 
Awd. Husbands, they say, grow thick, but 
thin are sown ; 
I care not who it be, so I have one. 

Turfe. Ay, zay you zo ! perhaps you shall ha' 

none for that. 
Awd. None, out upon me ! what shall I dc 

then ? 
Med. Sleep, mistress Awdrey, dream on prop- 
er men. [Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another paH of the same. 

Enter Sir Hugh and Preamble. 

Iluyh. O bone Dcus, have yoir seen the like ! 
Here Avas, Hodge hold thine ear fair, whilst 1 

strike. 
Body o' me, how came this geer about ? 

P're. I know not. Canon, but it falls out cross, 
Nor can I make conjecture by the circumstance 
Of these events ; it was impossible, 
Being so close and politicly carried, 
To come so quickly to the ears of Turfe. 
O priest ! had but"thy slow delivery 
Been nimble, and thy lazy Latin tongue 
But run the forms o'er with that swift dispatch 
As had been requisite, all had been well. 

Hugh. What should have been, that nevei 
loved the friar ; 
But thus you see the old adage verified, 

Multa cad'unt inter you can guess the rest, 

Many things fall between the cup and lip ; 
And' though they touch, you are not sure to 
drink. 



500 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



You lack'cl good fortune, we had done oxir parts : 
Give a man fortune, throw him in the sea. 
The proi)erer man, thr; M'orse luck : stay a time ; 
Tempus edax — In time the stately ox, — 
Good counsels lightly never come too late. 
Pre. You, sir, will run your counsels out of 

breath. 
Hujh. Spur a free horse, he'll run himself to 

death. 
Sancli EcangcUstcs ! here comes Miles ! 

Enter Metaphor. 

Pre What news, man, with our new-made 
pursuivant ? 

Met. A pursuivant ! would I were — or more 
pursFe, 
And had more store of money ; or less pursie, 
And had more store of breath : yoii call me 

pursuivant, 
But I could never vaunt of any purse 
I lT,ad, sin' you were my godfathers and god- 
And gave me that nick-name. [mothers, 

Pre. What's now the matter ? 

J/e^. Nay, 'tis no matter, I have been simply 
beaten. [prisoner r 

Hugh. What is become of the 'squire and thy 

Met. The lines of blood run streaming from 

my head, [me. 

Can speak what rule the 'squire hath kept ^\■ith 

Pre. I pray thee, Miles, relate the manner how. 

Met. Bc't known unto you by these presents 
then. 
That I, i\Iilcs Metaphor, your worship's clerk, 
Have e'en been beaten to an allegory. 
By multitude of hands. Had they "been but 
Some five or six, I had whipp'd them all, like 

tops 
In Lent, and hurl'd them into Hobler's hole, 
Or the next ditch ; I had crack'd all their cos- 
As nimbly as a squirrel "will crack nuts, [tards. 
And flourished like to Hercules the porter 
Among the pages. But when they came on 
Like bees about a hive, crows about carrion, 
Flies about sweetmeats ; nay, like Avatermcn 
About a fare : then was poor Metaphor 
Glad to give up the honor of the day, 
To quit his charge to them, and run away 
To save his life, only to tell this news. 

HagJi. How indirectly all things are fallen out ! 
1 cannot clioose but wonder what they were 
Rescued your rival from the keep of Miles ; 
But most of all, I cannot well digest 
The manner how our piirjDose came to Turfe. 

Pre. Miles, I will see that all thy hurts be 
drest. 
As for the 'squire's escape, it matters not, 
We have by tliis means disappointed him ; 
And that -was all the main I aimed at. 
But cannon Hugh, now muster up thy wits. 
And call thy thoughts into the consistory, 
Search all the secret corners of thy cap, 
To find another quaint devised drift, 
To disappoint her marriage with this Clay : 
Do that, and I'll reward thee jovially. 

Harjh. Well said, magister justice. If I fit 
you not 
With such a now and well-laid stratagem, 
As never yet your ears did hear a finer, 
Call ir.e with Lilly, Bos, Fur, Sus atque Sacerdos. 



Pre. I hear there's conifoit in thy Avords yet, 
Canon. 
I'll trust thy regulars, and say no more. 

[Exeunt Hugh and Pre. 
Met. I'll follow too. And if the dapper priest 
Be but as cunning, po'.nt in his device, 
As I was in my lie, my master Bramble 
Will stalk, as led by the nose Avith these new 

promises. 
And fatted with supposes of fine hopes. [Exit. 

SCENE Y. — Kentish Toicn. — Before Turfe's 
House. 

Enter Turfe, Dame Turfe, Lady Tub, Pol. 
Martix, Awdrey, and Puppy. 

Turfe. Well, madam, I may thank the 'squire 
your son ; 
For, out for him, I had been ovor-reach'd. 

Dame T. Now heaven's blessings light upon 
his heart ! 
We are beholden to him, indeed, madam. 

Lady T. But can j^ou not resolve me wnere 
he is, 
Nor about what his purposes were bent ? 

Turfe. Madam, they no whit were concerning 
And therefore was I less inquisitive. [me 

Ladij T. Fair maid, in faith, speak truth, and 
not dissemble ; 
Does he not often come and visit you ? 

Atod. His worship now and then, please you, 
takes pains 
To see my father and mother ; but, for me, 
I know myself too mean for his high thoughts 
To stoop at, more tlian asking a light question, 
To make him merry, or to pass his time. 

Lady T. A sober maid ! call for my woman 
Martin. [plied her 

Pol. The maids and her half-valentine have 
With courtesy of the bride-cake and the bowl, 
As she is laid awhile. 

Ladij T. let her rest. 
We will cross o'er to Canbury in the interim, 
And so make home. — Farewell, good Turfe, and 
I wish your daughter joy. [thy wife ; 

[Exeunt Lady T. and Pol. 

Turfe. Thanks to your ladyshij). — [yet r 

Where is John Clay now, have j-ou seen him 

Dame T. No, ho has hid himself out of the 
For fear of the hue and crj'. [way, 

Turfe. What, walks that shadow 
Avore 'un still? — Puppy, go seek 'un out. 
Search all the corners that he haunts unto. 
And call 'un forth. We'll once more to the 

church, 
And try our vortunes : luck, son Valentine ! 
Where are the Avise men all of Finsbury ? 

Pup. Where Avise men should be ; at the. ale 
and bride-cake. 
I Avould this couple had their destiny. 
Or to be hang'd, or married oxit o' the Avay : 

Enter Clench, Medlay, Scriben, ^c. 
Man cannot get the movxnt'nance of an egg-shell 
To stay his stomach. Vaith, for mine OAvn part, 
I have zupp'd up so much broth as Avould have 
coA'cr'd ■ '^.pot, 

A leg o' beef o'er head and ears in the poi ridge- 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



59! 



And yet I cannot sussifie wild nature. 

Would tho)^ were once dispatch'd, we might to 

dinner. 
I am with child of a huge stomach, and long, 
Till by some honest midwife piece of beef 
I be deliver'd of it : I must go now 
And hunt out for this Kilborn calf, John Clay, 
Whom whore to find, I know not, nor which 

way. [Exit. 

E)iter Sir IIuoii, disguised as a captain. 

Ilurjh. Thus as a beggar in a king's disguise. 
Or an old,cross well sided with a may-i:)ole, 
Comes canon Hugh accoutred as you see. 
Disguised, soldado-like. Mark his device : 
The canon "is that captain Thums was robb'd, 
These bloody scars upon my face are wounds. 
This scarf upon mine arm shews my late hurts. 
And thus am I to gull the constable. 
Now have among j'ou for a man at arms ! 

[Aside. 

Friends, by your leave, which of you is one 

Turfe ? [with me. 

Turfc. Sir, I am Turfe, if you would speak 

Hugh. With thee, Turfc, if thou be'st high 
constable. 

Turfe. I am both Turfc, sir, and high constable. 

Hugh. Then, Turfe or Sourfe, high or low 
constable. 
Know, I was once a captain at St. Quintin's, 
And passing cross the ways over tlie covmtry, 
This morning, betwixt this and Hamstead-heath, 
Was by a crew of clowns robb'd, bobb'd and 

hurt. 
No sooner had I got my wounds bound up. 
But with much pain I went to the next Justice, 
One master Bramble, here at Maribone : 
And here a warrant is, which he hath directed 
For you, one Turfe, if your name bo Toby Turfe, 
Who have let fall, they say, the hue and cry ; 
And you shall answer it afore the justice. 

Turfe. IIea^'en and hell, dogs and devils, what 
is this ! 
Neighbors, was ever constable thus cross'd ? 
What shall we do ? 

Med. Faith, all go hang ourselves ; 
I know no other way to scape the law. 

Re-enter Puppy. 

Pup. News, news, O news 

Turfe. What, hast thou found out Claj' i' 
Fup. No, sir, the news is, that I cannot iiud 

him. 
Hugh. Why do you dally, you daixin'd russet 
CO at r 
Yon peasant, nay, you clown, you constable ! 
See that you bring forth the suspected party, 
():• b3'' muie honor, which I won in field, 
I'll make you pay for it afore the justice. 

Turfe. Fie, tie ! O wife, I'm now in a fine 
pickle. 
He that was most suspected is not found ; 
A.nd which now makes me think he did the deed, 
He thus absents him, and dares not be seen, 
("aptain, my innocence will plead for me. 
Wife, I must go, needs, whom the devil drives : 
I'ray for me, wife and daughter, pray for me. 
Hugh. I'll lead the way — thus is the match 
put off, — 



And if my plot succeed, as I have laid it. 
My captainship shall cost him many a crown. 
[Aside. Exeunt all hut Dame T., Awn., and PuprY. 
Bame T. So, we have brought our eggs to a 

fair market. [bery ? 

Jut on that villian Clay ! would he do a rob- 

I'll ne'er trust smooth-faced tileman for his sake. 

Awd. ^Mother, the still sow cats up all the 

draff. [Exeunt Dame T. and Attd. 

Pup. Thus is my master, Toby Turfe, the 

pattern 
Of all the jwinful adventures now in print ! 
I never could hope better of this match. 
This bride-ale ; for the night before to-day, 
(Which is within man's memory, I take it,) 
At the report of it an ox did speak. 
Who died soon after ; a cow lost her calf ; 
The bell-weather was flay'd for't ; a fat hog 
Was singed, and wash'd, and shaven all over, to 
Look ugly 'gainst this day : the ducks they 

quack'd. 
The hens" too cackled ; at the noise whereof 
A drake was seen to dance a headless round : 
The goose was cut in the head to hear it too : 
Brave chant-it-clear, his noble heart was done, 
His comb was cut ; and two or three of his wives, 
Or fairest concubines, had their necks broke 
Ere they would zee this day : to mark the verven 
Heart of a beast ! the very pig, the pig 
This very morning, as he was a roasting. 
Cried aut his eyes, and made a show, as he would 
Have bit in two the spit ; as he would say. 
There shall no roast-meat be this dismal day. 
And zure, I think, if I had not got his tongue 
Between my teeth and cat it, he had spoke it. 
Well, I will in and cry too ; never leave 
Crying until our maids may drive a buck 
With my salt tears at the next washing-day. 

\Exit. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Maribone. — A Room in Justice 
Preamble's House. 

Enter Justice Pkea:mble, Sir Hugh, disguised a$ 
before, Turfe, and Metaphor. 

Pre. Keep out those fellows ; Pll have none 

come in 
But the high constable, the man of peace. 
And the queen's captain, the brave man of war. 
Now, neighbor Turfe. the cause why you are 

call'd 
Before me by my warrant, but unspecified, 
Is this ; and pray you mark it thoroughly. 
Here is a gentleman, and, as it seems. 
Both of good birth, fair speech, and peaceable ; 
Who was this morning robb'd here in the wood ; 
You, for your part, a man of good report, 
Of credit", landed, and of fair demeans, 
And by authority, high constable ; 
Are, notwithstanding, toucli'd in this complaint, 
Of being careless in the hue and cry. 
I cannot choose but grieve a soldier's loss ; 
And I am sorry too for your neglect, 
Be;ng my neighbor : this is all I object. 

Hugh. This is not all ; I can allege far more, 
And almost urge him for an accessary: 



592 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Good master justice, give me leave to speak, 
For I am plaintiff : let not neighborliood 
Make him secure, or stand on privilege. 

Fre. Sir, I dare use no partiality ; 
Object then what you ptcase, so it be truth. 
Hugh. This more, and -which is more than he 

can answer ; 
Besides his letting fall the hue and cry, 
He doth protect the man charged ^^ith the felony, 
And keeps him hid, I hear, within his house, 
Because he is afRed unto his daughter. 

Turfe. I do defy 'un, so shall she do too. 
r pray your worship's favor let me have hearing. 
I do convess, 'twas told me such a velony, 
And't not disgrieved me a little, when 'twas 

told me, 
Vor I was going to church to marry Av.-drey : 
And Avho should marry her but this very Clay, 
Who was charged to be the chief thief o' 'em all. 
Now I (the halter stick mc if I tell 
Your worships any leazins) did fore-think 'un 
The truest man, till ho was run away : 
I thought I had had 'un as zure as in a zaw-pit. 
Or in mine oven ; nay, in the town-pound : 
I was zo zure o' 'un, I'd have gi'n my life for 'un, 
Till ho did start : but now I zee 'un guilty, 
Az var as I can look at 'un. Would you ha' 

more ? 
Hwjh. Yes, I Avill have, sir, what the law will 

give me. [ing ; 

\''on gave your word to see him safe forth-com- 
I challenge that : but that is forfeited ; 
Beside, your carelessness in the pursuit, 
Argues ^-our slackness and neglect of duty. 
Which ought to be punished with severity. 
Frc. He speaks but reason, Turfe. Bring 

forth the* man 
And you are quit ; but otherwise, your word 
Binds you to make amends for all his loss. 
And think yourself befriended, if he take it 
Without a farther suit or going to law. 
Come to a composition with him, Turfe, 
The law is costly, and will draw on charge. 
Turfe. Yes, I do know, I vurst mun vee a re- 

ttirney, 
And then make legs to my great man o' law, 
To be o' my counsel, and take trouble-vces. 
And yet zay nothing for mc, but devise 
All district means, to ransackle mc o' my money. 
A pest'lence prick the throats o' 'em ! I do know 

'em, [there. 

As well az I waz in their bellies, and brought up 
What would you ha' mc do, what would you 

ask of me ? 
Hurjh. I ask the restitution of my mone)^ 
And Avill not bate one penny of the sum ; 
Fourscore and five pound : and I ask, besides, 
Amendment for my hurts ; my pain and suf- 

■ fering 
Are loss enough for mc, sir, to sit down Avith. 
I'll put it to your worship ; what you award me, 
['11 take, and give him a general release. 
Pre. And what say you now, neighbor Turfe ? 
Turfe. I put it 
Even to your worship's bitterment, hab, nab. 
[ shall have a chance o' the dice for't, I hope, 

let 'em e'en run : and [my neighbor. 

Pre. Faith, then I'll pray you, 'cause he is 
To take a hundred pound> and give him day. 



Hugh. Saint Valentine's day, I will, this very 
day. 
Before sun-set ; my bond is forfeit else. 

Turfe. Where -will you have it paid r 

Hugh. Faith, I am a stranger 
Here in the country ; know you canon Hugh, 
The vicar of Pancras ? 

Turfe. Yes, who [knows] not him ? [it, 

Hugh. I'll make him my attorney to receive 
And give you a discharge. 

Turfe. Whom shall I send for't ? 

Pre. Why, if you please, send Metaphor my 
clerk : 
And, Turfe, I much commend thy willingness ; 
It's argument of thy integrity. 

Turfe. But my integrity shall be my zelf still : 
Good master Metaphor, give my wife thi:; kej'. 
And do but whisper it into her hand ; 
She knows it well enough ; bid her, by that. 
Deliver you the two zeal'd bags of silver. 
That lie in the corner of .the cupboard, stands 
At my bed-side, they are vifty pound a pijce : 
And bring them to your master. 

Met. If I prove not 
As just a carrier as my friend Tom Long was. 
Then call me his curtal ; change my name of 

Miles. 
To Guiles, Wiles, Piles, Biles, or the foulest 

name 
You can devise, to crambo with for ale. 

Hugh, [takes Met. aside.] Come hither, Mies ; 
bring by that token too 
Fair Awdrey ; say, her father sent for her. 
Say, Clay is faund, and waits at Pancras-chur/.h. 
AVhere I attend to marry them in haste : 
For, by this means, Miles, I may say't to thee. 
Thy master must to Awdrey married be. 
But not a word but mum : go, get thee gone, 
Be wary of thy charge, and keep it close. 

Met. O super-dainty canon, vicar incony ? 
Make no delay. Miles, but away ; 
And bring the wench and money. [Exit, 

Hugh. Now, sir, I see you meant l;ut honestly • 
And, but that business calls me henoe away, 
I would not leave you till the sun were lower. — 
But, master justice; one word, sir, with you. 

[Aside to Pre. 
By the same token, is your mistress sent for 
By Metaphor, your clerk, as from her father ; 
Who, when she comes, I'll marry her to you. 
Unwitting to this Turfe, who shall attend 
Me at the parsonage : this was my plot, 
Which I must now make good, turn canon again, 
In my square cap. I humbly take my leave. 

[Exit. 

Pre. Adieu, good captain. — Trust me, neigh- 
bor Turfe, 
He seems to be a sober gentleman : 
But this distress hath somewhat stirr'd his pa- 
tience. 
And men, you know, in such extremities, 
Apt not themselves to points of courtesy ; 
I'm glad, you have made this end. 

Turfe. You stood my friend, 
I thank your justice-worship ; may you be 
Prczcnt anon at tendering of the money. 
And zee me have a discharge ; vor I have no 
In 3-our law quiblins. [craft 

Pre. I'll secure you, neighbor. [Exeunt. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



593 



SCENE II. — The Coimtnj near Mauibone. 

Enter Medlay, Clench, Pan, and Scribex. 

Med. Indescl there is a "woundy luck in names, 
sirs, 
And a vain mystery, an' a man knew where 
To vind it. My <^odsire's name, I'll tell you, 
Was In-and-in Shittle, and a weaver he was, 
And it did fit his craft : for so his shittle 
Went in and in still ; this way, and then that 
way. [serves 

And he named me In-and-in Medlay ; which 
A joiner's craft, because that wo do lay 
Things in and in, in our work. But I am truly 
Architectonicus ^vofcssor, rather ; 
That is, as one would zay, an architect. 

Clench. As I am a varrier and avisicarj- ; 
Ilorse-smlth of Hamstead, and the whole town 
leach. 

Med. Yes, you have done woundy cures, gos- 
sip Clench. [urine-hole. 

Clench. An I can zee the stale once through a 
I'll give a shrewd guess, be it man or beast. 
I cured an ale-wife once that had the staggers 
Worse than five horses, without rowelling. 
My god-phcre was a Rabian or a Jew, 
(You can tell, D'oge,) thej' call'd 'un doctor Basi. 

Scri. One Basis was a great Arabic doctor. 

Clench. lie was king Harry's doctor, and my 
god-phere. 

Pan. Mine was a merry Greek, To-Pan of 
Twiford, 
A jovial tinker, and a stopper of holes ; 
Who left me metal-man of Belsise, his heir. 

Med. But what was yours, D'oge ? 

Scri. Vaith, I cannot tell. 
If mine were kyrsin'd or no : but zure he had 
A kyrsin name, that he left me, Diogenes. 
A mighty learned man, but pestilence poor ; 
Vor he had no house, save an old tub, to dwell in, 
(I vind that in records,') and still he turn'd it 
In the wind's teeth, as't bkw on his backside. 
And there they would lie routing one at other, 
A week sometimes. 

Med- Thence came, A Tale of a Tub, 
And the virst Tale of a Tub, old D'ogenes Tub. 

Scri. That was avore sir Peter Tvib or his lady. 

Pan. Ay, or the 'squire their son, Tripolj' Tub. 

Clench. The 'squire is a line gentleman. 

Med. He is more, 
A gentleman and a half ; almost a knight. 
Within zix inches ; that is his true measure. 

Clench. Zure j'ou can gage 'un. 

Med. To a streak, or less ; 
I know his d'ametcrs and circumference ; 
A knight is six diameters, and a 'squire [pass 
Is vive, and zomewhat more ; I know't by com- 
And scale of man. I have upon my rule here 
The just perportions of a knight, a squire ; 
. With a tame justice, or an officer rampant, 
Ufion the bench, from the high constable 
Down to the headboroi^gh, or tithing-man. 
Or meanest minister of the peace, God save 'un ! 
Pan. Why you can tell us by the squire, 
neighbor. 
Whence he is call'd a constable, and whafFore. 

Med. No, that's a book-case : Scriben can do 
That's wnting and reading, and records, [that. 
38 



Scri. Two words, 
Cyning and staple, make a constable ; 
As Ave would say, a hold or stay for the king. 

Clench. All constables are truly Johns for the 
king, 
Wliate'er their names are, be they Tony or Roger. 

Med. And all are sworn as vingars o' the one 

hand. 

To hold together 'gainst the broach o' the peace ; 

The high constable is the thumb, as one would 

The hold-fast o* the rest. [zay» 

Pan. Pray luck he speed 
Well in the business between captain Thums 
And him ! 

Med. I'll warrant 'un for a groat ; 
I have his measures here in rithmetique, 
How he should hear 'un self in all the lines 
Of's place and office : let us zeek 'un out. 

\EjcBunt. 

SCENE III. — The Country near Kentish Town 

Enter Tub and Hilts. 
Tub. Hilts, how dost thou like of this our 

good day's work ? 
Illlts. As good e'en ne'er a •\vhit, as ne'er the 

better. 
Tub. Shall we to Pancridge or to Kentish- 
town, Hilts ? 
Hilts. Let Kentish-town or Pancridge come to 
If either will : I will go home again. [us, 

Tub. Faith, Basket, our success hath been 
but bad. 
And nothing prospers that we undertake ; 
For Ave can neither meet Avith Clay nor AAA'drey, 
The canon Hugh, nor Turfe the constable : 
We are like men that Avander in strange Avoods, 
And lose ourselves in search of them Ave seek. 
Ililts. This Avas because we rose on the Avrong 
side ; 
But as I am noAV here, just in the mid-Avay, 
I'll zet my SAvord on the pummel, and that line 
The point vails to, Ave'll take, Avhether it be 
To Kentish ToAvn, the church, or home again. 
Tub. Stay, stay thy hand : here's justice 
Bramble's clerk. 

Enter Metaphor. 
The unlucky hare hath crossed us all this day. 
I'll stand aside Avhilst thou pump'st out of him 
His business. Hilts ; and how he's noAV em- 
ployed. [ Walks aside. 

Hilts. Let me alone, I'll use him in this kind. 

Met. Oh for a pad-horse, pack-horse, or a post- 
horse. 
To bear me on his neck, his back, or his croup ! 
I am as Aveary Avith running as a mill-horse 
That hath led the mill once, twice, thrice about. 
After the breath hath been out of his body. 
I could get up upon a pannier, a pannel, 
Or, to say truth, a very pack-saddle. 
Till all my honey were turn'd into gall. 
And I could sit in the seat no longer : — 
Oh [for] the legs of a lackey noAv, or a footman, 
Who is the surbater of a clerk currant, 
And the confounder of his trestles dormant ! 
But Avho have we here, just in the nick ? 

Hilts. I am neither nick, nor in the nick ; 
Y^'ou lie, sir Metaphor. Ftherefore 



594: 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Met. Lie ! how ? 

Hilts. Lie so, sir. [Strikes up his heels. 

Met. I He not yet in my throat. 

Hilts. Thou Host on the ground. 
Dost thou know me ? 

3Tct. Yes, I did knoAV you too late. 

Hilts. What is my name, then ? 

3Iet. Basket. 

Hilts. Basket what ? 

3fet. Basket the great 

Hilts. The great Avhat ? 

Met. Lubber 

I should say, lover, of the 'squire his master. 

Hilts. Great is my patience, to forbear thee 
thus. 
Thou scrape-hill scoundrel, and thou scum of 
Uncivil, orange-tawney-coated clerk ! [man ; 
Thou cam'st but half a thing into the world, 
And wast made up of patches, parings, shreds : 
Thou, that when last thou wert put out of ser- 
vice, [We'nesday, 
Travell'dst to Hamstead-heath o/i an Ash- 
Where thou didst stand six weeks the Jack of 

Lent, 
For boys to hurl, three throws a penny, at thee. 
To make thee a purse : seest thou this bold 
bright blade ? [grave. 

This sword shall shred thee as small unto the 
As minced meat for a pye. I'll set thee in earth 
All, save thy head and thy right arm at liberty, 
To keep thy hat off while I question thee 
What, why, and whither thou Avert going now. 
With a face ready to break out with business ? 
And tell me truly, lest I dash't in pieces. 

Met. Then, Basket, put thy smiter up, and 
hear ; 
I dare not tell the tiuth to a drawn sword. 

Hilts. 'Tis sheath'd ; stand up, speak without 
fear or wit. 

Met. [rises.] I know not what they mean ; but 
constable Turfe 
Sends here his key for monies in his cupboard, 
Which he must pay the captain that Avas robb'd 
This morning. Smell you nothing ? 

Hilts. No, not I ; 
Thy breeches yet are nonest. 

Blei As my mouth. 
Do you not smell a rat ? I tell you truth, 
I think all's knavery ; for the canon Avhisper'd 
Me in the ear, AA'hen Turfe had gi'n me his kej', 
By the same token to bring mistress AAvdrey, 
As sent for thither ; and to say, John Clay 
Is found, AA'hich is indeed to get the Avench 
Forth for my master, yvho is to be married 
When she comes there : the canon has his rules 
Heady, and all there, to dispatch the matter. 

Tub. ' comes forwaril.'] Noav, on my life, this is 
the canon's plot. — 
Miles, I have heard all thy discourse to Basket. 
Wilt thou be true, and I'll rcAvard thee avcU, 
To make me happy in my mistress AAvdrey .'' 

Met. Your Avorship shall dispose of INIetaphor, 

Through all his parts, e'en from the sole of the 

head [serA'ico. 

To the croAvn of the foot, to manage of your 

Tub. Then do thy message to the mistress 
Turfe, 
Tell her thy token, bring the money hither, 
Aiid likoAvise take young AAvdrey to thy charge ; 



Which done, here, ^Metaphor, we aa^U attend. 
And intercept thee : and for thy reward 
You two shall share the money, I the maid ; 
If any take offence, I'll make all good. 

Met. But shall I have half the money, sir, in 
faith ? 

Tub. Ay, on my 'squireship shalt thou, and 
my land. 

Met. Then, if I make not, sir, the cleanliest 
'scuse 
To get her hither, and be then as careful 
To keep her for you, as 'tAvere for myself, 
DoAvn on your knees, and pray that honest 

Miles 
May break his neck ere he get o'er tAvo stiles. 

Tub. Make haste, then ; Ave Avill Avait here thy 
return. [E.tit Met 

This luck unlook'd for hath rcA'iv'd my hopes, 
Which Avere opprest with a dark melancholy : 
In happy time avc linger' d on the Avay, 
To meet these summons of a better sound, 
Which are the essence of mj' soul's content. 

Hilts. This heartless felloAv, shame to serving- 
men, 
Stain of all liveries, AA'hat fear makes him do ! 
IIoAV sordid, Avretchcd, and unAvorthy things ' 
Betray his master's secrets, ope the closet 
Of his devices, force the foolish justice 
!Make Avay for your love, plotting of his oaa'u ; 
Like him that digs a trap to catch another, 
And falls into't himself ! 

Tub. So Avould I liaA'C it, [with 

And hope 'twill prove a jest to tAvit the justice 

Hilts. But that this poor Avhite-liver'd rogue 
And merely out of fear ! [should do it. 

Tub. And hope of money. Hilts : 
A valiant man Avill nibble at that bait. 

Hilts. Who, but a fool, Avill refuse money 
p r offer 'd ? 

Tub. And sent by so good chance ? Pray 
heaA'en he speed. 

Hilts. If he come emptj'-handed, let him 
count 
To go back empty-headed ; I'll not leave him 
So much of brain in's pate, with pep^jer and 

A'inegar, 
To be serv'd in for sauce to a calf's head. 

Tab. Thou [Avilt] serve him rightly. Hilts. 

Hilts. I'll seal [to] as much [tongue. 

With my hand, as I dare say noAV Avith my 
But if you get the lass from Dargison, 
What Avill you do Avith her ? 

Tub. We'll think of that 
When once Ave have her in possession, governor. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE IV. — Another Part of the Same 

Enter Puppa', and ^Ietaphor toit/i Aiedreij. 
Pup. You see Ave trust you, master Metaphor, 
With mistress AAvdrey ; pray you use her Avcll, 
As a gentlewoman should be used. For my 
I do incline a little to the serving-man ; [part, 
We have been of a coat 1 had one like 

yours ; 
Till it did play me such a sleeveless errand, 
As I had nothing where to put mine arms in. 
And then I threw it off. Pray you go before 

her. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



695 



Serving-man like, and see that your nose drop 
As for example, you shall see me : mark, [not. 
How I go afore her ! so do you, sweet Miles. 
She for her own part is a woman cares not 
What man can do unto her in the way 
Of honostj' and good manners : so farewell, 
Fair mistress Awdrej^ ; farewell, master Miles. 
I have brought you thus far onward o' your 

■way : 
I must go back now to make clean the rooms, 
"Where my good lady has been. Pray you 

commend me 

To bridegroom Cla}', and bid him bear up stiff. 

Met. Thank you, good Hannibal Puppy ; I 

shall fit 

The leg of your commands with the strait bus- 

Of dispatch presently. [kins 

Piq}. Farewell, fine Metaphor. [Exit. 

Met, Come, gentle mistress, Avill you please 

to walk ? 
Awd. I love not to be led ; I would go alone. 
Met. Let not the mouse of my good meaning, 
lady, 
Be snapp'd up in the trap of your suspicion, 
To lose the tail there, either of her truth. 
Or swallow'd by the cat of misconstruction. 
Awd. You are too finical for me ; speak plain, 
sir. 

Enter Tub and IIilts. 

Tuh. Welcome again, my Awdrey, welcome, 
love ! 
You shall with me ; in faith deny me not : 
I cannot brook the second hazard, mistress. 

Aicd. Forbear, squire Tub, as mine own 
mother says, 
I am not for your mowing : you'll be flown 
Ere I be fledge. 

IIilts. Hast thou the money, Miles ? 

Met. Here are two bags, there's fifty pound 
in each. [time — 

Tuh. Nay, Awdrey, I possess you for this 
Sirs, take that coin between you, and divide it. 
My pretty sweeting, give me now the leave 
To challenge love and marriage at your hands. 

Awd. Now, out upon you, are you not 
asham'd I 
\Vlrat will mj-- lady say ? In faith, I think 
She Avas at our house, and I think she ask'd for 

you ; 
And I think she hit me in the teeth with you, 
I thank her ladyship : and I think she means 
Not to go hence till she has found you. 

Tub. How say you ! 
Was then my lady mother at your house ? 
Let's have a word aside. 

Awd. Yes, twenty words. [Thcij ivalk aside. 

Enter Lady Tub and Pol Maiiti.y. 

Ladij T. 'Tis strange, a motion, but I know 
not Avhat, 
Comes in my mind, to leave the way to Tottcn, 
And turn to Kentish Town again my journey — 
And see ! my son, Pol Martin, with his Awdrey ! 
Ercwhile we left her at her father's house, 
And hath he thence removed her in such haste ! 
What shall I do, shall I speak fair, or chide ? 

Pol JIadam, your worthy son with duteous 
Can govern his affections ; rather then, [care 



Break off their conference some other way, 
Pretending ignorance of what you know. 

Tub. An this be all, fair Awdrey, I am thine. 
Lady T. [comes forward.] !Mine yoii were 

once, though scarcely now your own. 

Hilts. 'Slid, my lady, my lady ! 

Met. Is this my lady bright ? [Exit, 

Tub. Madam, you took me now a little tardy. 

Lady T. At prayers I think you were : what, 

so devout [fcssors 

Of late, that you will shrive you to all con- 

You meet by chance ! come, go with me, good 

squire, 
Aiid leave your linen : I have now a business. 
And of importance, to impart unto you. 

Tub. Madam, I pray you spare me but an 
hour ; 
Please j'-ou to walk before, I follow you. 

Lady T, It must be now, my business lies 

this way. 
Tub. Will not an hour hence, madam, excuse 

me ? 
Lady T. 'Squire, these excuses argue more 
your guilt. 
You have some new device now to project, 
Which the poor tileman scarce will thank you 
What ! will you go ? [for. 

Tub. I have ta'en a charge upon me. 
To see this maid conducted to her father. 
Who, with the canon Hugh, stays her at Pan- 
To see her married to the same John Clay, [eras. 
Lady T. 'Tis very well ; but, 'squire, take you 
no care, 
I'll send Pol Martin with her for that office : 
You shall along with me ; it is decreed. 

Tub. I have a little business with a frientl, 

madam. 
Lady T. That friend shall stay for you, or you 
for him. — 
Pol Martin, take the maiden to your care ; 
Commend me to her father. 
Tub. I will follow you. 
Lady T. Tut, tell not me of following. 
Tub. I'll but speak 
A word. 

Lady T. No whispering ; you forget yourself. 
And make your love too palpable : a squire, 
And think so meanly ! fall upon a cowshard ! 
You know my mind. Come, I will to Turfe's 

house. 
And see for Dido and our Valentine. — 
Pol Martin, look to your charge, I'll look to 
mine. [Exetmt Lady T., Tub, and Hilts, 
Pol. I smile to think, after so many proffers 
This maid hath had, she now should fall to me- 
That I should have her in my custody ! 
'Twere but a mad trick to make the essay, 
And jump a match with her immediately 
She's fair and handsome, and she's rich enough , 
Both time and place minister fair occasion : 
Have at it then ! [Aside."] — Fair lady, can you 
Awd. No, sir ; what's that ? [love? 

Pol. A toy which women use. 
Awd. If it be a toy, it's good to play withal 
Pol. We will not stand discoursing of the toy , 
The way is short, please you to prove it mis- 
tress, [it, 
Aicd. If you do mean to stand so long upou 
I pray you let me give it a short cut, sir. 



590 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Pol. It's thus, fair maid : are you disposed to 

Awd. You are disposed to ask. [marry ? 

Fol. Are you to grant ? 

Atcd. Nay, now I see you are disposed indeed. 

Po/. I see the wench wants but a little wit, 
And that defect her wealth may well supply : 
In. i^lain terms, tell mc, will you have me, 
Awdrey ? 

Awd. In as plain terras, I tell you who Avould 

have mo, 

John Clay would have me, but he hath too hard 

I like not him ; besides, he is a thief. [hands, 

.Ynd justice Bramble, he would fain have catch' d 

me : 
but the young 'squire, he rather than his life. 
Would have me yet ; and make me a lady, he 
says, [vice, 

And be my knight to do me true knight's ser- 
Before his lady mother. Can you make me 
A lady, would I have you ? 

Pol. I can give you 
A silken gown and a rich petticoat. 

And a French hood All fools love to be brave : 

I find her humor and I will pursue it. 

[Aside. Exeunt. 

SCENE V. — Kentish Town. 

Enter Lady Tub, Dame Turfe, Squire Tub, mid 
Hilts. 

Ladi/ T. And, as I told thee, she was inter- 
cepted [fian. 
By the 'squire, here, my son, and this bold ruf- 
His man, mIio safely would have carried her 
Unto her father, and the canon Hugh ; 
But for more care of the security, 
My huisher hath her now in his grave charge. 

Da>7ie T. Now on my faith and holydom, we 
Beholden to your worship. She's a girl, [are 
A foolish girl, and soon may tempted be ; 
But if this day pass well once o'er her head, 
I'll wish her trust to herself : for I have been 
A very mother to her, though I say it. 

Ti(b. Madam, 'tis late, andPancridgeisin your 
I think your ladyship forgets yourself. [way ; 

Lady T. Your mind runs much on Pancridge. 
Well, 3'oung squire, 
The black ox never trod yet on your foot ; 
These idle phant'sies will forsake you one day. 
Conic, mistress Turfe, will you go take a walk 
Over the fields to Pancridge, to your husband r 

Dame T. ]\Iadam, I had been there an hour 
ago, 
But that I waited on my man. Ball Puppy. — 
What, Ball, I say ! — I think the idle slouch 
Be fallen asleep in the barn, he stays so long. 

Enter Puppy hastili/ from the barn. 
Pup. Sattin, in the name of velvet-sattin, 
Tlie devil, O the devil is in the barn ! [dame ! 
Help, help ! a legion [of] spirits, [a] legion, 
Is in the barn ! in every straw a devil ! 
Dame T. Why dost thou bawl so. Puppy ? 

speak, what ails thee ? 
Pup. My name's Ball Puppy, I have seen the 
devil 
Among the straw. for a cross ! a collop 
Of friar Bacon, or a conjuring stick 
Of doctor Faustus ! spirits are in the barn. 



Tub. How, spirits in the barn ! — Basket, go 
see. [over, 

Hilts. Sir, an you Avere my master ten times 
And 'squire to boot; I know, and you shall 

pardon me : 
Send me 'mong devils ! I zee ^-ou love me not. 
Hell be at their game ; I will not trouble them. 

Ttib. Go see ; I warrant thee there's no such 
matter. 

Ililts. An they were giants, 'twere another 
But devils ! no, if I be torn in pieces, [matter, 
What is your warrant •\\-prth ? I'll see the fiend 
Set fire o' the barn, ere I come there. 

Dame T. Now all zaints bless us, and if he be 
Pie is an ugly spright, I warrant. [there, 

Pup. As ever 
Held flesh-hook, dame, or handled fire-fork 

rather. 
They have put me in a sweet pickle, dame ; 
But that my lady Valentine smells of musk, 
I should be ashamed to press into this presence. 

Lady T. Basket, I pmy thee see what is the 
miracle. 

Tub. Comcgowithme; I'll lead. Why stand' st 
thou, man ? 

Hilts. Cock's precious, miastcr, you are not 
mad indeed. 
You will not go to hell before your tim.e ? 

Tub. Why art thou thus afraid ? 

Hilts. No, not afraid ? 
But, by your leave, I'll come no nearer the barn. 

Dame T. Puppy, Avilt thou go with me ? 

Pup. How, go with you ! 
Whither, into the barn ? to whom, the devil .' 
Or to do what there ? to be torn amongst 'urn ! 
Stay for my master, the high constable. 
Or In-and-in the headborough ; let them go 
Into the barn with warrant, seize the fiend. 
And set him in the stocks for his ill rule : 
'Tis not for me that am but flesh and blood. 
To meddle with 'un ; vor I cannot, nor I wu' not. 

Lady T. I pray thee, Tripoly, look Avhat is the 
matter. 

Tub. That shall I, madam. [Goes into the barn. 

Hilts. Heaven protect my master ! 
I tremble every joint till he be back. 

Pup. Now, now, even noAV, they are tearing 
him in pieces ; 
Now are they tossing of his legs and arms, 
Like loggets at a pear-tree ; I'll to the hole, 
Peep in, and look Avhether he lives or dies. 

Hilts. I would not be in my master's coat for 
thousands. 

Pup. Then pluck it off, and turn thyself away. 
O the devil, the devil, the devil ! 

Hilts. Where, man, where ? 

Dame T. Alas, that ever we were born ! So 
near too ? 

Pup. Ihe 'squire hath liim in his hand, and 
Out by the collar. [leads him 

Re-enter Tub, dragging in Cl.\y. 

Dame T. O this is John Clay. 

Lady T. John Clay at Pancras, is there to be 

married. 
Tub. This was the spirit revell'd in the barn. 
Pup. The devil he was ! was this he was 
crawling 
Among the wheat-straw ? had it been the barley 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



.597 



I should have ta'en him for the devil in drink ; 
The spirit of the bride-ale : but poor John, 
Tame John of Clay, that sticks about the bung- 
hole — 

Hilts. If this be all your devil, I would take 
In hand to conjure him : but hell take me, 
If e'er I come in a right devil's walk, 
If I can keep me out on't. 

Tub. Well meant. Hilts. [Exit. 

Ladij T. But how came Clay thus hid here in 
the straw, 
^\''hen news was brought to you all he was at 
And you believed it ? [Pancridge, 

Dame T. Justice Bramble's man 
Told me so, madam ; and by that same token. 
And other things, he had away my daughter, 
And two seal'd bags of money. 

Lady T. Where's the squire, 
Is he gone hence ? 

Dame T. He was here, madam, but now. 

Clay. Is the hue and cry past by r 

Pup. Ay, ay, John Clay. 

Claij. And am I out of danger to be hang'd ? 

Pu2). Hang'd, John ! yes, sure ; unless, as with 

the proverb, [lows. 

You mean to make the choice of your own gal- 

Clay. Nay, then all's well : hearing your news, 

Ball Puppy, [here. 

You brought from Paddington, I e'en stole home 

And thought to hide me in the barn e'er since. 

Pup. O wonderful ! and news was brought 
us here, 
You Avere at Pancridge, ready to be married. 

Clay. No, faith, I ne'er was further than the 
barn. 

Dame T. Haste, Puppy, call forth mistress 
Dido Wispe, 
My lady's gentlewoman, to her lady ; 
And call j'ourself forth, and a couple of maids. 
To wait upon me : we are all undone. 
My lady is undone, her fine young son. 
The 'squire, is got away. 

Lady T. Haste, haste, good Valentine. 

Dama T. And you, John Clay, you are undone 
too ! all ! 
My husband is undone by a true key. 
But a false token ; and mysclf's undone, 
By parting with my daughter, who'll be married 
To somebody that she should not, if we haste 
not. [Exeunt. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The Fields near Ivextish Town. 

Enter Squire Tub and Pol Martix. 
Tub. I pray thee, good Pol Martin, shew thy 
diligence. 
And faith in both ; get her, but so disguised 
The canon may not know her, and leave me 
To plot the rest : I will expect thee here. [Exit. 
Pol. You shall, 'squire. I'll perform it with 
aU care, 
If all my lady's wardrobe will disguise her. — 
Come, mistress Awdrey. 

Eater Awdkey. 
AiDd, Is the 'squire gone ? 



Pol. He'll meet us by and by, where he ap- 
pointed ; 
You shall be Ijrave anon, as none shall know 
you. [Exeunl 

SCENE II. — Kentish Town. 

Enter Clench, Medlat, Pan, end Sckiben. 

Clench. I wonder where the queen's high con 
I vear they ha' made 'un away. [stable is. 

Med. No zurc ; the justice 
Dare not conzent to that : he'll zee 'un forth- 
coming. 

Pan. He must, vor we can all take corpulent 
We zaw 'un go in there. [oath 

Scri. Ay, upon record : 
The clock'dropt twelve at Maribone. 

Med. You are right, D'oge, 
Zet down to a minute ; now 'tis a' most vowre. 

Clench. Here comes 'sqiiire Tub. 

So-i. And's governor, master Basket — 

Enter Tub and Hilts. 
Hilts ; do you know 'un ? a valiant wise fellow, 
As tall a man on his hands as goes on veet ! 
Bless you, mass' Basket. 

IliUs. Thank you, good D'oge. 

Tub. Who's that ? ■_ [Chailcot. 

Hilts. D'oge Scriben the great writer, sir, of 

Tub. And who the rest ? 

Hilts. The wisest heads o' the hundred. 
Medlay the joiner, headborough of Islington, 
Pan of Belsise, and Clench the leach of Ham- 
stead, 
The high constable's counsel here of Finsbury. 

Tub. Present me to them, Hilts, 'squire Tub 
of Totten. 

Hilts. Wise men of Finsbury, make place foi 
a 'squire, 
I bring to your acquaintance, Tub of Totten. 
'Squire Tub, my master, loves all men of virtue, 
And longs, as one would zay, till he be one o' 
you. 

Clench. His worship's welcum to our com-pa- 
ny : Would it were wiser for 'un ! 

Pan. Here be some on us 
Are call'd the witty men over a hundred. 

Scri. And zome a thousand, when the muster- 
day comes. 

Tub. I long, as my man Hilts said, and my 
governor. 
To be adopt in your society. Jpany 3 

Can any man make a masque here in this eom- 

Pan.' A masque ! what's that ? 

Scri. A mumming or a show. 
With vizards and fine clothes. 

Clench. A disguise, neighbor, [do't, sir ; 

Is the true word : There stands the man can 
Medlay the joiner. In-and-in of Islington, 
The only man at a disguise in Middlesex. 

Tub. But who shall write it ? 

Hilts. Scriben, the great writer. [no man,. 

Scri. He'll do't alone, sir ; he will join with 
Though he bo a joiner, in design he calls it. 
He must be sole inventor. In-and-in [you, 
Draws with no other in's project, he will tcL 
It cannot else be fcazible, or conduce : [.'un 
Those are his ruling words ; please you to hear 



598 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Tub. Ye3 ; master In-and-in, I have heard of 

Med. I can do nothing, I. [you. 

Clench. He can do all, sir. 

Med. They'll tell you so. 

Tub. I'd have a toy presented, 
A Tale of a Tub, a story of myself. 
You can express a Tub ? 

Med. If it conduce 
To the design, whate'er is feasible : 
I can express a wash-house, if need be, 
With a whole pedigree of Tubs. 

Tub. No, one 
Will be enough to note our name and family ; 
'Squire Tub of Totten, and to show my adven- 
tures 
This very day. I'd have it in Tub's Hall, 
At Totten-Court, my lady mother's house ; 
My house indeed, for I am heir to it. 

Med. If I might see the jjlace, and had sur- 
vey' d it, 
I could say more : for ail invention, sir, 
Comes by degrees, and on the view of nature ; 
A world of things concur to the design. 
Which makes it feasible, if art conduce. 

Tub. You say well, A^-itty master In-and-in. 
How long have you studied ingine ? 

Med. Since I first 
Join'd, or did in-lay in wit, some forty year. 

Tub. A pretty time ! — Basket, go you and 
wait 
On master In-and-in to Totten Court, [hall. 
And all the other wise masters ; show them the 
And taste the language of the buttery to them. 
Let them see all the tubs about the house, [be 
That can raise matter, till I come — which shall 
Within an hour at least. 

Clench. It will be glorious, 
If In-and-In will undertake, sir : 
He has a monstrous Medlay-wit of his own. 

Tub. Spare for no cost, cither in boards or 
hoojDS, 
To architect your tub : have you ne'er a cooper, 
At London, call'd Vitruvius ? send for him ; 
Or old John Heywood, call him to j'ou, to help. 

Scri. Ho scorns the motion, trust to him alone. 
[Exeu7it all but Tub. 

Enter Lady Tub, Dame Turfe, Clay, Puppy, 
and WisPE. 

Lady T. O, here's the 'squire ! you slipp'd us 
finel)-, son. [you ; 

These manners to your mother will commend 
But in another age, not this : Avell, Tripoly, 
Your father, good sir Peter, rest his bones. 
Would not have done this ; where's my huisher, 
And your fair mistress AAvdrey ? [Martin, 

Tub. I not see them, 
ISfo creature but the four wise masters here, 
Of Finsbury hundred, came to cry their consta- 
Who, they do say, is lost. [ble. 

Dame T. My husband lost. 
And my fond daughter lost, I fear me too ! 
Where is your gentleman, madam ? poor John 
Thou hast lost thy Awdrey. [Clay, 

Clay. I have lost my wits, 
My little wits, good mother ; I am distracted. 

Pup. And I have lost my mistress, Dido 
Wispe, 
Who frowns upon her Puppy, Hannibal. 



Loss, loss on every side ! a public loss ! 

Loss of my master ! loss of his daughter ! loss 

Of favor, friends, my mistress ! loss of all ! 

Enter TuPvFE and Pheamble. 

Pre. What cry is this ? 

Turfe. My man speaks of some loss. 

Pup. My master's found ! good luck, an't bo 
Light on us all. [thy will. 

Dame T. O husband, are you alive ! 
They said you were lost. 

Trirfe. Where's justice Bramble's clerk ? 
Had he the money that I sent for ? 

Dame T. Yes, 
Two hours ago, two fifty pounds in silver. 
And Awdrey too. 

Turfe. Why Awdrey ! who sent for her ? 

Dame T. You, master Turfe, the fellow said 

Turfe. He hed. [thief, 

I am cozen'd, robb'd, undone : your man's a 
And run away with my daughter, master Bram- 
And with my money. [ble. 

Lad]) T. Neighbor Turfe, have patience ; 
I can assure you that your daughter's safe, 
But for the monies, I know nothing of. 

Turfe. ^ly money is my daughter, and my 
She is my money, madam. [daughter 

Pre. I do wonder 
Your ladyship comes to know anything 
In these aff'airs. 

Lady T. Yes, justice Preamble, 
I met the maiden in the fields by chance, 
In the 'squire's comp-any, my son : how he 
Lighted upon her, hunself best can tell. 

Tub. I intercepted her as coming hither, 
To her father, who sent for her by jNIiles Meta- 
phor, [ship 
Justice Preamble's clerk. And had your lady- 
Not hinder'd it, I had paid fine master justice 
For his young warrant, and new pursuivant. 
He serv'd it by this morning. 

Pre. Know you that, sir ? [tale, 

Lady T. You told me, 'squire, a quite other 
But I believed you not ; which made me send 
Awdrey another way, by my Pol Martin, 
And take my journey back to Kentish Town, 
Where we found John Clay hidden in the barn. 
To scape the hue and cry ; and here he is. 

Turfe. John Clay agen ! nay, then — set cock- 
a-hoop : 
I have lost no daughter, nor no money, justice. 
John Clay shall pay ; I'll look to you now, 

John. 
Vaith, out it must, as good at night as morning. 
I am e'en as vuU as a piper's bag with joy, 
Or a great gun upon carnation-day. 
I could weep lions' tears to see you, John : 
'Tis but two vifty pounds I have ventured for 
you, [dred. 

But now I have you, you shall pay whole hun- 
Run from your burroughs, son ! faith, e'en be 

hang'd. 
An you once earth yourself, John, in the barn, 
I have no daughter vor you : Avho did verret 
'vm? [vetch'd 'un outi 

Dame T. My lady's son, the 'squire here, 
Puppy had put us all in such a vright, [body 
We thought the devil was in the barn ; and no» 
Durst venture on 'un. 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



599 



Turfe, I am now resolv'd 
VSlio =;hall have nr<j) ilaughter. 

Danie T. Who 

Turfe. Pie best deserves her. 
Here comes the vicar. — 

Enter Sir Hugh. 

Canon Hugh, -we have vound 
John Clay agren ? tht.' matter's all come round. 

Hugh. Is Metaphor retum'd yet ? 

[Aside to Pke. 

Pre. All is turn'd 
Here to confusion, wc have lost our plot ; 
I fear my man is run away -with the money, 
And Clay is found, in whom old Turfe is sure 
To save his stake. 

Hugh. What shall we do then, iuptice ? 

Fre. The bride was met in the young squire's 
hands. 

Hugh. And what's become of her ? 

Pre. None here can tell. [with you, 

Tub. Was not my mother's man, Pol Martin, 
And a strange gei\tlewoman in his company, 
Of late here, canon ? 

Hugh. Yes, and I dispatch' d them. 

Tub. Dispatch'd them ! how do you mean ? 

Hugh. Why, married them, 
As they desired, but now. 

Tub. And do you know 
What you have done, sir Hugh ? 

Hugh. No harm, I hope. 

Tub- You have ended all the quarrel : Aw- 
drey is married. 

Ladg T. Married ! to Avhom ? 

Turfe. My daughter AAvdrey married, 
And she not know of it ! 

Dame T. Nor her father or mother ! 

Lady T. Whom hath she married ? 

Tub. Your Pol INIartin, madam ; 
A groom was never dreamt of. 

Turfe. Is he a man ? [have made him. 

Lady T. That he is, Turfe, and a gentleman I 

Dame T. Nay, an he be a gentleman, let her 
shift. 

Hugh. She was so brave, I knew her not, I 
swear ; 
And yet I married her by her own name : 
But she was so disguised, so lady-like, 
I think she did not kirow herself the while ! 
I married them as a mere pair of strangers, 
And they gave out themselves for such. 

Lady T. I wish them 
Much joy, as they have given me heart's ease. 

Tub. Then, madam, I'll entreat you now re- 
mit 
Your jealousy of me ; and please to take [per: 
All this good company home with you to sup- 
We'U have a merry night of it, and laugh. 

Lady T. A right good motion, 'squire, which 
I yield to ; 
And thank them to accept it. — Neighbor 

Turfe, 
I'll have you merry, and your wife ; and you. 
Sir Hugh, be pardon'd this your happy error, 
By justice Preamble, your friend and patron. 

Pre. Kthe young 'squire can pardon it, I do. 
[Exeunt all but Puppy, Wispe, and Hugh. 

Pup. Stay, my dear Dido ; and, gsjod vicar 
Hugh, 



We have a business with you ; in short, this : 
If you dare knit another pair of strangers. 
Dido of Carthage, and her countrjanan, [sent, 
Stout Hannibal stands to't. I have ask'd con> 
And she hath granted. 
Hugh. But saith Dido so ? 
Wispe. From what Ball Hanny hath said, I 

dare not go. 
Hugh. Come m then, I'll dispatch you : a 
good supper 
Would not be lost, good company, good dis- 
course ; 
But above all, where wit hath any source. 

[Exeunt>. 



SCENE III. 



■ TOTTEN-COURT. ■ 

House. 



■ Before the 



Enter Pol Map.tin, Awdhey, Tub, Lady Tun, 

Preamble, Turfe, Dame Turfe, and Clay. 

Pol. After the hoping of your pardon, madam, 
For many faults committed, here my wife 
And I do stand expecting your mild doom. 

Lady T. I wish thee jo}^ Pol Martin, and thy 
wife [hOT 

As much, mistress Pol Martin. Thou hast trick'd 
Up very fine, methinks. 

Pol. For that I made [trespass'd 

Bold with your ladyship's wardrobe, but have 
Within the limits of your leave 1 hope. 

Lady T. I give her what she weai's ; I know 
all women 
Love to be fine : thou hast dcserv'd it of me ; 
I am extremely pleased with thy good fortune. 
Welcome, good justice Preamble ; and, Turfe, 
Look merrily on your daughter : she has married 
A gentleman. 

Turfe. So methinks. I dare not touch her, 
She is so fine ; yet I will say, God bless her ! 

Dame T. And I too, my fine daughter ! I 
could love her 
Now tAvice as well as if Clay had her. 

Tub. Come, come, my mother is pleased ; I 
pardon all : 
Pol Martin, in and wait upon my lady. 
Welcome, good guests ! see supper be serv'd in. 
With all the plenty of the house and worship 
I must confer with master Li-and-In, 
About some alterations in my masque : 
Send Hilts out to me ; bid him bring the council 
Of Finsbury hither. [Exeunt all but Tub.] I'll 

have such a night 
Shall make the name of Totten-court immortal. 
And be recorded to posterity. — 

Enter Medlay, Clench, Pan, and Scriben. 
master In-and-In ! what have you done? 

3Ied. Survey'd the place, sir, and dcsign'd the 
ground. 
Or stand-still of the work : and this it is. 
First, I have fixed in the earth a tub. 
And an old tub, like a salt-petre tub. 
Preluding by your father's name, sir Peter, 
And the antiquity of your house and family. 
Original from salt-petre. 

Tub. Good, i'faith, 
Y''ou have shewn reading and antiquity here, siu 

Med. I have a little knowledge in design, 
Which I can vary, sir, to injinito. 



GOO 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



Tub. Ad injinitum, sir, you mean. 

Med. I do, 
I stand not on my Latin; I'll invent, 
But I must be alone then, join'd with no man : 
This wc do call the stand-still of our work. 

Tub. Who are those We you now join'd to 
yourself ? 

Med. I mean myself still in the plural number. 
And out of this we raise Our Tale of a Tub. 

Tub. No, master Li-and-In, My Tale of a Tub, 
By your leave ; I am Tub, the Tale's of me, 
And my adventures ! I am 'squire Tub, 
Subjcctum fahul<2. 

Mod. But I the author. 

Tub. The workman, sir, the artificer; I grant 
you. 
So Skelton-laureat was of Elinor Rumming, 
But she the subject of the rout and tunning. 

Clench. He has put you to it, neighbor In- 
and-in. 

Pan. Do not dispute with him ; he still will 
That pays for all. [win 

Scri. Are you revised o' that? , 
A man may have wit, and yet put off his hat. 
* Med. Now, sir, this Tub I will have capt with 

paper, 
A fine oil'd lanthorn paper that we use. 

Pan. Yes, every barber, every cutler has it. 

Med. Which in it doth contain the light to the 
business ; 
And shall with the very vapor of the candle 
Drive all the motions of our matter about. 
As we present them. For example, first, 
The worshipful lady Tub 

Tub. llight worshipful, 
I pray you, I am worshipful myself. 

Med. Your 'squireship's mother passeth by 
(her huisher, 
Master Pol Martin bare-headed before her) 
In her velvet gown. 

Tub. But how shall the spectators, 
As it might be I, or Hilts, know 'tis my mother, 
Or that Pol Martin, there, that walks before 
her? 

Mod. O we do nothing, if we clear not that. 

Clench. You have seen none of his works, sir ! 

Pan. All the postures 
Of the trained bands of the country. 

Scri. All their colors. 

Pan. And all their captains. 

Clench. All the cries of the city, 
And all the trades iii their habits. 

Scri. He has 
His whistle of command, seat of authority, 
And virge to interpret, tipt with silver, sir ; 
You know not him. 

Tub. Well, I will leave all to him. 

Med. Give me the brief of your subject. Leave 
State of the thing to mc. [the whole 

Enter Hilts. 

Hilts. Supper is ready, sir. 
My lady calls for you. 

Tub. I'll send it you in writing. 

Med. Sir, I will render feasible and facile 
What you expect. 

Tub. Illlt.'i, be it your care, 
To see the wi^e of Finsbury made welcome : 
Let them want nothing. Is old liosin sent for ? 



Hilts. He's come within. [ExitTvR 

Scri. Lord, what a world of business 
The 'squii-e dispatches ! 

Mod. He's a learned man : 
I think there are but vew o' the inns of court. 
Or the inns of chancery like him. 

Clench. Care tb fit 'un then. [^Exeunt 

SCENE IV. — The Same. — A Room in the House- 
Enter Black Jack and Hilts. 

Jack. Yonder's another Avedding, master Bas- 
Brought in by vicar Hugh. [ket. 

Hilts. What are they. Jack ? 

Jack. The high constable's man. Ball Hanny, 
and mistress Wispe, 
Our lady's Avoman. 

Hilts. And are the table merry ? 

Jack. There's a young tilemaker makes 'em 
all laugh ; 
He will not cat his meat, but cries at the board, 
He shall be hang'd. 

Hilts. He has lost his Avench already : 
As good be hang'd. 

Jack. Was she that is Pol Martin, [John ' 
Our felloAv's mistress, wench to that sneak- 

Hilts. I'faith, Black Jack, he should have been 

her bridegroom : 

But I must go to Avait on my Avise masters. 

Jack, you shall Avait on me, and see the masque 

anon , [sence. 

I am half lord-chamberiain in my master's ab- 

Jack. Shall Ave have a masque ? who makes it ! 

Hilts. In-and-in, 
The maker of Islington : come, go Avith me 
To the sage sentences of Finsbury. [Exeunt, 

SCENE V. — Another Room in the same, with a 
curtain draicn across it 

Enter Tub, follou-ed bi/ tico Grooms, ivith chmrs, 
SjC, and Hosix and his two Boys. 

1 Groom. Come, give us in the great chair for 

my lady, 
And set it there ; and this for justice Bramble. 

2 Groom. This for the 'squire my master, on 

the right-hand. 

1 Groom. And this for the high-constable. 

2 Groom. This his Avife. • 
1 ' Groom. Then for the bride and bride-groom 

here, Pol Martin. 
2 Groom. And she Pol Martin at my lady's 
feet. 

1 Groom. llight. 

2 Groom. And besides them master Hannibal 

Puppy. 

1 Groom-. And his She-Puiipy, mistress Wispe 
Here's all are in the note. [that Avas • 

2 Groom. No, master vicar; 
The petty canon Hugh. 

1 Groom. And cast-by Clay • 
There they are all. 

Tub. Then cry a hall! a hall! [ali : 

'Tis merry in Tottenham-hall, Avhcn beards vras^ 
Come, father Rosin, Avith your fiddle noAV, 
And two tall toters ; iiourish to the masque. 

r Loud music 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



GOl 



E/i^er Preamble, Lady Tub.Turfe, Dame Turfe, 
Pol Martin, Awdrey, Puppy, Wispe, Hugh, 
Clay ; all take their seats. Hilts tcaits on 
the by. 

Lady T. Neighbors all, •welcome ! Now dotli 
Totten-hall 
Shew like a com-t : and hence shall first be 

eall'd so. 
Your witty short confession, master vicar. 
Within, hath been the prologue, and hath open'd 
Much to my son's device, his Tale of a Tub. 
Tab. Let my masque shew itself, and In- 
and-Li, 
The architect, appear : I hear the whistle. 
Hilts. Peace ! 

!Medlay appears above the curtain. 
Med. Thus rise IJirst in my light li?ie?i breeehes, 
To run the meaning over in short speeches. 
Here is a Tub, a Tub of Toiten- Court, 
An ancient Tub has eall'd you to this sport : 
His father was a knight, the rich sir Peter, 
Who got his xoealth by a Tub, and by salt-petre ; 
And left all to his lady Tub, the mother 
Of this bold 'squire Tub, and to no other. 
Now of this Tub and's deeds, not done in ale, 
Observe, and you shall see the very Tale. 
■"He draws the curtain, and discovers the top of 
the tub. 

the first motion. 

Med. Here canon Hugh frst brings to Totten- 
hall 
The high constable's council, tells the 'squire all ; 
Which, though discover'd, give the devil his due, 
The wise of Finsbury do still pursue. 
Then with the Justice doth he counteiplot. 
And his clerk Metaphor, to cut that knot ; 
Whilst lady Tub, in her sad velvet gown, 
Missing her son, doth seek him up and down. 

Tub. With her Pol Martin bare before her. 

Med. Yes, 
I have exprest it here in figure, and iliits- 
Iress Wis23e, her woman, holding up her train. 

Tub. In the next page report your second 
strain. 

THE SECOND MOTION. 

Med. Here the high constable and sages walk 
To church : the dame, the daughter, bride-maids 

talk 
Of wedding-bicsiness ; till a fellow in comes, 
Relates the robbery of one captain Thums : 
Chargeth the bridegroom loith if, troubles all. 
And gets the bride ; who in the hands doth fall 
Of the bold 'squire ; but thencesoon is ta'en 
By the sly justice and his clerk profane. 
In shape of i^ursuivant ; tchich he not long 
Holds, but betrays all with his trembling tongue : 
As truth ivill break out and sliow — 

Tub. O thou hast made him kneel there in a 

corner, 
[ see now : there'? a simple honor for you, Hilts ! 
Hilts. Did I not make him to confess all to 

you ? 
Tub. True, In-and-in hath done you right, 

you see — 
Thy third, I pray thee, witty In-and-in. 



Clench. The 'squire commends 'un ; he doth 

like all well. 
Pan. He cannot choose : thia is gear made tc 

sell. 

THE THIRD MOTION. 

Med. TJie careful constable Jiere drooping comes 
In his deluded search of captain Thums. 
Puppy brings word his daughter s run away 
With the tall serving-man, he frights groom Clarj 
Out of his wits : Heturneth then the 'squire,, 
Mocks all their 2Mins, and gives fame out a liar, 
For falsely charging Clay, tchen 'twas tJie plot 
Of subtle Bramble, loho had Axcdrey got 
Into his hand by this winding device. 
The father makes a rescue in a trice : 
And loith his daughter, like St. George on foot. 
Comes home triumphing to his dear heart-root. 
And tells the lady Tub, ivhom he meets there, 
Of her son's courtesies, the batchelor. 
Whose tvords had made 'em fall the hue and cry. 
When captain Thums coming to ask him, why 
He had so done ; he cannot yield him cause . 
But so he runs his neck into the laws. 

THE FOURTH MOTION. 

Med. The laws, loho hare a noose to crack his 
neck. 
As Justice Bramble tells htm, who doth peck 
A hundred pound out of his 2}urse, that comes 
Like his teeth from him, unto captain Thums, 
Thums is the vicar in a false disguise ; 
And employs Metaphor to fetch this prize. 
Who tells the secret unto Basket Hilts, 
For fear of beating. Tfiis the 'squire quilts 
Within his cajy ; and bids him but 2}urloi/i 
The wench for him ; they two shall share tfit 

coin. 
Which the sage lady in her 'foresaid gown, 
Breaks off, returning unto Kentish Town, 
To seek her Wispe ; taking the 'squirt along, 
lV7io finds Clay John, as hidden in straw throng. 
Hilts. O how am I beholden to the inventor. 
That would not, on record, against me enter, 
My slackness here to enter in the barn : 
Well, In-and-In, I see thou canst discern ! 
Tub. On with your last, and come to a con- 
clusion. 

THE FIFTH MOTION. 

Med. The last is known, and needs but smaU 
infusion 
Lito your memories, by leaving in 
These figures as you sit. I, In-and-in, 
Present you ivith the show : first, of a lady 
Tub, and her son, of ivhom thi» 7nasque hen 

made I. 
Then bridegroom Pol, and n'listress Pol the bride, 
With the sub-couiJle, who sit them beside. 

Tub. That only verse I alter'd for the better. 

Ev((iovia gratid. 
Med. Theti Justice Bramble, with sir Hugh, the 
canon : 
And tlie bride' s 2'>arents, which I will not stan on-. 
Or the lost Clay, with the recovered Miles : 
W/w thus unto his master him reconciles. 
On the 'squire's lowd, to 2iay old Turfe his club, 
And so doth end our Tale herb of a Tub. 

[Exeunt 



C02 



A TALE OF A TUB. 



THE EPILOGUE, 



BY 'squire tub. 



This tale of me, the Tub of Totten- Court, 
A poet first invented for your sport. 
Wherein the fortune of most eviipty tubs, 
Rolling in love, are shoion; and loith rohat rubs 
We are commonly encountered : xohon the wit 
Of the whole hundred so opposeth if. 
Our petty Canon' s forked pht in chief, 
Slyjustico' arts, icith the high constablo's briif 



And brag commands ; my lady mother's care, 
And her Pol Martin's fortune ; loith the rare 
Fate of poor John, thus tumbled in the cask ; 
Got In-and-in to give it you in a masque : 
That you be pleased, who come to see a play. 
With those that hear, and mark not what ucsay. 
Wherein the poet's fortune is, I fear. 
Still to be early vp, but no'cr tho near 



THE SAD SHEPHERD; OR, A TALE OF ROBIN HOOD. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



• ACT 1. 

Robin Hood, having invited all the shepherds and shep- 
herdesses of tiie vale of Belvoir to a feast in the forest of 
Sherwood, and trusting to his mistress, maid Marian, with 
her woodmen, to kill him venison against the day : liaving 
left the lilie charge with friar Tuck, his chaplain and stew- 
ard, to command the rest of his merry men to see the bower 
made ready, and all things in order for the entertainment: 
meeting with his guests at their entrance into the wood, 
welcomes and conducts them to his bower. Where, by the 
way, he receives the relation of the Sad Shepherd, jEgla- 
mour, who is fallen into a deep melancholy for the loss of 
his beloved Earine, reported to have been drowned in pass- 
ing over the Trent, some few days before. They endeavor 
in what they can to comfort him : but his disease having 
taken such strong root, all is in vain, and they are forced to 
leave him. In the mean time, Marian is come from hunt- 
ing with the huntsmen, where the lovers interchangeably 
express their loves. Robin Hood enquires if she hunted the 
deer at force, and what sport he made ? how long ho stood, 
and what head he bore .' All which is briefly answered, 
with a relation of breaking him up, and the raven and her 
Done. The suspect had of that raven to be Maudlin, the 
witch of Paplewick, whoni one of the huntsmen met in the 
morning at the rousing of tlie deer, and [which] is con- 
finned, by her being then in Robin Hood's kitchen, in the 
chimney-corner, broiling the same bit which was thrown to 
the raven at the quarry or fall of the deer. Marian being 
gone in to shew the deer to some of the shepherdesses, re- 
turns instantry to the scene, discontented ; sends away the 
venison she liad killed, to her they call the witch ; quarrels 
with her love Robin Hood, abuseth him, and his guests the 
shepherds ; and so departs, leaving them all iu wonder and 
perplexity. 

ACT II. 

The witch Maudlin having taken the shape of Marian to 
abuse Robin Hood, and perplex his guests, conieth fortli with 
her daughter Douce, reporting in what confusion she had 
left them ; defrauded them of their venison, made them sus- 
picious each of the otlier; but most of all, Robin Hood so 
jealous of his Marian, as she hopes no effect of love would 
ever reconcile them; glorying so far in the extent of her 
mischief, as she confesseth to have surprised Earine, stripp'd 
her of her garments, to make her daughter appear fine at 
this feast in thein ; and to have shut the maiden up in a 
tree, as her son's prize, if he could win her ; or his prey, if 
he would force her. Her son, a rude bragging swineherd, 
conies to the tree to woo her, (his mother and sister stepping 
aside to overhear him) and tirst boasts his wealth to her, 
and his possessions ; which move not. Then he presents 
her gifts, such as himself is taken with, but she utterly 
shows a scorn and lothing both of him and them. His 
mother is angry, rates him, instructs him what to do the 
next time, and persuades her daughter to show herself about 
tlie bower : tells how she shall know her mother, when she 
is transforni'd, by her broidered belt. Meanwhile the young 
shepherdess Amie, being kist by Karolin, Earine's brother, 
falls in love ; but knows not what love is : but describes her 
disease so innocently, that Marian pities her. Wlien Itobin 
Hood and the rest of his guests invited, enter to Marian, 
upbraiding her with sending away their venison to mother 
ilaudiin by Scatlilock, which she denies; Scathlock affirms 
it ; but seeing his mistress weep, and to forswear it, begins 
to doubt his own understanding, rather than affront her 
farther ; which makes Robin Hood and the rest to examine 
themselves better. But Maudlin, the witch, entering like 
herself, conies to thank her for her bounty ; at which Marian 
IS more angry, and more denies the deed. Scathlock enters, 
telJs he has brought it again, and delivered it to the cook. 



The witch is inwardly vest the venison Is so recovered frow 
her by the rude huntsman, and murmurs and curses; be- 
witches the cook, mocks poor Amie and the rest ; discov- 
ereth her ill nature, and is a means of reconciling them all. 
For the sage shepherd suspecteth her mischief, if she he not 
prevented : and so persuadeth to seize on her. WhereuiKin 
Robin Hood dispatcheth out his woodmen to hunt and take 
her. 

ACT III. 

Puck-Hairy discovereth himself in the forest, and dis- 
courseth his offices, with their necessities, briefly ; after 
which, Douce entering in the habit of Earine, is pursued by 
Karol ; who (mistaking her at first to be his sister) ques- 
tions her how she came by those garments. She answers, 
by her mother's gift. The Sad Shepherd coming in the 
while, she runs away affrighted, and leaves Karol suddenly ; 
jEglamour thinking it to be Earine's ghost he saw, falls into 
a melancholic expression of his pliant'sie to Karol, and 
questions him sadly about that point, which moves com- 
passion in Karol of his mistake still. When Clarion and 
Lionel enter to call Karol to Amie, Karol reports to them 
^glamour's passion, with much regret. Clarion resolves to 
seek him. Karol to return with Lionel. By the way, 
Douce and her mother (in the shape of Marian) meet them, 
and would divert them, affirming Amie to be recovered, 
which Lionel wondered at to he so soon. Robin Hood en 
ters, they tell him the relation of the witch, thinking her to 
be Marian ; Robin suspecting her to be Maudlin, lays hold 
of lier girdle suddenly, but she striving to get free, they both 
run out, and he returns with the belt broken. She follow- 
ing in her own shape, demanding it, but at a distance, as 
fearing to be seized upon again ; and seeing she cannot re- 
cover it, falls into a rage, and cursing, resolving to trust to 
her old arts, which she calls her daughter to assist in. The 
shepherds, content with this discovery, go home triumphing, 
make the relation to Marian. Amie is gladded with the 
sight of Karol, &c. In the mean time, enters Lorel, with 
purpose to ravish Earine, and calling her forth to that lewd 
end, he by the hearing of ^Jlarion's footing is staid, and 
forced to commit her hastily to the tree again ; where 
Clarion coming by, and hearing a voice singing, draws near 
unto it ; but jEglamour hearing it also, and knowing it to 
be Earine's, falls into a superstitious commendation of it; 
as being an angel's, and in the air ; when Clarion espies a 
hand put forth from the tree, and makes towards it, leaving 
jEglamour to his wild phant'sie, who quitteth the place . 
and Clarion beginning to court the hand, and make love to 
it, there ariseth a mist suddenly, which darkening all the 
place, Clarion loseth himself and the tree where Earine 
is inclosed, lamenting his misfortune, with the unknown 
nymph's misery. The air clearing, enters the witch, with 
her son and daughter, tells them how she had caused that 
late darkness, to free Lorel from surprisal, and his prey 
from being rescued from him : bids him look to her, and 
lock her up more carefully, and follow her, to assist a work 
she hath in hand of recovering her lost girdle ; which she 
laments the loss of with cursings, execrations, wishing c»n 
fusion to their feast and meeting, sends her soft and daugh- 
ter to gather certain simples fur her purpose, and bring 
them to her dell. This Puck hearing, prevents, and shews 
her error still. The huntsmen having found her footing, 
follow the track, and pticK. after her. t^he gets to her dell, 
and takes her form. Enter [the h:intvinaci,] Alse% has 
spied her sitting with her spindle, threaus, and images. 
They are eager to seize her presently, but Aiken persu^dos 
thcia to let her begin her charms, which they do. Her son 
and daughter come to her; tlie huntsmen are aiiiighted as 
they see her work go forward. And overhasty to appre- 
hend her, she escapeth them all, by the help and dcI'.Lsiond 
of Puck. 

603 



604 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



ACT Ii 



DEAilATIS PERSOX^E. 



Robin Hood, the Chief ffoodman, Master of the Feast. 
Friab Tuck, his Chaplain and Steward. 
HTfLE John, Bow-bearer. 

Scarlet . twj Brothers, Himtsmen. 

SCATIILCCK, J ' 

George-a-GreEN, Huisher of the Bower. 
Much, Bailiff, or .Beater. 

THE GUESTS INVITED. 
/EGLAMOUR, the SAD, 

Clarion, the Rich, 

Lionel, t/c Courteous, y Shepherds. 

ALKEN,'tAj narre, 

KarO' ;?f, tne Kind, 



LOREL, the Rude, a Swineherd, the Witch's Son, 
Puck-Hairy, or Rcein GooDrEt.x,o;v. their .Hhia 
REUBETf, the Reconciler, a dcaout Hermit. 

Marian, Robin Hood's Lady. 

Earine, the Beautiful, ^ 

Mellifleur, «Ae Stoecf, > Shepherdesses. 

Amie, the Gentle, ) 

Maudlin, the Envious, the Witch of Paplewick 

Douce, the Proud, her Daughter. 

Musicians, Foresters, &c 



SCENE, — Sherwood. 



THE PROLOGUE. 



Enter The Prologue. 



He that hath feasted you these fort 1/ years, 
And fitted fables for your finer ears, 
'Although at first he scarce could hit the bore; 
Yet you, loith imtience hearkening more and more, 
At le7igth have groion iip to him, and made known 
The working of his pen is now your own : 
He prays you icould vouchsafe, for your own sake, 
To hear him this once more, but sit awake. 
And though he noio 2}reseiit you with such toool 
As from mere English flocks his muse can pull. 
He hopes wJien it is made up into cloth. 
Not the most curious head here will be loth 
To wear a hood of it, it being a fleece. 
To match or those of Sicily or Greece. 
His scene is Sherwood, and his play a Tale, 
Of Robin Hood's ijiviting from the vale 
Of Belvoir, all the shepherds to a feast : 
Where, by the casual absence of one guest. 
The mirth is troubled much, and in one man 
As much of sadness shown as 2}assion can : 
The sad young shep/terd, lohom we here present. 
Like his looes figure, dark and discontent, 

[The Sad Shepherd passeth silently over the 
stage. 
For his lost love, who in the Trent is said 
To have miscarried ; 'las J lohat k)iows the head 
Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown' cl i — 
Hear what his sorrows are ; and if they wound 
Your gentle breasts, so that the end crown all. 
Which in the scojje of one day's chance may fall ; 
Old Trent will send you more such tales as these, 
And shall grow young again as one doth 2}lease. 

[Exit, but instantly re-enters. 
But here's an heresy of late let fall. 
That mirth by no means fits a pastoral; 
Such say so, toho can make none, he presumes : 
Else there's no scene more properly assumes 
The sock. For whence can sport in kind arise, 
Bui from the rural routs and families ? 
Safe on this ground then, xoe not fear to-day. 
To te7npt your laughter by our rustic play ; 
Wherein if xoe distaste, or be cried down. 
We think xoe therefore shall not leave the toxon ; 
Nor that the fore-tcits that xoould draw the rest 
Unto their liking, always like the best. 
The xclse and himoing critic loill not say. 
This worst, or better is, before he xoeigh 



Wh&r every piece be perfect in the kind : 

And tJien, tJiough in themselves he difference find. 

Yet if the }}lace reqtiire it xchere they stood, 

T/ie equal fitting makes them equal good. 

You shall have love and hate, and jealousy. 

As well as mirth, and rage, and melancholy . 

Or tchatsoever else may either ?nove. 

Or stir ajfeetions, and your likings pirovc. 

But that no style for pastoral should go 

Current, but xvhat is stamp' d xoith Ah ! and O ■ 

Who judgeth so, may singularly err ; 

As if all 2Mesie had one character 

In xohich xchat xcere not xoritten, xoere not right ; 

Or that the man who made such one p>oor flight. 

In his xohole life, had xoith his xoinged skill 

Advanced him iqimost on tlie muses' hill. 

When he like 2^oet yet o-emains, as those 

Are 2Minters xoho can only make a rose. 

From such your xcits redeem xjou, or your chance. 

Lest to a greater height you do advance 

Of folly, to contemn those that are knotcn 

Artificers, ct?id trust such as are xione ! 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Sherwoop Forest. — A distant 
prosiKct of hills, valleys, cottages, a castle, river, 
pastures, herds, flocks, kc. Robin Hood's bower 
in the foreground. 

Enter ^glamour. 
.SEgl, Here she was wont to go ! and here ! 
and here ! 
Just where those daisies, pinks, and violets grow • 
The world may find the spring by following her. 
For other print her airy steps ne'er left. 
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass. 
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk ! 
But like the soft west wind she shot along, [root, 
And where she went, the flowers took thickest 
As she had sow'd them with her odorous foot. 

[Exit 

SCENE II. — - Another Part of the same. 

Enter Marian, Friar Tuck, John, George-a- 
Green, Much, Woodmen, Sjc. 
Mar, Know you, or can you guess, my merry 
men, 



THE SAD SHEPHERD, 



eo5 



What 'tis that keeps your master, Robin Hood, 
So long, both from his Marian, and tlie wood? 
Tuck. Forsooth, madam, he will be here by 
noon, 
And prays it of your bounty, as a boon. 
That you by then have kill'd him venison some. 
To feast his jolly friends, who hither come 
In threaves to frolic with him, and make cheer : 
Here's Little John hath harbor'd you a deer, 
I see by his tackling. 

John. And a hart of ten, 
I trow he be, madam, or blame your men : 
For by his slot, his entries, and his port, 
His frayings, fewmets, he doth promise sport. 
And standing 'fore the dogs ; he bears a head 
Large and well-beam'd, with all rights summ'd and 
spread. 
Mar. Let's rouze him quickh', and lay on the 

hounds. 
Jolin. Scathlock is ready with them on the 
grounds ; 
So is his brother Scarlet : now they have found 
His lair, they have him sure within the pound. 
Mar. Away then, when my Robin bids a 
feast, 
'Twere sin in Marian to defraud a guest. 

\Exeunt Makian and Jonx ivlth the Woodmen. 
Tuck. And I, the chaplain, here am left to be 
Steward to-day, and charge you all in fee. 
To d'on your liveries, see the bower drest, 
And fit the fine devices for the feast : [trim, 

You, George, must care to make the baldrick 
And garland that must crown, or her, or him, 
Whose flock this year bath brought the eaxiiest 
lamb. 
George. Good father Tuck, at youv commands 
To cut the table out o' the green sword, [I am 
Or any other service for my lord ; 
To carve the guests large seats ; and these 
lain in [sklu 

With turf, as soft and smooth as the mole's 
A.nd hang the bulled nosegays 'bovc their heads, 
**■«**« 

The piper's bank, Avhereon to sit and play ; 
And a fair dial to mete out the day. 
Our master's feast shall want no just delights, 
His entertainments must have all the rites. 
Much. Ay, and all choice that plenty can 

send in ; 
Bread, wine, acatcs, fowl, feather, fish or fin, 
For which my father's nets have swept the 

Trent — 

Enter iEoLAMOCE. 

..Eg. And have you foirnd. her ? 

Much. Whom ? 

JEg. My drowned love, 
Earine ! the sweet Earine, 
The bright and beautiful Earine ! 
Have you not heard of my Earine ? 
Just by your father's mill — I think I am right — 
Are not you Much the Miller's son .' 

Much. I am. 

JE^. And bailiff to brave Robin Hood ? 

Much. The same. 

.Mg. Close by your father's mills, Earine, 
Earine was drown'd ! O my Earine ! 
Old Maudlin tells me so, and Douce her 
daughter — 



Have you swept the river, say you, and not 

found her ? 
Much. For fowl and fish, w'e have. 
JEg. O, not for her ! 
You are goodly friends ! right charitable men ! 
Nay, keep your way and leave me ; make your 

toys, 
Y'our tales, your posies, that you talk'd of ; all 
Your entertainments : you not injure me. 
Only if I may enjoy my cj^Dress wreath, 
And you will let me Aveep, 'tis all I ask, 
Till I be turn'd to water, as was she ! 
And troth, what less suit can you grant a man ? 
Tuck. His phantasie is hurt, let us now leave 

him ; 
The wound is yet too fresh to admit searching. 

[Exit. 
JEg. Searching ! where should I search, or 

on what track ? 
Can my slow droj) of tears, or this dark shade 
About my brows, enough describe her loss ! 
Earine ! O ray Earino's loss ! 
No, no, no, no ; this heart will break first. 
George. How will this sad disaster strike the 

ears 

Of bounteous Robin Hood, our gentle master ! 

Much. How will it mar his mirth, abate his 

And strOie a horror into every guest ! . [feast ; 

[Exeunt George amVislvcw.. 

.Mg. If I could knit whole clouds about my 

brows, 
And weep like Swithen, or those watery signs. 
The Kids, that rise then, and drown all the 

flocks 
Of those rich shepherds, dwelling in this vale ; 
Those careless shepherds that did let her drown ! 
Then I did something : or could make old Trent 
Drunk with my sorrow, to start out in breaches, 
To drown their herds, their cattle, and their 

corn ; [their weirs, 

Break down their mills, their dams, o'erturn 
And sec their houses and Avhole livelihood 
Wrought into water with her, all were good : 
I'd kiss the torrent, and those whirls of Trent, 
That suck'd her in, my sweet Earine ! 
When they have cast her body on the shore. 
And it comes up as tainted as themselves, 
AU pale and bloodless, I will love it still. 
For all that they can do, and make them mad, 
To see how I will hug it in mine arms ! 
And hang upon her looks, dwell on her eyes, 
Feed round about her lips, and eat her kisses, 
Suck off her drowned flesh ! — and where's theil 

niahce ! 
Not all their envious sousing can change that. 
But I will still study some revenge past this — 
[Music of all sorts is heard. 
I pray you give me leave, for I will study, 
Though all the bells, pipes, tabors, timb urines 

ring, 
That you can plant about me ; I will study. 

iirtfer Robin Hood, Clarion, Mellifleur, Lio- 
nel, Amie, Alken, Tuck, Musicians, &c. 
Rob. Welcome, bright Clarion, and sweet 
Mellifleur, 
The courteous Lionel, fair Amie ; all 
My friends and neighbors, to the jolly bovi'Cr 
Of Robin Hood, and to the green-wood walks J 



60G 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



Now that the shearing of j-our sheep is done, 
And the wash'd flocks are lighted of their wool, 
The smoother ewes are ready to receive 
The mounting rams again ; and both do feed, 
As either j^romised to increase your breed 
At eaning-tiine, and bring you lusty twins : 
Why should or you or we so much forget 
The season in ourselves, as not to make 
Use of our youth and spirits, to awake 
The nimble horn-pipe, and the timburine, 
And mix cvir songs and dances in the wood. 
And each of us cut down a triumph-bough ? — 
Such are the rights the youthful June allow. 

Cla. They were, gay Hobin ; but the sourer sort 
Of shepherds now disclaim in all such sport : 
And say, our flock the while are poorly fed, 
When with such vanities the swains are led. 

Tuck. Would they, wise Clarion, were not 
hurried more 
With covetise and rage, M-hen to their store 
They add the poor man's yeanling, and dare sell 
Both fleece and carcass, not gi'ing him the fell ! 
When to one goat they reach that prickly weed. 
Which makcth all the rest forbear to feed ; 
Or strew tods' hairs, or with their tails do sweep 
The dewy grass, to do'ff the simi^ler sheep ; 
Or dig deep pits their neighbor's neat to vex, 
To drown tlie calves, and crack the heifers' necks ; 
Or with pretence of chasing thence the brock. 
Send in a cur to worry the whole flock ! 

Lio. O friar, those are faults that are not seen. 
Ours open, and of worst example been. 
They call ours Pagan pastimes, that infect 
Our blood with ease, our youth with all neglect ; 
Our tongues with wantonness, our thoughts with 

lust ; 
And what they censure ill, all others must. 

Rob. I do not know what their sharp sight 
may see, 
Of late, but I should think it still might be 
As 'twas, an happy age, when on the plains 
The Avoodmen met the damsels, and the swains 
The neat-herds, ploughmen, and the pipers loud. 
And each did dance, some to the kit or crowd. 
Some to the bag-pipe ; some the tabret mov'd, 
And all did either love, or were l)elov'd. 

Lio. The dextrous shepherd then would try 
his sling, 
Then dart his hook at daisies, then would sing ; 
Sometimes would Avrestle. 

Cla. Ay, and with a lass : 
And give her a new garment on the grass ; 
After a course at barley-break, or base. 

Lio. And all these deeds were seen without 
Or the least hazard of their innocence, [off'ence. 

Bob. Those charitable times had no mistrust. 
Shepherds knew how to love, and not to lust. 

Cla. Each minute that we lose' thus, I confess, 
Deserves a censure on us, more or less ; 
But that a sadder chance hath given allay 
Both to the mirth and music of this day. 
Our fairest shepherdess we had of late. 
Hero upon Trent,is drown'd ; for Avliom her mate. 
Young .liglamour, a swain, who best could tread 
Our country dances, and our games did lead, 
lAvcs like the melancholy turtle, droAvn'd 
Deeper in woe, than she in water : crown'd 
With yew, and cypress, and will scarce admit 
T]\e physic of our presence to his fit. 



Lio. Sometimes he sits, and thinks ail day, then 
walks, 
Then thinks again, and sighs, weeps, laughs, 

and talks ; 
And 'twixt his pleasing frenz5% and sad grief, 
Is so distracted, as no sought relief 
By all our studies can procure his peace. 

Cla. The passion finds in him that large in- 
crease. 
As we doubt hourly we shall lose him too. 

Rob. You should not cross him then, whate'er 
you do. [burn 

For phant'sie stopp'd, will soon take fire, and 
Into an anger, or to a phrensie turn. 

Cla. Nay, so we arc advised by Aiken here, 
A good sage shepherd, who, although he wear 
An old worn hat and cloke, can tell us more 
Than all the forward fry, that boast their lore. 

Lio. See, yonder comes the brother of the 
Young Karelin : liow curious and afraid [maid, 
He is at once ! willing to find him out. 
And loth to offend him. 

Ente)' Karolin. 

Kar, Sure he's here about. 

Cla. See where he sits. 
[Points to ^GLAMOUR, sitting upon a bank hard by. 

JEg. It will be rare, rare, rare ! 
An exquisite revenge ! but peace, no words ! 
Not for the fairest fleece of all tlie flock : 
If it be known afore, 'tis all worth nothing ! 
I'll carve it on the trees, and in the turf, 
On every green sword, and in everj' path. 
Just to the margin of the cruel Trent. 
There will I knock the story in the ground. 
In smooth great pebble, and moss fill it i-ound. 
Till the whole country road howshe was drown'd ] 
And Avith the plenty of salt tears there shed. 
Quite alter the complexion of the spring. 
Or I Avill get some old, old, grandam thither, 
Whose rigid foot but dipp'd into the water. 
Shall strike that sharp and sudden cold through 

out, 
As it shall lose all virtue ; and those nymphs, 
Those treacherous nymphs pull'd in Earine, 
Shall stand curl'd up like images of ice. 
And never thaw ! mark, never ! a sharp justice ! 
Or stay, a better ! when the year's at hottest, 
And that the dog-star foams, and the stream 
boils, [sparkle, 

And curls, and works, and swells ready to 
To fling a fellow Avith a fever in, 
To set it all on fire, till it burn 
Blue as Scamandcr, 'fore the Avails of Troy, 
When Vulcan leap'd into him to consume him. 

Rob. A deep hurt phant'sie ! 

[ Thc]i approach him 

JEg. Do you not approve it ? 

Rob, Yes, gentle iEglamour, Ave all approA'e, 
And come to gratulate your just revenge : 
Which, since it is so perfect, Ave noAV hope 
You'll leave all care thereof, and mix Avith us, 
In all the proifer'd solace of the spring. 

.Ey. A spring, now she is dead ! of what r 

of thorns, 

Briars, and brambles ? thistles, burs and docks ? 

Cold hemlock, ycAV ? the mandrake or the box ? 

These may grow still ; but Avhat can spring be« 

side ? 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



C07 



Did not the whole earth sicken when she died ? 
As if there since did fall one drop of dew, 
But what was wept for her ! or any stalk 
Did bear a flower, or any branch a bloom, 
After her wreatli was made ! In faith, in faith, 
You do not fair to jiut these things upon me, 
Which can in no sort be : Earine, 
Who had her very being, and her name. 
With the first knots or buddings of the spring. 
Born with the primrose, or the violet, 
Or earliest roses blown ; when Cupid smiled ; 
And Venus led the Graces out to dance, 
And all the flowers and sweets in nature's lap 
Lcap'd out, and niade their solemn conjiiration, 
To last but while she lived ! Do not I know 
How the vale wither' d the same day ? how Dove, 
Dean, Eye, and Erwash, Idel, Suite and Soare, 
Each broke his urn, and twenty Avaters more, 
That swell'd proud Trent, shrunk themselves 

dry ? that since 
No sun or moon, or other cheerful stai', 
Look'd out of heaven, but all the cope was dark, 
As it were hung so for her exequies ! 
And not a voice or sound to ring her knell ; 
But of that dismal pair, the screeching-owl, 
And buzzing hornet ! Hark ! hark ! hark ! the 

foul 
Bird ! how she flutters with her wicker wings ! 
Peace ! you shall hear her screech. 

Cla. Good Karolin, sing, 
HeljJ to divert this phant'sie. 
Kar. All I can. 

\_Sings, tvhile JEg. reads the song. 

Though I am young and cannot tell 

Either what Death or Love is well, 

Vet I have heard they both bear darts, 

And both do aim at human hearts : 

And then again, I have been told, 

Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold ; 

So that I fear they do but bring 

Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. 

As in a ruin we it call 
One thing to be blown up or fall ; 
Or to our end, like way may have 
By flash of lightning, or a wave: 
So love's inflamed shaft or brand 
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand, 
Except Love's fires the virtue have 
To fright the frost out of the grave. 

JEg. Do }'ou think so ? are you in that good 
heresy, 
I mean, opinion ? if you be, say nothing : 
I'll studj' it as a new philosophy, 
But by myself alone : now you shall leave me. 
Some of these nymphs here ■<\'ill reward you ; 

this, 
This pretty maid, although but with a kiss. 

[He forces Amie to kiss Kauolin. 
Lived my Earine, you should have twenty ; 
For every line here, one ; I would allow them 
From mine own store, the treasure I had in her : 
Now I am poor as you. [Exit, 

Kar. And I a wretch ! 

Cla. Yet keep an eye upon him, Karolin. 

[Exit Karolin. 

Mel. Alas, that ever such a generous spirit 
As ,'Eglaniour's, should sink by such a loss ! 

Cla. The truest lovers are least fortunate : 
Look all their lives and legends, what they call 
The lover's scriptures, Heliodores or Tatii, 



Longi, Eustathii, Prodomi, you'll find it ! 
What think you father ? 

Aiken. I have known some few, [deep. 

And read of more who have had their dose, and 
Of these sharp bitter-sweets. 

Lio. But what is this 
To jolly Robin, Avho the story is 
Of all beatitude in love ? 

Cla. And told 
Here every day with wonder on the wold^ 

Lio. And with fame's voice. 

Aiken. Save that some folk delight 
To blend all good of others with some spight. 

Cla. He and his Marian are the sum and talk 
Of all that breathe here in the green- wood walk. 

Mel. Or Belvoir vale. 

Lio. The turtles of the wood. 

Cla. The billing pair. 

Aiken. And so are understood 
For simple loves, and sampled lives beside. 

Mel. Faith, so much virtue should not be en- 
vied. 

Aiken. Better be so than pitied, Mellifleur : 
For 'gainst all envy virtue is a cure ; 
But wretched pity ever calls on scorns. — 

[Horns within. 
The deer's brought home ; I hear it by their 
horns. 

Enter Marian, Johx, a?id Scarlet. 

Rob. Isly Marian, and my mistress ! 

Mar. My loved Robin ! [ Thei/ embrace, 

Mel. The moon's at full, the happy pair are 
met. [rising ! 

Mar. How hath this morning paid me for my 
First, with my sports ; but most with meeting 

you. 
I did not half so well reward my hounds, 
As she hath me to-day ; although I gave them 
All the sweet morsels call'd tongue, ears, and 

Rob. What, and the inch-pin ? [dowcets ! 

Mar. Yes. 

Rob, Your sports then pleased you ? 

Mar. You are a wanton. 

Rob. One, I do confess, 
I want-ed till you came ; but now I have you, 
I'll grow to your embraces, till two souls 
Distilled into kisses through our lips, 
Do make one spirit of love. [Kisses her 

Mar. Robin, Robin ! 

Rob. Breathe, breathe awhile ; what says my 
gentle Marian ? 

Mar. Could you so long be absent ? 

Rob. What, a week ! 
Was that so long ? 

Mar. How long are lovers' weeks. 
Do you think, Robin, when they are asunder .' 
Are they not prisoners' years ? 

Rob. To some they seem so ; 
But being met again, they are schoolboys' hours. 

Mar. That have got leave to play, and so we 
use them. 

Rob. Had you good sport in your chase lo-day? 

John. O prime ! 

3Iar. A lusty stag. 

Rob, And hunted ye at force ? 

Mar. In a full cry. 

John. And never hunted change '. 

Rob. You had stanch hounds then? 



608 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



Mar. Old and sure ; I love 
No young rash dogs, no more than changing 
friends. 

Bob. What relays set you ? 

John. None at all : •vve laid not 
In one fresh dog. 

Bob. He stood not long then ? 

Scar. Yes, 
Five hours and more. A great, large deer ! 

Bob. What head ? 

John. Forked : a hart of ten. 

Mar. He is good venison, 
A.ccording to the season in the blood, 
I'll promise all your friends, for -whom he fell. 
' John. But at his fall there hapt a chance. 

Mar. Worth mark. 

Rob. Ay, what was that, sweet Marian ? 

[Kisses her. 

Mar. You'll not hear ? 

Bob. 1 love these interruptions in a story ; 

[Kisses her a(/ain. 
Tlicy make it sweeter. 

Mar. You do know as soon 
As the assay is taken — [Kisses her again. 

Bob. On, my Marian : 
I did but take the assay. 

Mar. You stop one's mouth. 
And yet you bid one speak — Avhen the arbor's 
made — 

Bob. Pull'd down, and paunch turn'd out. 

Mar. He that undoes him. 
Doth cleave the brisket bone, upon the spoon 
Of which a little gristle grows ; you call it 

Bob. The raven's bone. 

Mar. Now o'er head sat a raven, 
On a sere bough, a grown great bird, and hoarse ! 
Who, all the while the deer was breaking up. 
So croak' d and cried for it, as all the huntsmen. 
Especially old Scathlock, thought it ominous ; 
Swore it was mother Maudlin, whom he met 
At the day-dawn, just as he roused the deer 
Out of his lair ; but we made shift to run him 
Off his four legs, and sunk him ere we left. 

Enter Scathlock. 
Is the deer come ? 

Scath. He lies within on the dresser. 

Mar. Will you go see him, Mellifleur ? 

]^[el. I attend you. 

Mar. Coro.e, Amie, you'll go with us ? 

Amie. I am not well. 

Lio. She's sick of the young shepherd that 

bekiss'd her. 
Mar. Friend, cheer your friends up, we will 
eat him merrily. 

[Exeunt Mar., Mel., and Amie. 
Aiken. Saw you the raven, friend ? 
Scath. Ay, quha suld let me ? 
I suld be afraid o' you, sir, suld I ? 

Clar. Huntsman, 
A dram more of civility would not hurt you. 
Bob. Nay, you must give them all their rude- 
nesses ; 
They are not else themselves without their lan- 
guage. 
Aiken. And what do you think of her ? 
Scath. As of a witch. 
They call her a wise woman, but I think her 
An arrant witch. 



Clar. And wherefore think you so ? 

Scath. Because I saw her since broiling the 

bone 
Was cast her at the quarry. 
Aiken. Where saw you her ? 
Scath. In the chimley-nuik, within : she's 

there now. 

Re-enter Mahian. 
Bob. Marian ! 
Your hunt holds in his tale still ; and tells 
more — 
Mar. My hunt ! what tale ? 
Bob. How ! cloudy, Marian ! 
What look is this ? 

Mar. A fit one, sir, for you. 
Hand off, rude ranger ! — Sirrah, get you in, 

[To Scathlock. 
And bear the venison hence : it is too good 
For these coarse rustic mouths, that cannot 

open. 
Or spend a thank for't. A starv'd mutton's car- 
case 
Would bettor fit their palates. See it carried 
To mother Maudlin's, Avhom you call the witch, 

sir. 
Tell her I sent it to make merry with. 
She'll turn us thanks at least ! why stand'st 
thoii, groom ? 
Bob. I wonder he can move, that he's not 
fix'd. 
If that his feeling be the same with mine ! 
I dare not trust the faith of mine own senses, 
I fear mine ears and eyes : this is not Marian ! 
Nor am I Robin Hood ! I pray you ask her, 
Ask her, good shepherds, ask her all for me : 
Or rather ask yourselves, if she be she ; 
Or I be I. 

Mar. Yes, and j^ou are the spy ; 
And the spied spy that watch upon my walks, 
To inform what deer I kill or give away ! 
Where ! when ! to whom ! but spy your worst, 

good spy, 
I will dispose of this where least you like ! 
Fall to your cheese-cakes, curds, and clouted 

cream. 
Your fools, 3-our flawns ; and fswilll of ale a 

stream 
To wash it from your livers : strain ewes milk 
Into your cyder syllabubs, and be drunk 
To him whose fleece hath brought the earliest 

lamb 
This year ; and wears the baudric at your board ! 
Where you may all go whistle and record 
This in your dance ; and foot it lustily. [Exit. 
Rob. I pray you, friends, do you hear and see 
as I do r 
Did the same accents strike your ears ? and ob- 
jects 
Your eyes, as mine ? 

Aiken. We taste the same reproaches. 
Lio. Have seen the changes. 
Rob. Are we not all changed. 
Transformed from ourselves ? 

Lio. I do not know. 
The best is silence. 

Aiken. And to wait the issue. 
Rob. The dead or lazy wait for't ! I will find 
it. [Exeunt. 



THE SAD SHEPHEUD. 



609 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — The Forest as before. — The Witch's 
Diinble, cottage, oak, well, ^-c. 

Enter ^Maudlin in her proper shape, and Douce in 
the dress of Earine. 

Maud. Have I not left them in a brave confu- 
sion ? 
Amazed their expectation, got their venison, 
Troubled their mirth and meeting, made them 

doubtful 
And jealous of each other, all distracted, 
And, in the close, uncertain of themselves ? 
This can your mother do, my dainty Douce ! 
Take any shape upon her, and delude 
The senses best acquainted with their o'wners ! — 
The jolly E-obin, who hath bid this feast, 
And made this solemn invitation, 
I have possessed so with syke dislike. 
Of his own Marian, that allbe he know her, 
As doth the vauting hart his venting hind, 
lie ne'er fra' hence sail neis her in the wind, 
To his first liking. 

Douce. Did you so distaste him ? ['bate, 

Maud. As far as her proud scorning him could 
Or blunt the edge of any lover's temper. 

Douce. But were ye like her, mother ? 

Maud. So like. Douce, [ed 

As had she seen me her sel', her scl had doubt- 
'S\Tiether had been the liker of the twa — 
This can your mother do, I tell you, daughter ! 
I ha' but dight je. yet in the out-dress, 
And 'parel of Earijae ; but this raiment, 
These very weeds sail make ye, as but coming 
In view or ken of ylJlglamour, your form 
Shall show too slippery to be look'd upon, 
And all the forests swear you to be she ! 
Thoy shall rin after ye, and wage thee odds, 
Upon their own deceived sights, ye are her ; 
Whilst she, poor lass, is stock'd uji in a tree : 
Your brother Lord's prize ! for so my largess 
Hath lotted her to be, — your brother's mis- 
tress, 
Gif she can be reclaim'd ; gif not, his prey ! 
And here he comes new claithed, like a prince 
Of swineherds ! syke he seems, dight in the 

spoils 
Of those he feeds, a mighty lord of swine ! 
He's command now to woo. Let's step aside, 
And hear his love-craft. [They stand aside. 

Enter Lohel gaily dressed, and releases Earixe 
from the oak. 

See he opes the door. 
And takes her by the hand, and helps her forth : 
This is true courtship, and becomes his ray. 
Lor. [leading Earine forward.'] Ye kind to 
others, but ye coy to me, 
De.ft mistress ! whiter than the cheese new prest, 
Smoother than cream, and softer than the 

curds ! 
Why start ye from me ere ye hear me tell 
My wooing errand, and what rents I have ? 
Large herds and pastures ! swine and kie mine 

own ! 
And though my nase be caraused, mv lips thick, 
39 



And my chin bristled, Pan, great Pan, was 

such, 
"Wlao was the chief of herdsmen, and our sire ! 
I am na faj-, na incubus, na changlin. 
But a good man, that lives o' my awn geer : 
This house, these grounds, this stock is aU ray 
awn. 

Ear. How better 'twere to mo, this were not 
known ! 

Maud. She likes it not ; but it is boasted well. 

Eor. An hundred udders for the pail I have. 
That give me milk and curds, that make me 

cheese 
To cloy the markets ! twentj'' swarm of bees, 
Whilk all the summer hum about the hive, 
And bring me wax and honey in bilive. 
An aged oak, the king of all the field. 
With a broad breech there grows before my dur, 
That mickle mast unto the firm cloth yield. 
A chesnijt, Vv'hilk hath larded raony a swine, 
Whose skins I wear to fend me fra the cold ■, 
A poplar green, and with a kerved seat, 
Under whose shade I solace in the heat ; 
And thence can see gang oixt and in my neuo. 
Twa trilland brooks, each, from his spring, doth 
And make a river to refresh my feet ; [meet. 
In Avhich each morning, ere the sun doth rise, 
I look myself, and clear my pleasant eyes. 
Before I i^ipe ; for therein I have skill 
'Bove other s^\•ineherds. Bid me, and I will 
Straight play to you, and make you melody. 

Ear. By no means. Ah ! to me all minstrelsy 
Is irksome, as are you. 

Lor. Why scorn you me ? 
Because I am a herdsman, and feed swine ! 
I am a lord of other geer : — This fine 
Smooth bawson cub, the young grice of a gray, 
Twa tiny urchins, and this ferret gay. 

Ear. Out on 'em ! what are these ? 

Lor. I give 'em ye. 
As presents', mistress. 

Ear. O the fiend on thee ! 
Gae, take them hence ; they fewraand all the 

claithes. 
And prick my coats : hence with 'cm, limmer 

lown. 
Thy vermin and thyself, thyself art one ! 
Ay, lock me up — all's well when thou art gone. 
[LoiiEL leads her to the tree cmd shuts her in. 
[Maudlin and Douce comeforward. 

Lor. Did you hear this ? she wish'd me at the 
With all my presents ! [fiend. 

Maud. A tu lucky end 
She wishand thee, foul limmer, dritty lo\vn ! 
Gud faith, it duills mo that I am thy mother ' 
And see, thy sister scorns thee for her brov-her. 
Thou Avoo tliy love, thy mistress, with twa 

hedge -hogs : 
A stiukand brock, a polecat ? out, thou houlet ! 
Thou shouldst have given her a madge-oAvl, and 

then 
Thou'dst made a present o' thyself, owl-spiegle-! 

Douce. Why, mother, I have heard ye bid to 
And often as the cause calls. [give ; 

Maud. I know well. 
It is a witty part sometimes to give ; [ens. 

But what ? to wham ? no monsters, nor to maid- 
He suld present them -with mare pleasand things, 
Things natural, and what all women covet 



610 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



To see, the common parent of lis all, [thus ! 
Which maids -will twire at 'tween their fingers 
With -which his sire gat him, he's get another, 
And so beget posterity \ipon her ; [g"^'*, 

This he should do ! — False gelden, gang thy 
And do thy turns betimes ; or I'se gar take 
Thy new breikes fra' thee, and thy dublet tu : — 
The tailleur and the sowter sail undu' 
All they have made, except thou manlier avoo ! 

\Exit LOREL. 

Dotice. Gud mother, gif you chide him, he'll 
do Avairs. 

Maud. Hang him ! I geif him to the devil's eirs. 
But ye, my Douce, I charge ye, shew your sell 
Tu all the shei^herds bauldly ; gaing amang 'em, 
Be mickel in their eye, frequent and fugeand : 
And gif they ask ye of Earine, 
Or of these claithes, saj', that I gave 'em ye, 
And say no more. I have that wark in hand. 
That web upon the luimc, shall gar 'em think 
By then, they feeling their own frights and fears, 
['se i^u.' the world or nature 'bout their ears. — 
But, hear ye, Douce, because ye may meet me 
[n mony shapes to-day, Avhere'er you spy 
This browder'd belt with characters, 'tis I. 
A Gypsan lady, and a right beldame, 
Wrought it by moonshine for me, and star-light, 
Upon your grannam's grave, that very night 
We earth' d her in the shades ; vrhen our dame 

Hecate 
Made it her gaing night over the kirk-yard, 
With all the barkand parish-tikes set at her, 
WHiile I sat whyiland of my brazen spindle : 
At every twisted thrid my rock let fly 
Unto the sewster, who did sit me nigh. 
Under the town turnpike ; which ran each spell 
>She stitched in the work, and knit it well. 
See ye take tent to this, and ken your mother. 

YExeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the Forest. — The 
Entrance to RoBix Hood's Bower. 

Amie discovered lying on a bank, Marian and 
Mellifleur sitting by her. 

Mar. How do you, sweet Amie, yet ? 

Mel. She cannot tell ; 
If she could sleep, she says, she should do well. 
She feels a hurt, but where, she cannot show 
Any least sign, that she is hurt or no : 
Her pain's not doubtful to her, but the seat 
Of her pain is : her thoughts too work and beat, 
Opprest with cares ; but why she cannot say : 
All matter of her care is quite away. 

Mar. Hath any vermin broke into your fold ? 
Or any rot seized on your flock, or cold ? 
Or hath your feighting ram burst his hard horn. 
Or any ewe her fleece, or bag hath torn, 
My gentle Amie ? 

Amie. Marian, none of these. [bees. 

Mar. Have you been stung by wasps, or angry 
Or rased Avith some rude bramble or rough briar ? 

Amie. No, Marian, my disease is somewhat 
nigher. 
I weep, and boil aAvay myself in tears ; [fears : 
And then my panting heart would dry those 
I turn, though all the forest lend a shade ; 
And freeze, though the Avhole Avood one fire Avere 

Mar. Alas ! [made. 



Amie. I often have been torn with thorn and 

briar, 
Both in the leg and foot, and somewhat higher ; 
Yet gave not then such fearful shrieks as these. 

\Sighs. 
I often hath been stung too Avith curst bees. 
Yet not remember that I then did quit 
Either my company or mirth for it. 

[Sighs again. 
And therefore Avhat it is that I feel noAV, 
And know no cause of it, nor Avhere, nor hoAV 
It enter' d in me, nor least print can see, 
I feel, afflicts me more than briar or bee. [Again. 
IIoAV often Avhen the sun, heaA'cn's brightest 

birth. 
Hath Avith his burning fervor cleft the earth, 
Under a spreading elm or oak, hard by 
A cool clear fountain, could I sleeping lie, 
Safe from the heat ! but noAV no shady tree. 
Nor purling brook, can my refreshing be. [frost, 
Oft Avhen the meadoAvs Avere groAvn rough with 
The rivers ice-bound, and their currents lost. 
My thick Avarm fleece I Avore, Avas my defence ; 
Or large good fires I made, drave Avinter thence : 
But noAV my Avhole flock's fells, nor this thick 

grove, 
Enflam'd to ashes, can my cold remove. 
It is a cold and heat that does outgo 
All sense of winters, and of summers so. 

Enter TXoTiis Hood, Clarion, Lionel, ajjrf Alken. 
Bob. O are you hero, my mistress ? 
Mar. I, my Ioa'c ! [Runs to embrace him. 

Where should I be but in my Robin's arms, 
The sphere Avhich I delight in so to move ? 
, Rob. [He 2nits her back.] What, the rude ranger, 
and spied spy ! hand off ; 
You are for no such rustics. 

Mar. What means this, [ye ? 

Thrice Avorthy Clarion, or Avise Aiken ? know 

Rob. 'Las, no, not they : a poor starv'd mutton's 

carcase 

Would better fit their palates than your venison. 

Mar. What riddle's this ? unfold yourself, 

dear Robin. 
Rob. You have not sent your venison hence 
by Scathlock. 
To mother Maudlin ? 

Mar. I, to mother Maudlin ! 
Will Scathlock say so ? 

Rob. Nay, Ave Avill all swear so. 
For all did hear it Avhen j'ou gaA'e the charge, so, 
Both Clarion, Aiken, Lionel, and myself. 

Mar. Good honest shepherds, masters of your 
flocks. 
Simple and A'irtuous men, no others' hirelings ; 
Be not you made to speak against your con- 
science, [son 
That Avhich may soil the truth. I send the A'eni- 
Away by Scathlock, and to mother Maudlin ! 
I came to shcAV it here to Mellifleur, 
I do confess ; but Amie's falling ill 
Did put us off it : since, Ave employ'd ourselves 
In comforting of her. 

Enter Scathlock. 

0, here he is ! 
Did I, sir, bid you bear away the A'enison 
To mother Maudlin ? 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



611 



Scath. Ay, gud faith, madam, 
Did you, and I ha' done it. 

Mar. What have you done ? 

Scath. Obey'd your hests, madam ; done your 
commands. [it again, 

Mar. Done my commands, dull groom ! fetch 
Or kennel with the hounds. Are these the arts, 

[ Weeps. 
Robin, you read yoixr rude ones of the wood, 
To countenance your quarrels and mistakings ? 
Or are the sports to entertain your friends 
Those formed jealousies ? ask of Mellifieur, 
If I were ever from her, here, or Amie, 
Since' I came in with them ; or saw this Scath- 

lock 
Since I related to you his tale of the raven. 

Scath. Ay, say you so ! [Exit. 

Mel. She never left my side 
Since I came here, nor I hers. 

Cla. This is strange . 
Our best of senses were deceived, our eyes, 

Lio. And ears too. [then ! 

Mar. What you have concluded on, 
Make good, I j^ray you. 

Amie. my heart, my heart ! 

Mar. My heart it is wounded, pretty Amie ; 
Report not you your griefs : I'll tell for all. 

Mel. Somebody is to blame, there is a fault. 

Mar. Try if you can take rest : a little slumber 
Will much refresh you, Amie. [Amie sleeps. 

Aiken. What's her grief? 

Mar. She does not know : and therein she is 
happy. 

Enter John and Maudlin. 

John. Here's mother Maudlin come to give 
you thanks. 
Madam, for some late gift she hath received — 
Which she's not worthy of, she says, but cracks. 
And wonders of it ; hops about the house. 
Transported with the joj'. 

Maud. Send me a stag, 
A whole stag, madam, and so fat a deer ! 
So fairly hunted, and at such a time too. 
When all your friends were here ! 

[Skips and dances. 

Rob. Do you mark this. Clarion r 
Her own acknowledgment ! 

Maud. 'Twas such a bounty 
And honor done to your poor beadswoman, 
I know not how to owe it, but to thank you , 
And that I come to do : I shall go round, 
And giddy with the joj- of the good turn. 

Look out, look out, gay folk al)nut, 
And see nie spin the rins; I am in 
Of mirtli and glee, witli thanks for fee 
The heart puts on, for th' venison 
My lady sent, wliich shall be spent 
In draughts of wine, to fume up fine 
Into the brain, and down again 
Fall in a swoun, upon the groun. 

[Turns rapidly round as s/ie speaks, till she falls. 

Rob. Look to her, she is mad. 

Maud. \rising.~\ My son hath sent you 
A pot of strawberries gathered in the wood. 
His hogs would else have rooted up, or trod ; 
With a choice dish of wildings here to scald 
And mingle with your cream. 

Mar. Thank you, good Maudlin, 



And thank your son. Go, bear them in to Much, 
The acatcr, let him thank her. Surely, mother, 
You were mistaken, or my woodmen more, 
Or most myself, to send you all our store 
Of venison, huiited for ourselves this day : 
You will not take it, mother, I dare say. 
If we entreat you, when you know our guests ; 
Red deer is head still of the forest feasts. 

Maud. But I knaw ye, a right free-hearted 
Can spare it out of superfluity ; [lady, 

I have departit it 'mong my poor neighbors. 
To speak your largess. 

Mar. I not gave it, mother ; 
You have done wrong then : I know how to place 
My gifts, and where ; and when to find my sea- 
To give, not throw away my courtesies. [sons 

Maud. Count you this thrown aw.iy ? 

Mar. What's ravish'd from me 
I count it worse, as stolen ; I lose my thanks. 
But leave this quest : they fit not you nor me, 
Maudlin, contentions of this quality. — 

Re-enter Scatiilock. 
How now ! 

Scath. Your stag's return'd upon my shoulders, 

He has found his way into the kitchen again 

\Vith his two legs ; if now your cook can dress 

him. — . [me, 

'Slid, I thought the swineherd would have beat 

He look'd so big ! the sturdy karl, lewd Lorel ! 

Mar. There, Scathlock, for thy pains ; [Gives 

him monei/.] thou hast deserv'd it. 

[Exit Scath, 
2Iaud. Do you give a thing, and take a thing, 

madam r 
Mar. No, Maudlin, ijou had im2)arted to your 
neighbors ; [wrong. 

And much good do it them ! I have done no 
ilaud. The spit stand still, no brocJies turn 
Before the fire, hut let it burn 
Both sides and hunches, till the loliole 
Converted be into one coal ! 
Cla. What devil's pater noster mumbles she ? 
Aiken. Stay, you will hear more of her witch- 
ery. 
Maud. The sioiUand dropsy enter in 

The lazij cuke, and stoell his. skin ; 
And the old mortmal on his shin 
A'ow 2)rick, and itch, withouten blin. 
Cla- Speak out, hag, we may hear your devil's 

mattins. 
Maud. The pain ice call St. Anton's fire, 
The gout, or lohat toe can desire, 
To cramp a cuke, in every limb. 
Before they dine, yet, seize on him. 
Aiken. A foul ill spirit hath possessed her. 
Amie [starting.'] O Karol, Karol ! call him 

back again. 
Lio. Her thoughts do work upon her in her 
shimber. 
And may express some part of her disease. 
Rob. Observe, and mark, but trouble not her 
Amie. O, ! [ease, 

' Mar. How is it, Amie ? 
Mel. Wherefore start you ? 
Amie. O Karol ! he is fair and sweet. 
Maud. What then ? 
Are there not flowers as sweet and fair as men : 
The lily is fair, and rose is sweet. 



612 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



Amie. Ay, so ! 
Let all the roses and the lilies go ; 
Karol is only fair to me. 

3Iar. And why ? 

A>nie. Alas, for Karol, Marian, 1 could die ! 
Karol, he singeth sweetly too. 

Maud. What then ? 
Are there not birds sing sweeter far than men ? 

Amio. I grant the linnet, lark, and bull-fincli 
sing, 
But host tlic dear good angel of the spring, 
The nightingale. 

Maud. Then why, then why, alone, 
Should his notes please you ? 

Amie. I not long agone 
Took a delight with wanton kids to play. 
And sport with little lambs a summer's-day. 
And view their frisks : methought it was a sight 
Of joy to see my two brave rams to fight ! 
Now Karol only all delight doth move, 
All that is Karol, Karol I approve ! 
This ver}^ morning but — I did bestow 
(It was a little 'gainst my will I know) 
A single kiss upon the silly swain. 
And now I wish that very kiss again. 
His lip is softer, sweeter than the rose, [flows ; 
His mouth, and tongue, with dropping honey 
The relish of it was a pleasing thing. 

Maud. Yet, like the bees, it had a little sting. 

Amie. And sunk, and sticks yet in my marrow 
deej) ; 
And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keep. 

Mar. Alas, how innocent her story is ! 

Amie. I do remember, Marian, I have oft 
With pleasiire kist my lambs and puppies soft ; 
And once a dainty fine roe-fawn I had. 
Of Avhose out-skipping bounds I was as glad 
As of my health ; and him I oft would kiss ; 
Yet liatl his no such sting or pain as this : 
They never prick' d or hurt my heart ; and, for 
They were so blunt and dull, I wish no more. 
But this, that hurts and pricks, doth please ; 

this sweet 
Mingled with sour, I wish again to meet : 
And that delay, methinks, most tedious is, 
That keeps or hinders me of Kai-ol's kiss. 

Mar. We'll send for him, sweet Amie, to 
come to you. 

Maud. But I will keep him off", if charms will 
do it. [Exit muttering. 

Cla. Do you mark the murmuring hag, how 
she doth mutter } 

Bob. I like her not ; and less her manners now. 

Aiken. She is a shrewd deformed piece, I vow. 

Lio. As crooked as her body. 

Rob. I believe 
She can ta^e anj' shape, as Scathlock says. 

Aiken. She may deceive the sense, but really 
She cannot change herself. 

Rob. Would I could see her 
Once more in Marian's form ! for I am certain 
Now, it was she abused us ; as I think 
My Marian, and my love, now innocent : 
Which faith I seal unto her with this kiss, 
And call you all to witness of my penance. 

[Kisses Marian. 

Aiken. It was believed before, but now con- 
firm' d, 
That we have seen the monster. 



Enter Friar Tuck, Johx, Much, and Scaelet. 

Tuck. Hear you how 
Poor Tom the cook is taken ! all his joints 
Do crack, as if his limbs were tied with points 
His whole frame slackens ; and a kind of rack 
Runs down along the spondils of his back ; 
A gout or cramp now seizeth on his head. 
Then falls into his feet : his knees are lead i 
And he can stir his either hand no more 
Than a dead stvimp, to his office, as before. 

Aiken. He is bewitch'd. 

Cla. This is an argument 
Both of her malice and her power, we see. 

Aiken. She must by some device restrained bo 
Or she'll go far in mischief. 

Rob. Advise how, [tice 

Sage shepherd ; we shall put it straight in prac- 

Alken. Send forth your woodmen then into 
the walks, 
Or let them prick her footing hence ; a witch 
Is siire a creature of melancholy, 
And will be found or sitting in her fourm. 
Or else, at relief, like a have. 

Cla. You speak, [i'^g; 

Aiken, as if you knew the sport of witcli-hunt- 
Or starting of a hag. 

Enter George. 
Rob. Go, sirs, aboiit it, 
Take George, here, with you, he can help to find 
her ; [ner, 

Leave Tuck and Much behind to dress the din- 
In the cook's stead. 

Much. We'll care to get that done. 
Rob. Come, Marian, let's withdraw into the 
bower. 

[Exeunt all but John, Scarlet, Scathlock, 

aiid George. 

John. Rare sport, I swear, this hunting of the 

Will make us. [witch 

Scar. Let's advise upon't like huntsmen. 

George. And we can spy her once, she is our 

own. 
Scath. First, think which way she fourmeth, 
on what wind ; 
Or north, or south. 

George. For as the shepherd said, 
A witch is a kind of hare. 

Scath. And marks the weather. 
As the hare does. 

John. Where shall we hope to find her ? 

Re-enter Alken. 
Aiken. I have ask' d_ leave to assist you, jjUy 
huntsmen. 
If an old shepherd may be heard among you ; 
Not jccr'd or laugh'd at. 

John. Father, you will see 
Piobin Hood's household know more courtesy. 

Scath. Who scorns at eld, peels off" his own 
young hairs. 

Alken. Ye say right well : know ye the witch's 

dell ? [hell. 

Scath. No more than I do know the walks of 

Alken. Within a gloomy dimble she doth 

dwell, 

Down in a pit, o'ergrown with brakes and briars, 

Close by the ruins of a shaken abbey, 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



613 



Torn ^v^th an eartliquake down unto the ground, 
'Mongst graves and grots, near an old charnel- 
house, 
"Where j'ou shall find her sitting in her fourm, 
As fearful and melancholic as that 
She is about ; with caterpillars' kells, 
And knotty cob-webs, rounded in with sjDells. 
Thence she steals forth to relief in the fogs. 
And rotten mists, upon the fens and bogs, 
Down to the drowned lands of Lincolnshire ; 
To make ewes cast their lambs, swine eat their 
farrow, [churn ! 

The housewives' tun not work, nor the milk 
Writhe children's wrists, and suck their breath 

in sleep, 
Get vials of their blood ! and where the sea 
Casts up his slimy ooze, search for a weed 
To open locks with, and to rivet charms. 
Planted about her in the wicked feat 
Of all her mischiefs, which are manifold. 

John. I wonder such a story could be told 
Of her dire deeds. 

George. I thought a witch's banks 
Had inclosed nothing but the merry pranks 
Of some old woman. 

Scar. Yes, her malice more. 
ScatJi. As it would quicklj'' appear had we the 
Of his collects. [store 

George. Ay, this gud learned man 
Can speak her right. 

Scar. He knows her shifts and haunts. 
Aiken. And all her wiles and turns. The 
venom' d plants 
Wherewith she kills ! where the sad mandrake 
grows, [night-shade, 

Whose groans are deathful ; the dead-numbing 
The stupifying hemlock, adder's tongue, 
And martagan : the shrieks of luckless owls 
We hear, and croaking night-crows in the air ! 
Green-bellied snakes, blue fire-drakes in the sky. 
And giddy flitter-niice with leather wings ! 
The scaly beetles, with their habergeons, 
That make a humming murmur as they fly ! 
There in the stocks of trees, white faies do dwell, 
And span-long elves that dance about a pool, 
With each a little changeling in their arms ! 
The airy spirits play with falling stars, 
And mount the sphere of fire to kiss the moon ! 
While she sits reading by the glow-worm's light. 
Or rotten wood, o'er which the worm hath crept, 
The baneful schedule of iicr nocent charms, 
And binding characters, through which she 

wounds 
Her puppets, the sigilla of her witchcraft. 
All this I know, and I will find her for you ; 
And shew you her sitting in her fourm ; I'll laj'' 
My hand upon her, make her throw her skut 
Along her back, when she doth start before us. 
But you must give her law : and you shall see 

her 
Make twenty leaps and doubles ; cross the paths. 
And then squat down beside us. 

John. Crafty croan ! 
I long to be at the sport, and to report it. 

Scar. We'll make this hunting of the witch 
As any other blast of vener}^ [as famous, 

Scath. Hang her, foul hag ! she'll be a stink- 
ing chase. 
I had rather ha' the hunting of her heir. 



George. If we should come to sec her, cry, Sc 

ho ! once. 
Aiken. That I do promise, or I am no good 

hag-finder. [Exeunt. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Forest. 

Enter Puck-hairy. 

Puck. The fiend hath much to do, that keeps 
a school. 
Or is the father of a family ; 
Or governs but a country academy : 
His labors must be great, as are his cares, 
To watch all tiu'ns, and cast how to prevent 
them. [evil. 

This dame of mine here, Maud, grows high in 
And thinks she does all, when 'tis I, her devil, 
That both delude her, and must yet protect her. 
She's confident in mischief, and presimies 
The changing of her shape will still secure her 
But that may fail, and divers hazards meet 
Of other consequence, which I must look to, 
Nor let her be surprised on the first catch. 
I must go dance about the forest now. 
And firk it like a goblin, till I find her. 
Then will my service come worth acceptation, 
When not expected of her ; when the help 
Meets the necessitj-, and both do kiss, 
'Tis call'd the timing of a duty, this. [Exit 

SCENE II. — Another Part of the same. 

Enter Karol, and Douce in the dress of Eabixe. 

Kar. Sure, you are very like her ! I conceived 
You had been she, seeing you run afore me : 
For such a suit she made her 'gainst this feast, 
In all resemblance, or the very same ; 
I saw her in it ; had he lived to enjoy it. 
She had been there an acceptable guest 
To Marian, and the gentle Ilobin Hood, 
Who are the crown and ghirland of the wood. 

Douce. I cannot tell, my mother gave it me, 
And bade me wear it. 

Kar. Who, the wise good woman, 
Old Maud of Paplewick ? 

Enter iEoLAMOUR. 

Douee. Yes ; — this sullen man 
I cannot like him. I must take my leave. [Exit, 

JEg. What said she to you ? 

Kar. Who? 

JEg. Earine. 
I saw her talking with you, or her ghost ; 
For she indeed is drown'd in old Trent's bottom^ 
Did she not tell who would have puU'd her in, 
And had her maidenhead upon the place. 
The river's brim, the margin of the flood ? 
No ground is holy enough, (you know my 

meaning,) 
Lust is committed in kings' palaces. 
And yet their majesties not violated ! 
No words ! \Exit, 

Kar. Hov/ sad and wild his thoughts are I 
sone r 



614 



THE SAD SHEPHERD, 



lie-enter ^Eglaiiour. 

^^o. But she, as chaste as was her name, 
Eaiiiie, [hovers 

Died xindeflower'd : and now her sweet soul 
Here m the air above us, and doth haste 
To get up to the moon and JSIorcury ; 
And whisper Venus in her orb ; then spring 
Up to old Saturn, and come down by Mars, 
Consulting Jupiter, and seat herself 
Just in the midst with Phcebus, tempering all 
The jarring spheres, and giving to the world 
Again his first and tuneful planetting. 
O what an age Avill here be of new concords I 
Delightful harmony ! to rock old sages, 
Twice infants, in the cradle of speculation, 
And throw a silence upon all the creatures ! 

[Exit. 

Kar. A cogitation of the highest rapture ! 

Re-enter yEoLAMOUR. 
.BEg. The loudest seas, and most enraged 
winds, [hoarse. 

Shall lose their clangor; tempest shall grow 
Loud thunder dumb, and every speece of storm. 
Laid in the lap of listening nature, hush'd 
To hear the changed chime of this eighth sphere. 
Take tent, and hearken for it, lose it not. [Exit. 

Enter Clarion and Lionel. 

Cla. O here is Karol ! was not that the Sad 
Shepherd slipp'd from him? 

Lio. Yes, I guess it was. 
"Who was that left you, Karol ? 

Kar. The lost man ; 
Whom we shall never see himself again. 
Or ours, I fear ; he starts away from hand so. 
And all the touches or soft strokes of reason 
You can apply ! no colt is so unbroken. 
Or hawk yet half so haggard or unmann'd ! 
He takes all toys that his wild phant'sie proffers, 
And flies away with them : he now conceives 
That my lost sister, his Earine, 
Is latelj- turn'd a sphere amid the seven ; 
And reads a music-lecture to the planets ! 
And with this thought he's run to call 'em 
hearers. [phant'sie ! 

Cla. Alas, this is a strain'd but innocent 
I'll follow him, and find him if I can : 
Meantime, go you with Lionel, sweet Karol ; 
He will acquaint you with an accident. 
Which much desires your presence on the place. 

[Exit. 

Kar. AVhat is it, Lionel, wherein I may serve 
you ? 
Why do you so siirvey and circumscribe mo, 
As if you struck one eye into my breast, 
And with the other took my whole dimensions r 

Lio. I wish you had a window in your bosom, 
Or in your back, I might look thorough you, 
And see your in-parts, Karol, liver, heart ; 
For there the seat of Love is, whence the boy. 
The winged archer, hath shot home a shaft 
Into my sister's breast, the innocent Amie, 
Who now cries out, upon her bed, on Karol, 
Sweet-singing Karol, the delicious Karol, 
That kiss'd her like a Cupid ! In your eyes. 
She says, his stand is, and between your lips 
He runs forth his divisions to her ears, 



But will not 'bide there, less yourself do bring 

him. 
Go with me, Karol, and bestow a visit 
In charity upon the afflicted maid, 
Who pineth with the languor of your love. 

[As they are going out, enter Maudlin (in the 
shape of Marian,) and Douce. 

Maud. Whither intend you? Amie is re- 
cover' d, 
Feels no such grief as she complained of lately. 
This maiden hath been with her from her mother 
^laudlin, the cunning woman, who hath sent her 
Herbs for her head, and simples of that nature, 
Have wrought upon her a miraculous cure ; 
Settled her brain to all our wish and wonder. 

Lio. So instantly ! you know I now but left 
her, 
Possess'd with such a fit almost to a phrensie : 
Yourself too fear'd her, Marian, and did urge 
My haste to seek out Karol, and to bring him. 

Maud. I did so : but the skill of that wise 
And her great charity of doing good, [woman. 
Hath by the ready hand of this deft lass. 
Her daughter, wrought eff'ects beyond belief, 
And to astonishment ; we can but thank. 
And praise, and be amazed, while we tell it. 

[Exit loith Douce. 

Lio. 'Tis strange, that any art should so help 
In her extremes. [naturs 

Jin;-. Then it appears most real. 
When the other is deficient. 

Enter Eobin Hood. 

Rob. Wherefore stay you [cora 

Discoursing here, and haste not M'ith your sue- 
To poor afflicted Amie, that so needs them ? 

Lio. She is recovered well, your Marian tola 
But now here : [us 

Re-enter Maudlin as before. 

See, she is return'd to affirm it ! 
Rob. My Marian ! 
Maud, ilobin Hood ! is he here ? 

[Attemjyfs to run out. 
Rob. Stay; 
What was't you told my friend ? 

[lie seizes Maud bi/ the girdle, and runs out 
with her, but returns immediately icith tin. 
broken girdle in his hand, followed at a dis' 
tance by the witch, in her oion shape. 
Maud. Help, murder, help ! 
You will not rob me, outlaw r thief, restore 
My belt that ye have broken ! 
Rob. Yes, come near. 
Maud. Not in your gripe. 
Rob. Was this the charmed circle. 
The copy that so cozen' d and deceiv'd us ? 
I'll carry hence the trophy of your spoils : 
My men shall hunt you too upon the start, 
And course you soundly. 

Maud. I shall make them sport, 
And send some home without their legs or arms 
I'll teach them to climb stiles, leap ditches, 

ponds. 
And lie in the waters, if they follow me, 
Rob. Out, murmuring hag. 

[Exeunt all but M.iCD 
Maud. I must use all my powers. 
Lay all my wits to piecing of this loss. 



THE SAD SHEPHERD. 



G15 



Things run unluckily : where's my Puck- hairy ? 
Hath he forsook me ? 

Enter Puck.-h.\iry. 
Puck. At your beck, madam. 
Maud. O Puck, my goblin ! I have lost my 
belt, [me. 

ITie strong thief, Robin Outlaw, forced it from 
Puck. They are other clouds and blacker 
threat you, dame ; 
You must be wary, and pull in your sails, 
And yield unto the weather of the tempest. 
You think your power's infinite as your malice, 
And would do all your anger prompts you to ; 
But j'ou must wait occasions, and obey them : 
Sail in an egg-shell, make a straw your mast, 



A cobweb all your cloth, and pass unseen. 
Till you have" 'scaped the rocks that are about 
you. 

Maud. AVhat rocks about me ? 

Pack. I do love, madam, 
To shew you all your dangers, — when you're 

past them ! 
Come, follow me, I'll once more be your pilot, 
And you shall thank me. 'Exit, 

Maud. Lucky, my loved goblin ! 

[As she is going out, Lorel meets Tier. 
Where are j'OU gaang now r 

JLor. Unto my tree. 
To see my maistress. 

Maud. Gang thy gait, and try 
Thy turns with better luck, or haucj thyssl. — 



THE FALL OF MORTIMER. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



The First Act comprehends Mortimer's pride and secu- 
rity, raised to the degree of an earl, by the queen's favor 
and love ; with the counsels of Adam d'Orlton, the politic 
bishop of Worcester, against LancasteT. 

The Chorus of Ladies, cehlirating the worthiness of the queen, 
t?j rewarding Mortimer's services, and ijie bishop's. 

The Second Act shews the king's love and respect to his 
motlior; that will hear nothing against Mortimer's greatness, 
or believe any report of her extraordinary favors to him ; 
aiit imputes all to his cousin Lancaster's envy, and com- 
mands thereafter an utter silence of those matters. 

The Chorus of Courtiers celebrating the king's worthiness of 
nature, and affection to his mother, who will hear -nothing 
that may trench upon her honor, though delivered by his 
kinsman, of such near?icss ; and thcrihy take occasion to ex,- 
tol the king's piety, and their own happiness under such a king. 

The Third Act relates (by the occasion of a vision the 
blind earl of Lancaster had) to the king's brother, earl of 
Cornwall, the horror of their father's death, and the cun- 



ning making away of their uncle, the earl ci Kent, by 

Mortimer's hired practice. 

The Chorus of Country Justices, and their TVives, telling how 
they recre deluded, and made believe the old king lived, by the 
shew of him in Corfe Castle ; and how they saw him eat, ami 
use his knife like the old king, 4"c. with the description of the 
feigned lights and masques there, that deceived them, all 
which came from the court. 

The Fourth Act expresseth, by conference between the 
king and his brother, a change, and intention to explore the 
truth of those reports, and a charge of employing W. 
Mountacute to get the keys of the castie of Nottingham 
into the king's power, and draw the constable, sir Robert 
d'Eland, to their party. 

Mortimer's security, scorn of the nobility, too much familiarity 
with the queen, related by the Chorus. The report of tho 
king's surprising him in his mother's bed chamber ; a gen- 
eral gladness. His being sent to execution. 

The Fifth Act,the earl of Lancaster's following the cry,aud 
meeting the report. The celebration of tho king's justict" 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE'. 



Mortimer, Earl of March. 

ADAM D'Orlton, Bishop cf H'orccsier. 

Edward ![[., King of England. 

John, the King's Brother, Earl of CormcaU. 

Henry, the King's Cousin, Earl of Lancaster 

W. Mountacute, King's Servant. 



Ro. D'Eland, Constable of JVottingham Caatia 
NUNCIUS, or a Herald. 

Isabel, Q^ueen Mother. 

Cherus o/ Ladies, Knights, Esquires, Ijfa 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — The Palace, 

Enter Moktimer. 
Mor. This rise is made yet, and wc now stand 
rank'd 
To view about us, all that were above us ! 
Nought hinders now our prospect, all are even, 
We wallc upon a level. Mortimer 
Is a great lord of late, and a new thing ' 
A prince, an carl, and cousin to the king. 
At what a divers price, do divers men 
Act the same things ! another might have had 
Perhaps the hxirdlc, or at least the axe, 
For what I have this crownet, robes, and wax. 
There is a fate that flies with towering spirits 
Homo to the mark, and never checks at con- 
science. 
Poor plodding priests, and preaching friars may 
Their hollow pulpits, and the empty iles [make 
Of churches ring with that round Avord : but we 
That draw the subtile and more piercing air, 
In that sublimed region of a court, 
Know all is good, we make so ; and go on 
S&ctired by the prosperity of our crimes. 



To-day is Mortimer made Earl of March, 
For what ? For that, the very thinking it 
AVould make a citizen start ; some politic trades- 
Curl with the caution of a constable ! [mau 
But I, who am no common-council-man, 
Knew injuries of that dark nature done 
Were to be thoroughly done, and not be left 
To fear of a revenge : they are light offences 
Which admit that : the great ones get above it. 
Man doth not nurse a deadlier piece of folly 
To his high temper, and brave soul, than that 
Of fancying goodness, and a scale to live by 
So differing from man's life. As if with lions, 
Bears, tygers, wolves, and all those beasts of 

prey, 
He would affect to be a sheep ! Can man 
Neglect what is so, to attain what should be. 
As rather he will call on his own ruin. 
Than work to assure his safety ? I should think 
When 'mongst a world of bad, none can be 

good, 
(I mean, so absolutely good and perfect, 
As our religious confessors Avould have us) 
It is enough we do decline the rumor 
Of doing monstrous things : And yet, if those 
G16 



SCENE 1 



THE FAIiL OF MOmiMER. 



617 



Were of emolument unto our ends, 

Even of those, the wise man will make friends, 

For all the brand, and safely do the ill, 

As usurers rob, or our physicians kill. 

Enter Isabel. 

Isah. My lord ! sweet Mortiirtor ! 

it/or. My queen ! my mistress ! 
My sovereign, nay, my goddess, and my Juno ! 
What name or title, as a mark of power 
Upon me, should I give you ? 

Isab. Isabel, 
Your Isabel, and you my Mortimer : 
Which are the marks of parity, not power, 
And these are titles best become our love. 

Mor. Can you fall under those ? 

Isab. Yes, and be happy. 



Walli forth, my loved and gentle Mortimer, 
And let my longing eyes enjoy their feast, 
And fill of thee, my fair-shaped, godlike man. 
Thou art a banquet unto all my senses : 
Thy form doth feast mine eye, thy voice mine 

ear, 
Thy breath my cnifll, thy every kiss my taste, 
And softness of thy skin, my very touch. 
As if I felt it ductile through my blood. 
I ne'er was reconciled to tnese robes, 
This garb of England, till I saw thee in them. 
Thou mak'st they seem not boisterous nor rud& 
Like my rough haughty lords de Enrjla-terre 
With Avhom I have so many years bee!i trou- 
bled. 
Mor. But now redeem'd, and set at littity 
Qaccn 'A yuurself and them — 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



rcjNT FERNEZE. 

Loud Paulo Ferxeze, his Son. 
Camillo Ferjieze, supposed Gasper. 
JTaximilian, Oenrral of the Forces. 
ClIAMONT, Friend to GASPER. 
AngELO, Friend to PaULO. 

Francisco Colonnia. 

JaQUEs de Prie, a Begrrar 

Antonio Balladino, Pageant Poet. 

Christophero, Count Ferneze's Steward. 

Sebastian, 

Martino, y , . g 

Vincentio, '^ 

Ealthasar, 



Valentine, Servant to Colonnia 
Peter Onion, Oroom of the llaU. 
Juniper, a Cobler. 
Pacue, Page to Gasper. 
FiNIO, Page to CaMILLO. 

Pago to Paulo. 



AURELIA, 

Phcenixella, 
Rachel de Prie. 



Vauahters to Count FERNEZE. 



Sewer, Messenger, Servants, ^x. 



SCENE, — MiLAX. 



ACT I. 

SCENE L— After a flourish. 

JuxiPER is discovered, sitting at xoork in his shop, 
and singing. 
Jun. You woful wights, give ear a while. 
And mark the tenor of nig stgle. 
Which shall such tremhling hearts unfold, 
As seldom hath to fore been told. 
Such chances rare, and doleful netcs, 

Enter Onion, in haste. 

Oni. Fellow Juniper ! peace a God's name. 

Jun. As may attemi'tt your wits to muse. 

Oni. Od's so, hear, man ! a pox on you ! 

Jun. And cause such trickling tears to pass, 
flxcept your hearts be flint, or brass : 

Oni. Juniper ! Juniper ! 

Jun. To hear the neios lohich I shall tell, 
That in Castclla once befel. — 
Sblood, where didst thou learn to corrupt a 
man in the midst of a verse, ha ? 

Oni. Od'slid, man, service is ready to go up, 
man ; you must slip on your coat, and come in ; 
■we lack waiters pitifullJ^ 

Jun. A pitiful hcarin<^ ; for now must I of a 
merry cobler become [a] mourning creature. 

Oni. Well, you'll come ? 

Jun. Presto. Go to, a word to the wise ; 
away, fly, vanish ! [Exit Onion. 

Lie there the Aveeds that I disdain to wear. 

Enter Antonio Balladino. 

Ant. God save j'ou, master Juniper ! 

Jun. What, signior Antonio Balladino ! wel- 
come, sweet ingle. 

Ant. And how do you, sir ? 

Jun. Faith you see, put to my shifts here, as 
poor retainers be oftentimes. Sirrah Antony, 



there's one of my fellows mightily enamour' d of 
thee ; and i'faith, you slave, now you are come, 
I'll bring you together : it's Peter Onion, the 
groom of the hall ; do you know him ? 

Ant. No, not yet, I assure you. 

Jun. O, he is one as right of thy humor as 
may be, a plain simple rascal, a true dunce ; 
marry, he hath been a notable villain in his 
time : he is in love, sirrah, with a weiich, and I 
have preferred thee, to him ; thou shalt make 
him some pretty paradox or some allegory. How 
does my coat sit ? well ? 

Ant. Ay, very well. 

Re-enter Oniox. 

Oni. Nay, God's so, fellow Juniper, come away. 

Jun. Ai-t thou there, mad slave ? I come with 
a powder ! Sirrah, fellow Onion, I must have 
you peruse this gentleman well, and do him 
good offices of respect and kindness, as instance 
shall be given. [Exit. 

Ant. Nay, good master Onion, what do you 
mean ? I pray you, sir — you are too respective, 
in good faith. 

Oni. I would not you should think so, sir ; 
for though I have no learning, yet I honor a 
scholar in any ground of the earth, sir. Shall I 
request your name, sir ? 

Ant. My name is Antonio Balladino. 

Oni. Balladino ! you are not pageant poet to 
the city of Milan, sir, are you ? 

Ant. I supply the place, sir, when a worse 
cannot be had, sir. 

Oni. I cry you merc}', sir ; Hove you the bet- 
ter for that, sir ; by Jesu, you must pardon me, 
I knew you not ; but I would pray to be better 
acquainted with you, sir : I have seen of your 
works. 

Ant. I am at your service, good master Onion j 
but concerning this maiden that you love, sir 
what is she .' 

618 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



619 



Oni. O, did my fellow Juniper tell you ? 
Marry, sir, she is, as one may say, but a poor 
man's child indeed, and for mine own part, I am 
lio gentleman born, I must confess ; but m>/ mind 
to me a kinr/dom is. 

Ant. Truly a very good saying. 

Oni, 'Tis somewhat stale ; but that's no matter. 

Ant. 'tis the better ; such things ever are 
like bread, which the staler it is, the more whole- 
some. 

Oni. This is but a hungry comparison, in my 
judgment. 

Ant. Why I'll toll you, master Onion, I do 
use as much stale stuff, though I say it myself, 
as any man does in that kind, I am sure. Did 
you see the last pageant I set forth ? 

Oni. No faith, sir ; but there goes a huge re- 
port on't. 

Ant. Why you shall be one of my Msecen- 
asses : I'll give you one of the books ; O you'll 
like it admirably. 

Oni. Nay, that's certain ; I'll get my fellow 
Juniper to read it. 

Ant. Read it, sir ! I'll read it to you. 

Oni. Tut, then I shall not choose but like it. 

Ant. Why look you, sir, I -^vrite so plain, and 
keep that old decorum, that you must of neces- 
sity like it : marry you shall have some now (as 
for example, in plays) that will have every day 
new tricks, and write you nothing but humors : 
indeed this pleases the gentlemen, but the com- 
mon sort they care not for't ; they know not 
what to make on't ; they look for good matter 
the/, and are not edified with such toys. 

Oni. You are in the right, I'll not give a half- 
penny to see a thousand of them. I was at one 
the last term ; but an ever I see a more roguish 
thing, I am a piece of cheese, and no Onion ; 
nothing but kings and princes in it ; the fool 
came not out a jot. 

Ant. True, sir ; they would have me make 
such plays ; but as I tell them, and they'll give 
me twenty pounds a-^jlay, I'll not raise my vein. 

Oni. No, it -were a vain thing an you should, 
sir. 

Ant. Tut, give me the penny, give me the 
penny, I care not for the gentlemen, I ; let me 
have a good ground, no matter for the pen, the 
plot shall carry it. 

Oni. Indeed that's right, you are in print al- 
ready for the best plotter. 

Ant. Ay, I might as -well have" been put in for 
a dumb shew too. 

Oni. Ay, marry, sir, I marie you were not. 
Stand aside, sir, a while. — [Exit Antonio. 

[An armed Sewer, foUoived by Jvsifbb., Se- 

BA3T1A.N, MaETINO, BaLTIIASAR, ViNCEN- 

Tio, and other Servants in mourninrj, with 
dishes, §c. 2)asses over the stage. 

Enter Valentine. 
How now, friend, what are you there ? be un- 
covered. Would you speak with any man 
here ? 

Val. Ay, or else I must have returned you no 
answer. 

Oni. Friend, yoix are somewhat too perempto- 
ry, let's crave your absence ; naj-, never scorn 
it, I am a little your bcitter in this place. 



Val. I do acknowledge it. 

Oni. Do you acknowledge it ? nay, then you 
shall go forth ; I'll teach you how [you] shall 
acknowledge it another time ; go to, void, I must 
have the hall purged ; no setting up of a rest 
here ; pack, begone ! 

Val. I pray you, sir, is not your name Onion ? 

Oni. Your friend as you may use him, and 
master Onion ; say on. 

Val. Master Onion, with a murrain ! come, 
come, put off this lion's hide, your ears have 
discovered you. Why, Peter ! do not I know 
you, Peter ? 

Oni. God's so, Valentine ! 

Val. O, can you take knowledge of me now, 
sir ? 

Oni. Good Lord, sirrah, how thou art altered 
with thy travel ! 

Val. Nothing so much as thou art with thine 
office ; but, su-rah Onion, is the count Ferneze 
at home ? 

Oni. Ay, bully, he is above, and the lord Paulc 
Ferneze, his son, and madam Aurelia and madarc 
Phoenixella, his daughters ; but, O Valentine ! 

Val. How now, man ! how dost thou ? 

Oni. Faith, sad, heavy, as a man of my coat 
ought to be. 

Val. Why, man, thou wert merry enough 
even now. 

Oni. True ; but thou knowest 

All creatures here sojourning, 
Upon this wretched earth, 
Sometimes have a fit of mourning, 
As well as a fit of mirth. 

O Valentine, mine old lady is dead, man. 

Val. Dead! 

Oni, I'faith. 

Val. When died she ? 

Oni. Marry, to-morrow shall be three months, 
she was seen going to heaven, they say, about 
some five weeks agone — how now ? trickling 
tears, ha ! 

Val. Faith, thou hast made me weep with this 
news. 

Oni. Why I have done but the jiart of an 
Onion ; you must pardon me. 

Re-enter the Sewer, followed hij the Servants with 
dishes, as before ; they all pass over the stage 
but Juniper. 

Jim. What, Valentine ! fellow Onion, take my 
dish, I prithee. [Exit Onion loith the dish.] Y'ou 
rogue, sirrah, tell me how thou dost, sweet in- 
gle. 

Val. Faith, Juniper, the better to see thee thus 
frcelich. 

Jan. Nay ! slid I am no changeling, I am Ju- 
niper still, I keep the pristinate ; ha, you mad 
hieroglyphic, when shall we swagger ? 

Val. Hieroglyphic ! . what meanest thou by 
that ? 

Jtin. Mean ! od'so, is it not a good word, 
man? what, stand upon meaning with your 
friends ? Puhi abscond. 

Val, Why, but stay, stay ; how long has this 
sprightly humor haunted thee ? 

Jan. iPoh, humor ! a foolish natural gift we 
have in the iEq^uinoxial. 



S20 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Val. Natural ! slid it may be supernatural, 
this. 

Ju7i. Valentine, I prithee ruminate thyself 
welcome. What, fortuna de la giierra ! 

Val. O how pitifully are these words forced ! 
as though thoy were pumpt out on's belly. 

jun. Sirrah ingle, I think thou hast seen all 
the strange countries in Christendom since thou 
■went' St. 

Val. I have seen some, Juniper. 

Jun. You have seen Constantinople? 

Val. Ay, that I have. 

Jim. And Jerusalem, and the Indies, and 
Goodwin-sands, and the tower of Babylon, and 
Venice, and all? 

Val. Ay, all ; no marie an he have a nunble 
tongue, if he practise to vault thus from one 
side of the world to another. [Aside. 

Jim. O, it's a most heavenly thing to travel, 
and see countries ; especially at sea, an a man 
had a patent not to be sick. 

Val, 0, sea-sick jest, and full of the scurvy ! 

Re-enter Sebastian-, Martixo, Vxxcentio, and 
Balthasak. 

Seh. Valentine ! welcome, i'faith ; how dost, 
Birrah ? • 

Mar. How do you, good Valentine ? 

Vin. Troth, Valentine, I am glad to see you. 

Bait. Welcome, sweet rogue. 

Seh. Before God, he never look'd better in his 
life. 

Bait. And how is't, man ? what alio coragio ! 

Val. Never better, gentleman, i'faith. 

Jun. 'Swill ! here comes the steward. 

Enter Christopheeo. 

Chris. Why, how now, fellows ! all here, and 
nobody to wait above, now they are ready to 
rise ? look up, one or two. [Exeunt Juniper, 
Martino, and Vincentio.] Signior Francisco 
Colonnia's man, how does our good master ? 

Val. In health, sir ; he will be here anon. 

Chris. Is he come home, then ? 

Val. Ay, sir ; he is not past six miles hence ; 
he sent me before to learn if Count Ferneze 
were here, and return him word. 

Chris. Yes, my lord is here ; and you may 
tell your master, he shall come very happily to 
take his leave of lord Paulo Ferneze ; who is 
now instantly to depart, with other noble gen- 
tlemen, upon special service. . 

Val. I will tell him, sir. 

Chris. I pray you do ; fellows, make him 
drink. 

Val. Sirs, what service is it they are employed 
in ? 

Seb. Why, against the French ; they mean to 
have a fling at Milan again, thoy say. 

Val. Who leads our forces, can you tell ? 

Seh. Marry, that docs Signior Maximilian ; he 
is above now. 

Val. Who, ]\Iaximilian of Vincenza ? 

Bait. Ay, he ; do you know him ? 

Val. Know him ! O yes, he s an excellent 
brave soldier. 

Bait. Ay, so they say ; but one of the most 
vain- glorious men in Europe. 

Val. He isj indeed ; marrv, exceeding valiant. 



Seb. And that is rare. 

Bait. What? 

Seb. Why, to see a vain-glorious man valiant 

Val. Well, he is so, I assure you. 

Re-enter Juniper. 

Jun. What, no further yet ! come on, you 

precious rascal, sir Valentine, I'll give you a 

health i'faith, for the heavens, you mad Capricio, 

hold hook and line. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Count Ferneze's 
House. 

Enter Lord Paulo Ferneze, /o/foitrrf by his Page. 

Pan, Boy ! 

Paye. My lord. 

Pau. Sirrah, go up to signior Angelo, 
And praj' him, if he can, devise some means 
To leave my father, and come speak with me. 

Pafje. I will, my lord. [Exit. 

Pau. AVell, heaven be auspicious in the event, 
For I do this against my Genius ! 
And yet my thoughts cannot propose a reason 
AVhy I should fear, or faint thus in my hopes, 
Of one so much endeared to my love. 
Some spark it is, kindled within the soul. 
Whose light yet breaks not to the outward sense, 
That propagates this timorous suspect ; 
His actions never carried any face 
Of change, or weakness ; then I injure him 
In being thus cold-conceited of his faith. , 
O, here he comes. 

Re-enter Page zoiih Angelo. 

Any. How now, sweet lord, what's the mat- 
ter ? 

Pau. Good faith, his presence makes me half 
ashamed 
Of my stray'd thoughts. — Boy, bestow youT- 
self. — [Exit Page. 

Whore is my father, signior Angelo ? 

Any. Marry, in the gallery, where your lord- 
ship loft him. 

Pan. That's well. Then, Angelo, I wUl be brief, 
Since time forbids the use of circumstance. 
How well you are received in my affection. 
Let it appear by this one instance only, 
That now I will deliver to your trust 
The dearest sec];ets, treasured in my bosom. 
Dear Angelo, you are not every man. 
But one, whom my election hath design'd, 
As the true proper object of my soul. 
I urge not this to insinuate my desert. 
Or supple your tried temper with soft phrases ; 
True friendship loathes such oily compliment : 
But from the abundance of that love that flows 
Through all my spirits, is mj' speech enforced. 

Any. Before your lordship do proceed too far, 
Let me be bold to intimate thus nuich ; 
That Avhatsoc'er your -wisdom hath to exjDOse^ 
Be it the Aveightiest and most rich affair 
That ever was included in your breast, 
;My faith shall poise it, if not 

Pau. O, no more ; 
Those words have rapt me Avith their sweet 

effects, 
So freely breath' d, and so responsible 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



621 



To that Avhich I endeavor" d to extract ; 
Arguing a happy mixture of oui- souls. 
Anff, Wh}-, Avere there no such sympathy, 
sweet lord, 
Yet the impressure of those ample favors 
I have derived from your umnatched spirit, 
Would bind my faith to all observances. 

Pate. How ! favors, Angolo ! O speaJc not of 
them, 
They are mere paintings, and import no merit. 
Looks my love well ? thereon my hopes are 

placed ; 
Faith, that is bought with favors cannot last. 

He-enter Page. 

Pa(je. My lord. 

Pati. How now ! 

Pa(je. You are sought for all about the house 
within ; the count your father calls for you. 

Pau. Lord ! 
What cross events do meet my purposes ! 
Now will he violently fret and grieve 
That I am absent. — Boy, say I come presently. 

[Exit Boy. 
Sweet Angelo, I cannot now insist 
Upon pai-ticulars, I must serve the time ; 
The main of all this is, I am in love. 

Anr/. Why starts your lordship ? 

Pau. I thought I heard my father coming 
hitherward, 
List, ah ! 

Aiiff. I hear not any thing. 
It was but vour imagination sure. 

Pau. No"! 

Auff. No, I assure your lordship 

Pau. I would work safely. 

Anff. Wh}-, 
Has he no knowledge of it then ? 

Pau. O no ; 
No creature yet partakes it but yourself, 
In a third person ; and believe me, friend, 
The world contains not now another spirit, 
To whom I would reveal it. Hark ! hark !. 

Servants tvithin.] Signior Paulo ! lord Ferneze ! 

Anr/. A pox upon those brazen-throated slaves ! 
What, are they mad, trow ? 

Pau. Alas, blame not them, 
Their services are, clock-like, to be set 
Backward and forward, at their lord's command. 
You know my father's wayward, and his humor 
Must not receive a check ; for then all objects 
Feed both his grief and his impatience. 
And those affections in liim are like powder. 
Apt to inflame with every little spark. 
And blow up reason ; therefore, Angelo, peace. 

Count F. [within.] Why, this is rare ; is he not 
in tlie garden ? 

Chris, [loithin.] I knoAV not, my lord. 

Count F. [ioithin.] Sec, call him. 

Pau. He is coming this way, let's withdraw a 
little. [Exeunt. 

Ser. [within.'] Signior Paulo ! lord Ferneze ! 
lord Paulo ! 

Enter Count Ferneze, Maximiliax, Aurelia, 
Phcexixella, Sebastian, and Balthasak. 
Count F. Where shoidd he be, trow ? did yoti 

look in the armory ? 
Seb. No, my lord. 



Count F. No ? why there ! O, who would 
keep such drones ! — 

[Exeunt Seb. atul B.Um 

Enter Martino. 
How now, have you found him ? 
ilarf. No, my lord. 
Cmmt F. No, my lord ! 
I shall have shortly all my family speak nought 
but, No, my hrd. Where is Clmstophero 1 
Look how he stands ! you sleepy knave — 

[Exit Martino 

Enter Christophero. 
What, is he not in the garden ? 
Chris. No, my good lord. 
Count F. Your good hrd ! O, how this smella 
of fennel ! [well. 

You have been in the garden, it appears : weU, 

Re-enter Sebastian and Balth.vsae. 

Bal. We cannot find him, my lord. 

Seb. He is not in the armory. 

Count F. He is not ! he is no where, is he ? 

Max. Count Ferneze ! 

Count F. Signior. 

Max. Preserve your patience, honorable count. 

Count F. Patience ! 
A saint would lose his patience, to be crost 
As I am, with a sort of motley brains ; 
See, sec, how like a nest of rooks they stand 
Gaping on one another ! 

Enter Ontox. 

Now, Diligence ! 
What iie-vys bring you ? 

Oni. An't please yovir honor — 

Count F. Tut, tut, leave pleasing of my honor. 
You double with me, come. [Diligence ! 

Oni. How I does he find fault with please his 
honor ? 'Swoui!ds, it has begun a serving-man'a 
speech, ever since I belonged to the blue order 
I know not how it may shew, now I am in black ; 
but — [Aside. 

Count F. What's that you mutter, sir ; Avill 
you'proceed ? 

Oni. An't like your good lordship — 

Count F. Yet more ! od's precious ! 

Oni. What, does not this like liim neither ? 

[Aside. 

Count F. What say you, sir knave ? 

Oni. MaiTy, I sa.y j'our lordship were best to 
set me to school again, to learn how to deliver a 
message. 

Count F. What, do you take exceptions at me 
then r 

Oni. Exceptions ! I take no exceptions ; bnt, 
by god's so, your humors — 

Count F, Go to, you are a rascal ; hold youi 
tongue. 

Oni. Y^'our lordship's poor servant, I. 

Count F. Tempt not my patience. 

Oni. Why I hope I am no spirit, am I ? 

Max. My lord, command your steward to cor- 
rect the slave. 

Oni. Correct him ! 'sblood, come you and 
correct him, an you have a mind to it. Correct 
him ! that's a good jest, i'f;^ith : the steward and 
you both come and correct him. 



622 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Count F. Nay, see ! away -\nth liim, pull his 
cloth over his ears. 

Oni. Cloth ! tell me of your cloth ! here's 
your cloth ; nay, an I mourn a minute longer, I 
am the rottencst Onion that ever spake with a 
tonn'uc. [They thrust him out. 

Max. ^\^lat call [you] your hind's [name,] 
Count Ferneze ? 

Count F. His name is Onion, signior. 

Max. I thought him some such saucy com- 
panion. 

Cotint F. Signior Maximilian. 

Max. Sweet lord. 

Count F. Let me entreat you, you would not 
regard 
Any contempt flowing from such a spirit ; 
So rude, so barbarous. 

Max. Most noble coujit, 
Under joux favor — 

Count F. Why, I'll tell you, signior ; 
He'll bandy with me word for word ; nay more. 
Put me to silence, strike me perfect dumb ; 
And so amaze me, that often-times I know not 
Whether to check or cherish his presumption : 
Therefore, good signior — 

Max. Sweet lord, satisfy yourself, I am not 
now to learn how to manage my affections ; I 
have observed, and know the difference between 
a base wretch and a true man ; I can distinguish 
them : the property of the wretch is, he would 
hurt, and cannot ; of the man, he can hurt, and 
will not. [AuRELiA smiles. 

Count F. Go to, my merry daughter ; O, these 
looks 
Agree well with your habit, do they not ? 

Enter Juniper, in his Cobkr's dress. 

Jun. Tut, let me alone. By your favor, — 
this is the gentleman, I think : sir, you appear 
to be an honorable gentleman; I understand, 
and could wish for mine own part, that things 
were conden't otherwise than they are : but, the 
world knoAvs, a foolish fellow, somewhat pi-oclive 
and hasty, he did it in a prejudicate humor ; 
marry now, upon better computation, he wanes, 
he melts, his poor eyes arc in a cold sweat. 
Right noble signior, you can have but compunc- 
tion ; I love the man ; tender your compassion. 

Max. Doth any man here understand this 
fellow ? 

Jun. O Lord, sir ! I may say frusfra to the 
comprehension of your intellection. 

Max. Before the Lord, he speaks all riddle, I 
think. I must have a comment ere I can conceive 
him. 

Count F. Why he sues to have his fellow On- 
ion pardon' d ; and you must grant it, signior. 

]\Iax. O, with all my soul, my lord ; is that 
his motion ? 

Jun. Ay, sir ; and we shall retort these kind 
favors Avith aU alacrity of spirit Ave can, sir, as 
may be most expedient, as avcU for the quality 
as the cause ; till AA'hcn, in spite of this compli- 
ment, I rest a poor coblcr, servant to my honor- 
able lord here, your friend and Juniper. [Exit. 

Max. HoAV, Juniper ! 

Count F. Ay, signior. 

Max. He is a sAveat youth, his tongue has a 
happy turn- AA-hen he sleeps. 



Enter Paulo Ferxeze, Francisco Colonnlv 
AxGELO, and Valentine. 

Count F. Ay, for then it rests. — O, sir, you're 
Avelcome. 
Why, God be thanked, you are found at last : 
Signior Colonnia, truly you are Avelcome, 
I am glad to see you, su-, so avcII return'd. 

Fran. I gladly thank yoiu: honor ; 3'et, indeed, 
I am sorry for such cause of heaviness 
As hath possest your lordship in my absence. 

Count F. O, Francisco, you kncAV her AA-hat 
she Avas ! 

Fran. She Avas a AA-ise and honorable lady. 

Count F. Ay, Avas she not I avcU, Aveep not, 
she is gone. 
Passion's dull'd eye can make tAVO griefs of one. 
Whom death marks out, virtue nor blood can 

save : 
Princes, as beggars, all must feed the grave. 

Max. Are your horses ready, lord Paulo ? 

Pau. Ay, signior ; they stay for us at the gate. 

Max. Well, 'tis good. — Ladies, I Avill take 
my leaA'G of you ; be your fortunes, as your- 
selves, fair ! — Come, let us to horse ; Count 
Ferneze, I bear a spirit full of thanks for all 
your honorable courtesies. 

Count F. Sir, I could Avish the number and 
value of them more, in respect of your deserv- 
ings. But, signior Maximilian, I pray you a 
Avord in private. [Tltey walk aside. 

Aur. I'faith, brother, you are fitted for a gen- 
eral yonder. Beshrew my heart if I had For- 
tunatas' hat here, an I Avould not wish raj'self 
a man, and go Avith you, only to enjoy his pres- 
ence. 

Pau. AVhy, do you love him so Avell, sister ? 

Aur. No, by my troth ; but I have such an 
odd pretty apprehension of his humor, methinks, 
that I am e'en tickled Avith the conceit of it. O, 
he is a fine man. 

Any. And metliinks another may bo as fbie 
as he. 

Aur. O, Angelo ! do j'ou think I urge any 
comparison against you ? no, I am not so ill bred, 
as to be a depraver of your Avorthiness : belicA^e 
me, if I had not some hope of your abiding Avith 
us, I should never desire to go out of black 
Avhilst I lived ; but learn to speak in the nose, 
and turn puritan presentlA". 

Any. I thank you, lady ; I knoAV you can flout. 

Aur. Come, do you take it so ? i'faith, you 
Avrong me. 

Fran. Ay, but madam, 
TIius to disclaim in all the effects of pleasure, 
;May make j^our sadness seem too much affected 
And then the proper grace of it is lost. 

Phan. Indeed, sir, if I did put on this sadness 
Only abroad, and in society, 
And Avere in priA-ate merry, and quick humor' d, 
ITien might it seem affected, and abhorr'd : 
But, as my looks appear, such is my spirit, 
DroAATi'd up with confluence of grief and meL 

ancholy ; 
That, like to rivers, run through all my veins, 
Quenching the pride and fervor of my blood. 

Max. My honorable lord, no more. 
There is the honor of my blood engaged 
For your son's safety. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



C23 



Count F. Siguior, blame me not 
For tending his security so much ; 
He is mine only son, and that word only 
Hath, T^'ith his strong and rcpercussive sound, 
Struck my heart cold, and given it a deep wound. 

Max. "VVliy, but stay, I Deseech you ; had yom- 
lordship ever any more sons than this ? 

Count F. Why, have not you known it, Max- 
imilian ? 

Max. Let my sword fail me then. 

Count F. I had one other, younger born than 
By twice so many hours as would till [tliis. 

The circle of a year, liis name Caraillo, 
Whom in that black and fearful night I lost, 
('Tis now a nineteen j-ears agone at least, 
And j'ct the memory of it sits as fresh 
Within my brain as 'twere but yesterday) 
It was that night wherein the great Chamont, 
The general for France, surprised Vicenza ; 
Methinks the horror of that clamorous shout 
His soldiers gave, when they attain'd the wall, 
Yet tingles in mine ears : methinks I see 
With what amazed looks, distracted thoughts. 
And minds confused, we, that were citizens, 
Confronted one another ; every street 
Was fill'd with bitter self-tormenting cries, 
And happy was that foot, that first could press 
The flowery champain bordering on Verona. 
Here I, employ'd about my dear wife's safety, 
Whose soul is now in peace, lost my Camillo ; 
Who sure was murder'd by the barbarous sol- 
diers. 
Or else I should have heard — my heart is great. 
" Sorrow is faint, and passion makes me sweat." 

Max. Grieve not, sweet count, comfort your 
spirits ; you have a son, a noble gentleman, he 
stands in the face of honor ; for his safety let 
that be no question ; I am master of my fortune, 
and he shall share with me. Farewell, my 
honorable lord : ladies, once more adieu. For 
yourself, madam, you are a most rai-e creature, 
I tell you so, be not proud of it : I love you. — 
Come, lord Paulo, to horse. 

Pau. Adieu, good signior Francisco ; farewell, 
sisters. [.4 tucket sounds. Exeunt severally. 

SCENE III. — The Street before Jaques de 
Pkie's House. 

Enter Paulo Ferneze, and Axgelo, followed by 
Maximili.vx. 

Any. How shall we rid hun hence ? 

Pau. Why well enough. — Sweet signior Max- 
imilian, 
I have some small occasion to stay ; 
If it may please you but take horse afore, 
I'll overtake you ere your troops be ranged. 

Max. Your motion doth taste well ; lord Fer- 
neze, I go. \^Exit. 

Pau. Now, if my love, fair Rachel, were so 
happy 
But to look forth. — See, fortune doth me grace 

Enter Rachel. 
Before I can demand. — How nov/, love ! 
Where is your father ? 

Each. Gone abroad, my lord. 

Pau. That's well. 



Each. Ay, but I fear he'll presently return. 
Are 3^ou now going, my most honor'd lord ? 

Pau. Ay, my sweet Rachel. 

Any. Before God, she is a sweet wench. 

[Aside, 

Pau. Rachel, I hope I shall not need to urge 
The sacred purity of our affects, 
As if it hung in trial or suspense ; 
Since, in our hearts, and by our mutual vows, 
It is confirm'd and seal'd in sight of heaven. 
Nay, do not weep ; why start you ? fear not, love ! 
Your father cannot be return' d so soon. 
I prithee do not look so heavily ; 
Thou shalt want nothing. 

Each. No ! is your presence nothing ? 
I shall want that, and wanting that, want all ; 
For that is all to me. 

Pau. Content thee, sweet ! 
I have made choice here of a constant friend. 
This gentleman ; one, [on] whose zealous love 
I do repose more, than on all the world. 
Thy beauteous self excepted ; and to him 
Have I committed my dear care of thee, 
As to my genius, or my other soul. 
Receive him, gentle love ! and what defects 
My absence proves, his presence shall supply. 
The time is envious of our longer stay. 
Farewell, dear Rachel ! 

Each. Most dear lord, adieu ! 
Heaven and honor cro-\vn your deeds and you. 

[Exit. 

Pau. Faith, tell mo, Angelo, how dost thou 
like her ? [my mind ? 

Any. Troth, well, my lord ; but, shall" I speak 

Pau. I prithee do. 

Any. She is derived too meanly to be wife 
To such a noble person, in my judgment. 

Pau. Nay, then thy judgment is too mean, I 
see : 
Didst thou ne'er read, in difference of good, 
'Tis more to shine in virtue than in blood. 

Any. Come, you are so sententious, my lord. 

Enter Jaques. 
Pau. Here comes her father. — How dost thou, 

good Jaques r 
Any. God save thee, Jaques ! 
Jaq. What should this mean ? — Rachel ! opeu 
the door. [ExiU 

Any. S'blood how the poor slave looks [aghast], 
as though 
He had been haunted by the spirit, Lar ; 
Or seen the ghost of some great Satrapas 
In an unsavory sheet. 

Pau. I muse he spake not ; 
Belike he was amazed, coming so suddenly, 
And unprepared. — Well, let us go. [Exeunt 



ACT 11. 

SCENE I. — The Court-yard at the bach of 
jAauEs' House. 

Enter Jaques. 

So, now enough, my heart, beat now no more 
At least for this affright. What a cold sweat 
Flow'd on my brows, and over all my bosom i 



524 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Had I not reason ? to behold my door 
Beset with unthrifts, and myself abroad ? 
WliA', Jaques ! was there nothing in the house 
Worth a continual eye, a vigilant thought, 
Whose head should never nod, nor eyes once 

wink ? [threadbare, 

Look on my coat, my thoughts, worn qmti 
That time could never cover with a nap. 
And by it learn, never with naps of sleep 
To smother j'our conceits of that you keep. 
But yet, I mai-vel why these gallant youths 
Spoke me so fair, and I esteem'd a beggar ! 
The end of flattery is gain, or lechery : 
If they seek gain of me, they think me rich ; 
But that they do not : for their other object, 
Tis in my handsome daughter, if it be : 
And, by your leave, her handsomeness may tell 

them 
My beggary counterfeits, and, that her neatness 
Flows from some store of wealth, that breaks my 

coffers 
With this same engine, love to mine own breed ; 
But this is ansAver'd : Beggars will keep fine 
Their daughters, being fair, though themselves 

pine. 
Well, then, it is for her ; ay, 'tis sure for her : 
And I make her so brisk for some of them. 
That I might live alone once with my gold ! 
O, tis a sweet companion ! kind and true ; 
A man may trust it when his father cheats him. 
Brother, or friend, or wife. O, wondrous pelf ! 
That which makes all men false, is true itself. — 
But now, this maid is but supposed my daughter; 
For I being steward to a lord of France, 
Of great estate and wealth, call'd lord Chamont, 
lie gone ijito the wars, I stole his treasure ; 
(But hear not any thing) I stole his treasure, 
And this his daughter, being but two years old. 
Because it loved mo so, that it would leave 
The nurse herself, to come into mine arms ; 
And had I left it, it would sure have died. 
Now herein I Avas kind, and had a conscience : 
And since her lady-mother, that did die 
In child-bed of her, loved me passing well. 
It may be nature fashion'd this affection. 
Both in the child and her : but he's ill bred 
That ransacks tombs, and doth deface the dead. 
I'll therefore say no more ; siippose the rest. 
Here have I changed my form, my name and 

hers. 
And live obscurely, to enjoj' more safe 
My dearest treasure : But I must abroad. — 
Bachel ! 

Enter Hachel. 

Rcuih. What is your pleasure, sir ? 

Jaq. Rachel, I must abroad. 
Lock thyself in, but j'et take out the key ; 
That whosoever peeps in at the key-hole 
May 5'et imagine there is none at home. 

Rack. I will, sir. 

Jaq. But hark thee, Rachel ; say a thief should 
come. 
And miss the key, he would resolve indeed 
None were at home, and so break in the rather : 
Ope the door, Rachel ; set it open, daughter ; 
Bui sit in it thyself, and talk aloud. 
As if there Avere some more in th' house M'ith 
thee : 



Put out the firo, kill the chimney's heart, 
That it may breathe no more than a dead man , 
The more avc spare, my child, the more Ave gain. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — A Room in Count Ferneze's 
House. 

Enter Christopiiero, Jbniper, and Oniox. 

Chris. What says my felloAV Onion ? come on. 

Oni. All of a house, sir, hvA, no felloAvs ; you 
are my lord's steAvard : but, I pray you, Avhat 
think you of love, sir ? 

Chris. Of love. Onion ? AA'hy, it is a very hon- 
orable humor. 

Oni. Nay, if it be but Avorshipful, I care not. 

Jun. Go to, it is honorable ; check not at the 
conceit of the gentleman. 

Oni. But, in truth, sir, you shall do well to 
think Avell of love : for it thiiaks well of you, in 
me, I assure you. 

Chris. Gramercy, fellow Onion ; I do think 
Avell, thou art in love ; art thou ? 

Oni. Partly, sir ; but I am ashamed to say 
wholly. 

Chris. Well, I Avill further it in thee, to any 
honest Avoman, or maiden, the best I can. 

Jun. Why, now you come near him, sir ; he 
doth vail, ho doth remunerate, he doth choAv the 
cud, in the kindness of an honest imperfection 
to your Avorship. 

Chris. But, Avho is it thou lovest, felloAV 
Onion ? 

Oni. Marry, a poor man's daughter ; but none 
of the honestest, I hope. 

Chris, Why, Avouldst thou not have her hon- 
est ? 

Oni. O no, for then I am sure she would not 
have me. 'Tis Rachel de Prie. 

Chris. Why she hath the name of a very A'ir- 
tuous maiden. 

Jun. So she is, sir ; but the felloAV talks in 
quiddits, he. 

Chris. What Avouldst thou haA^e me do in the 
matter ? 

Oni. Do nothing, sir, I pray you, but speak 
for me. 

Chris. In what manner ? 

Oni. My felloAV Juniper can teU you, sir. 

Jun. Why, as thus, sir. Your Avorship may 
commend him for a felloAV fit for consanguinity, 
and that he shaketh Avith desire of procreation, 
or so. 

Chris. That Avere not so good, methinks. 

Jun. No, sir ! Avhy so, sir ? AVhat if you 
should say to her, Corroborate thyself, SAveet 
soul, let me distinguish thy paps Avith my lin- 
gers, divine Mumps, pretty Pastorella ! lookest 
thou so sweet and bounteous ? comfort ray friend 
here. 

Chris. Well, I perceive you AA-ish I should say 
something may do him grace, and further his 
desires ; and that, be sure, I Avill. 

Oni. I thank you, sir ; God save your life, I 
pray, sir. 

Jun. Your Avorship is too good to live long : 
you'll contaminate me no service. 

Chris. Command, thou Avouldst say ; no, good 
Jiuiiper. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



625 



Jun. Health and wealtli, sir. 

[Ejceunt Onion and Ju^-iper. 
Chris. Tliis wencli will I solicit for myself, 
Making my lord and master privy to it ; 
And if he second mc with his consent, 
I ■will proceed, as having long ere this, 
Thought her a worthy choice to make my wife. 

* [Exit. 

SCENE ' III. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Aueelia and Piicenixella. 

jMr. Room for a case of matrons, color'd 
black, 
How motherly my mother's death hath made us ! 
I would I had some girls now to bring up. 

I could make a wench so'virtiious, 

She should say grace to every bit of meat, 
A.nd gape no wider than a wafer's thickness ; 
And she should make French court'sies so most 
low, [ward. 

Tliat every touch should turn her over back- 
Pkccn. Sister, these words become not your 
attire, 
Nor your estate ; our virtuous mother's death 
Should print more deep effects of sorrow in us, 
Than may be worn out in so little time. [co, 
Aur. Sister, i'faith, you take too much tobac- 
It makes you black within, as you are without. 
What, true-stitch, sister ! both your sides alike ! 
Be of a slighter work ; for of my word. 
You shall be sold as dear, or rather dearer. 
Will you be bound to customs and to rites r 
Shed profitable tears, weep for advantage. 
Or else do all things as you are inclintid : 
Eat when j'our stomach serves, saith the phy- 
sician, 
Not at eleven and six. So if your humor 
Be now affected with this heaviness, 
Give it the reins, and spare not, as I do 
In this my pleasurable appetite. 
It is precisianism to alter that 
With austere judgment, that is given by nature. 

1 wept, you saw too, Avhen my mother died ; 
For then I found it easier to do so, 

And fitter with my mood, than not to weep : 
But now 'tis otherwise ; another time 
Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her, 
That I shall weep afresh some twelvemonth 

hence ; 
And I will weep, if I be so disf)osed. 
And put on black as grimly then as now. 
Let the mind go still with the body's stature, 
Judgment is fit for judges, give me nature. 

Enter Fbancisco Colonxia, and Axgelo. 
Fran. See, signior Angelo, here are the ladies ; 
Go you and comfort one, 111 to the other. 

Aug. Therefore I come, sir; I will to the 
eldest. 
God save you, ladies ! these sad moods of yours, 
That make you choose these solitary walks. 
Are hurtful for your beauties. 
Aur. If we had them. 

Ang. Come, that condition might be for your 

hearts, [them : 

When you protest faith, since we cannot see 

But this same heart of beauty, your sweet face, 

k in mine eye still. 

40 



A\tr. O, you cut my heart 
With your sharp eye. 

A)i,g. Na)', lady, that's not so. 
Your heart's too hard. 

Aur. My beauty's heart ? 

Ang. O no. 
I mean that regent of affection, madam. 
That tramples on all love with such contempt 
In this fair breast. 

Aur. No more, your drift is savor' d ; 
I had rather seem hard-hearted 

Ang. Than hard-favored ; 
Is that your meaning, lady ? 

Aur. Go to, sir; 
Your wits are fresh, I know, they need no spur, 

Ang. And therefore you will ride them. 

Aur. Say I do, 
They will not tire, I hope. 

Ang. No, not with you. 
Hark you, sweet lady. [ Walks aside icith Auk. 

Fran. "Tis much jpity, madam. 
You should have any reason to retain 
This sign of grief, much less the thing design'd. 

Phwn. Gi'iefs are more fit for ladies than theii' 
pleasures. 

Fran. That is for .«uch as follow nought but 
pleasures. 
But you that temper them so well with virtues, 
Using j'our griefs so, it would prove them pleas- 
ures ; [pleasures, 
And j'ou would seem, in cause of griefs and 
Equally pleasant. 

Phccn. Sir, !io I do now. 
It is the excess of either that I strive 
So much to shun, in all my proved endeavors, 
Although perhaps, luito ^ general eye, 
I may appear most wedded to my griefs ; 
Yet doth my mind forcake no taste of pleasuro. 
I mean that happy pleasure of the soul, 
Divine and sacred contemplation 
Of that eternal and most glorious bliss. 
Proposed as the crown unto our souls. 

Fran. 1 will be silent ; yet that I may serve 
But as a decade in the art of memory. 
To put you still in mind of your own virtues, 
When your too serious thoughts make you too 

sad. 
Accept me for your servant, honor'd lady. 

Fhmn. Those ceremonies are too common, 
signior. 
For your uncommon gravity and judgment, 
And fit them only that are nought but ceremony. 

Ang. Come, I will not sue stalely to be your 
servant. 
But a new term, will j'ou be my refuge ? 

[ Comes forward icith Acii. 

Aur. Your refuge ! why, sir r 

Ang. That I might Hy to you Avhen all else 
fail me. 

Aur. An you be good at flying, be my plover. 

Ang. Nay, take away the P. 

Aur. Tut, then you cannot fly. 

Ang. I'll warrant you : I'll borrow Cupid's 
Avings. 

Aur, Mass, then I fear me you will do strange 
things. 
I pray you blame me not, if I suspect you ; 
Your own confession simply doth detect j'ou. 
Nay, an you be so great in Cupid's books, 



026 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



'Twill make me jealous. You can with your 

looks, 
I warrant you, inflame a woman's heart, 
And at your pleasure take Love's golden dart. 
And wound the breast of any virtuous maid. 
Would I were hence ! good faith, I am afraid 
You can constrain me, one they be aware, 
To run mad for your love. 
Aiiff. 0, this is rare ! 

Enter Count Fekneze. 
Count F. Close with my daughters, gentle- 
men ! Avell done, 
"Tis like yourselves : nay, lusty Angelo, 
Let not my presence make you baulk your sport : 
I will not break a minute of discourse 
'Twixt you and one of j^our fair mistresses. 

Anff. One of my mistresses ! why thinks your 
I have so many ? [lordship 

Count F. Many ! no, Angelo, 
T do not think thou hast many ; some fourteen 
1 hear thou hast, even of our worthiest dames 
Of any note, in ^lilan. 
Anff. Nay, good my lord, fourteen ! it is not so. 
Count F. By the mass that is't ; here are their 
names to shew. 
Fourteen or fifteen to one. Good Angelo, 
You need not be ashamed of any of them, 
They are gallants all. 

Anff. 'Sblood ! you are such a lord. [Exit. 
Count F. Nay, stay, sweet Angelo, I am dis- 
posed 
A little to be pleasant past my custom — 
He's gone, he's gone ! I have disgraced him 

shrewdly. 
Daughters, take heed (jf him, he's a wild youth ; 
Look what he says to you, believe him not. 
He will swear love to every one he sees. 
Francisco, give them counsel, good Francisco, 
I dare trust thee with both, but him with neither. 
Fra?i. Your lordship yet may trust both them 

with him. 
Count F. "Well, go your ways, away ! — 

[Exeunt AuR., PncEX., and Francisco. 

Enter Christophero. 
How now, Christophero ! What news -\\-ith you ? 
Chris. I have an humble suit to your good 
lordship. [prithee? 

Count F. A suit, Christophero ! what suit, I 
Chris. I would crave pardon at your lord- 
ship's hands, 
If it seem vain or simple in your sight. 

Count F. I'll pardo7i all simplicity, Christo- 
What is thy suit ? [phero ; 

Chris. Perhaps, being now so old a bachelor, 
I shall seem half imwise, to bend myself 
In strict affection to a poor young maid. 

Count F. What, is it touching love, Christo- 
phero r 
Art thou disposed to marry ! why, 'tis well. 
Chris. Ay, but your lordship may imagine 
now, 
That I, being steward of your honor's house, 
If I be married once, will more regard 
The maintenance of my wife, and of my charge, 
Than the due discharge of my place and office. 
Count F. No, no, Christophero, I know thee 
honest. 



Chris. Good faith, my lord, your honor maj 
But [suspect it ; 

Count F. Then I should wrong thee ; thou 
hast ever been 
Honest and true ; and wilt be still, I know. 

Chris. Ay, but this marriage alters many men, 
And you may fear it wQl do me, my lord : 
But ore it do so, I will undergo 
Ten thousand several deaths. 

Count F. I know it, man. 
AVho wouldst thou have, I prithee ? 

Chris. Ilachel de Prie, 
If your good lordship grant me your consent. 

Count F. Rachel de Prie ! what, the poor beg- 
gar's daughter ? 
She's a right handsome maid, how poor soever, 
And thou" hast my consent with all my heart. 

Chris. I humbly thank your honor ; I'll now 
ask 
Her father. [Exit. 

Count F. Do so, Christophero ; thou shalt do 
well. 
'Tis strange, she being so poor, he should affect 
her ! [her. 

But this is more strange that myself should love 
I spied her lately at her father's door, 
And if I did not sec in her sweet face 
Gentry and nobleness, ne'er trust me more; 
But this persuasion fancy wrought in me, 
That fancy being created with her looks ; 
For where love is, he thinks his basest object 
Gentle and noble ; I am far in love, 
And shall be forced to wrong my honest steward, 
For I must sue and seek her for myself. 
How much my duty to my late dead wife, 
And my own dear renown, soe'er it swaj^s : 
I'll to her father strait, love hates delays. [Exit. 

SCENE IV. — A Hall in the Same. 

Enter OxioN, Juniper, Valentine, Sebastian, 
Balthasab, Martino. 

Oni. Come on, i'faith, let's to some exercise or 
other, my hearts. — Fetch the hilts. 

[Exit Martino. 
Fellow Juniper, wilt thou play ? 

Jan. I cannot resolve you : 'tis as I am fitted 
Avith the ingenuity, quantity, or quality of the 
cudgel. 

Yal. How dost thou bastinado the poor cudgel 
with terms ! 

Jun. O ingle, I have the phrases, man, and 
the anagrams, and the epitaphs, fitting the mys- 
tery of the noble science. 

Oni. I'll be hang'd an he were not misbegot- 
ten of some fencer. 

Seb. Sirrah, Valentine, you can resolve me 
now, have they their masters of defence in otlicr 
countries, as we have here in Italy ? 

Val. O Lord, ay ; especially they in Utopia : 
there they perform their prizes and challenges 
with as great ceremony as the Italian, or any 
nation else. 

Bal. Indeed! how is the manner of it.'foi 
God's love, good Valentine ? 

Jun. Ingle, I prithee make recourse unto uf ,' 
we are thy friends and familiars, sweet ingie. 
i Val. Why thus, sir — 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



627 



Oni. God a mercy, good Valentine ; najs go on. 

Jim. Sikntium, bonus sociits Onionus, good fel- 
low Onion, be not so ingenious and turbulent. 
So, sir ; and how ? liow, sweet ingle ? 

Val. Many, first they arc brought to the pub- 
lic theatre. 

Jun. What., have they theatres there ? 

Val. Theatres ! ay, and plays too, both trage- 
dy and comedy, and set forth with as much state 
as can bo imagined. 

Juii. By god's so, a man is nobody till he has 
travelled. 

Seh. And how are their plays ? as ours are, 
extemporal ? 

Val. O no ; all premeditated things, and some 
of them very good, i'faith ; my master used to 
visit them often when he was there. 

Bah Why how, are they in a place where any 
man may see them ? 

Val. Ay, in the common theatres, I tell you. 
But the sport is at a new play, to observe the 
sway and variety of opinion that passcth it. A 
man shall have such a confused mixture of judg- 
ment, poured out in the throng there, as ridic- 
ulous as laughter itself. One says he likes not 
the writing, another likes not the plot, another 
not the playing : and sometimes a fellow, that 
comes not there past once in five years, at a 
parliament time, or so, will be as deep mired in 
censuring as the best, and swear by god's foot he 
would never stir his foot to see a hundred such 
as that is. 

Oiii. I must travel to see these things, I shall 
never think well of myself else. 

Jun. Fellow Onion, I'll bear thy charges, an 
thou wilt but pilgrimize it along with me to the 
land of Utopia. 

Seh. Why, but methinks such rooks as these 
should be ashamed to judge. 

Val. Not a whit ; the rankest stinkard of them 
all wiR take upon him as peremptory, as if he 
had writ himself in artlbus magister. 

Seb. And do they stand to a popular censure 
for any thing they presQnt ? 

Val. Ay, ever, ever ; and the people gonerallj' 
are very acceptive, and apt to applaud any mer- 
itablo work ; but there are two sorts of persons 
that most commonlj- are infectious to a wliole 
auditorv. 

Bal. What be they ? 

Jun. Ay, come, let's know them. 

Oni. It were good they were noted. 

Val. ilarry, one is the rude barbarous crew, a 
people that have no brains, and yet grounded 
judgments ; these will hiss any thing that mounts 
above their grounded capacities ; but the other 
are worth the observation, i'faith. 

Oinnes. Wliat be they, what be they ? 

Val. Faith, a few capricious gallants. 

Jun. Capricious ! sta}% that word's for me. 

Val. And they have taken such a habit of dis- 
like in all things, that they will approve noth- 
ing, be it never so conceited or elaborate ; but 
sit dispersed, making faces, and spitting, wag- 
ging their upright ears, and cry, filthy ! filtluj '. 
simply uttering their own condition, and using 
their wryod countenances instead of a vice, to 
turn the good aspects of all that shall sit near 
them, from what they behold. 



Re-enter ISIartixo xcilh nulgels. 

Oni. O that's well said ; lay them down 
come, sirs, who plays ? fellow Juniper, Sebas 
tian, Balthasar ? somebody take them up, coma 

Jun. Ingle Valentine. 

Val. Not I, sir, I profess it not. 

Jun. Sebastian. 

Seb. Belthasar. 

Bal. Who, I ? 

Oni. Come, but one bout ; I'll give thsm thee, 
i'faith. 

Bal. Why, here's Martino. 

Oni. Foh, he ! alas, he cannot play a whit, 
man. 

Jun. That's all one ; no more could you in 
statu quo 2^1'ius. — Martino play with him ; 
every man has his beginning and conduction. 

3Iart. Will you not hurt me, fellow Onion .' 

Oni. Hurt thee ! no ; an I do, put me among 
pot-herbs, and chop me to pieces. , Come on. 

Jun. By your favor, sweet bullies, give them 
room, back, so ! — Martino, do not look so thin 
upon the matter. 

[Mart, and Onion plai/ a bout at cudgels. 

Oni. Ha ! Avell play'd, fall over to my leg now : 
so, to your guard again ; excellent ! .to my head 
now ; make home your blow ; spare not me, 
make it home, good, good again ! 

[Mart, breaks his head, 

Seb. Why how now, Peter ! 

Val. Odso, Onion has caught a bruise. 

Jun. Coragio ! be not capricious ; what ! 

Oni. Capricious ! not I, I scorn to be capri- 
cious for a scratch. Martino, I must have another 
bout ; come. 

Jun. No, no, play no more, play no more. 

Ojii. Foh, 'tis nothing, a fillip, a device ; fel- 
low Juniper, prithee get me a plantain ; I had 
rather play with one that had skill by half. 

Mai-t. By my troth, fellow Onion, 'twas against 
my Avill. 

Oni. Naj', that's not so, 'twas against my 
head ; but come, we'll have one bout more. 

Jun. Not a bout, not a stroke. 

Omnes. No more, no more. [Exit Martino. 

Jun. Why, I'll give you demonstration how it 
came : thou open'dst the dagger to falsify over 
with the backsword trick, and he interrupted be- 
fore he could fall to the close. 

Oni. No, no, I know best how it was, better 
than any man here. I felt his play presently ; 
for look you, I gathered upon him thus, thus, do 
you see, for the double lock, and took it single 
on the head. 

Val. He saj's very true, he took it single on 
the head. 

Seb. Come, let's go. 

He-enter Martino loith a cobweb. 

Mart. Here, fellow Onion, here's a cobweb. 

Oni. How, a cobweb, ISIartino ! I will have 
another bout with you. 'S wounds, do you first 
break my head, and then give me a plaistcr in 
scorn ? Come, to it, I Avill have a bout. 

Mart. God's my witness. — 

Oni. Tut ! your witness, cannot serve. 

Jan. 'Sblood,-why what L thou art not luna 
tic, art thou ? an thou be'st, avoid, Mephostoph 



628 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



ilus ! Say the sign should be in Aries now, as it 
toay be for all us, where were your life ? answer 
me that ? 

Seb. He says well, Onion. 

Val. Indeed does he. 

Jim. Come, come, you are a foolish natural- 
ist ; go, get a white of an egg, and a little flax, 
and close the breach of the head, it is the most 
eonducible tiling that can be. Martino, do not 
insinuate upon your good fortune, but play an 
honest part, and bear away the bucklers. 

[Exetmt. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — The Street before Jaques de Prie's 
House. 

Enter Angelo. 

Anr/. My yoving and simple friend, Paulo 
Ferneze, 
Bound me -with mighty solemn conjurations 
To be true to him, in his love to Rachel ; 
And to solicit his remembrance still 
In his enforced absence. Much, i'faith ! 
True to my friend in cases of affection ! 
In women's.cases ! what a jest it is, 
How silly he is that imagines it ! 
Ho is an ass that will keep promise strictly 
In any thing that checks his private pleasure. 
Chiefly in love. 'Sblood, am not I a man, 
Have I not eyes that are as free to look. 
And blood to be inflamed as well as his ? 
And when it is so, shall I not pursue 
Muie own love's longiiigs, but prefer my friends ? 
Ay, 'tis a good fool, do so ; hang me then. 
Because I swore ? alas, who docs not know 
That lovers' perjuries are ridiculous ? 
Have at thee, Rachel ; I'll go court her sure. 
For noAv I knoAV her father is abroad — 
'Sblood, see, he's here. 

Enter Jaques. 

\A'hat damn'd luck is this ! 

This labor's lost, I must by no means see him. 
Tail, derij, dcry. [Exit sinc/inrj. 

Jaq. Mischief and hell ! what is this man ? a 
spirit ? 
Haunts he, my house's ghost, still at my door ? — 
He has been at my door, he has been in. 
In my dear door ; pray God my gold be safe ! 

Enter Christophero. 
Od's pity, here's another ! — Rachel ! ho, Ra- 
chel ! 
Chris. God save you, honest father. 
Jaq. Rachel ! odslight, come to me ; Rachel ! 
Rachel ! [Exit. 

Chris. New in God's name what ails he r this 
is strange ! 
lie loves his daughter so, I'll lay my life 
That he's afraid, having been now abroad, 

1 come to seek her love unlawfully. 

Re-enter Jaques. 
Jaq. 'Tis safe, 'tis safe, they have not robb'd 
my treasure. , [Aside. 

Chris. Let it not seem off"ensive to you, sir. 



Jaq. Sir! God's my life, sir! sir! call rao 
sir ! [Aside. 

Chris. Good father, near me. 

Jaq. You are most welcome, sir ; 
I meant ahnost : and would your worship speal<. 
Would you abase yourself to speak to me ? 

Chris. 'Tis no abasiaig, father ; my intent 
Is to do further honor to you, sir, 
Than only speak ; which is, to be your son. 

Jaq. My gold is in his nostrils, he has smelt 
it ; [entrails. 

Break breast, break heart, fall on the earth, my 
With this same bursting admiration ! 
He knows my gold, he knows of all my treas- 
ure — [Aside. 
How do you knoAv, sir ? Avhereby do you guess ? 

Chris. At Y.'hat, sir ? what is it you mean r 

Jaq. I ask, 
An't please your gentle worship, how you know — 
I mean, how I should make your worship know 
That I have nothing — [ing : 

To give with my poor daughter ? I have noth- 
The very air, bounteous to every man, 
Is scant to me, sir. 

Chris. I do think, good father, 
You are but poor. 

Jaq. He thinks so ; hark ! but thinks so. 
He thinlis not so, he knows of aU my treasure. 

[Aside and exit. 

Chris. Poor man, h.« is so overjoy'd to hear 
His daughter may be past his hopes bestow' d. 
That betA^-ixt fear and hope, if I mean simplj', 
He is thus passionate. 

Re-enter Jaques. 
Jaq. Yet all is safe within : is none mthout r 
Nobody break my walls ? 

Chris. What say you, father, shall I have your 

daughter .'' 
Jaq. I have no dowry to bestow upon her. 
Chris. I do expect none, father. 
Jaq. That is well. 
Then I beseech your worship make no question 
Of that yon wish ; 'tis too much favor to me. 
Chris. I'll leave him noAV to give his passions 
breath, 
Which being settled, I will fetch his daughter ; 
I shall but move too much, to speak now to him. 

[Exit.' 
Jaq. So ! he is gone ; vrould all were dead 
and gone. 
That I m.ight live -s^-ith my dear gold alone ! 

Enter Count Feeneze. 

Cou?it F. Here is the poor old man. [er ? 

Jaq. Out o' my soul, another ! comes he hith- 

Count F. Be not dismaj-'d, old man, I come to 

Jaq. To me, by heaven ! [cheer you 

Turn ribs to brass, turn voice into a trumpet, 

To rattle out the battles of my thoughts ; [me. 

One comes to hold me talk, while t'other robs 

[Aside and exit. 

Count F. He has forgot me, sure ; what should 

this mean ? 

He fears authority, and my want of wife 

Will take his daughter from him to defame her ? 

He that has nought on earth but one poor daogh 

ter. 
May take this extasy of care to keep her. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



629 



Be-eiUer Jaques. 

Jaq- ^nd yet 'tis safe : they mean not to use 
force, 
But fawning cunning. I shall easily kno-sv, 
By his next question, if he think me rich. 

[^Aside, 
Whom see I ? my good lord ? 

Count F. Stand up, good father, 
I call tliee not [good] father for thy age. 
But that I gladly y.-ish to be thy son, [ter. 

In honor' d marriage with thy beauteous daugh- 

Jaq. O) so, so, so, so, so ! this is for gold. 
Now it is sure this is my daughter's neatness 
Makes them believe me rich. [Aside-] — No, 

my good lord, 
I'll tell you all, how my poor hapless daughter 
Got that attire she wears from top to toe. 

Count F. "Why, father, this is nothing. 

Jaq. O yes, good my lord. 

Coimt F. Indeed it is not. [scmble ; 

Jaq. Nay, sweet lord, pardon me ; do not dis- 
Hear your poor beadsman speak : 'tis reqiiisite 
That I, so huge a beggar, make account 
Of things that pass my calling. She Avas born 
To enjoy nothing vindemeath the sun ; 
But that, if she had more than other beggars, 
She should be envied : I will toll you then 
How she had all she wears. Her warm shoes, 

God wot, 
A kind maid gave her, seeing her go barefoot 
In a cold frosty morning; God requite her ! 
Her homely stockings 

Count F. Father, I'll hear no more, thou 
mov'st too much 
With thy too curious answer for thy daughter, 
That doth deserve a thousand times as much. 
I'll be thy son-in-law, and she shall wear 
The attire of countesses. 

Jaq. O, good my lord, [ship 

Mock not the poor ; remembers not your lord- 
That poverty. is the precious gift of God, 
As well as riches ? tread upon me, rather 
Than mock my poorness. [Kneels. 

Count F. Ptise, I say ; [poor. 

When I mock poorness, then heaven make me 

[Exit Jaques. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mes. See, here's the count Fernezc, I will tell 
The hapless accident of his brave son, [him 
That he may seek the sooner to redeem him. — 
God save your lordship ! 
■ Count F. You are welcome, sir. 

Mes. 1 would I brought such news as might 
deserve it. 

Count F. What ! bring you me ill news ? 

Mes. 'Tis ill, my lord. 
Yet such as usual chance of w-ar aifords. 
And for which all men arc prepared that use it, 
And those that use it not but in their friends, 
Or in their children. 

Count F. Ill news of my son. 
My dear and only son, I'll lay my soul ! 
Ah me accurs'd ! thought of his death doth 

wound me, 
And the report of it will kill me quite. 

Mes. 'Tis not so ill, my lord. 

Covjit F. How then r 



Mes. He's taken prisoner. 
And that is all. 

Count F. That is enough, enough ; 
I set my thoughts on love, on servile love. 
Forget my \'irtuous Avife, feel not the dangers, 
The bands and wounds of mine own flesh and 

blood, 
And therein am a madman ; therein plagued 
With the most just affliction under heaven. 
Is Maximilian taken prisoner too ? 

Mas. No, good my lord ; he is return'd with 

prisoners. 
Count F. Is't possible ! can Maximilian 
Return and view my face without my son, ' 
For whom he swore such care as for himself? 
Mes. T^Iy lord, no care can change the events 

of war. 
Count F. O, in what tempests do my fortunes 

sail ! 
Still wrack' d with winds more foul and contrary 
Than any northern gust, or southern flaw. 
That ever yet inforced the sea to gape. 
And swallow the poor merchant's traffic up. 
First in Vicenza lost I my first son. 
Next here m Milan my most dear-loved lady, 
And now my Paulo prisoner to the French ; 
"Winch last being printed Avith my other griefs, 
Doth malce so huge a volume, that my breast 
Cannot contain them. But this is my love ! 
I must make love to Rachel ! heaven hath 

thrown 
This vengeance on me most deservedly, 
AVere it for nought but wronging of my steward. 
Mes. My lord, since only money may redress 
The worst of this misfortune, be not grieved ; 
Prepare his ransom, and yoiu: noble son 
Shall greet your cheered eyes with the more 

honor. 
Count F. I win prepare his ransom ; gracious 

heaven 
Grant his imprisonment may be his worst, 
Honor' d and soldier-lUiC imprisonment. 
And that he be not manacled and made 
A drudge to his proud foe ! And here I vow. 
Never to dream of se(?mless amorous toys. 
Nor aim at any other joy on earth. 
But the fruition of my only son. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — -1 Court-yard, at the bach of 
Jaques' House. 

Enter Jaques icith his gold, and a scuttle fall of 
dung. 

Jaq. He's gone: I knew it ; this is our hot 
lover. 
I will believe them, I ! they may come in 
Lilce simple wooers, and be arrant tliieves, 
And I not know them ! 'Tis not to be told 
What servile villanies men will do for gold. — 
O it began to have a huge strong smell, 
With lying so long together in a place ; 
I'll give it vent, it shall have shift enough ; 
And if the devil, that envies all goodness. 
Have told them of my gold, and Avhere I kept it, 
I'U set his burning nose once more a work. 
To smell where I removed it. Here it is ; 
I'll hide, and cover it with this horse dung. 

[Digs a hole in the ground 



630 



THE CASE IS AXTERED. 



WTio will suppose that such a precious nest 
Is crown'd with such a clungliill excrement ? 
In, my dear life ! sleep sweetly, my dear child ! 
Scai-ce lawfully begotten, but yet gotten, 
And that's enough. Hot all hands that come 

near thee, 
Except mine own ! bm-n out all eyes that see 

thee, [son 

Except mine own ! all thoughts of thee be poi- 
To their enamoar'd hearts, except mine own ! 
I'll take no leave, sweet prince, great emperor. 
But see thee every minute : king of kings, 
I'll not be rude to thee, and turn my back 
la going from thee, but go backward out, 
With my face toward thee, with humble courte- 
None is A^'ithin, none overlooks my wall ; [sies. 
To have gold, and to have it safe, is all. [Exit. 



SCENE III. 



A Galleri/ in Count Feeneze's 
House. 



Enter Maximiliax, with Soldiers, Chamont, 
Camillo, and Pacue. 

Max. Lord Chamont, and your valiant friend 
there, I cannot say, welcome to !Milan ; your 
thoughts and that word are not musical ; but I 
can say, you arc come to Milan. 

Pac. Mort dieu ! 

Cha. Garden ! [Takes Pacue aside. 

Max. Gentlemen, (I would call an emperor 
so,) you are now my prisoners ; I am sorry : 
marry this, spit in the face of your fortunes, for 
your usage shall be honorable. 

Cam. We know it, signior Maximilian ; 
The fame of all your actions sounds nought else 
But perfect honor, from her swelling cheeks. 

Max. It shall do so still, I assure you, and I 
will give you reason : there is in this last action, 
you know, a noble gentleman of our party, and 
a right valiant, semblably prisoner to your gen- 
eral, as j^our honor'd selves to me ; for whose 
safety this tongue has given warrant to his hon- 
orable f?.ther, the count Ferneze. Yoii con- 
ceive me ? . 

Cam. Ay, signior. 

Max. Well, then I must tell you your ran- 
soms be to redeem him. AVhat think you ? your 
answer. 

Cam. Man-y, with my lord's leave here, I say, 
signior. 
This free and ample offer you have made 
Agrees well with your honor, but not ours ; 
For I think not but Chamont is a.s well born 
As is Ferneze ; then, if I mistake not, 
He scorns to have his worth so underprised, 
That it should need an adjunct in exchange 
Of any equal fortune. Noble signior, 
I am a soldier, and I love Chamont ; 
Ere I wovdd bruise his estimation 
With the least ruin of mine own respect 
In this vile l{.ind, these legs should rot with irons, 
This body pine in prison, till the fle.sh 
Dropt from my bones in flakes, like wither' d 

leaves, 
In heart of autumn, from a stubborn oak. 

Max. Monsieur Gasper, (I take it so is your 
name,) misprise me not ; I will trample on the 
hcai-t. on the soul of him that shall say I ^^ill 



"WTong you : what I pui-pose you cannot now 
know, but you shall know, and, doubt not, to 
your c&ntentment. — Lord Chamont, I will leave . 
you, whilst I go in and present myself to the 
honorable count ; till my regression, so pleas? 
you, your noble feet may measiu-e this private, 
pleasant, and most princely wallc. — Soldiers, 
regard them and respect them. [Exit. 

Pac. O ver bon ! excellenta gull, he taka my 
lord Chamont for monsieur Gaspra, and monsieur 
Gaspra for my lord Chamont, Oh dis be brave for 
make a me laugha, ha, ha, ha ! O my heart 
tickla. [Aside. 

Cam. Ay, but your lordship knows not what 
hai'd fate 
Might have pursued us, therefore, howsoe'er, 
Tlie changing of our names was necessary, 
And we must now be careful to maintain 
This error strongly, which our own device 
Ilath thrust into theu- ignorant conceits ; 
For should we (on the taste of this good fortune) 
Appear ourselves, 'twould both create in them 
A kmd of jealousy, and perchance invert 
Those honorable courses they intend. 

Cha. True, my dear Gasper ; but this hang-by 
WUl, at one time or other, on my soid, [here 
Discover us. A secret in liis mouth 
Is lilce a wild bird put into a cage, 
Whose door no sooner opens, but 'tis out, — 
But, sirrah, if I may but know thou utter'st 

Pac. Uttera vat, monsieur ? [it. 

Cha. That he is Gasper, and I true Chamont. 

Pac. O pardonncz moy, fore my tongue shall 
put out de secreta, shall breed de cankra in my 
mouth. 

Cam. Speak not so loud, Pacue. 

Pac. Foh ! yoii shall not hear de fool, for al'i 
your long ear. Eegai'dez, monsieur : you be 
Chamont, Chamont be Gaspra. 

Re-enter Maximiliax, with Count Ferneze, 

Francisco, Aurelia, Phcenixella, aHf^Fixio 

Cha. Peace, here comes Maximilian. 

Cam. O, belike 
That is the count Ferneze, that old man. 

Cha. Are those his daughters, trow r 

Cam. Ay sure, I think they are. 

Cha. Fore God, the taller is a gallant lady. 

Cam. So are they both, believe me. 

Max. True, my honorable lord, that Chamont 
was the father of this man. 

Count F. O that may be, for when I lost mj' 
This was but young, it seems. [son, 

Fran. Faith, had Camillo lived, 
He had been much about his years, my lord. 

Count F. He had indeed ! Well, speak no 
more of him. 

Max. Signior, perceive you the eiTor ? 'twas 
no good office in us to stretch the remembrance 
of so dear a loss. Count Ferneze, let summer 
sit in your eye ; look cheerfully, sweet count ; 
will you do me the honor to confine this noble 
spirit within the circle of your arms r 

Count F. Honor'd Chamont, reach me youi 
valiant hand ; 
I could have wish'd some happier accident 
Had made the way unto this mutual knowledge, 
Which either of us now must take of other ; 
But since it is the x^leasiu-e of our fates. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED, 



631 



That we should thus be rack'd on fortune's 
Let us prepare with steeled patience [wheel, 
To tread on torment, and with minds eonfinn'd, 
Welcome the worst of envy. 

Max. Noble lord, 'tis thus. I have here, in 
muie honor, set this gentleman free, without ran- 
som : he is now himself, his valor hath deserved 
it, in the e}'e of my j udgment. — Monsieur Gas- 
per, you are dear to me : fortuna non mutat 
genus. But, to the main; — if it may square 
with your lordship s liking, and his love, I could 
desire that he were now instantly employed to 
your noble general in the exchange of Ferneze 
for yourself ! it is a business that requires the 
tender hand of a friend. 

Count F. Ay, and it would bo with more speed 
If he would undertake it. [effected, 

Max. True, my lord. — Monsieur Gasper, how 
stand j-ou afi'ected to this motion ? 

Cha. My duty must attend his lordshiji's will. 

Blax. What says the lord Chamont ? 

Cam. My will doth then approve what these 
have urged. 

Max. Why there is good harmony, good music 
in this. Monsieur Gasper, you shall protract no 
time, only I will give you a bowl of rich wine to 
the health of your general, another to the suc- 
cess of your journey, and a third to the love of 
my sword. Pass. [Exeunt all but Auii. and Phcex. 

Aur. Why, how now, sister ! in a motley muse ? 
Go to, there's somewhat in the wind, I see. 
Faith, this brown study suits not with your black, 
Your habit and j^our thought are of two colors. 

Phoan. Good faith, methinks that this young 
lord Chamont 
Favors my mother, sister ; does he not ? 

Aur. A motherly conceit ; O blind excuse, 
Blinder than Love himself ! Well, sister, well ; 
Cupid has ta'en his stand in both your eyes, 
The case is altered. 

Phoen. And what of that r 

Aiir. Nay, nothing : — But, a saint I 
Another Bridget ! one that for a face 
Would put down Vesta, in whose looks doth 
The very sweetest cream of modesty, [swim 
You, to turn Tippet ! fie, fie ! Will you give 
A packing penny to virginity ! 
I thought you'd dwell so long in Cypress isle, 
You'd worship madam Venus at the length : 
But come, the strongest fall, and why not you ? 
Nay, do not frown. 

Phan. Go, go, you fool. Adieu ! [Exit. 

Aur. Well, I may jest, or so ; but Cupid knows 
My taking is as bad, or worse than hers. 
O, monsieur Gasper, if thou be'st a man, 
Be not afraid to court me ; do but speak. 
Challenge thy right, and wear it ; for I swear. 
Till thou arriv'dst, ne'er came affection here. 

\_Exit. 

ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — A Room in Count Fekneze's 
House. 

Enter Pacue and FiNio 

Fin. Come on, my sweet finacle Pacue, the 
rery prime of pages, here's an excellent place 



for us to practise in ; nobody sees us here ; 
come, let's to it. 

Enter Oniox. 

Pac. Contenta ; Ilegardez vous le premier. 

Oni. SiiTah, Finio. 

Pac. Mort dieu, le paisant ! 

Oni. Didst thou see Valentine r 

Fin. Valentine, no. 

Oni. No ! 

Fin. No. Sirrah Onion, whither goest ? 

Oni. O, I am vext ; he that Avould trust any 
of these lying travellers. — 

Fin. I prithee stay, good Onion. 

Pac. Monsieur Onion, venez (;a, come hidera, 
je vous prie. By gar, me ha see two, tree, four 
hundra tousand of your cou.san hang. Lend me 
your hand, shall pray for know j'ou bettra. 

Oni. I thank you, good signior Parles-vous. 
O that I were in another world, in the Ingies, or 
somewhere, that I might have room to laugh ! 

Pac. Ah, oui, fort bien ! stand you dere — 
now, me come, 
Bon jour, monsieur. 

Fin. Good morrow, good signior. 

Pac. By gar, me be much glad for see you. 

Fin. I return you most kind thanks, sir. 

Oni. How, how ! 'sblood this is rare. 

Pac. Nay, shall make you say rare, by and by ; 
reguardez : monsieur Finio. 

Fin. Signior Pacue. 

Pac. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Fin. God save you, sweet signior. 

Pac. Monsieur Onion, is not fort bien ? 

Oni. Bean, quoth he ! would I were in debt 
of a pottle of beans, I could do as much ! 

Fin. Welcome, signior ; what's next ? 

Pac. O here ; voyez de grand admiration, as 
should meet perchance monsieur Finio. 

Fin. Monsieur Pacue. 

Pac. By gar, who think we shall mecte here ? 

Fin. By this hand, I am not a little proud of 
it, sir. 

Oni. This trick is only for tire chamber, it 
cannot be cleanly done abroad. 

Pac. Veil, vot say you for dis den, monsieur ? 

Fin. Nay, pray, sir. 

Pac, Par ma foy, vous voilii bien encountre ! 

Fin. What do you mean, su- ? let your glove 
alone. 

Pac. Comment se porte la sante ? 

Fin. Faith, exceeding well, sir. 

Pac. Trot, be mush joy for hear. 

Fin. And how is it with you, sweet signior 
Pacue ? 

Pac. Fait, comme voiis voyez. 

Oni. Y'oung gentlemen, spirits of blood, if 
ever you'll taste of a sweet piece of mutton, do 
Onion a good turn now. 

Pac. Que, que ? parlez, monsieur, vat ist ? 

Oni. Faith, teach mo one of these tricks. 

Pac. O me shall do presci^tly ; stand you derc, 
you signior dere, myself is here ; so, fort bien ! 
now I parlez to monsieur Onion, Onion pratla to 
you, you speaka to me, so : and as you parlez, 
change the bonet. — Monsieur Onion ! 

Oni. Monsieur Finio ! 

Fin. Monsieur Pacue ! 

Pac Pray be covera. 



632 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Orii. Nay, I beseech you, sir. 

Fin. What do you mean ? 

rac. Pardonnez moi, shall be so. 

Oni. O Lord, sir ! 

Fin. Not I, in good faith, sir. 

Pac. By gar, you must. 

Oni. It shall be yours. 

Fin. Nay, then you Avrong mo. 

Oni. Well, an ever I come to bo great — 

Pac. Yovi be big enough for de Onion already. 

Oni. I mean a great man. 

Fin. Then thou'dst be a monster. 

Oni. Well, God knows not what fortune may 
do, command me, use me from the soul to the 
crown, and the crown to tlie soul ; moaning not 
only from the crown of the head, and the sole 
of the foot, but also the foot of the mind and 
the crowns of the purse. I cannot stay now, 

young gentlemen ; but time ivas, time is, 

and time shall be. [Exeimt. 

SCENE II. — Another Room in the same. 

Enter Chamo>7T and Camillo. 

Cha. Sweet Gasper, I am sorrj' wc must part ; 
But strong necessity enforces it. 
Let not the time seem long unto my friend, 
Till my return ; for, by our love I swear, 
CThe sacred sphere wherein our souls are knit,) 
I will endeavor to effect this business 
With all industrious care and happy speed. 

Cam. My lord, these circumstances would 
To one less capable of 3'our desert [come well 
Than I ; in whom your merit is confirm' d 
With such authentical and grounded proofs. 

Cha. Well, I v.'ill use no more. Gasper, adieu. 

Cam. Farev/oU, my honor'd lord. 

Cha. Commend me to the lady, my good Gas- 
per, [urged it. 

Cam. I had remomber'd that, had not you 

Clia. Once more adieu, sweet Gasper. 

Cam. My good lord. [Exit- 

Cha. Thy virtues are more precious than thy 
name ; 
Kind gentleman, I would not sell thy love 
For all the earthly objects that mine eyes 
Have ever tasted. Sure thou art nobly born, 
However fortune hath obscured thy birth ; 
For native honor sparkles in thine eyes. 
How may I bless the time wherein Chamont, 
My honor'd father, did surprise Vicenza. 
Where this my friend (known by no name) was 

found, 
Being then a child, and scarce of power to speak, 
To Avhom my father gave this name of Gasper, 
And as his own resjoected him to death : 
Since when we two have shared our mutual 

fortunes 
With equal spirits, and, but death's rude hand, 
No violence shall dissolve this sacred band. 

[Exit. 

SCENE m. — Juniper, is discovered in his shop, 
singing. 

Enter Onion, 

Oni. Fellow Juniper, no more of thy songs 
and sonnets ; sweet Juariper, no more of thy 



hymns and madrigals ; thou sing'st, but 3 
sigh, 

Jmi. What's the matter, Peter, ha ? what, ii; 
an academy still ! still in sable and costly black 
arraj', ha ? 

Oni. Prithee rise, mount, mount, sweet Juni- 
per ; for I go down the -wind, and yet I puff, for 
I am vext. 

Jun. Ha, bully, vext ! what, intoxicate ! is thy 
brain in a quintessence, an idea, a metamorpho- 
sis, an apology, ha, rogue ? Come, this lovo 
feeds upon thee, I see by thy cheeks, and drinks 
healths of vermilion tears, I see by thine eyes. 

Oni. I confess Cupid's carouse, he plays super 
negulum with my liquor of life. 

Jun. Tut, thou art a goose to be Cupid's gull ; 
go to ; no more of these contemplations and cal- 
culations ; mourn not, for Rachel's thine own. 

Oni. For that let the higher powers work : 
but, sweet Juniper, I am not sad for her, and 3'et 
for her in a second person, or if not so, yet in a 
third. 

Jun. How, second person ! away, away. In 
thy crotchets already ! longitude and latitude ! 
what second, what person, ha ? 

Oni. Juniper, I'll bewray myself before thee, 
for thy company is sweet unto me ; but I must 
intreat thy helping hand in the case. 

Jun. Tut, no more of this surquedrj' ; I am 
thine own ad unguem, upsie freeze, pell mell ; 
come, v/hat case, what case ? 

Oni. For the case, it may be any man's case, 
as well as mine. Rachel I mean ; but I'll med- 
dle with her anon : in the mean time, Valentine 
is the man hath wronged me. 

Jun. How, mj- ingle wrong thee ! is't possible 

Oni. Your ingle ! hang him, infidel. Well, 
and if I be not revenged on him, let Peter Onion 
(by the infernal gods) be turned to a leek, or a 
scallion. I spake to him for a ditty for this 
handkerchief. 

Jun. Why has ho not done it ? 

Oni. Done it ? not a verse, by this hand. 

Jun. O in diebus illis ! O preposterous ! well, 
come, be blithe ; the best inditer of them all is 
sometimes dull. Fellow Onion, pardon mine 
ingle ; he is a man has imperfections and dec- 
linations, as other men have ; his muse some- 
times cannot curvet, nor prognosticate and come 
off, as it should ; no matter, I'll hanuner out a 
paraphrase for thee myself. 

Oni. No, sweet Juniper, no; danger doth 
brood delay : love makes me choleric, I can bear- 
no longer. 

Jun. Not bear what, my mad meridian slave.' 
not bear what ? 

Oni. Cupid's burthen ; 'tis too heavy, too tol- 
erable ; and as for the handkerchief and the 
posie, I will not trouble thee ; but if thou wilt 
go with me into her father's back-side, old 
Jaques' back-side, and speak for me to Rachel, 
I Avill not be ingratitude : the old man is abroad 
and all. 

Jun. Art thou sure on't? 

Oni. As sure as an obligation. 

Jun. Let's away then ; come, we spend time 
in a vain circumference ; trade, I cashier thet 
till to-morrow : fellow Onion, for thy sak3 I fin 
ish this workidav. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



C3f 



Oni. God-a-mcrcy ; and for thy sake I'll at 
any time make a holiday. [Exeunt. 

SCENE . IV. — The Couri-i/ard at ike back of 
Jaoues' House. 

Enter Angelo and Rachel. 

Ang. Nay, I prithee, Rachel ; I come to com- 
Be not so sad. [fort thee. 

Rack. O, signior Angelo, 
No comfort but his presence can remove 
This sadness from my heart. 

A?i(/. Nay, then you are fond, 
And want that strength of judgment and election 
That should be attendant on your years and 

form. 
Will you, because your lord is taken prisoner, 
Blubber and weep, and keep a peevish stir. 
As though you would turn turtle with the news ? 
Come, come, be wise. 'Sblood, say j'our lord 

should die. 
And you go mar your face as you begin, [you ? 
What would you do, trow ? who would care for 
But this it is, when nature will bestow 
Her gifts on such as know not how to use them ; 
You shall have some, that had thej^ but one 

qiiarter 
Of your fair beauty, they would make it shew 
A little otherwise than you do this. 
Or they would sec the painter twice an hour. 
And I commend them, I, that can use art 
With such judicial practice. 

Each. You talk idly ; 
If this be your best comfort, keep it still, 
My senses cannot feed on such sour cates. 

Aiifj. And why, sweet heart ? 

Rack. Nay, leave, good signior. 

Anff. Come, I have sweeter viands yet in store. 

Jan. [tcithin.] Av, in any case. — Mistress 
Rachel ! 

Any. Rachel ! 

Rack. Od's pity, signior Angelo, I hear my 
father ; away for God's sake. 

Anff. 'Sblood, I am bewitch'd, I think ; this 
is tAvice noAv I have been served thus. [Exit. 

Rack. Pray God he meet him not. [Exit. 

Enter Onion and Juniper. 

Oni. O brave ! she's yonder : terrible ! she's 
gone. 

Jun. Yea, go nimble in your dilemmas, and 
your hyperboles ! Ileij my love ! O mij love ! at 
the first sight, by the mass. 

Oni. O how she scudded ! O sweet scud, how 
Glie tripped ! O delicate trip and go ! 

Jun. Come, thou art enamoured with the influ- 
ence of her profundity ; but, sirrah, hark a little. 

Oni. O rare ! what, what ? passing, i'faith ! 
what is't, what is't ? 

Jun. What wilt thou say now, if Rachel stand 
now, and play hity-tity through the key hole, 
to behold the equipage of thy person ? 

Oni. O sweet equipage ! try, good Juniper, 
tickle her. talk, talk ; O'rarc ! 

Jun. Mistress Rachel ! — watch then if her 
father come. — [Goes to the door.'] — Rachel ! 
Madona ! Rachel ! No ? 

Oni. Say I am here: Onion, or Peter, or so. 



Jun. No, I'll knock; we'll not stand xipon 
horizons and tricks, but fall roundly to the 
matter. 

Oni. Well said, sweet Juniper. Horizons, 
hang 'em ! kiiock, knock. [Juxipeu knocks. 

Rack, [ivithin.] Who's there ? father ? 

Jun. Father ! no ; and yet a father, if you 
please to be a mother. 

Oni. Well said, Juniper; to her again; a 
smack or two more of the mother. 

Jun. Do you hoar, sweet soul, sv;eet Rada- 
mant, sweet Machavcl ? one word, Melpomene, 
ai-e you at leisure ? 

Rack, [within.] At leisure ! what to do ? 

Jun. To do what ! to do nothing, but to be 
liable to the extacy of true love's exigent, or so ; 
5-0U smell my meaning. 

Oni. Smell! filthy, fellow Juniper, filthy! 
smell ! O most odious ! 

Jun. How, filthy ? 

Oni. Filthy, by this finger ! Smell ! smell a 
rat, smell a "pudding. Away, these tricks are 
for trulls ; a plain wench loves plain dealing ; 
I'll upon her myself. Smell! to a marchpane 
M-ench ! 

Jun. With all my heart I'll be legitimate and 
silent as an apple-squire , I'll see nothing, and 
say nothing. 

Oni. Sweet heart ! sweet heart ! 

Jun. And bag pudding, ha, ha, ha ! 

Jaq. [within.^ What, Rachel, my girl ! Avhat, 
Rachel ! 

Oni. Od's lid. 

Jaq. [within.] Wliat, Rachel ! 

Rack, [within.] Here I am. 

Oni. What rakehell calls Rachel ? O treason 
to my love ! 

Jun, It is her father, on my life ; how shall 
we intrench and edify ourselves from him ? 

Oni, O coney-catching Cupid ! 

[Gets up into a tree. 

Enter Jaques. 

Jaq. How, in my back-side ! Avhere ? Avhat 
come they for .' 
Where are they ? Rachel ! thieves ! thieves ! 
Stay, villain, slave ! [Seizes Jun. as he is running 

out.] Rachel, untie my dog. 
Nay, thief, thou canst not 'scape. 

jun. I pray you, su". 

Oni. [above.] Ah, pitiful Onion, that thou 
hadst a rope ! 

Jaq. AVliy, Piachcl, when, I say ! let loose my 
Garlick, my mastiff, let him loose, I say. [tog, 

Jun. For God's sake hear me speak, keep up 
your cur. 

Oni. [above.] I fear not Garlick, he'll not bite 
Onion, his kinsman ; pray God he come out, 
and then they'll not smell me. 

Jaq. Well then deliver ; come, deliver, slave. 

Jun. What should I deliver ? 

Jaq. O thou Avouldst have me tell thee, 
Avouldst thou ? Shew me thy hands, what hast 
thou in thy hands ? 

Jun. Here be my hands. 

Jaq. Stay, are thy fingers' ends begrimed with 
dirt ? no, thou hast Avipcd them. 

Jun. Wiped them ! 

Jaq. Ay, thou villain ; thou art a subtle 



G34 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



knave. Put off thy shoes ; come, I will see them ; 
give me a knife here, Rachel, I'll rip the soles. 

Oni. [aboL-e.] No matter, he's a cobler, he can 
mend them. 

Ju/i. ^Miat, are you mad, are you detestable r 
would you make an anatomy of me ? think you 
I am not true orthography ? 

Jaq. Orthography ! anatomy ! 
, Jun. For God's sake be not so inviolable, I 
am no ambuscado. "What predicament call you 
this ? Avhy do you intimate so much ? 

Jaq. I can feel nothing. 

Oni. [above.] By'r Lady, but Onion feels 
something. 

Jaq. Soft, sir, you. are not yet gone ; shake 
your legs, come ; and your arms, be brief : — 
stay, let me see these drums, these kilderkins, 
these bombard slops, what is it crams them so ? 

Jun. Nothing but hair. 

Jaq. That's true, I had almost forgot this 
rug, this hedgehog's nest, this hay-mow, this 
bear's skin, this heath, this furze-brush. 

[Pidls him by the hair, 

Jun. 0, let mo go! you tear my hair, you 
revolve my brains and understanding. 

Jaq. Heart, thou art somewhat eased ; half 
of my fear 
Hath ta'en his leave of me, the other half 
Still keeps possession in despight of hope. 
Until these amorous eyes court my fair gold. 
Dear, I come to thee. \_Aside.'\ — Fiend, why art 

not gone ? 
Avoid, my soul's vexation ! Satan, hence ! 
Why dost thou stare on me ? why dost thou 
stay, [eyes ? 

Wh}^ por'st thou on the ground with thievish 
What seest thou there, thou cur, what gap'st 
thou at ? [forth. 

Hence from my house. — Rachel, send Garlick 

Jun. I am gone, sir, I am gone ; for God's 
sake, stay. [Exit. 

Jaq. Pack; and thank God thou scap'st so 
well away. 

Oni. [above.\ If I scape this tree, destinies I 
defy you. 

Jaq. I cannot see, by any characters 
Writ on this earth, that any felon foot 
Hath ta'en acquaintance of this hallow'd ground. 
None sees me : knees, do homage to your lord. 
[Kneels down and removes the dune/ from 
his treasure. 
'Tis safe ! 'tis safe ! it lies and sleeps so soundly, 
'Twould do one good to look on't. If this bliss 
Be aiven to anj' man that hath much gold, 
Justly to say 'tis safe, I say 'tis safe. [dance 

O ! what a heavenly round these two words 
Within me and Avithout me ! first I think them ; 
Lziil then I speak them ; then I watch their 

sound, 
And drink it greedily with both mine ears : 
Then thinli, then speak, then drink their sound 

again. 
And racket round about this body's court, 
These two sweet words, 'tis safe. Stay, I will 

fC2d 

My other senses. [Takes itp soma of the gold and 
smclU to it.] O how sweet it smells ! 
Oni. [above.] I marie he smells not Onion, 
being so near it. 



Jaq. Down to thy grave again, thou bcaiito- 
ous ghost ! 
Angels, men say, are spirits ; spirits be 
Invisible ; bright angels, are you so ? — 
Be you invisible to every eye. 
Save only these : sleep, I'll not break your rest, 
Though you break mine. Dear saints, adieu, 
adieu ! [with you. 

My feet part from you, but my soul dwells 

[Rises and exit. 

Oni. Is he gone ? O Fortune my friend, and 

not Fortune my foe, [too. 

I come down to embrace thee, and kiss thy greal 

[Comes domnfrom the tree 

He-enter Junipek. 

Jun. Fellow Onion ! Peter ! 

Oni. Fellow Juniper. 

Jun, What's the old Panurgo gone, departed, 
cosraografied, ha ? 

Oni. O, ay ! and hark, sirrah. — Shall I tell 
him .' no. 

Jun. Nay, be brief, and declare ; stand not 
upon conundrums now : thou knowest what 
contagious speeches I have suffered for thy 
sake : an he should come again and invent me 
here — 

Oni. He says true, it was for my sake : I will 
teU him. — Sirrah, Juniper ! — and yet I will not. 

Jun. AVhat sayest thou, sweet Onion ? 

Oni. An thou hadst smelt the scent of me 
when I was in the tree, thou wouldst not have 
said so ; but, sirrah, the case is altered with me, 
my heart has given love a box of the ear, made 
him kick up the heels, i'faith. 

Jun. Sayst thou me so, mad Greek ! how 
haps it, how chances it ? 

Oni. I cannot hold it. — Juniper, have an eye, 
look ; have an eye to the door ; the old proverb's 
true, I see. Gold is but muck. Nay, god's so, 
Juniper to the door ; an eye to the main chance. 
[Removes the dung, and shews him the gold.] 
Here, you slave, have an eye ! 

Jun. O inexorable ! O infallible ; O intricate, 
divine, and superficial fortune ! 

Oni. Nay, it will be sufficient anon ; here, 
look here ! 

Jun. O insolent good luck ! how didst thou 
produce the intelligence of the gold minerals ? 

Oni. I'll tell you that anon ! here, make shift, 
convey, cram. I'll teach you how you shall call 
for Garlick again, i'faith. 

Jun. 'Sblood, what shall we do with all this ? 
we shall never bring it to a consumption. 

Oni. Consumption! Avhy we'll be most sump- 
tuously attired, man. 

Jun. By this gold, I will have three or fou* 
most stigmatical suits presently. 

Oni, i'U go in my foot-cloth, I'll turn gentle- 
man. 

Jun. So will I. 

Oni. But v\diat badge shall we give, what 
cullison ? 

Jun. As for that, let's use -the infidelity and 
commiseration of some harrot of arms, he shall 
give us a gudgeon. 

Oni. A gudgeon ! a scutcheon thou wouldst 
say, man. 

Jun, A scutcheon, or a gudgeon, all is one. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



633 



Oni. Well, our arms be good enough, let's 
look to our legs. 

Jim. Content ; we'll be jogging. 

Oni. Rachel, we retire ; Garlick, god b'ye. 

Ji'.n. Farewell, sweet Jaques ! 

Oni. EarewcU, s-.vcct Rachel ! sweet dog, 
adieu ! \^Excunt. 

SCENE V. — ^ Room in Count Feuneze's 
House. 

Enter Maximilian, Count Fernbze, Aurelia, 
Phcenixella, and Pacue. 

Max. Nay, but sweet count. 

Count, F. Away ! I'll hear no more ; 
Never was man so palpably abused : — 
My son so basely marted, and myself 
Am made the subject of your mirth and scorn. 

Max. Count Ferneze, you tread too hard upon 
my patience ; do not persist, I advise your lord- 
ship. 

Count F. I will persist, and unto thee I speak ; 
rhou, Maximilian, thou hast injured me. 

3Iax. Before the Lord — 

Aw. Sweet signior. 

Phocn, O my father. 

Max. Lady, let your father thank your beauty. 

Pac. By gar, me shall be hang for tella dis 
eame ; me tella mademoiselle, she tell her 
fadera. [left here 

Count F. The true Chamont set free, and one 
Of no descent, clad barelj' in his name ! 
Sirrah, boy, come hither, and be sure you speak 
the simple truth. 

Pac. O pardonnez moy, monsieur. 

Count F. Come, leave your x^ardons, and di- 
rectly say, 
What villain is the same that hath usurp'd 
The honor'd name and person of Chamont. 

Pac. O, monsieur, no point villain, brave 
chevaher, monsieur Gasper. 

Count F. Monsieur Gasper ! 
On what occasion did they change their names, 
What was their policy, or their pretext ? 

Pac. Me canno tell, par ma foy, monsieur. 

Max. My honorable lord ! 

Count F. Tut, tut, be silent. 

Max. Silent, count Ferneze ! I tell thee, if 
Amurath, the groat Turk, Avere here, I would 
speak, and he should hear me. 

Count F. So will not I. 

Max. By my father's hand, but thou shalt, 
count. I say, till this instant I was never 
touch'd in my reputation. Hear me, you shall 
know that you have wrong'd me, and I will 
make you acknowledge it ; if I cannot, my 
sword shall. [mine cars. 

Count F. By heaven I will not, I will stop 
My senses loath the savor of thy breath ; 
'Tis poison to me ; I say, I will not hear. 
What shall I know ? 'tis you have injured me. 
What will you make ? make me acknowledge it ! 
Fetch forth that Gasper, that lewd counterfeit ; 
I'll make him to your face approve your Avrongs. 

Enter Servants with Camillo. 
Come on, false substance, shadow to Chamont, 
Had you none else to work upon but me ? 



Was I your fittest project? well, confess 
What you intended by this secret plot, 
And by whose policy it was contrived. 
Speak truth, and be intreated courteously ; 
But double with me, and resolve to prove 
The extremest rigor that I can inflict. 

Cam. My honor'd lord, hear me with patience ; 
Nor hope of favor, nor the fear of torment. 
Shall sway my tongue from uttei-ing of truth. 
Count F. 'Tis Avell, proceed then. 
Cam. The morn before this battle did begin, 
Wherein my lord Chamont and I Avere ta'en, 
We vow'd one mutual fortune, good or bad. 
That day should be embraced of us both ; 
And urging that might worse succeed our vow. 
We there concluded to exchange our names. 
Count F. Then Maximilian took you for Cha- 
Cam. True, noble lord. [mont 

Count F. 'Tis false, ignoble wretch ; 
'Twas but a coraplot to betray my son. 

Max. Count, thou liest in thy bosom, count. 
Count F. Lie ! 

Cam. Nay, I beseech you, honor'd gentlemen, 
Let not the untimely ruin of your love 
Follow these slight occurrents ; be assured 
Chamont's return will heal these wounds again, 
And break the points of your too piercing 
thoughts. [mont return i 

Count F. Return ! ay, when ? when vdW Cha 
He'll come to fetch you, will he ? ay, 'tis like ? 
You'd have me think so, that's your policy. 
No, no, young gallant, your device is stale ; 
You cannot feed me with so vain a hope. 

Cam. My lord, I feed you not with a vain 
I know assuredly he will return, [hope : 

And bring your noble son along with him. 
2Iax. Ay, I dai'c pawn my soul he v/ill re- 

turn. 
Count F. O impudent derision ! open scorn ! 
Intolerable wrong ! is't not enough 
That you have play'd upon me all this while, 
But still to mock me, still to jest at me ? 
Fellows, away with him : thou ill-bred slave. 
That sett'st no difference 'twixt a noble spirit 
And thy own slavish humor, do not think 
But I'll take worthy vengeance on thee, wretch. 
Cam. Alas, these threats are idle, like the 
wind, 
And breed no terror in a guiltless mind. 

Count F. Nay thou shalt want no torture, so 
resolve ; 
Bring him away. [Exit. 

Cam. Welcome the worst, I suffer for a friend, 
Your tortures will, my love shall never, end. 
[Exeunt Servants loith Camillo and Pacue. 
Phcen. Alas, poor gentleman ! my father's 
Is too extreme, too stern and violent. [rage 

O that I knew with all my strongest powers 
How to remove it from thy patient breast ! 
But that I cannot, yet my willing heart 
Shall minister, in spite of tyranny. 
To thy misfortune ; something there is in him 
That doth enforce this strange affection 
With more than common rapture in my 'breast ; 
For being but Gasper, he is still as dear 
To me, as when he did Chamont appear. 

[Aside and exit, 
Aur. But in good sadness, signior, do you think 
Chamont will return ? 



536 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Max, Do I see your face, lady ? 

Aur. Ay sure, if love have not blinded you. 

Max. That is a question ; but I Avill assure 
you no : I can see, and yet love is in miiie eye. 
Well, the count your father simply hath dislicn- 
ored me, and this steel shall engrave it on Ms 
burgonet. 

Atir. Nay, sweet signior ! 

Max. Lady, I do prefer my reputation to my 
life ; — but you shall rule me. Come, let's 
march. [Exit. 

Aur. I'll follo^Y, signior. O SAveet queen of 
love ! 
Sovereign of all my thoughts, and thou, fair 
Who more to honor my affections, [Fortune, 
Has thus translated Gasper to Chamont ! 
Let both your flames now burn in one bright 

sphere, 
And give true light to my aspiring hopes : 
Hasten Chamont's return, let him affiect me. 
Though father, friends, and all the world reject 
me. [Exit. 

ACT V. 

SCENE I. — The Court at the back of Jaques' 
House. 

Enter Angelo and CnRiSTOPHERO. 

Ang. Sigh for a woman ! Would I fold mine 
arms. 
Have in my sleep, talk idly being awake. 
Pine and look pale, make love-walks in the night. 
To steal cold comfort from a day-star's eyes ! 
Kit, thou'rt a fool ; wilt thou be wise ? then, lad. 
Renounce this boy-god's nice idolatrj% 
Stand not on compliment, and coying tricks ; 
Thou lov'st Old Jaques' daughter, dost thou ? 

Chris. Love her ! 

An(/. Come, come, I know't ; be ruled, and 
she's thine own. 
Thou'lt say, her father Jaques, the old beggar, 
Hath pawn'd his word to thee, that none but 
Shalt be his son-ia-law. [thou 

Chri^. He has. 

Ang. He has ! 
Wilt thou believe him, and bo made a cokes, 
To wait on such an antique weathercock ? 
Why, he is more inconstant than the sea, [ute : 
His thoughts, camelion-like, change every min- 
No, Kit, work soundly, steal the wench away. 
Wed her, and bod her ; and when that is done, 
Then say to Jaques, Shall I be your son ? 
But come, to our device, where is this gold ? 

Chris. Here, signior Angelo. [drops ; 

Ang. Bestow it, bid thy hands shed golden 
Let these bald French crowns be uncovered, 
In open sight to do obeisance 
To Jacques' staring eyes when he steps forth ; 
The needy beggar will be glad of gold. — 
So ! now keep thou aloof, and aa he treads 
This gilded path, stretch out Ms ambling hopes 
With scattering n:iore and more, and as thou 
Cry Jaques ! Jaques ! [goest, 

Chris. Tush, let me aione. [out ; 

Ang. But first I'll play the ghost, I'll call him 
Kit, keep aloof. 

Chris. But, signior Angelo, 



Where will yourself and Rachel stay for me, 
After the jest is ended ? 

Ang. Jlass, that's true : 
At the old priory behind St. Foy's. [there, 

Chris. Agreed, no better place ; I'll meet you 
[Retires, drcypping the gold. 
Ang. Do, good fool, do ; but I'll not meet you 
there. [Jaques ? 

Now to this geer. — Jaques ! Jaques ! what, 
Jaq. [loithin.] Who calls ? who's there .' 
Ang. Jaques ! 
Jaq. [within.'] Who calls? 
Ang. Steward, he comes, he comes. — Jaques ! 

[Retires. 

Enter Jaque-;. 

Jaq. What voice is this ? 
No body here ! was I not call'd ? I was ; 
And one cried Jaques with a hollow voice. 
I was deceived ; no, I was not deceived. 

[Sees the gold. 
See, see, it was an angel call'd me forth. 
Gold, gold, man-making gold ; another star ! 
Drop they from heaven ? no, no, my house, I 
Is haunted Avith a fairy. My dear Lar, [hope, 
My household god, my fairy, on my knees — 

Chris, [leithin.] Jaques ! 

Jaq. My Lar doth call me ; sweet voice, 
Musical as the sj^heres ! see, see, more gold ! 

Chris, [within.] Jaques ! 

Jaq. What Rachel, Rachel ! 

Enter Rachel. 

Lock my door. 
Look to my house. 

Chris, [icifhin.] Jaques ! 

Jaq. Shut fast my door. 
A golden crown ! Jaques shall be a king. 
[Exit, following the sound, and jnc/iing «/-> the gold. 

Ang. [comes forward.] To a fool's paradise that 
path will bring 
Thee and thy household Lar. 

Rach, What means my father? 
I Avonder what strange humor 

Ang, Come, sweet soul,. [plot, 

Leave wondering, start not, 'twas I laid thia 
To get thy father forth. 

Rach. O, Angelo ! [love, 

Ang, O me no O's, but hear ; my lord, your 
Paulo Fernezc, is return'd from war. 
Lingers at Pont Valerio, and from thence. 
By post, at midnight last, I was conjured 
To man you thither. Stand not on replies, 
A horse is saddled for you, will you go ? 
And I am for you ; if you will stay, Avhy so. 

Rach. O Angelo, each minute is a day 
Till m.y Fcrneze come ; come, we'll away. 

[Exit. 

Ang. Sweet soul, I guess thy meaning by thy 
looks. 
At Point Valerio thou thy love shalt see. 
But not Ferueze. Steward, fare you well ; 
You wait for Rachel too : when ! can you tell 

[Exit hastily 

Re-e>7tcr Jaques, icith his hands full of moncyt 
Jaq. O in what golden circle have I danced ! 
Milan, these odorous and enflower'd fields 
A.re none of thine ; no, here's Elysium ; 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



637 



Here blessed ghosts do walk ; this is the court 
And glorious palace, where the god of gold 
Shines like the sun, of sparkling majest}\ 

[my] fair-feather'd, my red-breasted birds, 
Come fly "with me, I'll bring you to a choir, 
Whose consort being sweeten'd with your sound, 
The music will be fuller, and each hoiu* 

The ears shall banquet with your harmony. 
O! 0! O! [Exit. 

Re-enter Christopheho. 

Chris. At the old priory behind St. Foy's, 
That was the place of our appointment, sure ; 

1 hope he will not make mo lose ray gold, 
And mock me too ; perhaps they arc within ; 
I'll knock. 

Jaq. [wUhiii.^^ O lord ! the case is altered. 
Chris. E.achel ! Angelo ! signior Angelo ! 

Re-enter Jaques. 

Jaq. Angels! ay.where? mine angels! v.-here's 
n\y gold ? 
Why, Rachel ! O thou thievish cannibal ! 
Thou eat'st my flesh in stealing of my gold. 

Chris. What gold ? ' [forth ! 

Jaq. What gold ? Rachel ! call help, come 
I'll rip thine entrails, but I'll have my gold. 
Rachel ! why coni'st thou not ? I am undone. 
Ah me, she speaks not ! thou hast slain my 
child. [Exit, 

Chris. What, is the man possest, trdw ? this 
Rachel, I see, is gone with Angelo. [is strange ! 
Well, I will once again unto the priory, 
And see if I can meet them. [Exit. 

Re-enter Jaques. 
Jaq. 'Tis too true, [gold : 

Thou hast made away my child, thou hast my 
what hyena call'd me out of doors ? 
The thief is gone, ray gold's gone, Rachel's gone. 
All's gone ! save I that spend my cries in vain ; 
But I'll hence too, and die, or end this pain. 

[Exit. 

SCENE II. — The Street before Count 
^ Feuneze's House. 

Enter Juxiper and Oniox, richly dressed, and 
drunk, followed hij Finio and Valentine. 

Jun. 'Swounds, let me go ; hey, catso ! catch 
him aUve ; I call, I call, boy ; I come, I come, 
sweetheart. 

Oni. Page, hold my rapier, while I hold my 
friend here. 

Vol. O here's a sweet metamorphosis, a cou- 
ple of buzzards turn'd to a pair of peacocks. 

Jun. Signior Onion, lend mo thy boy to iin- 
hang my rapier. 

Oni. Signior Junipern for once or so ; but 
troth is, you must inveigle, as I have done, my 
lord's i^age here, a poor follower of mine. 

Jun. Iley ho ! your pfvge then shall not be su- 
perintendant upon me ? he shall not be addict- 
ed ? he shall not be incident, he shall not be 
incident, he shall not be incident, shall he ? 

[lie fo ins loithhis rapier. 

Fin. O sweet signior Juniper. 

Jun. 'Sblood, stand away, princox ! do not 
aggravate my joy. 



Val. Nay, good master Onion. 

Oni. Nay, and he have the heart to draw my 
blood, let him come. 

Jun. I'll slice you. Onion ; I'll slice you. 

Oni. I'll cleave you, Juniper. 

Yal. Why hold, hold, ho ! what do j'ou mean ? 

Jun. Let him come, ingle ; stand by, boy, his 
alabaster blade cannot fear me. 

Fin. Why hear you, sweet signior, let not 
there be any contention betv>'een mj' master and 
you about me ; if you want a page, sir, I cau 
help you to a proper stripling. 

Jun. Canst thou ! what parentage, what an- 
cestry, Avhat genealogy is he ? 

Fin. A French boy, sir. 

Jun. Has he his French linguist ? has he ? 

Fin. Ay, sir. 

Jun, Then transport him ; here's a crusado for 
thee. 

Oni. You will not embezzle ray servant with 
joxvc benevolence, will you ? hold, boy, there's 
a portmanteau for thee. 

Fin. Lord, sir ! 

Oni. Do, take it, boy ; it's three pounds ten 
shillings, a portmanteau. 

Fin. I thank your lordship. [E.dt. 

Jan. Sirrah, ningle, thou art a traveller, and 
I honor thee. I prithee discourse, cherish thy 
muse, discourse. 

Val. Of what, sir ? 

Jun. Of what thou wilt; 'sblood, hang sor- 
row. 

Oni. Prithee, Valentine, assoil me one thing. 

Val. 'Tis pity to soil you, sir, your new ap- 
parel — 

Oni. Mass, thou say'st true, apparel makes a 
man forget himself. 

Jun. Begin, find your tongue, ningle. 

Val. Now will I guU these ganders rai-ely. 
Gentlemen, having in my peregrination through 
Mesopotamia 

Jun. Speak legibly, this game's gone A\ithout 
the great mercy of — Here's a fine tragedy in- 
deed ! there's a keisar royal ! 'slid, nor king, 
nor keisar shall — 

Re-enter Finio with Pacue, Balthasar, and 
Martino. 

Bal. Where, where, Finio, where be they ? 

Jun. Go to, I'll be with you anon. 

Oni. O here's the page, signior Juniper. 

Jun. "What says monsieur Onion, boy ? 

Fin. What say you, sir ? 

Jun. Tread out, boy. 

Fin. Take up, you mean, sir. 

Jun. Tread out, I say ; so ! I thank you, ■ 
is this the boy ? 

Pac. Oui, monsieur. 

Jun. Who gave you that name r 

Pac. Give me de name, vat name ? 

Oni. He thought your name had been We, 
Young gentleman, you must do more than his 
legs can do for him, bear with him, sir. 

Jun. Sirrah, give me instance of your carriage , 
you'll serve ray turn, will you .' 

Pac. Vat turn ? upon the toe ! 

Fin. signior, no. 

Jun. Page, will you follow me r I'll give yo'j 
good exhibition. 



638 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Pac. By gar, shall not alono follow you, but 
shall lead you too. 

Old. Plaguy boy! lie sooths his humor; these 
French villains have pocky wits. 

Jun. Here, disarm me, take my semitary. 
Val. O rare ! this would be a rare man, an he 
had a little travel. — Balthasar, JIartino, put off 
your shoes, and bid him cobble them. 

Jun. Friends, friends, but pardon me for fel- 
lows, no more in occupation, no more in corpo- 
ration ; 'tis so, pardon me ; the case is altered ; 
this is law, but I'll stand to nothing. 

Pac. Fait, so me link. 

Jun. Well, then God save the duke's majesty ; 
is this any harm now ? speak, is this any harm 
now ? 

Oni. No, nor good neither, 'sblood ! — 

Jun. Do you laugh at me, do you laugh at 
me, do you laugh at me ? 

Val. Ay, sir, we do. 

Jun. You do indeed ? 

Val. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Jun. 'Tis sufficient ; page, carry my purse ; 
dog me. [Exit. 

Oni. Gentlemen, leave him not ! you see in 
what case he is ; he is not in adversity, his purse 
is full of money ; leave him not. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE III. — The open Countnj. 

Enter Angelo with Rachel. 

Ang. Nay, gentle Rachel ! 

Rack. Away ! forbear, ungentle Angelo ! 
Touch not my body with those impious hands. 
That, like hot irons, sear my trembling heart, 
And make it hiss at your disloyalty. 

Enter Paulo Ferneze and Chamont, at a distance. 
Was this your drift, to use Ferneze's name ? 
Was he your fittest stale ? O vile dishonor ! 

Paul. Stay, noble sir. [Holdinrj back Chamont. 

Anf/. 'Sblood, how like a puppet do you talk 
now ! 
Dishonor! Avhat dishonor? come, come, fool; 
Nay, then I see you are peevish. S'heart, dis- 
honor ! 
To have you to a priest, and marry you, 
And put you in an honorable state. 

Each. To marry me ! heaven ! can it be. 
That men should live with such unfeeling soiils. 
Without or touch or conscience of religion ? 
Or that their warping appetites should spoil 
Those honored forms, that the true seal of 

friendship 
Had set upon their faces r 

Anf/. Do you hear ? 
What needs all this ? say, will you have me, or 
no ? 

Bach. I'll have j'ou gone, and leave me if you 
would. 

Any. Leave you ! I was accurst to bring j'Ou 
And make so fair an offer to a fool. [hither, 

A pox upon you, why should you be coj', 
What good thing have you in you to be proud of? 
Are you any other than a beggar's daughter ? — 
Because vou have beautv ! — O God's light! a 
blast ! 

Pau. Ay, Angelo ! 



An(/. You scornful baggage, 
I loved thee not so much, but now I hate 
thee. 

Rach. Upon my knees, j'ou heavenly powers, 
I thank you. 
That thus have tamed his wild affections. 

Anff. This will not do, I must to her again. 

[Aside, 
Rachel ! 

O that thou saw'st my heart, or didst behold 
The place from whence that scalding sigh 

evented ! 
Rachel, by Jesu, I love thee as my soul, 
Rachel, sweet Rachel ! 

Rach. What, again return'd 
Unto this violent passion ! 

Anf/. Do but hear me ; 
By heaven I love you, Rachel. 

Rach. Pray forbear. 
O that my lord Ferneze were but here ! 

Anj. 'Sblood ! an he were, what would ho do ? 

Pau. [Rushes foricard.] This would he do, 
base villain. [Flings him off. 

Rach. j\Iy dear lord ! [Runs into his arms. 

Pau. Thou monster, even the soul of treach- 

what dishonor'd title of reproach [ery ! 
May my tongue spit in thy deserved face ! 
Methinks my very presence should invert 

The steeled organs of those traitorous eyes. 
To take, into thy heart, and pierce it through. 
Turn'st thou them on the ground ? wretch, dig 

a grave 
With their sharp points, to hide thy abhon-cd 

head. — 
Sweet love, thy wrongs have been too violent 
Since my departure from thee, I perceive ; 
But now true comfort shall again appear, 
And, like an armed angel, guard thee safe 
From all the assaults of covcr'd villainy. 
Come, monsieur, let us go, and leave this ^vretch 
To his despair. 

A}if/. My noble [lord] Ferneze ! 

Pau. What, canst thou speak to me, and not 
thy tongue. 
Forced Avjth the torment of thy guilty soul, 
Break that infected circle of thy mouth,* 
Like the rude clapper of a crazed bell ! 
I, [I] that in thy bosom lodg'd my soul, 
With all her train of secrets, thinking them 
To be as safe and richly entertain'd 
As in a prince's court, or tower of strength ; 
And thou to prove a traitor to my trust, 
And basely to expose it ! O this world ! 

Anff. My honorable lord. 

Pau. The very owl. 
Whom other birds do stare and wonder at, 
Shall hoot at thee ; and snakes in every bush, 
Shall deaf thine ears with their 

Cha. Nay, good my lord. 
Give end unto your passions. 

Ant/. You shall see 

1 will redeem your lost opinion. 
Rach. My lord, believe him. 
Cha. Come, be satisfied : 

Sweet lord, you know our haste ; let us to horst. 
The time for my engaged return is past. 
Be friends again, take him along with you. 

Pau. Come, Angelo, hereafter prove more 
true. [Exeu'it: 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



639 



SCENE IV. — A Room in Count Ferneze's 
House. 

Enter Couiit Fbiineze, Maximiliax, and Fran- 
cisco. 

Count F. Tut, Maximilian, for A'Oiir honor'd 
self 
I am persuaded ; but no words shall turn 
The edge of purposed vengeance on that wretch : 
Come bring him forth to execution. — 

Enter Servants with Camillo bound. 
I'll hang him for my son, he shall not 'scape, 
Had he a hundred lives. — Tell me, vile slave, 
Think'St thou I love my son ? is he my flesh ? 
Is he my blood, my life ? and shall all these 
Be tortured for thy sake, and not revenged ? — 
Truss up the villain. 

Max. My lord, there is no law to confirm this 
action ; 'tis dishonorable. 

Count F. Dishonorable, Maximilian ! 
It is dishonorable in Chamont : 
The day of his prefixed return is past. 
And he shall pay for it. 

Cam. My lord, my lord. 
Use your extremest vengeance ; I'll be glad 
To suffer ten times more for such a friend. 

Count F. O resolute and peremptory wretch ! 

Franc. My honor'd lord, let us intreat a word ! 

Count F. I'll hoar no more ; I say, he shall 
not live ; 
Myself will do it. Stay, what form is this 
Stands betwixt him and me, and holds my hand ? 
What miracle is this ? 'tis my own fancy 
Carves this impression in me ; my soft nature, 
That ever hath retain' d such foolish pity 
Of the most abject creature's misery. 
That it abhors it. What a child am 1 
To have a child ? ah me ! my son, my son ! 

[ Weeps, and walks aside. 

Enter Christopiiero. 
Chris. O my dear love, what is become of thee ? 
What unjust absence layest thou on my breast. 
Like weights of lead, when swords are at my 

back. 
That run me thorough with thy unkind flight ! 
My gentle disposition waxeth wild : 
I shall run frantic : O ray love, my love ! 

Enter Jaques. 
Jaq. My gold, my gold, my wife, my soul, my 
heaven ! 
What is become of thee ? see, I'll impart 
My miserable loss to my good lord. — 
Let me have search, my lord, my gold is gone. 
Count F. My son, Christophero, think'st thou 
it possible 
I ever shall behold his face again ? 

Chris. O father, where's my love ? were you 
so careless 
To let an unthrift steal away your child ? 

Jaq, I know your lordship may find out my 
gold. 
For God's sake pity me ; justice, sweet lord ! 
Count F. Now they have young Chamont, 
Christophero, 
Surely they never will restore my son. 



Chris. Who would have thought you could 
have been so careless. 
To lose your only daughter ? 

Jaq. Who would think 
That looking to my gold Avith such hare's eycS, 
That ever open, ay, even when thoy sleep, 
I thus should lose my gold ! my noble lord, 
What says your lordship ? 

Count F. O my son, my son ! 

Chris. My dearest Rachel ! 

Jaq. My most honey gold ! 

Count F. Hear me, Christophero. 

Chris. Nay, hear me, Jaques. 

Jaq. Hear me, most honor'd lord. 

Max. What rule is here ? 

Count F. God, that we should let Chamont 
escape ! 

Chris. Ay, and that Rachel, such a virtuous 
Should be thus stolen away ! [maid, 

Jaq. And that my gold. 
Being so hid in earth, should be found out ! 

Max. O confusion of languages, and yet no 
tower of Babel ! 



Enter Aurelia, and Phcexixella. 

Frail. Ladies, beshrcw me, if you come not fit 
To make a jangling consort ; will you laugh 
To see three constant passions ? 

Max. Stand by, I will urge them. 
Sweet count, will you be comforted ? ■ 

Coiint F. It cannot be 
But he is handled the most cruelly 
That ever any noble prisoner was. 

Max. Steward, go cheer my lord. 

Chris. Well, if Rachel took her flight will- 
ingly 

Max. Sirrah, speak you touching your daugh ■ 
ter's flight. 

Jaq. O that I could so soon forget to know 
The thief again that had my gold, my gold ! 

Max. Is not this pure ? 

Count F. O thou base wretch, I'll drag thee 
through the streets ; 
And as a monster make thee Avonder'd at. — 

Enter Balthasar. 
How now ? [Balthasar ichispers with him, 

Phosn. Sweet gentleman, how too unworthily 
Art thou thus tortured ! — Brave Maximilian, 
Pity the poor youth, and appease my father. 
Count F, How ! my son return'd ! O Maxi- 
milian, 
Francisco, daughters ! bid him enter here. 
Dost thou not mock me ? — 

Enter Paulo Ferneze, Rachel, Chamont, and 
Angelo. 

O, my dear Paulo, v/elcome 
Max. My Lord Chamont ! 
Cha. My Gasper ! 
Chris. Rachel ! 

Jaq. My gold, Rachel, my gold ! 
Count F, Somebody bid the beggar cease his 

noise. 
Chris. O signior Angelo, would you deceive 
Your honest friend, that simply trusted you ? — 
Well, Rachel, I am glad thou art here again. 
Ang. I'faith, she is not for you, steward. 
Jaq, I beseech you, madam, urge your father. 



640 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



Fhcen. I will anon ; good Jaqucs, be content. 

Aur. Now God a mercy Fortune, and sweet 
Venus : 
Let Cujiid do his part, and all is well. 

Phan. IMcthinks my heart's in heaven with 
this comfort. 

Cha. Ls this the true Italian courtesy? 
Ferneze, were you tortured thus in France ? 

By my soul's safety 

Count F. My most noble lord, [Kneels, 

I do beseech your lordship. 

Cha. Ilonor'd count, [Raises him. 

Wrong not your age Avith fiexure of a knee, 
I do impute it to those cares and griefs 
That did torment you in your absent son. 

Count F. O worthy gentleman, I am ashamed 
That my extreme affection to my son 
Should give my honor so iincured a maim ; 
But my first son being in Vicenza lost — — 

Cha. IIow ! in Vicenza ! lost you a son there ? 
About what time, my lord ? 

Count F. O, the same night 
Wherein your noble father took the town. 

Cha, How long's that since, my lord, can you 
remember ? 

Count F. 'Tis now well nigh upon the twen- 
tieth year. 

Cha. And how old was he then ? 

Count F. I cannot tell ; 
Between the years of three and four, I take it. 

Cha- Had he no special note in his attire, 
Or otherwise, that you call to mind ? 

Count F, I cannot well remember his attire ; 
But I have often heard his mother say, 
He had about his neck a tablet, 
Given to him by the emperor Sigismun^l, 
His godfather, with this inscription. 
Under the figure of a silver globe. 
In minima mundus. 

Cha. Ho\T did you call 
Your son, my lord ? 

Count F. Camillo, lord Chamont. 

Cha. Then, no more my Gasper, but Camillo, 
Take notice of your father. — Gentlemen, 
Stand not amazed ; here is a tablet, 
With that inscription, found about his neck. 
That night and in Vicenza, by my father. 
Who, being ignorant what name he had, 
Chi-isten'd him Gasper ; nor did I reveal 
This secret, till this hour, to any man. 

Count F. O happy revelation ! O blest hour ! 

my Camillo ! 

Phwn. O strange ! my brother ! 

Fran. Maximilian, 
Behold now the abundance of his joy 
Drowns him in tears of gladness. 

Count F. O, my bo}'. 
Forgive thy father's late austerity. 

Max. My lord, I delivered as much before, 
but your honor would not be persuaded ; I will 
hereafter give more observance to my visions ; I 
dreamt of this. 

Jaq. I can be still no longer ; my good lord. 
Do a poor man some grace 'mongst all your joys. 

Count F. Why, what's the matter, Jaques ? 

Jaq. 1 am robb'd ; 

1 am imdone, my lord ; robb'd and undone. 
A heap of thirty thousand golden crowns 
Stolen from me in one minute, and I fear 



Bj- her confederacy that calls me father ; 

But she is none of mine, therefore, sweet lord. 

Let her be tortured to confess the truth. 

Ma.v. More wonders yet. 

Cou?it F. IIow, Jaques ! is not Rachel then 
thy daughter ? 

Jaq. No, I disclaim in her ; I spit at her ; 
She is a harlot, and her customers, 
Your son, this gallant, and your steward here, 
Have all been partners with her in my spoil ; 
No less than thirty thousand. 

Count F. Jaques, Jaques, 
This is impossible ; how shouldst thou come 
To the possession of so huge a heap, 
Being always a known beggar ? 

Jaq. Out, alas ! 
I have betray' d myself with my own tongue ; 
The case is alter' d. [Going 

Count F. Some one stay him here. 

Max. What, means he to depart ? — Count 
Ferneze, upon my soul, this beggar is a counter- 
feit. Urge him. — Didst thou lose gold ? 

Jaq. O no, I lost no gold. 

Max. Said I not true ? 

Count F. IIow ! didst tliovi first lose thirty 
thousand crowns. 
And now no gold ? was Rachel first thy child, 
And is she now no daughter ? sirrah, Jaques, 
You know how far our Milan laws extend 
For punishment of liars. 

Jaq, Ay, my lord. — 
What shall I do? I have no starting-holes. 

[Aside. 
Monsieur Chamont, stand you my honor'd lord. 

Cha. For what, old man ? 

Jaq. Ill-gotten goods ne'er thrive ; 
I play'd the thief, and now am robb'd myself. 
I am not what I seem, Jaques de Pric, 
Nor was I born a beggar as I am ; 
But some time steward to your noble father. 

Cha. What, Melun ! 
That robb'd my father's treasure, stole my 
sister ? 

Jaq. Ay, ay ; that treasure's lost, but Isabel, 
Your beauteous sister, here survives in Rachel ; 
And therefore on my knees 

Max. Stay, Jaques, stay ; 
The case still alters. 

Count F, Fair Rachel, sister to the lord 
Chamont ! 

Aug. Steward, your cake is dough, as well as 
mine. 

Pau, I SCO that honor's flames cannot be hid. 
No more than lightning in the blackest cloud. 

Max. Then, sirrah, it is true, you have lost 
this gold ? 

Jaq, Ay, worthy signor, thirty thousand 
crowns. 

Count F, Mass, Avho was it told me, that a 
couple of my men were become gallants of late ? 

Fran. Marry 'twas I, my lord ; my man told 
me. 

Enter Oxiox and Juniper, dressed as before. 
Max. How now ! what pageant is this ? 
Jan. Come, signior Onion, let's not be ashamed 
to appear ; keep state, look not ambiguous now. 
Oni. Not I, while I am in this suit. 
Jun. Lordlings, equivalence to you all. 



THE CASE IS ALTERED. 



C41 



Oni. Wc thought good to be so good as sec 
you, gentlemen. 

Max. What, monsieur Onion ! 

Oni. How dost thou, good cajitain ? 

Count F. "NMiat, arc my hinds turn'd gentle- 
men? 

Oni. Hinds, sir ! 'sblood, an that word will 
bear an action, it shall cost us a thousand pound 
a piece, but -we'll be revenged; 

Jtcn. Wilt 'thou sell thy lordship, count? 

Count F. What ! peasants purchase lordships ? 

Jitn. Is that any novels, sir ? 

Max. O transmutation of elements ! it is cer- 
tified you had pages. 

Jan. Ay, sir; but it is known they proved 
ridiciilous, they did pilfer, they did purloin, 
they did procrastinate our purses ; for the which 
wasting of our stock, we have piit them to the 
stocks. 

Count F. And thither shall j^ou two presently. 
These be the villains that stole Jaqiies' gold ; 
Awa)^ with them, and set them with their men. 

3Iax. Onion, you will now be pcel'd. 

Fran. The case is alter'd now. 

Oni. Good my lord, good my lord ! — 

Jan. Awaj% scoundrel ! dost thou fear a little 
elocution? shall we be confiscate now? shall we 
droop now ? shall we be now in helogabolus ? 

Oni. Peace, peace, leave thy gabling. 

Count F. Away, away with them ; Avhat's this 
they prate ? 

[Exeunt Servants icith Jun. and Oxiox. 
Keep the knaves sure, strict inquisition 
Shall presently be made for Jaques' gold. 
To bo disposed at pleasure of Chamont. 

Clia. She is your own, lord Paulo, if your 
father give his consent - 



Ang. Hov/ now, Christophero ! The ease is 
alter'd. 

Chris. With you as well as mc ; I am con- 
tent, sir. 

Count F. With all my heart : and in exchange 
of her. 
If with your fair acceptance it may stand, 
I tender my Aurelia to your love. 

Cha. I take her from your lordship with all 
thanks, 
And bless the hour wherein I was made prisoner 
For the fruition of this present fortune. 
So full of happy and unlook'd-for joys. — 
Melun, I pardon thee ; and for the treasure, 
Recover it, and hold it as thine own : 
It is enough for me to see my sister 
Live in the circle of Ferneze's arms, 
My friend, the son of such a noble father ; 
And my unworthy self rapt above all, 
By being the lord to so divine a dame. 

Max. Well, I will nov.' swear the case is al- 
tered. — Lady, fare you well; I will subdue 
my afi"cctions. — Madam, as for a^ou, you are a 
profest virgin, and I v.'ill be silent. — My hon- 
orable lord Ferneze, it shall become you at this 
time not to be frugal, but bounteous, and open- 
handed; your fortune hath been so to you. — 
Lord Chamont, you are now no stranger ; you 
must be welcome ; you have a fair, amiable, and 
splendid lady : — but, signior Paulo, signior Ca- 
millo, I know you valiant, be loving. — • Lady, 
I must be better known to you. • — Signiors, for 
you, I pass you not, though I let you pass ; for 
in truth I pass not of you. — Lovers to your 
nuptials, lordlings to your dances. March fair 
ail, for a fair March is worth a king's ransom! 

'Exo'unt. 



41 



ENTERTAINMENTS. 

PART OF KING JAMES'S ENTERTAINMENT. 

IN PASSING TO HIS CORONATION. 



AT FEN-CHURCH 

The scene presented itself in a square and flat 
ui)riglit, like to the side of a city ; the top there- 
of, above the vent and crest, adorn'd with houses, 
towers, and steeples, set off in prospective. Upon 
the battlements, in a great capital letter, was in- 
Ecribod, 

LONDINIUM : 

according to Tacitus, Annal. lib. 14. At Sueto- 
7iius 7)iird constantid medios inter liostcis Loiuli- 
nium pcrrcxit, cognomcnto quidem Colonice non in- 
signe, sed copid negotiatorum, et comeatu maximh 
celebre. Beneath that, in a less and different 
character, was written 

CAMERA REG LI, 

which title immediately after the Norman con- 
quest it began to have; {Cam. Brit. 374,) and 
by the indulgence of succeeding princes, hath 
been hitherto continued. In the frieze over the 
gate it scemeth to speak this vdrse : 

PAR DOMUS H^miC CCELO, 
SED MLYOR EST DOMIJ^O, 

taken out of Martial (lib. 8, eiug. 36,) and imply- 
ing, that though this city (for the state and mag- 
nificence) might by hyperbole be said to touch 
the stars, and rcacli up to heaven, yet was it far 
inferior to the master thereof, who was his 
majesty ; and in that respect unworthy to receive 
him. The highest person advanced therein, was 

MONARCHIA BKITANNICA ; 

and fitly ; applying to the abovementioned title 
of the city, THE KING'S CHAMBER, and 
therefore here placed as in the proper seat of the 
empire : for so the glory and light of our king- 
dom, M. Camden, {Brit. 3, 7,) speaking of Lon- 
don, saith, she is totius Britcmnice epitome, Bri- 
lannicique imperii sedes, regumque Anglics camera, 
lantutn inter omiieis eminet, quantum {ut ait ilia) 
inter viburna cupiressus. She was a woman, richly 
attired in cloth of gold and tissue ; a rich man- 
tle ; over her state two crowns hanging, with 
pensile shields thorough them ; the one limned 
■with the particular coat of England, the other 
of Scotland : On either side also a crown, with 
the like scutcheons, and peculiar coats of France 
and Ireland. In her hand she holds a sceptre ; 
on head a fillet of gold, interwoven with palm 
and laurel ; her hair bound into four several 
points, descending from her crown ; and in her 
lap a little globe, inscribed upon 



ORB IS BRITAJ^jYICUS, 

and, beneath, the word 

DIVISUS AB GRBE ; 

to shew that this empire is a world divided from 
the world ; and alluding to that of Claudian, Di 

MalUi Theodor. cons, panegyr. 

Et nostra diducta Britannia tnundo , 

and Virgil, 

Et pent I us toto divisos orbe Britannos.^ 

The wreath denotes victory and happiness ; the 
sceptre and crowns sovereignty ; the shields the 
precedency of the countries, and their distinc- 
tions. At her feet was set 

THEOSOPHIA, 

or Divine Wisdom, all in white, a blue mantle 
seeded with stars, a crown of stars on her head. 
Her garments figured truth, innocence, and 
clearness. She was always looking up ; in her 
one hand she sustained a dove, in the other a 
serpent : the last to shew her subtilty, the first 
her simplicity : alluding to that text of Scrip- 
ture,''' Estate erga prudenics sicut serpentes, et sim- 
plices sicut columbce. Her Avord, 

PER ME REGES REGJVAJVT,3 

intimating, how by her all kings do govern, and 
that she is the foundation and strength of king- 
doms : to which end, she was here placed upon 
a cube, at the foot of the monarch}', as her ba.so 
and stay. Directly beneath her stood 

GENIUS URBIS,* 

a person attired rich, reverend, and antique : his 
hair long and white, crowned with a wreath of 
plane-tree, which is said to be arbor genialis ; his 
mantle of purple, and buskins of that color : he 
held in one liand a goblet, in the other a branch 
full of little twigs, to signify increase and indul- 
gence. His word, 

HIS ARMIS; 

pointing to the two that supported him, where- 
of the one on the right hand was 



1 Eclog. 1. 

2 Matt. X. IC. 

3 Piov. viii. 15. 

* Antiqui genium cmniiim gignendarum rerum exist-.ma- 
riintdeum: et tarn urbib. qiiain hominib. vel cateris rebu6 
natura. Lil. Gr. Gyr. in Synt. Deor. 15. and Rosin. AntiQ 
Ro. 1. 2. c. 14. 

642 



PART OF THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT. 



G-I3 



BOULEUTES, 

figuring the council of the city, and was suited 
in black, and purple ; a wreath of oak' upon his 
nead : sustaining, for his ensigns, on his left arm 
a scarlet robe, and in his right hand the fasces,^ 
as tokens of magistracy, with this inscription ; 

SERVARE CIVES. 

The other on the left hand, 

P0LE3IIUS, 

the warlike force of the city, in an antique coat 
or ainior with a target and sword ; his helm on, 
and crowned with laurel, implying strength and 
conquest : in his hand he bore the standard of 
the city, with this word, 

EXTIMGUERE ET HOSTEIS, 

expressing by those several mots, connexed, that 
with those arras of counsel and strength, the 
Genius was able to extinguish the king's ene- 
mies, and preserve his citizens, alluding to these 
verses in Seneca, Oct. act. 2. 

Extingucre hostem maxima est virtus ducis. 
Scrvare elves major est patricc 2Mtri. 
Underneath these, in an aback thrust out be- 
fore the rest, lay 

TAMESIS, . 

the river, as running along the side of the city ; 
in a skin-coat, made like flesh, naked and blue. 
His mantle of sea-green or water-color, thin, 
and boln out like a sail ; bracelets about his 
wrists, of willow and sedge, a crown of sedge 
and reed upon his head, mixed with water-lilies ; 
alluding to Virgil's description of Tyber ; 

Deus ipse loci, fluvio Tijherinus amosno, 

Populeas inter senior se attollere frondes 
Visus, eum tenuis glauco velahat atnictu 
Carhasus, et crineis unibrosa togehat arundo? 
His beard and hair long, and overgrown. He 
leans his arm upon an earthen pot, out of which, 
water, with live fishes, are seen to run forth, and 
play about him. His Avord, 

FLUMIJTA SEjVSERUJVT IPS^, 

an hemistich of Ovid's ; the rest of the verse 
being, 

quid esset amor.^ 

affirming, that rivers themselves, and such in- 
animate creatures, have heretofore been made 
sensible of passions and affections ; and that he 
now no less partook the joy of his majesty's 
grateful approach to this cit}', than any of those 
persons, to whom he pointed, which were the 
daughters of the Genius, and six in number : 
who, in a spreading ascent, upon several grices, 
help to beautify both the sides. The first, 

1 Civica corona fit k fronde querna, quoniain cibus vic- 
tusqiie antiquissiraus querceus ciijii solitus sit. Ros. lib. 10. 
cap. 97. 

2 Fasciculi virganini, intra quas obligata securis erat, sic 
ut feii'iim in ?iinimo fasce extaret. Ros. lib. 7. cap. 3. Ubi 
notandiim est, non debere pitecipitein et solutam iram esse 
magistratus. Mora cnim allata, et cunctatio, dum sensim 
virgffi solvuntiii', identideni consilium nmtavit de plectendo. 
Quando autciu vitia quKdam sunt coirigibilia, deplorata 
alia ; castigaiit va'ga?, quod revocari valet, immedicabile 
secures prcecidunt. Pkit. Prob. Rom. 82. 

* J^n. lib. 8. i Amor. 3. el. 5. 



EUPHROSYiS'E, 

or Gladness, was suited in green, a mantle of 
divers colors, embroidered with all variety of 
flowers : on her head a garland of myrtle, in 
her right hand a crystal cruse filled with wine, 
in the left a cup of gold ; at her feet a timbrel, 
harp, and other instruments, all ensigns of glad- 
ness, 

Xatis ill usum Icetitice scyiJhis, ^-c* 

And in another place. 

Nunc est bibendum, nunc pcde libero 

Pulsanda tellus, ^c.'' 
Her word- 

ir^c ^Vi Mim PRIMA DiEsy 

As if this wore the first hour of her life, and 
the minute wherein she began to be ; beholding 
so long coveted, and looked for a presence. The 
second, 

SEBASIS, 

or A^eneration, was varied in an ash-colored suit, 
and dark mantle, a veil over her head of ash- 
color : her hands crossed before her, and het 
eyes half closed. Her word, 

Mim SEMPER nEus. 

Implying both her office of reverence, and the 
dignity of her object, who being as god on earth, 
should never be less in her thought. The third, 

rUOTHYJIIA, 

or Promptitude, was attired in a short-tucked 
garment of flame- color, wings at her back : her 
hair bright, and bound up with ribands ; her 
breast open, virago-like ; her buskins so rib- 
banded : she was crowned with a chaplet of tri- 
fol)% to express readiness and openness everj 
way ; in her right hand she held a squirrel, as 
being the creature most full of life and quick- 
ness : in the loft a close round censer, with the 
perfume suddenly to be vented forth at the sides 
Her Avord, 

QUA DATA PORTA, ^ 

taken from another place in Virgil, Avhere ..^olus, 
at the command of Juno, lets forth the wind ; 

Ac venti velut agmine facto 

QuA data porta ruunt, et terras turbine 2)erjiantr'' 

And shewed that she Avas no less prepared Avith 
promptitude and alacrity, than the Avinds Avere, 
upon the least gate that shall be opened to his 
high command. The fourth, 

AGRYBKIA, 

or Vigilance, in yelloAV, a sable mantle, seeded 
Avith Avaking eyes, and silver fringe : her chaplet 
of Heliotropium, or turnsole : in her one hand 
a lamp, or cresset ; in her other a bell. The 
lamp signified search and sight, the bell Avarn- 
ing ; the Heliotropium care, and respecting her 
object. Her AVord, 

SPECULAMUR IJV OMJVEIS, 

alluding to that of Ovid, Avhere he describes the 
oflice of Argus ; 



5 Hor. car. i. ode 27. 

6 Ode 37. 

J Stat. Syl. 4. Ep. Domit. 



8 Virg. Eel. 1 

9 ^n. I. 
10 ^n. 1. 



614 



PART OF THE KING'S ENTERTAIXMEXT. 



jpse procul montis sublime cacumen 

Occtnmf, wide sedens partes si:)eciilatur in omneis,'^ 

and implying the like duty of care and yigilance 
in herseltl The fifth, 

AGAPE, 

or Loving Affection, in crimson fringed with 
gold, a mantle of flame-color, her chaplet of 
red and white roses ; iii her hand, a flaming 
heart: the flame expressed zeal; the red and 
white roses, a mixture of simplicity Avith love ; 
her robes freshness and fervency. Her word, 

j\'\).v SIC EXCUBI.^, 

our of Claudian, in following 

Neo circumstaiitia j^Uti 

Qud.m tutatur amor." 

Inferring, that though her sister before had pro- 
tested -watchfulness and circumspection, yet no 
■watch or guard could be so safe to the estate or 
person of a prince, as the love and natural affec- 
tions of his subjects : -n'hich she in the city's 
behalf promised. The sixth, 

OMOTHYMIA, 

or Unanimity, in blue, her robe blue, and bus- 
kins. A chaplet of blue lilies, shcAvina one 
truth and entireness of mind. In her lap lies a 
sheaf of arrows bound togethei-, and she her- 
self tits weaving certain small silver twists. 
Her -word, 

FIRM A COJVCE.VSUS FACIT. 
Auxilia humilia firina, is.c? 

Intimating, that even the smallest and weakest 
aids, by consent, are made strong : herself per- 
sonating the iinanimit}^ or consent of soul, in 
:tll inhabitants of the city to his service. 

IT These are all the personages, or live fig- 
ures, -whereof only two were speakers, (Genius 
and Tamesis,) the rest -were mutes. Other 
dumb compliments there -were, as the arms of 
the kingdom en the one side, with this inscrip- 
tion, 

HIS VIRE^iS. 

With these mat/est thou flourish. 

On the other side, the arms of the city, with, 

ins VLYCJiS. 

With these mayest thou conquer. 

In the centre, or midst of the pegme, there 
was an aback, or square, wherein this elogy was 
written : 

MAXIMUS niC KEX EST ET tUCE SEKEXIOR IPSA 
PRIKCIPE QUjE TALEM CEItXlT IX UREE DUCEM ; 

•3rjus rOKTUNAM supEHAT sio usiCA vir.TUS, 

VXUS UT IS RELIQCrOS VINCIT UTRAQUE VIROS. 
I-B^CETTIS ALII POPULOS, MULTAQUE FATIOAST 

LEGE! SED EXEMPLO NOS RAPIT ILLE SUO. 
CriQUE ERUI TOTA FAS EST UXORE MARITO, 

ET SUA FAS SIMILI PIGNOEA NOSSE PATRI. 

BCCE UEI riOXORiaES circumstipata coruscis 

IT COMES, ET TANTO VIX MIXOE ASNA VIRO. 

BAUD metus est, REGEM POSTIIAC ke pkoximcs h.ebes, 

SEU SUCCESSORICSI XOX AMET ILLE SUUM. 



1 Met. 1. 

2 De 4. cons. Hon. paneg. 
? Pub. Syr. 



This, and the whole frame, Avas covered ndth 
a curtain of silk, painted like a thick cloud, and 
at the approach of the king -was instantly to be 
draAA-n. T"ne allegory being, that those clouds 
Avere gathered upon the face of the city, through 
their long Avant of his most Avished sight : but 
noAV, as at the rising of the sun, all mists Avere 
dispersed and fled. When suddenly, upon 
silence made to the music, a A'oice Avas heard to 
utter this verse ; 

Totus adest oculis, adsrat qui mentibus olim.* 

Signifying, that he Avas now really objected to 
their eyes, who before had been only, but still 
present in theh" minds. 

Thus far the compUmental iMrt of the first; 
wherein icas not only labored the expiression of state 
and magnificence (as proper to a triumphal arch) 
but the very site, fabric, strength, 2'olicy, diyyiity, 
and affections of the city icere all laid doion lo life : 
the nature and propeHy of these devices being, to 
present ahoays some one entire body, or figure, con- 
sisting of distinct members, and each of those ex- 
pressing itself in its own active sphei-e, yet all with 
that general harmony so connexed, and disposed, as 
no one little part can be missing to the illustration 
of the ichole : tchere also is to be noted, that the 
symboh used ai'e not, neither ought to be, simply 
hieroglyphics, emblems, or impresses, hut a mixed 
character, partaking someiohat of all, and peculiarly 
apted to these more magnificent inventions : icherein 
the garments and ensigns deliver the nature of the 
2)erson, and the icord the 2^''esent office. Neither 
loas it becoming, nor cotdd it stand with the dignity 
of these sheios, (after the most misci-able and des- 
perate shift of the 2}uppefs) to require a truchman, 
or, with the ignorant p>ainter, ons to write, This is 
a dog ; or, This is a hare : hit so to be 2:)resented, 
as iqjon the view, they might, witliout cloud, or 
obscurity, declare themselves to the shar2) and 
learned : and for the multitude, no doubt but their 
grotmded judgments did gaze, said it was fine, and 
xcere satisfied. 

THE SPEECHES OP GRATULATIOX. 

GE^'IUS. 

Time, Fate, and Fortune haA'e at length con- 
spired 
To give our age the day so much desired. 
^yhat all the minutes, hours, Aveeks, months, 

and years, 
That hang in file upon these silver hairs. 
Could not produce, beneath the Britain stroke,^ 
The Roman, Saxon, Dane, and Norman yoke,^ 
This point of time hath done. Now, London, 

rear 
Thy forehead high, and on it strive to Avear 
Thy choicest gems ; teach thy steep toAvers to 

rise 
Higher Avith people : set Avith sparkling eyes 
Thy spacioiis AvindoAVS ; and in ev'ry street, 
Let thronging joy, love, and amazement meet. 
Cleave all the air Avith shouts, and let the cry 

4 Claud, do land. Stil. lib. 3. 

5 As being tlio first free and natural government of tlna 
island, after it came to civility. 

9 In respect they were all conquests, and tlio obedience 
of the subject more enforced. 



PART OF THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT. 



G-l.J 



Strike through as long, and universally, 
As thunder ; for thou now art bless'd to see 
That sight, for which thou didst begin to bo, 
When Brutus'' plough first gave thee infant 

bounds. 
And I, thy Genius, Avalk'd auspicious rounds 
In every furrow ; - then did I forelook. 
And saw this day^ mark'd white in Clotho"s'* 

book. 
The several circles,^ both of change and sway, 
Within this isle, there also figured lay : 
Of which the greatest, perfectcst, and last 
Was this, Avhose present hajipiness we taste. — 
Why keep you silence, daughters ? what duU 

peace 
Is this inhabits 3-ou ? Shall office cease 
Upon the aspect of him, to whona you owe 
More than you are, or can be ? Shall Time 

know 
That article, wherein your flame stood still. 
And not aspired ? now hcav'n avert an ill 
Of that black look } Ere pause possess your 

breasts, 
I wish you more of plagues : zeal when it rests, 
Leaves to be zeal. Up, thou tame River, wake ; 
And from thy liquid limbs this slumber shake : 
Thou drown'st thyself in inofficious sleep ; 
And these thy sluggish waters seem to creep, 
Rather than flow. Up, rise, and swell with 

l^ride 
Above thy banks : Now is not every tide. 

TAJIESIS. 

To what vain end should I contend to show 
My weaker powers, when seas of pomp o'erflow 
The city's face : and cover all the shore 
With sands more rich than Tagus' wealthy ore? 
When in the flood of joys that comes with him, 

1 Ratlier tlian the city should want a founder, we chose 
to foUojv the received story of Brute, whether fabulous, or 
true, and not altogether unwarranted in poetry ; since it is 
a favor of antiquity to few cities, to let them know their 
tirst authors. Besides, a learned poet of our time, in amost 
elcjrant work of his, Con. Tarn, et Isis, celebratinc; London, 
hath this verse of her: iEmula mateniiE toUens sua lumina 
TrojK. Here is also an ancient rite alluded to in the build- 
ing of cities, which was to give them their bounds with a 
plough, according to Virg. JEn. lib. 10. Interea yEneas 
iirbein designat aratro. And Isidore, lib. 15. cap. 2. Urbs 
vocata ab orbe, quod antiqua; civitates in orbem fiebant ; vel 
ah urbo parte aratri,quo muri designabantur, unde est illud, 
Optavitque locum regno et concludere sulco. 

- Primigenius sulcus dicitur, qui in condendii nova, iirbe, 
tauro et vacci designationis causl imprimitur; hitherto 
respects that of Camd. Brit. 368, speaking of this city, Q.ui- 
cunque autem condiderit, vitali genio constructani fuisse 
ipsius fortuna docuit. 

3 For so all happy days were, Plin. cap. 40. lib. 7. Nat. 
Hist. To which Horace alludes, lib. 1. ode 36. Cressi ne 
crireat pulchra dies notii. And the other, Plin. epist. 11. 
lib. 6. O diem laetum, notandumque mihi candidissirao 
calculo. With many other in many places. Mart. lib. 8. 
pp. 45. lib. 9. ep. 53. lib. 10. ep. 38. lil). 11. 'ep. 37. Stat. lib. 
4. sy. 6. Pers. sat. 2. CatuU. epig. G9. &c. 

4 The Parens, or Fates, Martiauus calls them scirbasac 
liUrarias superiim ; whereof Clotiio is said to bo the eldest, 
Bignitying in Latin Evocatio. 

6 q'liose beforementioncd of the Britain, Roman, Saxon, 
fcc, and to this register of tiie Fates allude those verses of 
Ovid, Met. 15. — 

Cernes illic molimine vasto. 
Ex <Bve, et solido rerum tabularia ferro : 
Qua; neque concussum Cffili, neque fulminis iram, 
Nee metuunt ullas tuta atque aiterna ruinas. 
Invenies iUis incisa adainante perenni 
Fata, &c. 



He drowns the world ; yet makes it live and 

swim, 
And spring with gladness : not my fishes here. 
Though they be dumb, but do express the 

cheer [aird I 

Of those bright streams : no less may these 
Roast our delights, albeit we silent lie. 

GENIUS. 

Indeed true gladness doth not always speak : 
Joy bred and born but in the tongue, is M'cak. 
Yet (lest the fervor of so pure a flame 
As this my city bears, might lose the name 
Without the apt eventiirg of her heat) 
Know, greatest JAMES, and no less good than 
In the behalf of all my virtuous sons, [great. 
Whereof ray eldest there thy pomp foreruns,' 
(A man without my flattering, or his pride. 
As worthy, as he's blest s to-be thy guide) 
In his grave name, and all his brethren's right, 
Who thirst to driiik the nectar of thy sight, 
The council, commoners, and multitude ; 
Glad that this day, so long denied, is view'd, 
I tender thee the heartiest welcome, yet, 
That ever king had to his empire's seat : ^ 
Never came man more long'd for, more desired ; 
And being come, more reverenced, loved, ad 

mired : 
Hoar and rccbrd it : " In a prince it is 
" No little virtue, to know who are his'." 

With like devotions,'" do I stoop t' embrace 
This springing glory of thy godlike race ;" 
His country's wonder, hope, love, joy, and 

pride : 
How well doth he become the roj^al side 
Of this erected and broad-spreading tree, 
Uiider whose shade may Britain ever bo ! 
And from this branch may thousand branches 

more 
Shoot o'er the main, and knit with every shore 
In bonds of marriage, kindred and increase ; 
And style this land the navel of their peace ;'^ 
This is your servants wish, your citias vow. 
Which still shall propagate itself, with you ; 
And free from spurs of hope, that slow minds 

move : 
" He seeks no hire, that owes his life to love." 
And hers she comes that is no less a part '^ 
111 this day's greatness, than in my glad heart. 
Glory of queens, and glory of your name,'* 
Whose graces do as far outspeak your fame. 
As fame doth silence, when her trumpet rings 
You daughter, sister, wife of several kings : '^ 



6 Understanding Euphrosyne, Sabasis, Prothyniia, &c. 
? The lord mayor, who for his year hath senior place oi 
the rest, and for this day was chief serjeant to the king. 

8 Above the blessing of his present ofike, the word had 
some particular allusion to his name, which is Bennet, and 
hath (no doubt) in time been the contraction of Benedict,. 
[Sir Thomas Bennet was now Lord Mayor.] 

9 The city, which title is touched before. 

10 To the Prince. 

11 An attribute given to great persons, fitly above othej 
humanity, and in frequent use with all the Greek poets, 
especially Homer, Iliad a. — oio; AxiAAedj. And in the 
same book — kui avTiQsov U.oXvipriiJini' 

12 As Luctatius calls Parnassus, umbilicum terra;. 

13 To the queen. 

1* An emphatical speech, and well reinforcing her great 
ness ; being, by this match, more than cither iier brother 
father, &c. 

15 Daughter to Frederick II. king of Denmark and Nor- 



QIC, 



PART OF THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT. 



Besides alliance, and the style of mother, 
In Avhich one title you drown all your other. 
Instance, be that fair shoot, is gone before,^ 
Your eldest joy, and top of all your store, 
With those,' whose sight to us is yet denied, 
But not our zeal to them, or aught beside 
The city can to you : for whose estate 
She hopes you will be still good advocate 
To her best lord. So, whilst you mortal are. 
No taste of sour mortality once dare [grace, 
Approach your house ; nor fortune greet your 
But coming on, and with a forward face. 



AT TEMPLE-BAK. 

The Scene carried the frontispiece of a temple, 
the walls of which and gates were brass ; their 
pillars silver, their caf)itals and bases gold : in 
the highest point of all was erected a Janus' 
head, and over it written, 

JAXO QUADEIFEONTI SACEUM.s 

Which title of Quadrifrons is said to be given 
tiim, as he respecteth all climates, and fills all 
parts of the world with his majesty : which 
JMartial would seem to allude unto in that 
nendecasyllable, 

Et linguA pariter locutus omnL* 

Others have thought it by reason of the four 
elements, which brake out of him, being Chaos ; 
for Ovid is not afraid to make Chaos and Janus 
the same, in these verses. 

Me Chaos antiqid (nam sum res 2^risca) vocabant, 
Adsjyice, ^c.^ 

But ^'» e rather follow, and that more particu- 
larly, the opinion of the ancients,^ who have 
entitled him Quadrifrons, in regard of the year, 
which, under his sway, is divided into four 
seasons, Sjjring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, and 
r.scribe unto him the beginnings and ends of 
things. See M. Cic.^ Cuinque in omnibus rebus 
vim haherent maximam prima et cxtrema, princi- 
nem in sacrijicando Janum esse voluerunt, quod,^ 
ab eundo nomen est deductum : ex quo trajisitiones 
pervicB Jani, foresque in liminibus proplianarum 
cedium, Jamut, nominatur, S^c. As also the charge 
and custody of the whole world, by Ovid : 
Quicquid ubiquo vides, calum, mare, nubila, terras, 

Omnia sunt nostra clausa patentqice nianu. 
Me penes est tmum vasti custodia mundi, 

Etjus vertendi car dims omne meum est.^ 

About his four heads he hath a wreath of 
gold, in which was graven this verse, 

TOT VCLTUS Mini NEC SATIS PUTAVI. 10 

Signifying, that though he had four f;ices, 
yet he thought them not enough, to behold the 

^/ay, sister to Ciiristierne IV. now there reigning, and vi'ife 
10 James our sovereign. 

1 The prince Heiny Frederick. 

2 (Charles diilie of Rotlisey, and the lady Elizabeth, 
s Bassus apud Macrob. 1. i. Satiir. cap. 9. 

< Lib. 8. ep. 2. 

s Fast. lib. 1. 

s Lego MarliLinum, lib. 4. cap. 8. Alb. in dconim. 

' De nat. deorum, lib. 9. 

8 Cinasi Eanus. 

6 Fast. ibid. 

10 Mart. lib. 8. ep. 9. 



greatness and glory of that day ; beneath, tindei 
the head, was written, 

ET MODO SACIilFICO CLUSIUS ORE VOCOK.]' 

For being open, he was styled Patulcius, but 
then upon tlie coming of his majesty, being tc 
be shut, he was to be called Clusius. Uponthe 
outmost front of the building was placed the 
entire arms of the kingdom, with the garter, 
crown, and supporters, cut forth as fair and 
great as the life, with an hexastic written imder- 
neath, all oxpresstng the dignity and power of 
him that should close that Temple. 

QUI DUDUM AN»USTIS TANTUM EEGNAVIT IN ORIS 

I'AEVOQUE IMPEEIO SE TOTI PE.EEUIT OREI 

ESSE EEGENDO PAISEM, TP.IA REGNA (UT NULLA DEESSEI 

riRTUTI EORTUXA) SUO FELICITEP. UNI 

JVNCTA SIMUL SENSIT: FAS UT SIT CREDERE VOTIS 

NON JAM SANGUINEA FEUITUEOS PACE BRITANNOS. 

In a great frieze, below, that ran quite along 
the breadth of the building, w"ere written these 
two verses out of Horace,''-' 

.TUEANDAEQITE SUUM PEE NOMEN POXIM0S ARAS, 
NIL OniTUEUM ALIAS. NIL 0ETU31 TALE FATENTES. 

The first and principal person in the temple, 
was 

IRENE, 

or Peace ; she was placed aloft in a cant, her 
attire white, semined with stars, her hair loose 
and large : a wreath of olive on her head, on' 
her shoulder a silver dove : in her left hand she 
held forth an olive branch, with a handful of 
ripe ears, in the other a crown of laurel, as 
notes of A'ictory and plenty. By her stood 

PLUTUS, 

or Wealtli,'-* a little boy, bare-headed, his locks 
curled, and spangled with gold, of a fresh as- 
l^ect, his body almost naked, saving some rich 
robe cast over him ; in his arms a heap of gold 
ingots to cxjiress riches, whereof he is tlie god. 
Beneath his feet lay 

ENVALIUS, 

or Mars, groveling, his armor scattered upon 
him in several pieces, and sundry sorts of weap- 
ons broken about him. Her word to all was 

UNA TRIUMPIIIS INNUMERIS POTIO!:. 

pax optima rcrum 

Quas homini novisse datum est, pax una triumpJus 
Innumeris potior .^'^ 

Signifying that peace alone was better, and 
more to be coveted than innumerable trimnphs. 
Besides, upon the right hand of her, but with 
some little descent, in ahemicycle was seated 



or Quiet, the first handmaid of Peace ; a woman 
of a grave and venerable aspect, attired in black, 
upon her head an artificial nest, out of which 
appeared storks heads, to manifest a sweet re- 
pose. Her feet ,vere placed upon a cube, to 



11 Ov. Fast 1. 

12 Lib. 2 epist. L ad Aug. 

13 So Cepliisiodotus hath feigned him. See Pans, in BcBot 
et Pliil. in Imag. contrary to Aristoph. Theogu Lucian,aiid 
others, who make him blind and deformed. 

H Sil. Ital. 



PAET OF THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT. 



C47 



shew stability, and in her lap she held a perpen- 
dicular or level, as the ensign of evenness and 
rest : on the top of it sat an halcycon, or king's- 
fisher. She had lying at her feet 

TARACIIE, 

or Tumult, in a garment, of divers but dark 
color?, her hair wild, and disordered, a foul and 
troubled face ; about her lay staves, swords, 
ropes, chains, hammers, stones, and such-like, 
to express turmoil. The word was, 

PEEAOIT TRAXQUILL.\ POTESTAS. 

Qtiod violenta ncquit : mandataque fortius tirget 
Tinperiosa quies.^ 

To shew the benefit of a calm and facile power, 
being able to effect in a state that which no vio- 
lence can. On the other side the second hand- 
maid was, 

ELEUTIIERIA, 

or Liberty, her dressing white, and somewhat 
antique, but loose and free : her hair flowing 
down her back and shoulders : in her right 
hand she bare a club, on her left a hat, the 
characters of freedom and power : at her feet a 
cat was placed, the creature most affecting and 
expressing liberty. She trod on 

DOULOSrS, 

or Servitude, a woman in old and worn gar- 
ments, lean and meagre, bearing fetters on her 
feet and hands ; about her neck a yoke, to insin- 
uate bondage, ai>d the word. 

KEC UNQUAM GRATIOR, 

alluding to that other of Claud. 

Nunquam lihertas gratior extat 
Quam sub rege 2iio,^ 

And intimated that liberty could never appear 
more graceful and lovely, than now under so 
good a prince. The third handmaid was 

SOTERIA, 

or Safety, a damsel in carnation, the color signi- 
fying cheer, and life ; she sat higli : upon her 
head she wore an antique lielm, and in her right 
hand a spear for defence, and in her left a cup 
for medicine : at her feet was set a pedestal, 
upon which a serpent rolled up did lie. Be- 
neath was 

I'EIRA, 

or Danger, a woman despoiled, and almost 
naked ; the little garment she hath left her, of 
several colors, to note her various disposition. 
Besides her lies a torch out, and her sword 
broken, (the instrument of her fury) with a net 
and wolf's-skin (the ensigns of her malice) rent 
in pieces. The word, 

TERGA DEDERE AIETUS, 

borrowed from Mart.^ and implying that now all 
fears have turned their backs, and our safety 
Diight become secuirity, danger being so wholly 



- Claud, do Malii Theo. co)is. paneg. 
S Oe )xcO.. Sti!. 1. 3. 
i Lib. 12. ep. 6. 



depressed, and unfurnished of all means to hurt. 
The fourth attendant is, 

EUDAIMONIA, 

or Felicity, varied on the second hand, and ap- 
parelled richly in an embroidered robe, and 
mantle : a fair golden tress. In her right hand 
a Caduceus, the note of peaceful wisdom: in 
her left, a Cornucopioe filled only with flowers, 
as a sign of flourishing blessedness ; and crowned 
with a garland of the same. At her feet, 

DYSPRAGIA, 

or Unhai^piness, a woman bare-headed, her 
neck, arms, breast, and feet naked, her look hol- 
low and pale ; she holds a Cornucopice turned 
downward, -^^ith all the flowers fallen out and 
scattered : upon her sits a raven, as the augury 
of ill fortune : and the soul was 

REDEUNT SATURNIA REGNA, 

out of Virgil,-* to shew that now those golden 
times Averc returned again, wherein Peace was 
with us so advanced, Hest received. Liberty re- 
stored. Safety assured, and all blessedness ap- 
pearing in every of these virtues, her particular 
triumph over her opposite evil. This is the 
dumb argument of the frame, and illustrated 
with this verse of Virgil, written in the under 
frieze, 

NULLA SALUS BELLO : 

PACEM TE POSCIMUS OMNES. 5- 

The speaking part was performed, as within the 
temple, where there was erected an altar, to 
which, at the approach of the king, appears the 
Flamen 

IMARTIALIS. 
And to him, 

GEiS'IU SURBIS. 

The Genius we attired before : to the Flamen 
we appoint this habit. A long crimson robe 
to Avitness his nobility, his tippet and sleeves 
white, as reflecting on purity in his religion, a 
rich mantle of gold with a train to express the 
dignity of his function. Upon his head a hat 
of delicate wool,^ Avhose top ended in a cone, 
and was thence called apex, according to that of 
Lucan, lib. 1, 

Attollensquo apicem generoso vertice flamen. 

This apex was covered with a fine net of yarn,8 
which they named apiculum, and Avas sustained 
Avith a bowed twig of pomegranate tree ; 9 it Avas 
also in the hot time of summer to be bound 
Avith ribands, and thrown behind them, as Scal- 



4 Eolog. v. 

5 .En. 1. n. 

6 One of tlie three Flamines tliaf, as some think, Numa 
Pompilius fir.st instituted ; but we rather, with Varro, take 
him of Romulus's institution, whereof there were only two, 
he and Dialis : to whom he was ne.xt in dignity. He was 
always created out of the nobility, and did perform theritei 
to iMars, who was thought the fatlier of Romulus. 

t .Scaliger in conject. in Var. saith, Totus pileus, vel 
potius velamenta, flammeum dicebatur, unde flamines dicti. 

s To this loolis that other conjecture of Varro, lib. 4. de 
lingua Latina : Flamines quod licio in capitevelati erant 
semper, ac caput cinctiini iiabebant fiio, flamines dicti. 

» Which in their attire was called Stroppus, in Iheij; 
wives' Inarculum. 



848 



PART OF THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT. 



iger ' toacheth. In his hand he bore a golden 
censor v/ith perfume, and censing about the 
altar, (having first kindled his fire on the top) 
is interrupted by the Genius. 
GENIUS. 

Stay, -what art thou, that in this strange attire, 
Dar'st kindle stranger and unhallow'd fire 
Upon this altar ? 

FLAMEN. 

Rather -what art thou 
That dar'st so rudely interrupt my vow ? 
Jly habit speaks my name. 
GENIUS. 

A Flanien ? 

FLAMEN. 

Yes, 
And Martlalis call'd.'-' 

GENIUS. 

I so did guess 
By my short view ; but whence didst thou ascend 
Hither ? or how ? or to what mystic end ? 

FLAMEN. 

The noise, and present tumult of this daj'-. 
Housed me from sleep, and silence, where I lay 
Obsciired from light ; which when I wak'd to see, 
I wondering thought what this great pomp might 
When," looking in my kalendar, I found [lao. 
The Ides of March ^ were enter'd, and I bound 
With these, to celebrate the genial feast 
Of Anna styled Perenna,'* Mars's guest,^ 
Who, in this month of his, is yearly call'd 
To banquet at his altars ; and install'd 
A goddess with him,*' since she fills the year, 
And knits '' the oblique scarf that girts the 

sphere. 
Whilst four-faced Janus turns his vernal look * 



1 Seal. ibid, in con. Pon6 enim regerebant apicem, ne 
gravis esset suinmis cBstatis caloribus. Amentis enim, quae 
ofFendices dicebantuv sub nientum ahdurtis, reiigabaiit; ut 
cum vellenl, regererent, et pon6 pendere permitterent. 

- Of Mars, whose rites (as \vc have toucli'd before) this 
Flainen did specially celebrate. 

3 With us the fifteenth of March, which was the present 
day of this tiiunipli : and on which the great feast of Anna 
Perenna (among the Romans) was yearly, and with such 
solemnity remembered. OviJ. Fast. 3, 

Idibus est, Anns fostum geniale Perennre, 
Ilaud procul a ripis, &c. 

* Who this Anna should be (with the Eoinans them- 
selves) hath been no trifling controversy. Some have 
tliought her fabulously the sister of Dido, some a nymph 
of Numicius, sonie lo, some Themis. Others an old 
woman of Bovilla, that fed the seditious multitude in 
Monte Sacro, with wafers, and fine cakes, in time of their 
penury : to wliora, afterwards (in memory of the benefit) 
their peace being made with the nobles, they ordained this 
feast. Yet they that have thought nearest, have missed 
ail these, and directly imagined her the moon : and tliatshe 
was called ANNA, (iuia mensibus implcat amium, Ovid, 
•b. To which the vow that they used in her rites, some- 
what confirmingly alludes, which was, ut Annare, et Peron- 
aare commode liccret. Macr. Sat. lib. 1. cap. Ii3. 

5 So Ovid, ibid. Fast, makes Mars speaking to her, 

Mense meo coleris, junxi mea tempora tecum. 

« Niiper erat dea facta, &c. Ibid. 

» Where is understood the meeting of the zodiac in March, 
tho month wherein she is celebrated, 
is That face wherewith he beliokls the spring. 



Upon their meeting hours, as if lie took 
High pride and pleasure. 

GENIUS. 

Sure thou still dost dream. 
And both thy tongue, and thought rides on tha 
Of phantasy : behold here he nor she, [stream 
Have any altar, fane, or deity. [view 

Stooj) ; read but thi>) inscription : ' and then 
To whom the place is consecrate. 'Tis true 
That this is Janus' temple, and that now 
He tvuTiS upon the year his freshest brow ; 
That this is Mars's month ; and these the Ides, 
"Wherein his Anne was honor'd ; both the tides, 
Titles, and place, we know : but these dead 

rites 
Arc long since buried ; and nov/ power excites 
]More high and hearty flames, Lo, there is he, 
Who brings with him a greater Anne than she : '" 
Whose strong and x^otent virtues have defaced " 
Stern Mars's statues, and upon them placed 
His,'- and the world's best blessings : this hath 

brought 
Sweet peace to sit in that bright state she ought 
Unbloody, or untroubled ; hath forced hence 
All tumults, fears, or other dark jDotents [see 
That might invade weak minds ; hath made men 
Onge more the face of welcome liberty : 
Aiid doth in all his present acts restore 
That first pure world, made of the better ore. 
Now innocence shall cease to be the sjjoil 
Of ravenous greatness, or to steep the soil 
Of rased peasantry with tears and blood ; 
No more shall rich men, for their little good, 
Suspect to be made guilty ; or vile spies 
Enjoy the lust of their so murdering eyes : 
Men shall put off their iron minds, and hearts ; 
The time forget his old malicious arts 
With this new minute ; and no print remain 
Of what Avas thought the former age's stain. 
Back, Elamen, Avith thy superstitious fumes, 
And cense not here ; thy ignorance presumes 
Too much in acting any ethnic rite 
In this translated temple : here no wight 
To sacrifice, save my devotion, comes, [gums,"' 
That brings, instead of those thy masculine 
My city's heart ; which shall for ever burn 
Upon this altar, and no time shall turn 
The same to ashes : here I fix it fast, 
Flame bright, flame high, and may it ever last. 
Whilst I, before the figure of thy peace, 
Still tend the fire ; and give it quick increase 
AVith prayers, A\ishes, vows ; whereof be these 

9 Written upon the altar, for which we refei you to col. 1 
of this page. 

30 The tpieen : to which in our inscription we spake to tha 
king MARTE MAJORI. 

11 The temple of Janus we apprehend to be both the house 
of war and peace : of war, when it is open ; of peace, wlien 
it is shut : and that tl)ere, each over the other is interchange- 
ably placed, to the vicissitude of times. 

1^ Which are peace, rest, liberty, safety, &c. and were hij 
actively, but the world's passively. 

13 Somewhat a strange epithet in our tongue, but proper to 
tlie thing: for they were only masculine odors, which were 
offered to the altars, Virg. Eel. 8. Vcrbenasque adole pingu- 
eis, et niascula thura. And Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 12. cap. 14 
speaking of these, saith, Quod exrotunditate guttas pependit, 
masculum vocamus, cum alias nou fere mas vocetur, tibi 
lion sit fcemina : rcligioiii tribiitum ne sexus alter usurpare- 
tiir. Masculum aliqiii j.nilant a sjiecie testium dictum. Set 
him also lib. 3-1. cap. 11. And Arnob. lib. 7. advcrs. geat 
Non si niille tu pondora masculi thuris incendas, &c 



PAUT OF THE KING'S ENTERTA1NME3S T. 



649 



The least, and weakest : that no age may leese 
The memory of this so rich a day ; 
But rather that it henceforth yearly may 
Bcgm our spring, and with our spring the prime, 
And first account of years, of months,' of time ; '' 
And may these Ides as fortunate appear 
To thee, as they to Cresar fatal were.^ 
Be all thy thoughts born perfect, and thy hopes 
In their events still crown'd beyond their scopes. 
Let not wide heav'n that secret blessing know 
To give, which she on tliee will not bestow. 
Blind Fortune be thy slave ; and may her store, 
The less thou seek'st it, follow thee the more. 
Much more I would : but see, these brazen gates 
ISIake haste to close, as urged by thj' fates. 
Here ends my city's office, here it breaks : 
Yet with my tongue, and this pure heart, she 



A short farewell : and lower than thy feet. 
With fervent thanks, thy royal pains doth greet. 
Pardon, if my abruptness breed disease : 
" He merits not to offend, that hastes to please." 

OVEE THE ALTAR WAS AVRITTEX THIS IXSCRIPTION : 

BPJTAKNIAKUM. IMP. PACIS. VINDICI. MARTE. 
MA.TORI. P. P. F. S. AUGUSTO. KOVO. GENTIUM. 
COIS'JUJS'CTAKUiM. KUJIIAI. TUTELAKI. 

D. A. 
CONSERVATRIcr. ANN.E. IPS,E. PERENN^. 
Di:AP,USUUE. UiXIVEKSIS. OPIATIORI. SUI. FOK- 
rUNATISoUtr. THAEAMI. SOCCE. ET COJSSUR- 
TI. PULCIIEKRIM^. AUGU.STlSSETiIiE. ET 

11. F. P. 
FILIO. SUO. NOBILISSIMO. OB. ADVENTUM. AD; 
UKBEJI. HANC. SUAM. EXPECTATlysniUM. 

(atATi^isniu:.!. cELEiuiATissniu^r. cu.ius. 

NttN. liADIl. SED. SOLES. roTUJ.S. FUjSESTIS- 
HUIAM. KUPEU. AERIS. I^ITEJIPERIEJI. SEUE- 
KARUNT. 

S. P. Q. L. 

VOTIS. X. VOTIS. XX. ARDENTISSIMIS. 

L. M. 

HAKC. ARAM 

P. 

AXD UPOX THE GATE, BEING SHUT, 

I SI P. JACOBUS. MAX 

CJESAR. AUG. P. P. 

PACE POPU LO BRITANNICO 

TERRA MARIQUE PARTA 

JAKUM CLUSIT. S. C. 



IN THE STRAND. 
Ine invention v\-as a rainbow, the moon, sun, and 
those seven stars, which antiquity hath styled 
the Pleiades of Vergilise, advanced between two 

1 According to Romulus his iji.~titution, who made March 
the first inontli, and consecrated it to liis lather, of whom it 
Vi'3'3 called Martius. Varr. Fest. in fiag. Martins mensis 
initium nnni fuit, et in Latio, et post Iloniam conditam, &;c. 
.^nd Ovid. Fast. 3. A te principium Romano dicimus anno : 
Prim IS do patrio nominee mansis crit. Vox rata fit, &c. 
See Macr. lib. 1. cap. 12. and ?olin. in Polyliist. cap. 3. (iuod 
hoc m53sa mercedes exolvetint magistris, quas completas 
annus deberi fcoisse, &c. 

- Some, to whom we have read this, have taken it for a 
tautology, t'linkiug Time enough expressed before in years 
and months. For whose ignorant sakes we must confess to 
\iave taken the better part of tliis travail, in noting a thing 
r.ot usual, neither affected of us, but where there is noces- 
Eity, as here, to avoid their dull censures. Where in years 
and months we alluded to that is observed in our former 
noiB : but by Time we understand the present, and that from 
ihis instant we should begin to reckon, and make this the 
Crst of our time. Which is also to be helped by emphasis. . 

i In wiiich he was sl;<in in the senate. 



magnificent pyramids of seventy foot in heightj 
on which was drawn his majesty's several pedi- 
grees Eng. and Scot. To which body (being 
framed before) we were to apt our soul. And 
finding that one of these seven lights, Electra, 
is rarely or not at all to be seen, as Ovid. lib. 'i. 
Fast, afiirmeth 

Pleiades incipient htimeros relevare ^Mternos ; 
(luce septeni dici, sex tainen esse sole/it. 

And b}'- and by after, 

Su'c quod Electra Trojce spectare ruinas 

Non tulit ; ante oculos opposuitque manum. 

And Festus Avien.* 

Fama vetus septeni memorat genitore creatas 
Lonjavo : sex se rufila inter sidera tantum 
Sustollunt, t5"c. 

And beneath, 

Cerni sex solas cat mine Mynthes 

Asserit: Electram ccelo ahscessisse lirofundo, §e. 

We ventured to follow this authorit)', and 
made her the speaker : presenting her hanging 
in the air, in figure of a comet ; according to 
Anonymous. Electra non sustinens videre casum 
pronepotum fugcrit ; undo et illam dissolutis srini~ 
bus jvopter luctuin iro asscrunt, et proptor comaa qid- 
dani Cometen appellant. 

THE SPEECH. 
ELECTRA. 

The long laments ' I spent for ruin'd Troy, 
Are dried ; and now mine eyes run tears of joy 
No mo^re shall men suppose Electra dead. 
Though from the consort of her sisters fled 
Unto the arctic circle,^ here to grace. 
And gild this day with her sorenest face : ' 
And see, ray daughter Iris " hastes to throw 
Her roseat wings, in compass of a bow. 
About our state, as sign ^ of my approach : 
Attracting to her seat from ilithra's coach,"* 
A thousand different and particular hues. 
Which she throughout her body doth diffuse. 
The sun, as loth to part from this half sphere, 
Stands still ; and Phoebe labors to appear 
In all as bright, if not as rich, as he : 
And, for a note of more serenity, 

* Paraph, in Arat. Phauiom. 

5 Fest. Avi. parapli. Pars ait Idtea; defientem inceudia 
Trojs, Et numerosa sure lugentem funera gentis, Electram 
tetris mosstum dare nnbibus orbem, Besides the reference 
to antiquity, this speech miglit be understood by allegoi-y of 
the town here, that had been so ruined with sickness, &c. 

s Hyginus. Sed postquain Troja fuit capta, et progenies 
ejus quae i Dardano fuit eversa, dolore permotara ab his so 
removisse, et in circulo qui arcticus dicitur constitisse, &c. 

7 Electra signifies serenity itself, and is compounded uf 
't)\iog, which is tlio sun, and aOpios, that signifies serene. 
She is mentioned to be Anima sphsra; solis, by Proclus. 
Com. in Hesiod. 

8 She is also feigned to be the mother of the rain-bow. 
Nascitur enini Iris ex aqua et serenitate, i rcfractione radio 
rum scilicet. Arist. in ineteorol. 

Viil. Flac. Argonaut. 1. makes the rainbow indicem se 
renitatis. 

Emicuit reserata dies coBlumque resolvit 
Arcus. et in sunimos rodierunt nubila ijiontes. 
w A name of the sun, Stat. The. 1. I. torquenteni cornua 
Mithran. And Martian. Capel. 1. 3. de nup. Mer. et Phil 
Te Serapim. Nilus, Mempliis veneratur Osirin ; Dissona 
.sacra Mithran, &c. 



660 



A PANE GYRE. 



My six ' fair sisters hither shift their lights, 
To do this hour the utmost of her rites. 
Where lest the captious, or profane might doubt. 
How these clear hoavenly bodies come about 
All to be seen at once ; yet neither's light 
Eclips'd, or shadow'd by the other's sight : 
Let ignorance know, great king, this day is thine. 
And cloth admit no night ; but all do shine 
As -well nocturnal, as diurnal fires, 
To add unto the flame of our desires. 
Which are, now thou hast closed up Janus' gates," 
And given so general peace to all estates, 
That no offensive mist, or cloudy stain. 
May mix with splendor of thy golden reign ; 
But, as thou'st freed thy Chamber from the 

noise ■* 
Of war and tumult ; thou wilt pour those joys 
Upon this place,'* which claims to be the seat '■' 
Of all the kingly race : the cabinet 
To all thy counsels, and the judging chair 
To this thy special kingdom. Whose so fair 
And wholesome laws, in every court, shall strive 
By equity, and their first innocence to thrive ; 
The base and guilty bribes of guiltier men 
Shall be thrown back, and justice look, hs when 
She loved the earth, andfcar'd not to be sold 
Forthat,^ which worketh all things to it, gold. 
The dam of other evils, avarice, [vice 

Shall here lock down her jaws, and that rude 
Of ignorant and pitied greatness, pride, 

1 Alcj'O'.ie, Celteno, Taygeto, Astevope, Merope, Mai;i, 
Tiyhich are also said to be the souls of tlie otiior splieies, as 
Siecira of tlie sun Procliis, ibi in com. Alcyone Veneris, 
Ceteno Saturni, Taygete Luna;, Asterope Jovis, Merope 
Manis, Maia Mcrciirii. 

2 Alluriing back to that of our temple. 

3 Loiiflon. . 

* His city of Westminster, in whose name, and at whose 
cnarge, tofrether with the dutchy of Lancaster, this arch 
was erected. 

5 Since here, ti:ey not only sat being crowned, but also 
first received their crowns. 



Decline with shame ; ambition now shuU hide 

Her face in dust, as dedicate to sleep. 

That in great portals wont her watch to keep. 

All ills shall fly the light : thy court be free 

No less from envy, than from flattery ; 

All tumult, faction, and harsh discord cease, 

That might perturb the music of thy peace : 

The querulous nature shall no longer find 

E,oom for his thoughts : one pure consent of 

mind 
Shall flow in every breast, and not the air, 
Sun, rfioon, or stars shine more serenely fair. 
This from that loud, blest oracle, I sing ! 
Who here, and first, pronounced thee Britain's 

king. 
Long may'st thou live, and see me thus appear, 
As ominous a comet,' from my sphere, 
Unto thy reign ; as that did au.spicate ^ 
So lasting glory to Augustus' state. 

c rior. Car. lib. 4. ode 9. Ducentis ad se ciincta pecuniae. 

' For our more authority to induce her thus, see Fest. 
Avien. paraph, in Arat. speaking of Electra, Nonnun quam 
occani tamen istam surgere ab undis. In convexa poli, sed 
sede carere sororiim ; Atqiie os discretum procul cdere, de- 
testatem : Germanosque clioros sobolis lacrymare ruinas 
Diffusamq'.ie comas cerni, crinisque soluti Monstrari cffi- 
gie, &c. 

8 All comets were not fatal, some were fortunately omi- 
nous, as this to which we allude ; and wlierefore wo have 
Pliny's testimony, Nat. Hist. lib. 2. cap. 25. Cometes in 
uno totius orbis loco oolitur in templo Roma;, admodum 
faustus Divo Augusto judicatus ab ipso : qui incipicntc co, 
apparuit ludis quos faciebat Venert Genetrici, non multo 
post obitum patris Caesaris, in collegio ab eo instituto. Kam- 
que his verbis is id gaudium prodidit. lis ipsis ludonim 
meorum diebus, sydus crinitum per septem dies in regions 
cceli, quffi sub septcntrionibus est, conspectum. Id orieba- 
tur circa undecimam horam diei, clarumque et omnibua 
terris conspicuum fuit. Eo sydere significari vulgus credi- 
dit, Cisaris animam inter Deorum immortalium numina 
receptam : quo nomine id insigne simulacro capitis ejus, 
quod mox in foro consecravimus, adjectum est. Ha;c ille in 
piiblicum, interiore gaudio sibi ilium natum seque in eo nas- 
ci interpretatus est. Et si verura fatemur, salutare id terrio' 
fuit. 



A PANEGYRE 

ON TPIE HAPPY ENTRANCE OF JAMES, OUR SOVEREIGN, 



FIRST HIGH SESSION OF PARLIAMENT IN THIS HIS KINGDOM, 

The I9th of March, 1603. 

Licr.T TOTo NUNC Helicoxe FRvi. — Mart. 



Heaven now not strives, alone, our breasts to fill 
With joys ; but uigeth his full fiivors still. 
Again, the glory of our Avsstern Avorld 
Unfolds himself; and from his eyes are hurl'd 
To-day, fi thousand radiant lights that stream 
To every nook and angle of his realm. 
His former rays did only clear the skj' ;• 
But these his searching beams are cast, to pry 
Lito those dark and deep concealed vaults, 
Where men commit black incest with their faults. 
And snore supinely in tlie stall of sin : 
Where murther, rapine, lust, do sit within. 
Carousing human blood in iron bowls, 



And make their den the slaughter-house of 

souls : 
From whose foul recking caverns first arise 
Those damps, that so offend all good men's eyes, 
And would, if not dispers'd, infect the crown, 
And in their vapor her bright metal drown. 

To this so clear and sanctified an end, 
I saw, when reverend Themis did descend 
Upon his state : let down in that rich chain, 
That fast'neth heavenly power to earthly reign i 
Beside her stoop'd on either hand, a maid, 
Fair Dice and Eunomia, v/ho were said 
To be her daughters ; and but faintly kno\yn 



A PANEGYRE. 



Gbl 



On earth, till nov,; they come to grace his 

throne. 
Her third, Irene, help'd to bear his train ; 
And in her office vow'd she would remain, 
Till foreign malice, or unnatural spight 
(Which fates avert) should force her from her 

right. 
"With these he pass'd, and \vith his people's 

hearts, [parts, 

Brcath'd in his -way ; and souls, their better 
Hasting to follow forth in shouts, and cries, 
Upon his face all threw their covetous eyes, 
As en a wonder : some amazed stood, 
As if they felt, but had not known their good. 
Other Avould fain have shown it in their words ; 
But, Avhcn their speech so poor a help affords 
Unto their zeal's expression, they are mute ; 
And only with red silence him salute. 
Some cry from tops of houses ; thinking noise 
The fittest herald to proclaim true joys ; 
Others on ground riin gazing by his side. 
All, as unwearied, as unsatisfied : 
And every window grieved it could not move 
Along with him, and the same trouble prove. 
They that had seen, but four short days before. 
His gladding look, now long'd to see it more. 
And as of late, when he tlirough London went, 
The amorous city spared no ornament, 
That might her beauties heighten ; but so drest, 
As our ambitious dames, when they make feast, 
And would be courted : so this town p\it on 
Her brightest tire ; and in it equal shone 
To her great sister ; save that modesty. 
Her place, and years, gave her precedency. 

The joy of either was alike, and full ; 
No age, nor sex, so weak, or strongly dull. 
That did not bear a part in this consent 
Of heart, and voices. All the air was rent, 
As Avith the murmur of a moving wood ; 
The ground beneath did seem a moving flood ; 
Walls, windows, roofs, tow'rs, steeples, all were 
With several eyes, that in this object met. [set 
Old men were glad their fates till now did last ; 
And infants, that the hours had made such haste, 
To bring them forth : whilst riper aged, and apt 
To understand the more, the mor« wore rapt. 
This was the people's love, with which did strive 
The nobles' zeal, yet either kept alive 
The other's flame, as doth the wick and wax. 
That, friendly tempcr'd, one pure taper makes. 
Meanwhile the reverend Themis draws aside 
The king's obeying will, from taking i^ride 
In these A'ain stirs, and to his mind suggests 
How he may triumph in his subjects' breasts, 
With better pcmp. She tells hini first, " That 

kings 
Are here on earth the most conspicuous things : 
That they, by heav'n are placed upon his throne. 
To rule like heav'n ; and have no more their 

own. 
As they are men, than men. That all they do, 
Though hid at home, ab'-oad is search'd into : 
And being once found out, discoA'cr'd lies 
Unto as many envies there, as eyes. 
That princes, since they know it is their fate. 
Oft-times, to have the secrets of their state 
13etray'd to fame, should take more care, and 

fear 
In public acts what face and form they bear. 



She then remember'd to his thought the plaee 
Where he was going ; and the upward race 
Of kings, preceding him in that high court ; 
Their laws, their ends ; the men she did report •, 
And all so justly, as his car was joy'd 
To hear the truth, from spight or flattery void. 
She show'd him who made wise, who honest 

'acts ; 
Who both, who neither : all the cunning tracts, 
And thriving statutes, she could promptly note ; 
The bloody, base, and barbarous she did quote ; 
Where laws were made to serve the tyrant's 

will ; 
Where sleeping they could save, and wakin^ 

kiU ; 
Where acts gave license to imj^ctuous lust 
To bury chiu-ches in forgotten dust. 
And with their ruins raise the pander's bowers : 
When public justice borrow'd all her powers 
From private chambers ; that could then create 
LaAVS, judges, counsellors, yea, prince and .state. 
All this she told, and more, with bleeding eyes ; 
For Right is as compassionate as wise." 
Nor did he seem their vices so to love, 
As once defend, what Themis did reprove. 
For though by right, and benefit of times, 
He own'd their crowns, he would not so thcii 

crimes. 
He knew that princes, who had sold their fame 
To their voluptuous lusts, had lost their name ; 
And that no wretch was more iinblest than he, 
AVhose necessary good 'twas now to be 
An evil king : and so must such be still, 
Who once have got the habit to do ill. 
One wickedness another must defend ; 
For vice is safe, while she hath vice to friend. 
He knew that those who would with love com- 
mand. 
Must Avith a tender, yet a stedfast, hand 
Sustain the reins, and in the check forbear 
To offer cause of injury, or fear ; 
That kings, by their example, more do sway 
Than by their power ; and men do more obey 
When they arc led, than when they are com- 

pell'd. 
In all these knowing arts our prince exceil'di 
And now the dame had dried her drooping eyne, 
When, like an April Iris, flew .her shine 
About the streets, as it would force a spring 
From out the stones, to gratulate the king. 
She blest the people, that in shoals did swim 
To hear her speech ; which still began in him, 
And ceas'd in them. She told them what a fata 
Was gently fall'n from heaven upon the state ; 
How dear a father they did now enjoy. 
That came to save, what, discord would destroy, 
And entering with the power of a king, 
The temperance of a private man did bring. 
That wan aftections ere his steps wan ground ; 
And was not hot, or covetous to be crown' d 
Before men's hearts had crown'd him. Who 

(unlike 
Those greater bodies of the sky, that strike 
The lesser fires dim) in his access 
Brighter than all, hath yet made no one les3 5 
Though many greater : and the most, the best 
Wherein his choice was happy with the rest 
Of his great actions, first to see, and do 
What all men's wishes did aspire unto. 



652 



THE SATYiv. 



Hcreat the people could no longer hold 
Their bursting joys ; but through the air Avas roU'd 
The lengthen'd sliout, as when th' artillery 
Of heaven is discharg'd along the sky. 
And this confession flew from every voice, 
•' Never had land more reason to rejoice, 



Nor to her bliss could aught now added bo. 
Save, that she might the same perpetual sx." 
Which when time, nature, and the fates denie-Ji, 
With a twice louder shout again they cried, 
" Yet let blest Britain ask, without your wrong. 
Still to have such a king, and this king long." 



Solus rex et pacta non quotannis 7iascitur. 



THE SATYR. 



A Satyr, lodged in a little spinet, hj ichich lier ' 
Majesty and ihe Prince were to come, at the re- 
jiort of certain cornets that were divided in sev- 
eral jilaces of the park, to signify her approach, 
advanced his head above the top of the toood, 
wondering, and, tcith his pipe in his hand, began 
as folloioeth : 

Heke ! there ! and every where ! 
Some solemnities are near, 
That these changes strike mine ear. 
My pipe and I a part shall bear. 

\^Aftcr a short strain with his pipe ; 
Look, see ! — beshrcw this tree I 
What may all this wonder be ? 
Pipe it who that list for me : 
I'll fly out abroad, and sec. 
Here he leapied dotcn, and gazed the Queen and the 
Prince in the face. 

That is Cyparissus' face ! 

And the dame hath Syrinx' grace ! 

that Pan were now in place — 
Sure they are of heavenly race. 

Here he ran into the leood again, and hid himself, 
whilst to the sound of excellent soft music, that 
was concealed in the thicket, the7-e came tripjnyig 
up the lawn a bevy of Fairies, attending on Mab 
their queen, who falling into an artificial ring, 
began to dance a round, while their mistress spake 
as followeth. 

Mab. Hail and welcome, worthiest queen ! 
Joy had never perfect been. 
To the nj-mphs that haunt this green. 
Had they not this evening seen. 
Now they print it on the ground 
With their feet in figures round ; 
Marks that will be ever found. 
To remember this glad stound. 

Sat. ' ^Peeping out of the hush.'] 

Trust her not, you bonnibell. 
She will forty leasings tell ; 

1 do know her pranks right well. 

Mab, Satyr, Ave must have a spell 

For your tongue, it runs too fleet. 

Sat. Not so nimbly as your feet. 

When about the cream-bowls sv.'eet, 
You and ail j'-our elves do meet. 

Here he came ho2>ping forth, and mixing himself 
with ihe Fairies, skipped in, out, and about their 
circle ichile they made many offers to catch at him. 

This is Mab, the mistress Fairy, 
Thai doth nightly rob the dairy. 



And can hurt or help the chcrning, 
As she please, without discerning. 

1. Fai. Pug, you will anon take warning ? 

Sat. She that pinches country wenches, 
If they rub not clean their benches. 
And with sharper nails remembers 
When they rake not up their embers ; 
But if so they chance to feast her. 
In a shoe she drops a tester. 

2 Fai. Shall we strip the skipping jester ? 

Sat. This is she that empties cradles. 
Takes out children, puts in ladles : 
Trains forth midwives in their slumber, 
With a sieve the holes to number ; 
And then leads them from her burrows. 
Home through ponds and watcr-furrow.-J. 

1 Fai. Shall not all this mocking stir us ? 

Sat. She can start our Franklin's daughters, 
In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters j 
And on sweet St. Anna's night, 
Feed them v.-ith a promised sight. 
Some of husbands, some of lovers. 
Which an empty dream discovers. 

1 Fai. Satyr, vengeance near you hovers. 

Sat. And in hope that you would come here 
Yester-eve, the lady Summer^ 
She invited to a banquet — 
But (in sooth) I con you thank yet. 
That jou could so well deceive her 
Of the pride which gan up-hcave her ! 
And, by this, would so have blowm her 
As no wood- god should have known her. 

\Skips into the loood. 

1 Fai. Mistress, this is only spite : 

For you would not yesternight 
Kiss "him in the cock-shut light. 

Sat. \returning -I 

By Pan, and tiiou hast hit it right. 

^Lab. Fairies, pinch him black and blue, 
Now you have him, make him rue. 

[They lay hold on him, and nip him. 

O, hold, [mistress] Mab ! I sue. 

Nay, the devil shall have his due. 

he ran quite away, and lefi them in a con- 



Sat. 

1 Fai. 

[Here 
fusi 



1 Fof she was expected there on MM-summer Jay at night 
but came uot till the day fullowin^r. 



THE SATYR. 



653 



Mob. Pardon, lady, this wild strain, 
Coirancn with, the sylvan train, 
Tliat do skip aboiit this plain : — 
Elves, apply your gyre again. 
And v.'hiist some do hop the ring, 
Some shall play, and some shall sing : 
We'll express, in ev'ry thing, 
Oriana's wcll-cominn;.' 



This is she, this is she 
In whose world of grace 
Everj' season, person, place, 
'I'hat receive her happy be ; 
For with no less. 
Than a kingdom's happiness,^ 
Doth she private Lares bless,'' 
And ours above the rest ; 
By how much we deserve it least, 
tiong live Oriana 
T' exceed, whom she succeeds, our late Diana. 

Mab Madam, now an end to make. 
Deign a simple gift to take ; 
Only for the Fairies' sake, 
AVho about you still shall wake. 

'Tis done only to supply 
His suspected courtesy, 
Who, since Thamyra did die. 
Hath not brook'd a lady's eye, 

Nor allow'd about his place. 
Any of the female race. 
Only we are free to trace 
All his grounds, as he to chase. 

Por which bounty to us lent, 
Ui'hini unknoY/ledg'd, or unsent. 
We prepared this compliment, 
And ss far £icm cheap intent, 

[ Gices her a Jewel. 

In particular to feed 
A-ny hope that should succeed. 
Or our glory by the deed. 
As yourself are from the need. 

Utter not, v.-e you implore. 
Who did give it, nor wherefore : 
And whenever you restore 
Your self to us, you shall have more. 

Highest, happiest queen, farewell ; 
But beware you do not tell. 

Tlyre the Fairies liopt aioay in a fantastic dance, 
ichen, G'/i a sudden, the Satyr disco cered himself 
again. 

Sat. Not tell ? ha ! ha ! I could smile 
At this old and toothless wile. 
Lady, I have been no sleeper ; 
She belies the noble keeper. 
Say, that here he likes the groves, 
And pursue no foreign loves : 
Is he therefore to be dcem'd 
Rude, or savage ? or esteem'd 

1 (luasi Oriens ANNA. 

2 Bringing with her the prince, which is the greatest fe- 
licity of kingdoms. 

3 For households. 



But a sorry entertainer, 

'Ca\ise he is no common strainer, 

After painted nymphs for favors, 

Or that in his garb he savors 

Little of the nicety. 

In the spruccr courtiery ; 

As the rosary of kisses, 

AVith the oath that never misses. 

This, " believe me on the breast," - 

And then telling some man's jest, 

Thinking to prefer his wit, 

Equal with his suit by it, 

I nrean his clothes ? No, no, no ; 

Here doth no such humor flow. 

He can neither bribe a grace, 

Nor encounter my lord's face 

With a pliant smile, and flatter, 

Though this lately were some matter 

To the making of a courtier. 

Now he hopes he sliall resort there. 

Safer, and with more allowance ; 

Since a hand hath governance. 

That hath given tlrese customs chace, 

And hath brought his own in place 

O that now a wish could bring, 

The god-like person of a king ' 

Then should even envy find, 

Cause of wonder at the mind 

Of our Avoodman : but lo, where 

His kingly image doth appear, ■ 

And is all this while neglected. 

Pardon, lord, you are respected, 

Deep as is the keeper's heart, 

And as dear in every part. 

See, for instance, where he sends 

His son, his heir ; who humbly bend.') 

■ Fetches out of the loood the lord Spencer's eldest 
son, attired and appointed like a huntsman. 

Low as is his father's earth. 

To the womb that gave you birth : 

So he was directed first, 

Next to you, of whom the thirst 

Of seeing takes away the use 

Of that part, should plead excuse 

For his boldness, which is less 

Bj' his comely shamefacedness. 

Rise up, sir, I Avill betray 

All I think you have to say ; 

That your father gives you hero 

(Freely as to him you were) 

To the service of this prince : 

And with you these instruments 

Of his wild and sylvan trade. 

Better not Actaeon had ; 

The bow was Phoebe's, and the b'-'rn, 

By Orion often worn • 

The dog of Sparta breed, and good. 

As can raxo within a wood ; 

Thence his name is : you shall try 

How he hunteth instantly. 

But perhaps the queen, your mother, 

Rather doth affect some other 

Sport, as coursing : we will prove 

Which her highness most doth love. — 

Satyrs, let the woods resound ; 

They shall have their welcome crown'd 

With a brace of bucks to ground. 



664 



THE SATYR. 



At that the whole wood and place resounded with 
the iioise of cornets, horns, and other hunting 
music, arid a brace of choice deer put out, and as 
fortunately lulled, as they locre meant to be, even 
in tlie sight of her majesty. 

This was the First Night's Show. 



The next day being Sunday, the Queen rested, and 
on Mojiday till after dinner ; ichere there teas a 
speech suddenly tlwught on, to induce a morris 
of the clowns thereabout, who 7nost officiously 
presented themselves ; but by reason of the throng 
of the country that came in, their speahcr could 
not be heard, who 'was in the person of Nobody, 
to deliver this following speech, and attired in a 
pair of h'/eechss iohich were made to come tip to 
his neck, with his arms out at his pockets, and a 
cap droioning his face. 



If my outside move your laughter, 
Pray Jove, my inside be thereafter. 

Queen, prince, duke, earls. 

Countesses, you courtly pearls ! 

(And I hope no mortal sin, 

If I put less ladies in) 

Fair saluted be you all ! 

At this time it doth befall, 

\v e are the huishor to a morris, 

A kind of masque, whereof good store is 

In the country hereabout. 

But this, the choice of all the rout, 

Who, because that no man sent them. 

Have got Nobody to present them. 

These are things have no suspicion 

Of their ill-doing; nor ambition 

Of their well : but as the pipe 

Shall inspire them, mean to skip : 

They come to see, and to be seen. 

And though they dance afore the queen, 

There's none of these doth hope to come 

"\Yealth to build another Holmby : [by 

All those dancing days are done, 

Jlen must now have more than one 

Grace, to build thcu- fortunes on, 

Else our soles would sure have gone, 

AH by this time to our feet. — 

I not deny where graces meet 

-In a man, that quality 

Is a graceful property : 

But when dancing is his best, 

Bii.^hrew me, I suspect the fest. 



But I am Nobody, and my breath. 

Soon as it is born, hath death. 

Come on, clowns, forsake your dumps, 

And bestir your hob-nail'd stumps, 

Do your worst, I'll undertake. 

Not a jerk j-ou have shall make 

Any lady here in love. 

Perhaps your fool, or so, may move 

Some lady's woman with a trick, 

And upon it she may pick 

A pair of revelling legs, or two, 

Out of j-ou, Avith much ado. 

But see, the hobby-horse is forgot. 

Fool, it must be your lot. 

To supply his want with faces. 

And some other buffoon graces, 

You know how ; piper, pla)-. 

And let Nobody hence away. 

[Here the morris-dancers entered. 



There was also another jMrting speech, ivhich ivas 
to have been presented in the person of a youth, 
and acco?npanied ivith divers gentlemen' s younger 
sons of the country : but by rectson of the tnulti- 
tudinous press, was also hindered. And ichich 
we have here adjoined. 

And will you then, mirror of queens, depart? 
Shall nothing stay you? not my master's lieart, 
That pants to lose the comfort of j'our light. 
And see his day, ere it be old, grow night ? 
You are a goddess, and your will be done : 
Yet this our last hope is, that as the sun 
Cheers objects far removed, as well as near ; 
So,, wheresoe'cr you shine, you'll sparkle here. 
And you, dear lord, on whom my covetous eye 
Doth feed itself, but cannot satisfy, 
O slioot up fast in spirit, as in years ; 
That when uioon her head proud Europe wears 
Her stateliest tire, you may appear thereon 
The richest gem, without a paragon. 
Shine bright and fixed as the arctic star : 
And when slow time hath made you fit for war, 
Look over the strict ocean, and think where 
You may but lead us forth, that grow up here 
Against a day, when our officious swords 
Shall speak our actions, better than our words. 
Till then, all good event eonsiDire to crown 
Your parents hopes, our zeal, and your renown. 
Peace usher now your steps, and where you 

come. 
Be Envy still struck blind, and Flattery dumb 



THE PENATES. 



The Kiiiff and Queen being entere in at the gate, 
the Penates, or household gods, }-eceived them, 
attired after the antique manner, with javelins 
in their hands, standing on each side of the 
porch. 

1 Pen. Leap, light hearts, m ev'ry breast, 

■ Joy is now the fittest passion ; 
Double majesty hath blest 

All the place, with that high grace 
Exccedeth admiration ! 

2 Pen. Welcome, monarch of this isle, 

Europe's envy, and her mirror ; 
Great in each part of thy style ; 

England's wish, and Scotland's bliss, 
Both France and Ireland's terror. ■ 

1 Pen. Welcome are you ; and no less, 

Your admired queen ; the glory 
Both of state, and comeliness. 
Every line of her divine 
Form, is a beauteous story. 

2 Pen, High in fortune, as in blood, 

So are both ; and blood renowned 
By oft falls, that make a flood 

In 5'our veins . yet all these strains 
Are in your virtues drowned. 

1 Pen. House, be proud : for of earth's store 

These two only are the wonder : 
In them she's rich, and is no more. 
Zeal is bound their praise to sound 
As loud as fame, or thunder. 

2 Pen. Note, but how the air, the spring 

Concur in their devotions ; 
Pairs of turtles sit and sing 
On each tree, o'er-joy'd to see 
In them like love, like motions. 

1 Pjn. Enter, sir, this longing door, 

Whose glad lord, nought could have 
Equally : I'm sure not more, [blessed 
Than this sight : save of your right. 
When you were first possessed. 

2 Pen. That, indeed, transcended this. 

Since ^^'hich hoi^r, Avhcrein you gain'd 
For this grace, both he and his, [it, 

Every day, have learn'd to pray, 
And now they have obtain'd it. 

Here the Penates lead them in, thorough the house, 
into the garden, where Mercury received them, 
walking before them. 

Mer, Retire, you household-gods, and leave 
these excellent creatures to be entertained by a 
more en^-inent deitj^. [Exeunt Pen.] Hail, king 
anil queen of the Islands, called truly Fortunate, 



and by you made so To tell you who I am, and 
wear all these notable and speaking ensigns about 
me, Avere to challenge you of most impossible 
ignorance, and accuse myself of as palpable glory : 
it is enough that you know me here, and come 
with the license of my father Jove, who is the 
bounty of heaven, to give yoii early welcome to 
the bower of my motlier Mala, no less the good- 
ness of earth. And may it please \o\\ to walk, 
I will tell you no wonderful story. This place, 
whereon you are now advanced (by the mighty 
power of poetry, and the help of a faith that 
can remove mountains) is the Arcadian hill 
Cyllcne, the place where myself was both begot 
and born : and of Avhich I am frequently called 
Cyllenius : Under yond' purslane tree stood 
sometime my cradle. Where now behold my 
mother Maia, sitting in the pride of their plenty, 
gladding the air with her breath, and cheering 
the spring with her smiles. At her feet, the 
blushing Aurora, who, with her rosy hand, 
casteth her honey-dews on those sweeter herbs, 
accompanied with that gentle wind Favonius, 
whose subtile spirit, in the breathing forth. Flora 
makes into flowers, and sticks them in the grass, 
as if she contended to have the embroidery of 
the earth richer than the cope of the sky. 
Here, for her month, the yearly delicate May 
keeps state ; and from this mount takes pleasure 
to display these valleys, yond' lesser hills, those 
statelier edifices and towers, that seem enamoured 
so far off, and are rear'd on end to behold her, 
as if their utmost object were her beauties. 
Hither the Dryads of the valley, and nymphs 
of the great river come every morning to taste 
of her favors ; and depart away with laps filled 
with her bounties. But, see ! upon your ap- 
proach, their pleasures are instantly remitted. 
The birds are hush'd. Zephyr is still, the morn 
forbears her office. Flora is dumb, and herself 
amazed, to behold two such marvels, that do 
more adorn place than she can time : pardon, 
your majesty, the fault, for it is that hath caused 
it ; and till they can collect their spirits, think 
silence and wonder the best adoration. 

Here Auroiia, Zepiiyrus, and Flora, began this 
Song in three parts. 

Sec, see, O see who here is come a maying 
The iiiiisler of the oceaTi ; 
And his beauteous Orian : 
Why left we our playing ? 
To gaze, to gaze, 
On them, that gods no less than men amazo 
Up, nighthigale, and sing 

Jug, jug, jug, jug, &c. 
Raise, lark, thy note, and wing. 
Ail birds their music bring, 
Sweet robin, linnet, thrush. 
Record from every bush 
The welcome of the king 
And queen : 
WIiQse like were never seeii, 

655 



656 



THE PENATES. 



For good, for fair ; 
Nor can l)e ; though fresh May, 

Should every day 
Invite a several pair, 
No, tliough she should invite a several pair. .... 

Which ended, Maia (seated in her hoioer, with all 
those personacjcs about her, as before described) 
began to raise herself, and, thoi declining, spaJ<^. 
Mai. If all the pleasures Avere clistill'd 
Of every flower in every field, 
And all that Ilj'bla's hives do yield, 
AVere into one broad mazer fill'd ; 
If, thereto, added all the gums, 
A.nd spice that from Panchaia comes, 
The odor that Hj'daspes lends. 
Or Phccnix joroves before she ends ; 
If all the air my Flora drew, 
Or spirit that Zephyre ever blew ; 
Were put therein ; and all the dew 
That ever rosy' morning knew ; 
Yet all diffused upon this bower. 
To make one sweet detaining hour, 
Were much too little for the grace, 
And honor, you vouchsafe the place. 
But if you please to come again, 
We vow, we will not then, with vain 
And empty pastimes entertain 
Your so desired, tho' grieved pain. 
For Ave will have the wanton fawns, 
That frisking skip about the lawns, 
The Panisks, and the Sylvans rude, 
Satyrs, and all that multitude, 
To dance their wilder rounds about. 
And cleave the air, with many a shout. 
As they would hunt poor Echo out 
Of yonder valley, Avho doth flout 
Their rustic noise. To Adsit Avhom 
You shall behold Avhole bevies come 
Of gaudy nymphs, Avhose tender calls 
Well-tuned unto the many falls 
Of SAveot, and several sliding rills, 
That stream from tops of those less hills, 
Sound like so many silver quills. 
When Zephyre them Avith music fills. 
For these, Favonius here shall bloAV 
NcAv flovrers, Avhich you shall see to grow. 
Of Avhich each hand a part shall take. 
And, for your heads, fresh garlands make. 
Where with, Avhilst they your temples round, 
An air of several birds shall sound 
An lo Pffian, that shall droAvn 
The acclamations, at your crown. — 
All this, and more than I haA'e gift of sajdng, 
May vows, so you Avill oft come here a 
maying. 

Mer. And Mercury, her son, shall venture the 
displeasure of his father, Avith the Avholc bench 
of heaven, that day, but ho Avill do his mother's 
intents all serviceable assistance. Till then, and 
GA'er, live high and happy, you, and your other 
you ; both euA'ied for your fortunes, loved for 
your graces, and admired for your A'irtues. 

[This teas the morning's entertainment. 

After dinner, the king and queen coming again 
into the garden. Mercury the second time accosted 
them. 

Mer. Again, great pair, I salute you ; and 
with leave of all the gods, Avhose high pleasure 



it is, that Mercury make this your holiday. 
May all the blessings, both of earth and heaven, 
concur to thank you : for till this day's sun, I 
have faintly enjoyed a minute's rest to my cre?.- 
tion. Now I do, and acknOAvledge it your sole, 
and no less than diA'ine benefit. If my desire 
to delight you mi^ht not divert to your trouble, 
I Avould intreat your eyes to a new and strange 
spectacle ; a certain son of mine, Avhora the 
Arcadians call a god, howsoever the rest of the 
world receive him : it is the horned Pan, Avhom 
in the translated figure of a goat I begot on tho 
fair Spartan Penelope ; May, let both your ears 
and looks forgive it ; these are but the lightest 
escapes of us deities. And it is better in me to 
prevent his rustic impudence, by my blushing 
acknowledgment, than anon by his rude, and 
not insolent claim, be inforced to confess him. 
Yonder he keeps, and Avith him the Avood 
nymphs, Avhose leader ho is in rounds and 
dances, to this sylvan music. The place, about 
which they skip, is the fount of laughter, or 
Bacchus' spring ; Avhose statue is advanced on 
the toi^ ; and from Avhose pipes, at an observed 
hour of the day, there flows a lusty liquor, that 
hath a present A'irtue to expel sadness ; and 
Avithin certain minutes after it is tasted, force 
all the mirth of the spleen into the face. Of 
this is Pan the guardian. Lo ! the fountain 
begins to run, but the nymphs at your sight are 
fled. Pan and his satyrs wildly stand at gaze. I 
Avill approach, and question him : A'ouchsafe 
your ear, and forgive his behavior, Avhich OA'en 
to me, that am his parent, Avill no doubt be rudo 
enough, though otherwise full of salt, Avhich 
except my presence did temper, might turn to 
bo gall and bitterness ; but that shall charm 
him. 

Pan. 0, it is Mercury ! hoUoAv them, agcn. 
What be all these, father, gods, or men ? 

Mer. All human. Only these tAvo are deities 
on earth, but such, as the greatest powers of 
heaA'en may resign to. 

Pan. Why did our nymphs run aAvay, can 

you tell .' 
Here be sweet beauties love Mercury Avell ; 
I see by their looks. Hoav say you, great master ? 
\Advances to the king. 
Will you be i^leased to hear ? shall I be your 

taster ? 
Mer. Pan, you are too rude. 
Pa7i. It is but a glass, 

By my beard, and my horns, 'tis a health, and 

shall pass. 
Were he a king,. and his mistress a queen. 
This draught shall make him a petulant si)leen. 
But trow, is ho loose, or costive of laughter ? 
I'd know, to fill him his glass, thereafter. 
Sure either my skill, or my sight doth mock, 
Or this lordling's look should not care for the 

smock; 
And yet he should love both a horse and a 

hound. 
And not rest till he saAV his game on the ground , 
Well, look to him, dame 5 beshrew me, Avere I 
'Mongst these bonnibells, you should need 9 

good eye. 
Here, mistress ; all out. Since a god is your 

skinker ; 



ENTERTAINMENT AT THEOBALDS. 



657 



By my hand, I believe you Avere born a good 

drinker. 
They arc things of no spirit, their blood is asleep, 
That, Avhcn it is off'er'd them, do not drink deep. 

Come, %vho is next ? our liquor here cools. 
Ladies, I'm sure, you all have not fools 
At home to laugh at. A little of this, 
Ta'en down here in private, were not amiss. 

Believe it, she drinks lilie a wench that had 

store [more ? 

Of lord for her laughter, then v^ill you have 

What answer you, lordlings ? will you any or 
none ? 
Laugh, and be fat, sir, your penance is known. 
They that love mirth, let them heartily drink, 
'Tis the only receipt to make sorrow sink. 

The young nymph that's troubled with an old 
man. 
Let her laugh him away, as fast as she can. 

Nay drink, and not j)ause, as who would say. 

Must you ? [you. 

But laugh at the wench, that next doth trust 

To you, sweet beauty ; nay, 'pray you come 
hither 
Ere you sit out, you'll laugh at a feather. 

I'll never fear you, for being too witty. 
You sip so like a forsooth of the city. 

Lords, for yourselves, your own cups crown, 
The ladies, i' faith, else will laugh you down. 

Go to, little blushet, for this, anan, [fan. 

You'll steal forth a laugh in the shade of your 



This, and another thing, I can tell ye, 
Will breed a laughter as low as your belly. 

Of such sullen pieces, Jove send us not many, 
TJiey must be tickled, before they will any. 

What ! have we done ? they that want let 'em 
Gallants, of both sides, you see here is all [call. 
Pan's entertainment : look for no more ; 
Only, good faces, I read you, make store 
Of your amorous knights, and 'squires hereafter, 
They arc excellent sponges, to drink up your 
laughter. [frighted ; 

Farewell, I must seek out ray nymphs, that you 
Thank Hermes, my father, if aught have de- 
lighted. [Exit. 

Mer. I am sure, thy last rudeness cannot ; for 
it makes me seriously ashamed. — I Avill not 
labor his excuse, since I know you more ready 
to pardon, than he to trespass : but for your 
singular patience, tender you all abundance of 
thanks ; and, mixing with the master of the 
place in his wishes, make them my divinations : 
That your loves be ever flourishing as May, and 
your house as fruitful : that your acts exceed 
the best, and your years the longest of your 
predecessors : that no bad fortune touch you, 
nor good change you. But still, that you tri- 
umph in this facility over the ridiculous pride 
of other princes; and for ever Kve safe in the 
love, rather than the fear, of your subjepts. 

AXD THUS IT ENDED. 



THE ENTERTAINMENT 



TWO KINGS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND DENMARK, 

At Theobalds, July 2i, 1606. 



The Kings being entered the Inner Court; above, 
over the 2>orch, sat the three Hours, iqyon clouds, 
as at the ports of heaven ; crowned with several 
floioers : of which one bore a sun-dial ; the other, 
a clock; the third, an hour-glass; signifying 
as by tJieir names, Laio, Justice, and Peace : and 
for those faculties chosen to gratulate their coming 
with this speech, 

ExTER, O long'd-for princes, bless these bowers. 
And us, the three, by you made happj'. Hours : 
We that include all time, yet never knew 
Minute like this, or object like to you. 
Two kings, the world's prime honors, whose ac- 
cess 
Shews cither's greatness, yet makes neither less : 
Vouchsafe your thousand welcomes in this 

shewcr ; 
The master vows, not Sybil's leaves were truer. 

Expressed to the king of Denmark, thus : 

Qui colit lias a>deis, ingentia gaudia adumbrans, 

Cernendo reges pace coire 2Mres, 
Nos tempestivas, ad limina, coUocat Horas, 

Quod bona sub nobis omnia iiroveniant. 

42 



Ununi ad Icetitia cumulum tristatur abesse. 

Quod nequeat signis Lcetitiani ex]}rimere, 
Sed quia res solum ingcntes-hac parte laborant, 

Utcunque expressani o'edidit esse satis. 
At, quod non piotuit dominus, stqjplevit abu7idt 

Frondoso tellus niunerefacfa loquax. 
Eccos quam grati veniant quos terra salutat ! 

Verior hisfoliis nulla Sybilla fuit. 

The inscriptions on the walls were, 

DATE TENIAM SUBITI3. 
DEBENTUR ^ViE SUNT, QU^E^Ur; FUTUHA. 

Epigrams hung up. 
Ad Regis Serenissimos. 

S<?2^e Theobaldce (sortis bonitaie beatce) 

Excepere suos sub pia tecta deos ; [bant : 

Ilaud simul at geminos : sed enim potuisse nega- 
Nee fas est tales posse piutare duos. 

Fortunata antehac, sed nunc domtis undique fmlix. 
At dominus quanto (si licet -usque) magis ! 

Et licet, 6 Magni, foliis si fditis istis. 
Quels Horce sunwiam contribuere fidem. 



C58 



ENTERTAINMENT AT THEOBALDS. 



Ad Serenis8imum Jacobum. 

Miraris, cur hospitio tc accepinms Ilora; 

Cujus ad ohseqidum noii satis anntis erat ? 
Nempe quod adccniant ingentia gaitdia rard, 

Et quando adveniant vix datur liorafnd. 

Ad Serenissimura Christianum. 

Miraris, cur hospitio te accepimus Hora, 

Quas SoUs famulus GrcBcia docta vocat ? 

Talis ab adventu vesfro luxfulsit in cedeis, 
J't dominus solcin crederet esse novum. 



Others, at their departure. 
Ad Seronissimum Jacobum. 

Hosjntio qui te cepit, famulantibus Horis, 

Cedere ahhinc, nulla concomitante, sinit, 

Ncmpe omneis horas veniendi duxit arnicas, 
Sed discedendi nulla minuta prohat. 

Ad Serenissimura Christianum. 

Te veniente, novo domus hmc frondehat amictui 
Te discessuro, nan piroul ante viret : 

Neynpe, sub accessu solis, novus incipit annusy 
Et, sub discessu squalida scvvit hyems. 



AN 

ENTERTAINMENT OF KING JAMES AND QUEEN ANNR 

AT THEOBALDS, 

WHEN THE HOUSE WAS DELIVERED UP, WITH THE POSSESSION, TO THE QUEEN, 
BY THE EARL OF SALISBURY, 

The 22d of Maij, imi . 

THE PRINCE JAXYILE, BROTHER TO THE DUKE OF GUISE, HEING THEX PRESENT. 



The King and Queen, with the princes of Wales 
and Lorrain, and the nobility, being ottered into 
the gallery, after dinner there was seen nothing 
but a traverse of lohite across the room : which 
suddenly draion, loas discovered a gloomy obscure 
place, hung all with black silks, and in it only one 
light, lohieh the Genius of the house held, sadly 
attired ; his Cornucopice ready to fall out of his 
hcfnd, his gyrland drooping on his head, his eyes 
fixed on the ground ; xvhen, out of this piensive 
2}osture, after some little p)'^use, he brake and 
began. 

GENIUS. 

Lot- not your glories darken, to beliold 

The place, and me, her Genius here, so sad ; 
Who, by bold rumor, have been lately told, 

That I must change the loved lord I had. 
And he, now, in the twilight of sere age, 

Begin to seek a habitation new ; 
Ajid all his fortunes, and himself engage 

Unto a scat, his fathers never knew. 
And I, uncertain what I must endure. 

Since all the ends of destiny are obscure. 

MERCURY. IFrom behind the darkness. \ 

Despair not. Genius, thou shalt know thy fate. 

And withal, the black vanishing, teas discovered a 
glorious 2}lace, figuring the Lararium, or seat of 
the- household gods, where both the Lares and 
Penates leere piainted in copiper color ; erected tvith 
columns and architrave, frieze and cornice, in 
tohich ivere placed divers diaphanal glasses, filed 
loith several icaters, that shewed like so many 
stones of orient and transpiarent hues. Within, 
as farther off, in landscajK, tvere seen clouds 



riding, and in one corner, a boy figuring Good 
Event attired in ichite, hovering in the air, tvith 
wings displayed, having nothing seen to sustain 
him by, all the time the sheiv lasted. At the other 
corner, a Mercury descended in a flying posture, 
with his caduccus in his hand, loko simke to the 
three Parcce, that sate low in a grate, tvith an 
iron roof, the one lialding the rock, the other the 
spiindle, and the third the sheers, loith a book of 
adamant lying open before them. But first the 
Getiius, surprized by wonder, urged this doubt. 

GENIUS, [j^sidc.-] 

What sight is this, so strange, and full of state ! 

The son of Maia, making his descent 
Unto the fates, and met with Good Event ? 

SiEECUSY. 

Daughters of Night and Secrecy, attend ; 

You that draw out the chain of destinj-. 
Upon whose threads, both lives and times de- 

And all the periods of mortality ; [pend, 

The will of Jove is, that you straight do look 

The change, and fate unto this house decreed, 
And speaking from your adamantine book, 

Unto the Genius of the place it read ; 
That he may knov/, and knowing bless his lot. 

That such a grace beyond his hopes hath g^ot, 

CLCTHO. I Reads.] 

When iindonieath thy root is l^■ccIl 

The greatest king, the fairest queen. 

With princes an unmatched pair, 

One, hope of all the earth, tlieir hoir ; 

The (it)ier styled of Lorrain, 

Their blood : and sprung from CliarleraaliiB ; 



ENTERTAINMENT AT THEOBALDS. 



65S 



When all these glories jointly sliiue, 
And fill thee witli a heat divine, 
And these reflected, do beget 
A splendent sun, shall never set, 
But here shine fixed, to afi'right 
, All after-hopes of following night, 

Tlien, Genius, is thy period come, 
To change thy lord : thus fates do doom. 

GENIUS. 

But is my patron Avitli this lot content, 
So to forsake his father's monument ? 

Or is it sain, or else necessity, 

Or will to raise a house of better frame, 

That makes him shut forth his posterity 
Out of his patrimony, with his name ? 

MERCURY. 

Nor gain, nor need ; much less a vain desire, 
To frame new roofs, or build his dwelling 
higher ; 

He hath, with mortar, busied been too much. 
That his affections should continue such. 

GENIUS. 

Do men take joy in labors, not t' enjoy ? 

Or doth their business all their likings spend ? 
Have they more pleasure in a tedious Avay, 

Than to repose them at their journey's end ? 

MERCURY. 

Genius, obey, and not expostulate ; 

It is yovir virtue : and such Powers as you, 
Should make religion of offending fate, [true. 

Whose dooms arc just, and whose designs are 

LACHESIS. 

The person for whose royal sake. 
Thou must a change so happy make. 
Is he, that governs with his smile 
This lesser world, this greatest isle. 
His lady's servant thou must be : 
Whose second would great nature see. 
Or Fortune, after all their pain. 
They might despair to make again. 



ATROPOS. 

She is the grace of all that are : 
And as Eliza, now a star. 
Unto her crown, and lasting praise, 
Thy humbler walls, at first, did raise, 
By virtue of her best aspect ; 
So shall Eel- Anna them protect : 
And this is all the Fates can say ; 
Whicli first believe, and then obey. 



Mourn'd I before ? could I commit a sin 

So much 'gainst kind, or knowledge, to pro- 
tract 
A joy, to which I should have ravish' d been. 

And never shall be happy, till I act ? 
Vouchsafe, fair queen, my patron's zeal in ;ne ; 

Who fly with fervor, as my fate commands. 
To yield these keys : and wish, that you could see 

My heart as open to you, as my hands. 
There might you read my faith, my thoughts — 
But oh ! 

My joys, like waves, each other overcome ; 
And gladness drowns where it begins to flow. 

Some greater powers speak out, for mine are 
dumb. 

At this, was the place filled iciih rare and choice 
music, to which was fteard the folloicing Song, 
delivered hy an excellent voice, and the burden 
maintained by the lohole quire. 

O blessed change ! 
And no less glad than strange ! 
Where we that lose have won ; 
And, for a beam, enjoy a sun. 

Cho. So little sparks become great fires. 
And high rewards crown low desires. 

Was ever hiiss 

More full, or clear, than this ! 

The present month of May 

Ne'er look'd so fresh, as doth this day 

Cho. So gentle winds breed happy springs. 
And duty thrives by breath of kings. 



THE QUEEN'S MASQUES. 

THE MASQUE OF BLACKNESS, 

Peiisonated at the Court at Whitehall, on the Twelfth-night, 'G05. 

Salve fcsta dies, meliorqiie revcrtere sempc7\ — Ovid.. 



The lionor ami splendor of these Spectacles was such in the performance, as, could those hours liave lasted, this di 
mine, now, had been a most unprofitable work. But when it is the fate even of tlie greatest, and most absolute births, 
to need and borrow a life of posterity, little had been done to the study of magnificence in these, if presently with thi 
rage of the people, who, (as a part of greatness) are privileged by custom, to deface their carcasses, the spirits had alsc 
perished. In duty therefore to that IMajesty, who gave them their authority and grace, and, no less than the most royal 
of predecessors, deserves eminent celebration for these solemnities, I add this later hand to redeem them as well from 
ignorance as envy, two common evils, the one of censure, the other of oblivion. 

Pliny,! SoIinus,2 Ptolemy ,3 and of late Leo* the African, remember unto us a river in jEthiopia. famous by the nam? 
of Niger ; of which the people were called Nigrita;, now Negroes ; and are the blackest nation of the \Vorld. Tnis river 3 
taketh spring out of a certain lake, eastward ; and after a long race, falleth into the western ocean. Hence (because i) 
was her majesty's will to have them blackraoors at first) the invention was derived by me, and presented thus : 



First, for the scene, was drawn a lniltltsc!)ap 
(landscape) consisting of small woods, and here 
and there a void place filled with huntings ; 
wliich falling, an artificial sea was seen to shoot 
forth, as if it flowed to the land, raised with 
waves which seemed to move, and in some places 
the billows to break, as imitating that orderly- 
disorder Avhich is common in nature. In front 
of this sea were placed six tritons,^ in moving 
and sprightly actions, their upper parts human, 
save that their hairs were blue, as partaking of 
the sea-color : their desincnt parts iish, mounted 
above their heads, and all varied in disposition. 
J?rom their backs Avere borne out certain light 
pieces of taff'ata, as if carried by the wind, and 
their music made out of wreathed shells. Be- 
hind these, a pair of sea-maids, for song, were 
as conspicuously seated ; between which, two 
great sea-horses, as big as the life, put forth 
themselves ; the one mounting aloft, and writh- 
ing his head from the other, which seemed to 
eink forward ; so intended for variation, and that 
the figure behind might come off better : ' upon 
their backs, Oceanus and Niger were advanced. 

Oeeanus presented in a human form, the color 
of his flesh blue ; and shadowed with a robe of 
sea-green; his head gray, and horned,* as he is 

1 Nat. Hist. 1. 5. c 8. 

2 Poly. Hist. c. 40, and 43 

3 Lib. 4. c, 5. 

* Descrip. Afric. 

5 Some take it to bo the same with Nilus, which is by 
Lucan called Melas, signifying Niger. Howsoever Pliny in 
the place above noted, hath this : Nigrifluvio eadcm natura, 
quK Nilo, calamum, papyrum, et easdem gignit animantes. 
See Solin. abovementioncd. 

8 The form of these tritons, with their trumpets, you 
may read lively described in Ov. Met. lib. 1. Cajruleum 
Tritona vocat, &c. ; and in Virg. iEneid. 1. 10. Hunc vehit 
inimanis triton, et sequent. 

' Lucian in PHTOP. AiSikt. presents Nilus so, Equo flu- 
viatili insidentem. And Statins Neptune, in Thcb. 

8 The ancients induced Oceanus always with a bull's 
head : propter vim ^ entorum, i quibus incitatur, et impclli- 
tuj: vol quia Uuris similem freniitum cp.iittat- vel guia 



described by the ancients : his beard of the like 
mixed color : he was garlanded with alga, oi' 
sea-grass ; and in his hand a trident. 

Niger, in form and color of an iEthiop ; his 
hair and rare beard curled, shadowed with a blue 
and bright mantle : his front, neck, and wrists 
adorned with pearl, and crowned with an artifi- 
cial wreath of cane and paper-rush. 

These induced the masquers, which were 
twelve nymphs, negroes, and the daughters of 
Niger ; attended by so many of the OceaniiB,' 
which were their light-bearers. 

The masquers were placed in a great concave 
shell, like mother of pearl, curiously made to 
move on those waters and rise Avith the billow ; 
the top thereof Avas stuck Avith a cheveron of 
lights, which indented to the proportion of the 
shell, struck a glorious beam upon them, as 
they were seated one aboA'c another : so they 
Avere all seen, but in an extravagant order. 

On sides of the shell did swim six huge sea- 
monsters, varied in their shapes and dispositions, 
bearing on their backs the twelve torch-bearers, 
Avho Avcro planted there in several graces ; so as 
the backs of some Averc seen ; some in purfle, oi 
side ; others in face ; and all having their lights 
burning out of Avhelks, or murex-shcUs. 

The attire of the masquers Avas alike in all, 
Avithout difference : the colors azure and silver ; 
but returned on the top with a scroll and antique 
dressing of feathers, and jewels interlaced with 
ropes of pearl. And for the front, ear, neck, and 
Avrists, the ornament Avas of the most choice and 
orient pearl ; best setting oii from the black. 

For the light-bearers, sea-green, waved about 



tanquam taurus furibundus, in littora feratur. Euripid. hi 
Orest. 'ilKcavo; bv ravpoKfiafos dyKaXai; iXiaauiv, KVKXti 
xOovn. And rivers sometimes were so called. Look Virg 
(le Tiber! et Eridano. Georg. 4. ^neid. 8. Hor. Car. lib. 4 
ode 14, and Euripid. in lone. 

9 The daughters of Oceanus and Tethys. See Hesiod in 
Theogon. Orpli. in Ilym. and Virgil in Georg 
660 



THE MASQUE OF BLACKNESS. 



'61 



the skirts ■with gold and silver ; their hair loose 
and flowing, gyrlandod with sea-grass, and that 
btuck with branches of coral. 

These thus presented, the scene behind seemed 
a vast sea, and united with this that flawed forth, 
from the termination, or horizon of which (be- 
ing the level of the state, which was placed in 
the upper end of the hall) was drawn by the 
lines of prospective, the whole Avork shooting 
downwards from the ej-e ; which decorum made 
it more conspicuous, and caught the eye afar off 
with a Avandering beauty : to which was added 
an obscure and cloudy night-piece, that made 
the whole set off". So much for the bodily part, 
which was of master Inigo Jones's design and act. 

Ey this, one of the tritons, Avith the two sea- 
maids, began to sing to the others' loud music, 
their voices being a tenor and two trebles. 

SONG. 

Sound, sound aloud 
Tlie welcome of the orient flood, 
Into the we5t ; 
Fair Niger,i son to great Occanus, 
" Now Iionor'd, thus, 
With all his beaiiteoiis race: 
Wlio, tliough but black in face, 

Yet are they bright, 

And fall of life and light. 

To prove that beauty best. 

Which, not the color, but tlic feature 

Assures unto the creature. 

Occa. Bo silent, now the ceremony's done. 
And, Niger, say, how comes it, lovely son, 
That thou, the jEthiop's river, so far east. 
Art seen to fall into the extremest Avest 
Of me, the king of floods, Oceanus, 
And in mine empire's heart, salute me thus ? 
My ceaseless current, noA\', amazed stands 
To sec thy labor through so many lands. 
Mix thy fresh billow Avith my brackish stream ; ° 
And, in the sweetness, stretch thy diadem 
To these far distant and unequall'd skies, 
This squared circle of celestial boOies. 

Niger. Divine Oceanus, 'tis not '■trange at all, 
That, since th' immortal souls of creatures 

mortal, 
Mix Avith their bodies, yet reserTd for ever 
A poAver of separation, I should saver 
My fresh streams from thy brackiish, like things 

fix'd. 
Though, Avith thy pov/erful saltncss, thus far 

mix'd. [free ; 

" Yirtue, though chain'd to earth, Avill still Ka'C 
A.nd hell itself must yield to industry." 

1 All rivers are said to be the sons of (he Ocean ; for, as 
the ancicnta thought, out of the vapors exhaled by the heat 
of the sun, rivers and fountains were begotten. And both 
by Orph. in liyni. and Homer, /;. f. Oceanus is celebrated 
tanquani pater, et origo diis, ct rebus, quia nihil sme 
humectatione nascitur, aut putrescit. 

2 Tliere wants not enough, in nature, to authorize this 
part of our fiction, in separating Niger from the ocean, 
(lieside the fable of Alpheus, and that, to which Virgil 
alludes of Arethusa, in his 10. Eclog. 

Sic tibi, cum fluctus subter labere Sicanos, 
Doris amara suam non intermisceat undam.) 

Examples of Nilus, Jordan, and others, Avhereof see Nican. 
lib. 1. de fiuinin. and Plut. in vita Sylj*, even of this our 
liver (as some think) by the name of Melas. 



Occa. But Avhat's the end of thy Herculean 
labors, 
Extended to these calm and blessed shores ? 

Niger. To do a kind and careful father's part. 
In satisfying every pensive heart 
Of these my daughters, my most loved birth : 
AVho, though they AA'ere the first forra'd dames 

of earth,'' 
And in Avhose sparkling and refulgent eyes. 
The glorious sun did still delight to rise ; 
Though he, the best judge, and most formal cause 
Of all dames beauties, in their firm hues, draAvs 
Signs of his fervent'st love ; and thereby sIioaa-s 
That in their black, the perfect'st beauty grows ; 
Since the fixt color of their curled hair, 
Which is the highest grace of dames most fair, 
No cares, no ago can change ; or there display 
The fearful tincture of abhorred gray ; 
Since death herself (herself being pale and blue) 
Can never alter their most faithful hue ; 
All which arc arguments, to prove hoAV far 
Their beauties conquer in great beauty's Avar ; 
And more, hoAV near divinity they be. 
That stand from passion, or decay so free. 
Yet, since the fabulous voices of some fcAv 
Poor brain-sick men, styled poets here with you. 
Have, Avith such envy of their graces, sung 
The painted beauties other empires sprung ; 
Letting their loose and Avinged fictions fly 
To infect all climates, yea, our purity ; 
As of one Phaeton,'' that fired the Avorld 
And that, before his heedless flames Avere hurl'd 
About the globe, the iEthiops Avere as fair 
As other dames i noAV black, Avith black despair 
And in respect of their complexions chang'd, 
Are eachAvhere, since, for luckless creatures 

rang'd ; " 
Which, Avhen my daughters heard, (asAVomen arc 
Most jealous of "their beauties) fear and care 
Possess'd them Avhole ; yea, and belicA'ing them,* 
They Avept such ceaseless tears into my stream, 
That it hath thus far overfloAv'd his shore 
To seek them patience : Avho have since, e'ermore 
As the sun riseth,^ charg'd his burning throne 
With vollies of revilings ; 'cause he shone 
On their scorch'd cheeks with such intemperate 

flres. 
And other dames made queens of all desires. 
To frustrate Avhich strange error, oft I sought, 
Tlio' most in vain, against a settled thought 
As women's are, till they confirm'd at length 
By miracle, Avhat I, Avith so much strength 
Of argument resisted ; else they feign'd : 
For in the lake Avhere their first spring they 

gain'd. 
As they sat cooling their soft limbs, one night, 
Appcar'd a face, all circumfused AA'ith light ; 
(And sure they saAv't, for .^thiops « never dream) 
Wherein they might decipher through the 
These Avords : [stream, 

3 Kead Diod. Siciil. lib. 3. It is a cmjecture of tho old 
ethnics, that they which dwell under the south, Avere the 
first begotten of the earth. 

4 Notissima fabula, Ovid. Met. lib. 9. 

s Alluding to that of Juvenal, Satyr. 5. Et cui pc: 
median! nolis occurrere noctem. 

6 The poets. 

7 A custom of the jEthiops, notable in Herod. anJ Diod 
Sic. See Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 5. cap. 8. 

8 Plin. Nut. Hist. lib. 5. cap. 8. 



662 



THE MASQUE OF BLACKNESS 



That tliey a land must foitlnvitli seek, 

Whose termination, of the Greek, 

Sounds Tania ; where bright Sol, that heat 

Their bloods, doth never rise or set,i 

But in liis journey passeth by, 

And leaves that climate of the sky, 

To comfort of a greater light, 

Wlio forms all beauty with his sight. 

In search of this, have we three princedoms past, 
That speak out Tania in their accents last ; 
Black Mauritania, first ; and secondly, 
Swarth Lusitania ; next ^\e did descry 
"Rich Aquitania : and yet cannot find 
The place unto these longing- nymphs design' d. 
Instruct and aid me, great Oceanus, 
What land is this that now appears to us ? 

Ocea. This land, that lifts into the temperate 
His snowy cliff, is Albion the fair ; ^ [air 

So call'd of Neptune's son,^ who ruleth here : 
For whose dear guard, myself, four thousand 
year, [round 

Since old Deucalion's days, have w'alk'd the 
About his empire, proud to see him crown'd 
Above my waves. 

At this the Moon was discovered in the upper part 
of the house, triumphant in a silver throne, made 
in figure of a jjijramis. Her garments white and 
silver, the dressing of her head antique, and 
crotoned loith a luminary, or sphere of light : 
tohich striking on the clotids, and heightened with 
silver, reflected as natural clouds do by the splen- 
dor of the moon. The heaven about her was 
vaulted loith blue silk, and set loith stai's of silver, 
which had in them their several lights burning. 
The sudden sight of which made Niger to inter- 
1 upt Oceanus icith this prese7it jmssion. 

O see, our silver star ! 
Whose pure, auspicious light greets us thus far ! 
Great ^Ethiopia goddess of our shore,* 
Since with i^articular worship we adore 
Thy general brightness, let particular grace 
Shine on my zealous daughters : shew the place 
Which long their longings urg'd their eyes to see, 
Beautify them, which long have deified thee. 

JEthi. Niger, be glad : resume thy native cheer. 
Thy daughters labors have their period here, 
And so thy errors. I was that bright face 
Reflected by the lake, in which thy race 
liead mystic lines ; Avhich skill Pythagoras 
First taught to men, by a reverberate glass. 
This blessed isle doth with that Tania. end, 
Which there they saw inscribed, and shall ex- 
tend 
Wish'd satisfaction to their best desires. 
Britannia, which the triple world admires, 
This isle hath now recovcr'd for her name ; 
Where reign those beauties that with so much 

fame 
The sacred Muses' sons have honored, 

1 Consult with Tacitus, in vita Agric. and the Paneg. ad 
Constant. 

- Orpheus, in his Argonaut, calls it KtvKainv xiptxov. 

3 Alluding to the riglit of styling princes after the name 
of their princedoms : so is he still Albion, and Neptune's 
Bon that governs. As also his being dear to Neptune, in 
being so embraced by him. 

* The ^Ethiopians worshipped the moon by tliat surname. 
Bee Step. ;r£ot TrdAtcov in voce AieiOIIION. 



And from bright Hesperus to Eous spread. 

With that great name Britannia, this blest isle 

Hath won her ancient dignity, and style, 

A WORLD DIVIDED FROM THE WORLD : and tried 

The abstract of it, in his general pride. 

For were the world, with all his wealth, a ring, 

Britannia, whose new name makes all tonguea 

Might be a diamant worthy to inchase it, [sing, 

Ruled by a sun, that to this hoight doth grace it -. 

Whose beams shine day and night, and are of 

force 
To blanch an ^thiop, and revive a corse. 
His light sciential is, and, past mere nature. 
Can salve the rude defects of everj' creature. 
Call forth thy honor'd daughters then : 
And let them, 'fore the Britain men. 
Indent the land, with those pure traces 
They flow with, in their native graces. 
Invite them boldly to the shore ; 
Their beauties shall be scorch'd no more : 
This sun is temperate, and refines 
All things on which his radiance shines. 

Here the Tritons sounded, a7id they danced on shore, 
every couple, as they advanced, severally present- 
ing their fans : in one of %ohich loere inscribed 
their mixt names, in the other a mute hieroglyphic, 
expressing their mixed qualities.^ Their oion sin- 
gle dance ended, as they were about to make choice 
of their men : one, from the sea, was heard to 
call them loith this charm, sung by a tenor voice. 

Come away, come away, 
We grow jealous of your stay ; 
If you do not stop your ear, 
We shall have more cause to fear 
Syrens of the land, than they 
To doubt the Syrens of the sea. 

Here they- danced with their men several measures 
and corantos. All which ended, they tvere again 
accited to sea, with a soxG of two trebles, lohose 
cadences were iterated by a double echo from sev- 
eral parts of the land. 

Daughters of the subtle flood. 
Do not let earth longer entertain you ; 
1 Ech. Let earth longer entertain you. 
2 Ech. Longer entertain you. 

'Tis to them enough of good. 
That you give this little hope to gain you. 
1 Ech. Give this little hope to gain you 
2 Ech. Little hope to gain you. 

If they love. 

You shall quickly see ; 
For wlieu to flight you move, 
Tiiey'U follow you, the more you flee. 

1 Ech. Follow you, the more you flee. 
2 Ech. The n:ore you fiee. 

If not, impute it each to other's matter; 
Tliey are hut earth, and what you vow'd was water, 
1 Ech. And what you vow'd was water. 
2 Ech. You vow'd was water. 

Mthi. Enough, bright nymphs, the night 
grows old. 
And we are grieved we cannot hold 
You longer light ; but comfort take. 
Your father only to the lake 

5 Which manner of symbol I rather chose, than imprest, 
as well for strangeness, as relishing of antiquity, and more 
ai)plying to that original doctrine of sculpture, which tha 
Eayptians are said first to have brought from the iEUlio 
plans. Diod. Sicul. Ilerod. 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



6G3 



Shall make return : yourselves, -with feasts, 

Must here remain the Ocean's guests. 

Nor shall this veil, the sun hath cast 

Above your blood, more summers last, 

For which you shall observe these rites : 

Thirteen times thrice, on thirteen nights, 

(So often as I fill my sphere 

With glorious light throughout the year) 

You shall, -when all things else do sleep 

Save your chaste thoughts, with reverence, 

steep 
Your bodies in that purer brine. 
And wholesome dew, call'd ros-marine : 
Then with that soft and gentler foam. 
Of which the ocean yet yields some 
Whereof, bright Venus, beauty's queen, 
Is said to have begotten been, 
You shall your gentler limbs o'er-lavo. 
And for your pains perfection have : 
So that, this night, the year gone round. 
You do again salute this ground ; 
And in the beams of yond' bright sun, 
Y'our faces dry, — and all is done. 

At which, in a dance, they returned to sea, lohere 
they took their sJiell, and loith this full song 
went out. 

Nuw nian, with her burning face, 
Declines apace : 



Py which our waters inov/ 
To ebb, tliHt late did ilo7. . 

Back seas, back nymphs; but with a fori".'ard giac3. 

Keep still j'oiir reverence lo tlia placo : 
And shout with joy of favor, you have won, 

In sight of Albion, Neptune's son. 

Bo ended the first 3fasque ; •which, beside the sivf 
fiular grace of music and dances, had the success 
in the nobility of performance, as nothing needs- 
to the illustration, but the memory by whom it 
loas 2)ersonated. 



, j The Queen . 

■ ( Co. OF Bedford 

c, ( La. Herbert. . 

*" / Co. OF Derby . 



3. 



THE NAMES. 

EUPHORIS, 

AGLAIA, 

DIAPHANE, 

EUCAMPSE, 

OCVTE, 

KATHARE, 

NOTIS, 

P.SYCHROTE, 



La. Rich • . 

Co. OF Suffolk 

La. Bevill. . 

La. Effingham 

La. El. Howard GLVCYTE, 

La. Sus. Vere MALACIA, 

La. Worth. . BARYTE, 

La. Walsi NGHAM PERIPHERE, 



THE sy7/iB0i,!?. 
) A golden tree, la- 
i den with fruit. 
/ The figure Isocae- 
\ dron of crystal. 
) A pair of naked feet 
\ in a river. 
) The Salamander 
\ simple. 
) A cloud full of rain 
\ dropping. 
) An urn splisrod 
( with wine. 



The JVames of the OCEANIA were,'!- 
DORTS, CYDIPPE, BEROE, ianthe, 

PETRAEA, GLAUCE, ACASTE, LYCORIS, 

ocyrhoe, TYCHE, CLYTIA, plexaure 
1 Hesiod. in Theog. 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



Two years being now past, that her majesty had intermitted these delights, and the third almost come, it was her high- 
ness's pieasiire a-ain to glorify the court, and command that I should thinlc on some fit presentment, winch should answer 
the former, still keeping them the same persons, the daugliters of Niger, but their beauties varied according to promise, ^ 
nnd their time of absence excused, with four more added to their number. 

To which limits, when I had apted my invention, and being to bring news of them from the sea, I induced Boreas, 
on* of the winds, as my fittest messenger; presenting him thus : 



In a robe of russet and white mixt, full and 
bagg'd ; his hair and beard rough and horrid ; 
his wings gray, and full of snow and icicles : 
his mantle borne froin him with wires, and in 
beveral puffs ; his feet 2 ending in serpents tails ; 
and in his hand a leafless branch laden v/itk 
icicles. 

But before, in the midst of the hall, to keep 
the state of the feast anU season, I had placed 
January '■' in a throne of silver ; his robe of ash- 
color, long, fringed with silver ; a white man- 
tle ; his wings white, and his buskins ; in his 
hand a laurel-bough ; upon his head an airademe 
of laurel, fronted with the sign Aquarius, and 
the character : who, as Boreas blustered forth, 
discovered himself. 

Boreas. Which, among these, is Albion, Nep- 
tune's son ? 

Januarius. What ignorance dares make that 
question ? 
Would any ask, who IMars were in the wars, 
Or which is Hesperus among the stars ? 
Of the bright planets, which is Sol ? or can 
A doubt arise, 'mong creatures, which is man ? 



Behold, whose eyes do dart Promethean fire 
Throughout this All ; whose precepts do inspire 
Ths rest with duty ; yet commanding, cheer ; 
And are obeyed more with love, than fear, 
Boreas. WHiat Power art thou, that thus in- 

formest me ? 
Janu. Dost thou not know me ? I too well 
know thee 
By thy rude voice,< that doth so hoarsely blow ; 
Thy hair, thy beard, thy wings, o'er-hill'd with 

snow, 
Thy serpent feet, to be that rough North-wind, 
Boreas, that to my reign- art still unkind. 
I am the prince of months, call'd January ; 
Because by me, Janus ^ the year doth vary. 
Shutting up wars, proclaiming peace, and feasts, 
Freedom and triumphs ; making kings his 
guests. 

Boreas. To thee then thus, and by thee to 
that king. 
That doth thee present honors, do I bring 
Present remembrance of twelve iEthiop dames : 
Who, guided hither by the moon's bright flames, 
To see his brighter light, were to the sea 



2 So Pans, in Eliacis, reports him to have, as he was * Ovid. Metam. lib. 6. near the end see, — horridus ira, 
tarved in arci Cipselli. Cluae solita est illi ; nimiiimque doniestica, vento, &c. 

« See Iccnolo". di Ccsr;re Ripa. 5 See the offices and power of Janus, Ovid. Fast. 1 



664 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



Enjoin'd again, and (thence assign'd a day 
For their return) v/ere in the waves to leave 
Their Blackness, and true Beauty to receive. 

Janu. Which they received, but broke their 
day : and yet 
Have not return'd a look of grace for it, 
Shewing a coarse and most iiniit neglect. 
Twice have I come in pomp here, to expect 
Their presence ; twice deluded, have been fain 
With other rites ' my feasts to entertain : 
And now the third time, turn'd about the 
year, [here ! 

Since they were look'd for, and yet are not 

Boreas. It was nor will, nor sloth, that caus'd 

their stay ; 
For they were all prepared by their day, 
And with religion, forward on their way : 
When Proteus,^ the gray prophet of the sea. 
Met them, and made report, how other four 
Of their black kind (whereof their sire had 

store) 
Faithful to that great wonder, so late done 
Upon their sisters, by bright Albion, 
Had followed them to seek Britannia forth, 
And there to hope like favor, as like worth. 
Which Night envied, as done in her despite,' 
And mad to see an yEthiop washed white, 
Thought to prevent in these ; lest men should 

deem 
Her color, if thus chang'd, of small esteem. 
And so, by malice, and her magic, tost 
The nymphs at sea, as they were almost lost, 
Till, on an island, they by chance arriv'd, 
That floated in the main ;^ where, yet, she had 

gyv d 
Them so, in chains of darkness, as no might 
fShould loose them thence, but their chang'd sis- 
ters sight. 
Whereat the twelve, in piety mov'd, and kind, 
Straight put themselves in act, the place to find ; 
Which was the Night's sole trast they so will 

do. 
That she Avith labor might confound them too. 
For ever since with error hath she held 
Them wand'ring in the ocean, and so queU'd 
Their hopes beneath their toil, as (desperate 
Of any least success unto their vow ; [now 

Nor knowing to return to express the grace. 
Wherewith they labor to this prince, and place) 
One of them meeting me at sea, did pray, 
That for the love of my Orithya,5 
Whose very name did heat my frosty breast. 
And made me shalce my snow-fill'd wings and 

crest. 
To bear this sad report I would be won, [done. 
And frame their just excuse ; which here I've 

1 Two niarns^es, the one of tiio earl of Essex, 1606 : tlie 
other of the Lord Hay, 1607. 

- Read liis description, with Vir. Geor. 4. Est in Cai- 
pathio Neptuni gurgite vates, Caenilens Proteus. 

3 Because they were before of her complexion. 

* To give authority to this part of our fiction, Pliny hatli 
a chap. 95 of the 2. "book, Nat. Hist, de insulis fluctuanti- 
bus. Et Card. lib. 1. de rerum vari. et cap. 7. reports one to 
be in his time known, in the lake of Lomond, in Scot- 
land. To let pass that of Delos, &c. 

6 The daughter of Erectheus, king of Athens, whom 
Boreas ravished away into Thrace, as she was playing with 
other virgins by the flood Ilissus: or (as some will) by the 
fountain (Jephisus 



Ja7ui. Would thou had&t not besun, uniuckv 
Wind, ° ' 

That never yet blew'st goodness to mankind ; 
But with thy bitter and too piercing breath, 
Strik'st" hoiTors through the air aa sharp as 
death. 

Here a second toind came in, VuLTunxus, in a blue 
colored robe and mantle, puft as the former, but 
somewhat sioeefe?' ; his face blacl, and on Ms 
head'' a red sun, sKeicing he came from the east: 
his loings of several colors ; his busJdns white, 
and icrought xoith gold. 

Viclt. All horrors vanish, and all name of 

death, 
Be all things here as calm as is my breath. 
A gentler wind, Vultumus, brings you news 
The isle is found, and that the nymphs now use 
Their rest and joy. The Night's black chiirms 

are floAvn. 
For being made unto their goddess known, 
Bright ^Ethiopia, the silver moon. 
As she was Hecate, she brake them soon : ^ 
And now by virtue of theix light, and grace. 
The glorious isle, wherein they rest, takes placs 
Of all the earth for beauty. There, their queen ^ 
Hath raised them a throne, that still is seen 
To turn unto the motion of tlie Avorkl ; 
Wherein they sit, and are, like heaven, T,'hirrd 
About the earth ; whilst to them contrary, 
(Follovi'ing those noble torches of the sky) 
A world of little Loves, and chaste De.sires, 
Do light their beauties with still moving fires. 
And who to heaven's concent can better move, 
Than those that are so like it, beauty ftnd love ? 
Hither, as to their new Elysium, 
The S2:)irits of the antique Greeks are come, 
Poets, and singers, Linus, Orijheus, all 
That have excell'd in knowledge musical ; '" 
Where set in arbors made of myrtle and gold, 
They live, again, these beauties to behold. 
And thence in flowery mazes walking forth, 
Sing hymns in celebration of their worth. 
W'hilst, to their songs, two fountains flow, one 

hight 
Of Lasting Yoiith, the other Chaste Delight, 
Tnat at the closes, from their bottoms spring. 
And strike the air to echo Avhat they sing. 
But Avhy do I describe what all must see ? 
By this time, near the coast, they floating be ; 
For so their virtuous goddess, the chaste moon, 
Told them the fate of th' i.sland should, and 
Would fix itself unto thy continent, [soon 

As being the place, by destiny fore-meant. 
Where they should flow forth, drest in her 

attires : 



id excellently describes in 



o The violence of Boreas Oy 
the place above quoted. 

Hie niibila pello, 
Hlc freta concutio, nodosaaue robora vcrto, 
Induroque nives, et terras grandine pulso. 

" According to that of Virgil Denuntiat igneus turos. 

8 She is called (j>ioa(j>op' "Zkititj, by Eurip. in Helena, 
which is Lucifera, to which nr.rae we here presently 
allude. 

9 For the more full and clear understanding of that which 
follows, have recourse to the succeeding pages, where the 
scene presents itself. 

10 So Terence and the ancients called Pogsie, artom 
musicam. 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



665 



And that the nfluence of those holy fires, 
First rapt frorri hence, being multiplied upon 
The other four, should make their beauties one. 

Which now expect to sec, great Neptune's 
son, 

And love the miracle which thyself hast done. 

Here a curtain was draion, in loMch the Night loas 
painted, and the scene discovered, lohich (because 
the former was marine, and these, yet of neces- 
sity, to come from the sea) I devised, should be 
an island floating on a calm toater. In the 
midst thereof loas a seat of state, called the Throne 
of Beauty, erected : divided into eight squares, 
and distinguished by so many Ionic pilasters. 
In these squares, the sixteen masquers ivere placed 
by couples : behind them in the centre of the 
throne was a tralucent pillar, shining xoith sev- 
eral colored lights, that reflected on their bacJis. 
From the top of lohich pillar went several arches 
to the p)ilasters, that sustained the roof of the 
throne, which loas likeioise adorned loith lights 
and garlands : and between the pilastei's, in front 
little Cupids in flying posture, leaving of wreaths 
and lights, bore up the cornice : over tvhich loere 
2olaced eight figures, representing the elements of 
beauty ; xchich advanced tipon the Ionic, and 
being females had the Corinthian order. The 
first icas 

SPLE.VDOR, 

in a robe of flame color, naked breasted ; her 
bright liair loose flowing ; she Avas drawn in a 
circle of clouds, her face and body breaking 
through : and in her hand a branch, with tv.'o 
roses/ a white, and a red. The next to her was 

SF-REJVITjIS, 

in a garment of bright sky-color, a long tress, 
and waved with a vale of divers colors, such as 
the golden sky sometimes shews : upon her head 
a clear and fair sun shining, with rays of gold 
striking down to the feet of the figure. In her 
hand a crystal,- cut wi^h several angles, and 
shadowed with divers colors, as caused by refrac- 
tion. The third, 

GERMLV.iTIO, 

in green, with a zone of gold about her waste, 
crowned with myrtle, her hair likewise flowing, 
but not of so bright a color : in her hand, a 
branch of mvrtle.^ Her socks of green and gold. 
The fourth, " 

in a vesture of divers colors, and aU sorts of 
flowers embroidered thereon : her socks so fitted. 
A garland of flowers ■• in her hand ; her eyes 
turning up, and smiling : her hair flowing, and 
stuck with flowers. The fifth, 



1 Ihe rose is called elegantly, liy Acliil. Tat. lib. 2. 
■pvToiv arXaiaiiii, the splendor of plants, and is everywhere 
taken for tlie hieroglyphic of splendor. 

2 As this of serenity, applying to the optics reason of 
the rainbow, and tlie inythologists making her the daughter 
of Electra. 

3 So Ilor. lib. 1 od. i. makes it the ensign of the Spring. 
Nunc decet aut vindi nitidiini caput impedire myrto, Aut 
flore, tcrne qiicni feriint soluts, &c. 

* They are everywhere the tokens of gladness, at all 
feasts and sports. 



TEMPERIES, 

In a garment of gold, silver, and colors, weaved ; 
in one hand she held a burning steel,' in the 
other an urn with water. On her head a gar- 
land of flowers, corn, vine-leaves, and olive- 
branches, interwoven. Her socks, as her gar- 
ment. Tlie sixth, 

VE-ATUST-^S, 
in a silver robe, with a thin subtile veil over her 
hair, and it : pearl about her neck,^ and fore- 
head. Her socks wrought with pearl. In he^ 
hand she bore several colored lilies.^ The sev- 
enth wa.s 

DIOJVITjIS, 

in a dressing of state, the hair bound with fillets 
of gold, the garments rich, and set with jewels 
and gold ; likewise her buskins : and in her 
hand a golden rod.^ The eighth, 

PERFECTIO, 
in a vesture of pure gold, a wreath of gold upon 
her head. About her body the zodiac,^ witli the 
signs : in her hand a compass of gold, drawing 
a circle. 

On the top of all the throne (ps being madf 
out of all these) stood 

IMRjMOjYM, 
a personage, whose dressing had sonierhing of 
all the others, and had her robe painted full of 
figures. Her head was compass'cl with a crown 
of gold, having in it seven jewels equally set.* 
In her hand a lyra, whereon she rested. 

This was the ornaiuent of the throne. The 
ascent to which consisting of six steps, was cov- 
ered with a mviltitude of Cupids ^' (chosen oiit 
of the best, and most iirgenious youth of the 
kingdom, noble, and others) tliat were the torch- 
bearers ; and all arm'd with bows, quivers, 
wings, and other ensigns of love. On the sides 
of the throne were curious and elegant arbors 
aiDpointed ; and behind, in the back-part of the 
isle, a grove of grown trees laden with golden 
fruit, which other little Cupids j^lucked, and 
threw at each other, whilst on the ground lever- 
ets '^ picked up the bruised apples, and left 
them half eaten. The ground-plat of the whole 
Avas a subtle indented maze : and in the two 
foremost angles were two fountains that ran 
continually, the one Hebe's '^ the other He- 
done's : ^^ in the arbors were placed the musi- 

5 The sign of temperature, as also her garland mixed c 
the four seasons. 

6 Pearls with the ancients were the special hieroglyph 
ics of loveliness ; in quihus nilor tantuin et Isvor ei'petB- 
bantur. 

7 So was the lily, of which the most delicate city of the 
Persians was called Suste : signifying that kind of flower 
in their tongue. 

s The sign of honor and dignity. 

9 Both that, and the compass, are knov.'n ensigns of per 
fection. 

10 Slie is so described in Iconolog. di Cesare Ripa ; his 
reason of seven jewels, in the crown, alludes to Pythago 
ras's comment, with Macr. lib. 2. Som. Scip, of the seven 
planets and their spheres. 

11 The inducing of many Cupids wants not defence, with 
the best and most received of the ancients, besides Prop 
Stat. Claud. Sido. ApoU. especially Phil, in Icon. Amor 
whom I have particularly followed in Lhis description. 

13 They were the notes of loveliness, and sacred ti 
Venus. See Phil, in that place mentioned. 

13 Of youth. 

14 Of pleasure 



666 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



cians, Avho represented the shades of the old 
poets, and Avere attii'cd in a priest-like habit of 
crimson and purple, with laurel garlands. 

The colors of the masquers were varied ; the 
one half in orange-tawny, and silver : the other 
in sea-gi-een and silver. The bodies and short 
skirts on white and gold to both. 

The habit and dressing lor the fashion was 
most curious, and so exceeding in riches, as the 
throne whereon they sat scem'd to be a mine of 
light, struck from their jewels and their gar- 
ments. 

This tlarone, as the whole island moved for- 
ward on the wiiter, had a circular motion of its 
own, imitating that which we call motum mundi, 
from the cast to the west, or the right to the left 
side. For so Horn. Ilia, ft, understands by Si'^'ia, 
Orietifalia Miindi : hj ct'unTfou, Ckcidenfalia. The 
Steps whereon the Cupids sat had a motion con- 
trary, with analogy ad motum planetarum, from 
the west to the east : both which turned with 
their several lights. And with these three varied 
motions, at once, the whole scene shot itself to 
the land. 

Above which, the moon was seen in a silver 
chariot, drav,-n by virgins, to ride in the clouds, 
and hold them greater light : \nth the sign Scor- 
pio, and the character, placed before her. 

The 'Order of the scene was carefully and inge- 
niously disposed ; and as happily put in act (for 
the motions) by the king's master carpenter. 
The painters, I must needs sa}% (not to beUe 
them,) lent small color to any, to attribute much 
of the spirit of these things to their pencils. 
But that must not be imputed a crune, either to 
the invention or design. 

Here the loud music ceased ; and the musi- 
cians, which were placed in the arbors, came 
forth through the mazes to the other land : sing- 
ing this full song, iterated in the closes by two 
Echoes, rising out of the fountains. 

VVIien Love at first, did move 
From out of Cliaos,i brightened 
So was the world, and liglitened, 
As now. 

1 Ech. As now ! 

2 Ech, As now I 

yield Night, then to the light, 

As Blackness hath to Beauty : 

Which is but the same duty. 
It was for Beauty - that the world was made. 
And wliere slie reigns,3 Love's lights admit no shade. 

] Ech. Love's lights admit no shade. 
2 Ech. Admit no shade. 

Which ended, Vulturnus, the wind, spake to 
the river Thamcsis, that lay along between the 
shores, leaning upon his urn that flowed with 
water, and crowned with flowers ; with a blue 
cloth of silvcr.robe about him ; and was person- 
ated by master Thomas Giles, Avho made the 
dances. 



1 So is Its feigned by Orpheus, to have appeared first of 
all the gods ; awakened hy Clotho : and is therefore called 
Phanes, botli hy him, and Lactantius. 

■- An agreeing opinion, both with divines and philoso- 
pher, that the great artificer, in love witli his own idea, 
did therefore frame the v/orld. 

3 Alhidinj to the name of Himerus, and his signification 
in Itie riam:>, which is Desiderium post aspectum : and 
aoj J thait fjjos, which is only Cupido, ex aspectu amare. 



Vul. Rise, Aged Thames, and by the hand 
Receive these nymphs, within the land 
And in those curious squares, and rounds, 
Wherewith thou flow'st betwixt the grounds 
Of fruitful Kent, and Essex fair. 
That lends the garlands for thy haia* ; 
Instruct their silver feet to tread, 
Whilst we, again, to sea ai-e fled. 

With which the Winds departed : and the 
river received them into the land, by couples 
and fours, their Cupids coming before them. 

These dancing forth a most curious dance, full 
of excellent device and change, ended it in the 
figure of a diamond, and so, standing still, were 
by the musicians with a second sono, sung by a 
loud tenor, celebrated. 

8o Beauty on the waters stood. 

When Love had sever'd earth from flood I * 

So when ho parted air fr.om fire, 

He did with concord all inspire; 

And then a motion he tliem taught, 

That elder than himself was thought. 

Which thought was, yet, the chilt if earth.J 

For Love is elder than his birth. 

The song ended ; they danced forth their second 
dance, more subtle and full of change tJian the 
former; and so exquisitely performed, as the 
king's majesty (incited first by his oton liking, to 
that which all others there present wished) required 
them both again, after some time of dancing with 
the lords. Which time to give them respite was 
intermitted loith a song ; frst, by a treble voice, 
in this manner. 

If all these Cupids, now were blind, 

As is their wanton brother ;« 

Or play should put it in their mind 

To shoot at one another: 
Wliat pretty battle they would make. 
If they their objects sliould mistake, 

4nd each one wound his inoihsr ! 

Which was seconded by another treble ; thus, 

It was no policy of court, 

Albe' the place were charmed. 
To let in earnest, or in sport. 

So many Loves in, armed. 
For say, the dames should, with their eyes. 
Upon the hearts here mean surprize ; 

Were not the men like harmed ? 

To which a tenor answered. 

Yes, were the Loves or false, or straying : 
Or beauties not their beauty weighing : 
But here no such deceit is mix'd. 
Their flames are pure, their eyes are fix'd : 
They do not war with diflferent darts. 
But strike a music of like liearts. 

After tchich songs they danced galliards and cora:i- 
tos ; and tcith those excellent graces, that tl^i 
music appointed to celebrate them, shewed it could 
be silent no longer : but, by the frst tenor, admArod 
them thus : 

SONG. 
Had those that dwelt in error foul, 
And hold that women have no soulj 



* As, in the creation, he is said by the ancients to have 
done. 

5 That is, born since the world, and out of those duUel 
apprehensions that did not think he was befoie. 

6 I make these different from him, v/hich they feign 
CcBcum Cupidinem, or petulantem, as I express beneath in 
the third song, these being chaste Loves that attend a more 
divine beauty than that of Love's common parent. 

7 There hath been such a profane paradox pub'ished, 



THE MASQUE OF BEAUTY. 



6S7 



But seen tliese move ; tliey would liavo tlicn 

Said, women were the souls of men 
So they do move each heart and eye, 
With the world's soul, true liarmony.i 

Hero they danced a third most elegant and curious 
dance, and not to be described again by any art, 
but that of their own footing, which endinq in the 

figure that teas to 2>roduee the fourth, January 

from his state saluted them thus. 

Janu. Your grace is great, as is your beauty, 

dames ; [flames. 

Enougli my feasts have proved your thankful 

Now use your seat : that scat which was, before, 

Thought straying, uncertain, floating to each 

shore. 
And to whose having ' every clime laid claim, 
Each land and nation urged as the aim 
Of their ambition, beauty's perfect throne, 
Now made peculiar to this place alone ; 
And that by impulsion of your destinies. 
Ana his attractive beams that lights these skies : 
Who, though Avith th' ocean compass'd, never 

wets 
His hair therein, nor wears a beam that sets. 

1 The Platonic's opinion. See also Mac. lib. 1, and 2. 
Som. Sc. 

a For what countiy is it thinks not her ewiv beauty 
airest, vet ? 



Long may his light adorn these happy ritcej 
As I renew them ; and your gracious sights 
Enjoy that hapjjinoss, even to envy, as when 
Beauty, at large, brake forth, and conquer 'd 
men ! 

At lohich they danced their last dance into their 
throne again ; and that turning, the scene closed 
with this full soNO. 

Still turn and imitate the heaver- 

In motion swift and even j 

And as his planets go, 

Your brighter Hghts do so: 
May youth and pleasure ever flow 
But let your state, the while, 
Be fixed as the isle. 

Cho. So all that see your beauties sphere, 
May know the Elysian fields are here. 
1 Ech. The Elysian fields are here. 
2 Ech. Elysian fields are here. 



The persons who were received on land by the river god 



The Queen, 
Countess of Arundel, 
Countess of Derby, 
Countess of Bedford, 
Countess of Montcomerv, 
Lady Eliz. Guilford, 
Lady Eliz. Hatton, 
Lady Em Garkabd, 



Lady Arabella, 
Lady Kat. Peter, 
Lady Anne Winter, 
Lady Winsor, 
Lady Anne Cliffobd, 
Lady Mary Neville, 
Lady Chichestbr, 
Lady Walsingham 



HYMEN.^I; 

OR, 

THE SOLEMNITIES OF MASQUE AND BARRIERS AT A MARRIAGE. 



HYMENiEI, &c. 



It is a iioMe and just advantage that the thingis subjected to understanding have of those which are objected to sens© , 
that tiie one sort arc but inoniontary, and merely taking; the other impressing, and lasting: else the glory of all these 
Bolemnies had perislied like a bhize, and gone out, in the beholders' eyes. So short lived are tlie bodies of all things, in 
comparison of their souls. And though bodies oftiraes have the ill luck to be sensually preferred, they find afterwards the 
good fortune (when souls live) to be utterly forgotten. Tiiis it is hath made the most royal princes, and greatest persons 
(who are commonly the personaters of these actions) not only studious of riches, and magnificence in the outward celebra- 
tion or shew, which rightly becomes them ; but curious after the most high and hearty inventions, to furnish the inward 
parts; and those grounded upon antiquity, and solid learning: which though their voice be taught to sound to present 
occasions, their sense or doth or should always lay hold on more removed mysteries. And howsoever some may squeam- 
ishly cry out, that all endeavor of learning and sharpness in tliese transitory devices, especially where it steps beyond 
their little, or (let mo not wrong theui,) no brain at all, is superfluous : I am contented, these fastidious stomachs should 
leave my full tables, and enjoy at home their clean empty trenchers, fittest for such airy tastes ; where perhaps a few 
Italian herbs, picked up and made into a sallad, may find sweeter acceptance than all the most nourishing and souno 
meats of the world. 

For these men's palates, let not me answer, O Jluses. It is not my fault, if I SlI them out nectar, and they run to metheglin 

Vaticana bibant, si delectentur. 
All the courtesy I can do tliem, is to cry again : 

Prcctcreant, si quid nonfacit ad stomadium. 
As 1 will from the thought of them, to my belter subject. 



On the night of the Masques (which were two, 
one of men, the other of Avomen) the scene 
being drawn, there Avas first discovered an altar ; 
upon which was inscribed, in letters of gold, 

Xoui. VJiniK. I'lima!. 

UNIO.NI 

SACK. 

To this altar entered five pages, attired in 
white, bearing five tapers of virgin wax ; ^ be- 
hind them, one representing a bridegroom : his 
hair short,' and bound with partj'-colored 
ribands, and gold twist ; his garments purple 
and white. 

On the other hand, entered IIyme>{ (the god 
of marriage) in a salfron-color'd robe, his under 
vestures Avhite, his socks yellow, a yellow veil 
of sUlc on his left arm, his head crowned with 
roses and marjoram,^ in his right hand a torch 
of pine-tree.^ 

1 Mystically implying that both it, the place, and all the 
^^ICcee"ding ceremonies were sacred to marriage, or Union ; 
;ver which Juno was president: to whom there was the 
like altar erected, at Rome, as she was called Juga Juno, in 
the street, which thence was named Jugarius. See Fest. ; 
snd at wliich altar, the rile w^^s to join the married pair 
with bands of silk, in sign of future concord. 

2 Those were the auinque Ccrci, which Plutarch in his 
Quest. Roman, mentions to be used in nuptials. 

3 The dressing of the bridegroom (with the ancients) was 
chiefly noted in that, Quod tonderelur. Juv. Sal. 6. Jumque 
& tonsorc mr>;;i.-!rii Pectcris. Anil Lucan, lib. 2, where he 
makes Cato iie;;li,acnt of llie ceremonies in marriage, saith, 
Ille nee honilicani sanrio dimovit ab ore Ca;sariem. 

■t Pec how he is callcil uut, by Catullus in Nup. Jul. et 
Manl. Cinge teuipora Ihiiibus Huave olentis amaraci, &.C. 
' For so I preserve tl^o reading -there in Catul. Pineam 



After him a youth attired in white,* bearing 
another light, of white thorn ; itndor his arm, a 
little Avickcr flasket shut : behind liini two others 
in M-hite, the one bearing a distaft', the other 
a sj^indle. Betwixt these a personated bride, 
supported, her hair flowing, and loose sprinkled 
with gray ; on lier head a garland of roses, like 
a turret ; her garments white : and on her back 
a wether's fleece hanging down : her zone, or 
girdle about her waist of white wool, fastened 
M'ith the Hcrcvilcan knot. 

In the midst Avcnt the Auspices ;^ after them, 
tAvo that sung, in scA'eral colored silks. Of AA'hich 
one bore the Avator, the other the lire ; last of all 



quate tredam, rather than to change it Spineam ; and moved 
by the authority of Virgil in Oiri. where ho says, Pronuba 
nee castos incendet Pinus amores. And Ovid, Fast. lib. 2. 
Expectet puros pinqa tffida dies. Though I deny not, ther< 
was also spinea tieda, &c, which Pliny calls Nuptiarum 
facibus aiispicatissimam, Nat. Hist. lib. 16. cap. 18. and 
whereof Se.\tus Pompeius Fest. hath left so particular testi- 
mony. For which see the following note. 

6 This (by the ancients) was called Camillus, quasi 
minister (for so that signified in the Iletriirian tongue) and 
was one of the three, v.hieh by Sex. Pompei were said to 
be Patrimi et Matrimi, Pueri pr<etextati tres, qui nubentem 
deducunt: unus, qui facem prajfert ex spina alba. Duo qui 
tenent nubentem. To wliich confer that of Varro, lib. 6. de 
lingua Lat. Dicitiir iu nuptiis camillus, qui cumerura fert: 
As also that of Fest. lib. 3. Cumeruni A'ocabant antiqui 
vas quoddara quod opertum iu nuptiis ferebant, in quo erant 
nubentis utensilia, quod et camillum dicebant: eo quod 
sacrorum ministrum /cd/^iAAoy appellabant. 

7 Auspices were those that handfasted the married 
couple ; that wished them good luck ; that took care for tha 
dowry ; and heard them profess that they came together for 
the cause of children. Juven. Sat. 10. Veniet cum signatori- 
bus auspex. And Lucan. lib. 2. Junguiitur taciti, conten- 
fique auspice Bruto. They are also styled Pronubi, rroxc- 
netse, Paranymuhi. 

668 



THE SIASQUE OF HY?iIEN. 



669 



the musicians,' diversly attired, all crowned 
with roses ; and -with this Sokq began. 

Bid all profane away ; 

None here rr.ay stay 

To view our mysteries, 

Cut who themselves liave bsen, 

Or will in time be seen, 

The self-same sacrifice. 

For Union, mistress of these rites. 

Will he observed with eyes, 

A3 simple as her nights. 

Cho. Fly then all profane away, 
Fiy f:ir ofT as hatli the day ; 
Nipiit her curtain dotli display. 
And this is Hymen's holy-day. 

TTie song being ended, Hyjiex presented himself 
foremost, and, after some sign of admiration, 
began to stieck. 

Ey. What tnore than usual light, 
Throughout the j^lace extended, 
Makes Juno's fane so bright ! 
Is there some greater deity descended ? 

Or reign on earth, those Powers 
So rich, as with their beams 

Grace Union more than ours ;• 
And bound her influence in their hajjpier 
streams ? 

'Tis so : this same is he. 
The king, and priest of peace : 

And that his empress, she, 
That sits so crowned with her own increase ! 

O you, whose better blisses 
Have proved the strict embrace 

Of Union, Avith chaste kisses. 
And seen it flow so in j'our happy race ; 

That know, how well it binds 
The fitting seeds of things, 

Wins natures, sexes, minds, 
And every discord in true music brings : 

Sit now propitious aids, 
To rites so duly prized ; 

And view two noble maids. 
Of different sex, to Union sacrificed. 

In honor of that blest estate. 
Which all good minds should celebrate. 

Here out of a microcosm, or globe, (see p. 674) 
figuring a man, with a kind of contentious music, 
issued forth the first masque of eight men. 

These represented the four Humors ^ and four Af- 
fections, all gloriously attired, distinguished 
only by their several ensigns and colors ; and, 
dancing out on the stage, in their return at the 
end of their dance, drew all their swords, offered 
to encompass the altar, and disturb the ceremo- 
?iio3. At tohich Hymen, troubled, spake : 

1 Tho r.istom of music at nriptials, is clear in all an- 
tiquity. Ter. Add. act. 5. Verum hoc mihi mora est, 
Tihicina, et Hymona;um qui cantent. And Claud, in 
epitbal. Ducant pervii;iles carmina tibire, &;c. 

2 That X'cicy were personated in men hath already come 
under some grammatical exception. But there is more than 
grammar to release it. For, besides that humores and 
aftectu^ are both masculine in genere, not one of the 



Hy. Save, save the virgins ; keep your hallow'd 

lights 
Untouch'd ; and Avith their flame defend our 

rites. , 

The four untemper'd Humors are broke out, 
And, with their A^-ild Affections, go about 
To ravish all religion. If there be 
A jDower, like reason, left in that huge body 
Or little world of man, from whence these came. 
Look forth, and with thy bright and numerous 

flame'' 
Instruct their darkness, make them know and 

sec, 
In wronging these, they have rebell'd 'gainsi 

thee. 

Hereat, Reason, seated on the top of the globe, as in 
the brain, or highest part of man, figured in a 
venerable personage, her hair white, and trailing 
to her toaist, crowned with light, her garments 
blue, and semined -with stars, girded unto her 
with a white band filled xoith arithmetical figures, 
in one hand bearing a lamp, in the other a bright 
sword, descended and spake : 

Tlea. Forbear your rude attempt ; what igno- 
rance 
Could yield you so profane, as to advance 
One thought in act against these mysteries .'' 
Are Union's ■■ orgies of so slender price ? 
She that makes souls mth bodies mix in love, 
Contracts the world in one, and therein Jove ; 
Is spring and end of all things : ^ yet, most 

strange. 
Herself nor suffers spring, nor end, nor change. 
No wonder they were you,, that were so bold ; 
For none but Humors and Affections would 
Have dared so rash a venture. You will say 
It was your zeal that gave your powers tht 

sway ; 
And urge the masquod and disguised pretence 
Of saving blood, and succoring innocence : 
So want of knowledge still begetteth jars, 
When humorous earthlings will control the 

stars. 
Inform yourselves, with safer reverence, 

specials but in some langunije is known by a masculins 
word. A?ain, when their influences are common to bofJi 
sexes, and more generally impetuous in the male, I see not 
why they should not, so, be more properly presented. And, 
for the allegory, thousih hero it be very clear, and such as 
might well escape a candle, yet because there are sonio 
must complain of darkness, that have but thick eyos, I am 
contented to hold them this liglit. First, as in natural 
bodies so likewise in minds, there is no disease or distem- 
perature, but is caused either by some abounding humor, ot 
perverse afTection ; after the same manner, in politic bodies 
(where order, ceremony, state, reverence, devotion, aro 
parts of the mind) by the difTerence or predominant will of 
what we metaphorically call humors and affections, ail 
things are troubled and confused. These, therefore, were 
tropically brought in, before marriage, as disturbers of that 
mysticaf body, and the rites, which were soul unto it ; that 
afterwards, in marriage, being dutifully tempered by her 
power, they miglit more fully celebrate the happiness of 
such as live in that sweet union, to the harmonious laws of 
nature and reason. 

3 Alluding to that opinion of Pythagoras, who held all 
reason, all knowledge, all discourse of the soul to be mere 
number. See Plut. de Plac. Phil. 

* Opyin, with the Greeks, value the same that cere 
moniK with the Latins ; and imply all sorts of rites : how 
soever (abusively) they have been made particular to 
Bacchus. See Serv. to that of Virg. i^llneid. 4. Uualta 
commotis excita sacris Thyas. 

5 Macrob. in Som. Scip. lib. 1. 



670 



THE MASQUE OF HYME>r. 



To these nvsterious rites, whose mystic sense, 
Reason, which all things, but itself, confounds, 
Shall clear unto you from the authentic grounds. 

Ai ii'J3 i^is Humors and Affections sheathed their 
siacrds, and retired amazed to the side of the 
stafji, while Hymen began to rank the persotis, 
and order the ceremonies : and Reasox proceed- 
ed to speak. 

Rea. The pair, which do each other side, 
Though yet some space doth them divide. 
This happy night must both make one ; 
Blest sacrifice to Union. 
Nor is this altar but a sign 
Of one more soft, and more divine. 
The genial bed,' where Hymen keeps 
The solemn orgies, void of sleeps : 
And ■wildest Cupid, waking hovers 
With adoration 'twixt the lovers. 
The tead of white and blooming thorn, 
In token of increase, is born : 
As also, with the ominous light,^ 
To fright all malice from the night. 
Like are the fire and water set ; •* 
That, e'en as moisture, mixt with heat. 
Helps every natural birth to life : 
So, for their race, join man and wife. 
The blushing veil ■• shows shamcfac'dness 
Th' ingenuous virgin should profess 
At meeting with the man ; her hair. 
That flows so liberal,^ and so fair. 
Is shed with gray, to intimate. 
She entereth to a matron's state, 
For which those utensils ® are born. 
And, that she should not labor scorn. 
Herself a snowy fleece ' doth wear. 
And these her rock and spindle bear,8 
•To show, that nothing Avhich is good 
Gives check unto the highest blood. 
The zone of wool ' about her waist. 
Which, in contrary circles cast, 
Doth meet in one strong knot,'" that binds. 
Tells you, so should all married minds. 
And lastly, these five waxen lights, 
Imjily perfection in the rites : 
For tl'.'a " vhe special number is, 
■Wlience hallow'd Union claims her bliss. 
Asi being all the sum that grows 
I'rom the united strength of those 
AVhich male and female numbers Ave '^ 
Do ctyic, and arc first two and three. 



1 Properly t!nt wliicli wr>3 made ready for the new-mar- 
ried bride, and was called Geniaii?, a generandis liberis. 
Berv. in 6 jEn. 

2 See Ovid. Fast. lili. C. 

Bic fntus spinatn, qu^ tristes pcUore posset 
A foribus r.oxas, liKC erat alba, dedit. 

3 Plutar. iii Qu.xst. Rom. and Var. lib. 4. de ling. Lat. 

4 Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 21. cap 8. 

5 Pomp. Post Rriss. Hotto. de Rit. Niip. 

6 Var. lib. 6. de lirig. I,at. and Fest. in Frag. 
' Fest. ib. 

8 Plutar. in Q,ua;st. Rom. ct in Romul. 

9 Plin. Nat. Kist lib. 8. cap. 43. 

10 That wag Nodus Ilerculeanns, which the husband at 
night untisd, in sign of good fortune, that he might be 
happy ill propagation of issue, as Hercules was, who left 
seventy children. See Fest. in voc. Ciagul. 

11 Plutarch, in QuEst. Rom, 

12 See Mart. Capel. lib. 0. de Kupt. Phil, et Mor. in 
nuuiero Pentade. 



Which, joined thus, you cannot sever 
In equal parts, but one will ever 
Remain as common ; so we see 
The binding force of Unity : 
For Avhich alone the peaceful gods 
In number always love the odds ; 
And even parts as much despise. 
Since out of them all discords rise. 

Here tJte xippm- paH of the scene, which was all oj 
clouds, and made artificialhj to swell, and ride 
like the rack, began to open ; and the air cleanng, 
in tlie top thereof was discovered Jmio,^^ sitting 
in a throne, supported by two beautiful peacocks ; '•* 
her attire rich, ami Wee a queen,^'^ a white dia- 
dem^^ on her Jiead, from tahence descended a veil, 
and that bound with a fascia of several color d 
silks, '^ set with all sorts of Jewels, and raised in 
the top with lilies and roses : 's in lier right hand 
she lield a sceptre, in the other a timbrel, at her 
golden feet tlie hide of a lion '^ loas p>laced : round 
about her sat the spirits of the air in several colors^ 
making music : above her the region of fire, with 
a continual motion, teas seen to lohirl circularly, 
and Jupiter standing in tlie top (figuring the 
heaven) brandishing his thunder : beneath her 
the rainbow, Iris, and on the tioo sides, eight 
ladies attired richly, and alike, in the most celes- 
tial colors, who represented her poioers, as she is 
the governess of marriage,-" and made the second 
masque. All lohich, upon the discovery. Reason 
made narration of. 

Rea. And see where Juno, whose great nnrae 
Is Unio, in the anagram, 
Displays her glittering state and chair. 
As she enlightened all the air ! 
Hark how the charming tunes do beat 
In sacred concords 'bout her seat ! 
And lo ! to grace Avhat these intend. 
Eight of her noblest Powers descend, 
Which are enstylcd her faculties,-' 

13 With the Greeks, Juno was interpreted lo be the air 
itself. And so Macr. de Som. Scipio. 1. 1. c. 17. calls her. 
Mar. Cap. surnames her Aeria, of reigning there. 

1* They were sacred to Juno, in respect of their colors and 
temper, so like the air. Ovid de Arte Aniand. Laudatas 
ostcndit aves Junonia pcnnas : And IMet. lib. 2. 

Habili Saturnia curru 
Ingreditur liquidum pavonibus jEthora pictis. 

15 She was called Regina Juno with the Latins, because 
she was soror et conjux Jovis, deorum et hominum regis. 

Ki Read Apul. describing her, in his lOlh of the Ass. 

17 After the manner of the antique bend, the varied colors 
implying the several mutations of the air, as showers, dews, 
serenity, force of winds, clouds, tempest, snow, hail, light- 
ning, thunder, all which had their noises signified in her 
timbrel: the faculty of causing these being ascribed to lior 
by Virg. ^neid. lib. 4. where lie makes her say. 

His ego nigranteni commisfa grandine nimbum 
Desuper infundam, ct tonitru, caslum Onme cicbo. 

13 Lilies were sacred to Juno, as being made white with 
her milk that fell upon the eartli, when Jove took iferculea 
away, whom by stealth he had laid to her breast : the rosa 
was also called Junonia. 

15 So she was figured at Argos, as a step-mother, insult- 
ing on the spoils of her two privigni, Bacchus and Hercules. 

20 See Virg. ^neid. lib. 4. Junoni ante omiies cui vincla 
jugalia curas : and in another place, Dant signum prima et 
Tellus et Pronuba Juno: and Ovid, in Phil. Epist Ju- 
nonemque terris qua; prssidet alma Maritis. 

-1 They were all eight called by particular surnames o> 
Juno, ascribed to her for some peculiar property in marriage, 
as somewhere after is more fitly declared. 



THE MASQUE OF HYMEX. 



071 



That govern, nuptial mysteries ; 
And wear those masques before their faces, 
Lest dazzling mortals with their graces, 
As they approach them, all mankind 
Should be, like Cupid, strucken blind. 
These Order waits for, on the ground. 
To keep, that you should not confound 
Their measured steps, which only move 
About the harmonious sphere of love. 

Their descent was made in two great chuds, that put 
forth themselves severally, and, icilh one measure 
of time, icero seen to stoop, and foil gently doicn 
upon the earth. The manner of their habits 
came after some statues of Juno, no less airy 
t^n glorious. The dressings of their heads, 
rare ;' so likeioise of their feet : and all full of 
S2}lendor, sovereignty, and riches. Whilst they 
were descending, this Song icas sung at the altar. 

Those, these are they, 

Whom Humor and Affection must ohey ; 

Wlio come to deck the genial bower, 

And bring with them the grateful Hour 

That crowns such meetings, and excites 

Tlie married pair to fresh deliglits : 

As courtings, kissings, coyings, oaths, and vows, 

Soft wliisperings, embracements, all tlie joys 

And melting toys. 

That chaster love allows. 

Cho. Haste, haste, for Hesperus his head down bows. 

This song ended, they danced forth in pairs, and 
each pair with a varied and noble grace, to a rare 
and full music of twelve lutes, led on by Order, 
the servant of Reason, toho was there rather a 
person of ceremony than use. His under gar- 
ment teas blue, his upper lohite, and jminted full 
of arithmetical and geometrical figures ; his hair 
and beard long, a star on his forehead, and in his 
hand a geometrical staff: to whom, after the 
dance, Reason spake. 

Rea. Convey them, Order, to their places. 
And rank them so, in several traces. 

As they may sot their mixed powers 

Unto the music of the Hours ; 

And these, by joining with them, know 

In better temper how to flow : 

Whilst I, from their abstracted names, 

Report the virtues of the dames. 

First, Curis ' comes to deck the bride's fair tress. 

Care of the ointments Unxia * doth profess. 

1 This surname Juno received of the Sabines ; from them 
the Romans gave it her : of the spear, which (in the Sabine 
tongue) was called curis, and was that which they named 
hasta celibaris, which had stuck in the body of a slain sword 
player, and wherewith the bride's head was drest, whereof 
Fest. ill voce celibar. gives these reasons : Ut quemadmo- 
dum ilia conjuncta fuerit cum corpore gladiatoris, sic ipsa 
cum viro sit ; vel quia matrons Junonis curitis in tuteU sit, 
quffi ita appellabatur S. ferenda liasta ; vel quod fortes viros 
genituras ominetur ; V!^I quod nuptiali jure imperio viri sub- 
jicitur nubons, quia hasta summa armurum, et imperii est, 
&c. To most of which Plutarcli, in his Quajst. Kom. con- 
sents, but adds a better in Romul. That when tjioy di- 
vided tlie bride's hair with the point of the spear, avnj3u'Kov 
tlvai Tov jitTii Ai'<V/f fi' r^oXcixiKMi tov TTiibiTov yanov 
J cv^aOai, it noted tlieir first nuptials (with tlie .Sabines) were 
contracted by force, and as with enemies. Howsoever, that 
it was a custom with them, this of Ovid. Fast. lib. 2. con- 
firm>. Coniat virgineas hasta rocuiva comas. 

3 For the surname of Unxia, we have Mart. Capel. Ijis 
testimony, De Nup. Phil, et iMercu. lib. 2. quod unctionibus 
prsest : a.s al^o Servius, libro quarto ^Encid. where tiiey 
both report it a fi'shion nith the Romans, that before the 



Juga,'' her ofRce to make one of twain : 
Gamelia* sees that they should so remain. 
Fair Itcrduca ^ leads the bride her Avay ; 
And Domiduca '' home her steps doth stay : 
Cinxia '' the maid, quit of her zone, defends. 
Telia, ^ for Hymen, jierfccts all and ends. 

By this time the ladies loere paired with the men, 
and the whole sixteen ranked forth, in order, to 
dance ; and were loith this So'sg 2}rovoked. 

Now, now, begin to set 

Your spirits in active heat ; 
And, since your hands are met, 

Instruct your nimble feet. 

In motions swift and meet, 
The happy ground to beat ; 

Cho. AVIiilst all this roof doth ring. 
And each discording string, 
With every varied voice, 
In union doth rejoice. 

Here they danced forth a most neat and curious 
measure, full of subtiUy and device, which tvas 
so CTcellently perfor?ned, as it seemed to take away 
that spirit from the invention, xohich the invention 
gave to it : and left it doubtful, lohether the forms 
flowed more perfectly from the author s brain, or 
their feet. The strains toere all notably different, 
some of them formed into letters, very signifying 
to the name of the Bridegroom, and ended in the 
manner of a chain, linking hands : to which this 
was spokeii. 



new-married brides entered the houses of their husbands, 
they adorned the posts of the gates with woollen tawdries, 
or fillets, and anointed tliom with oils, or the fat of wolves 
and boars ; being superstiiiously possest that such ointments 
had the virtue of expelling evils from tl:e family : and that 
thence they were called Uxores, quasi Unxores. 

3 She was named Juga, propter Jugum, (as Servius says,) 
for the yoke which was imposed, in niEr.rimony, on those 
that were married , or (with Sex. Pomo. S'cst.) quod Jugcs sunt 
cjusdem Jugi Pares, unde et Conjuges, or in respect of the 
altar (which I have declared before) sacred to Juno, in Vico 
Jugario. 

* As she was Gamclia, in sacriilcing to her, they took 
away the gall, and threw it behind the altar; intimating 
that (after inarriage) there should be knov/n no bitterness 
nor hatred, between the joined couple, which might divide 
or separate them. See Plutarch. Connub. Frs. This rite 1 
have somewhere following touched at. 

s The title of Iterduca she had amongst them, quid a<l 
sponsi tedes sponsas comitabatur, or was a protectr/^ss oi 
their journey. Mart. Capel. de Nupt. Philol. et Mercur. 
libro secundo. • 

c The like of Domiduca, quod ad optatas domus ducereC. 
Mart. ibid. 

' Cinxia, the same author gives unto her, as the defen- 
dress of maids, when they had put off their girdle, in tbG 
bridal chamber; to which Festus, Cinxia Junonis nomeu 
sanctum habebatur in nnptiis, quod initio conjugis solutio 
erat singuli, quo nova niipta erat cincta. And Arnobius, a 
man most learned in their ceremonies, lib. 3. advers. Gent, 
saith, Unctionibus supcrcst Un.xia. Cingiiloriim Cinxia r6- 
plicationi. 

8 Telia signifies erfecta, or, as some translate it, Perfec- 
trix ; with Jul. Pol. Lib. 3. Onomast. »",oa ri'Xeia values Ju- 
no ! Praeses Ntiptiarem : who saith, the attribute depends of 
TcXeios, which (with the ancients) signified marriage, and 
thence were they called reXeioi that entered into that state. 
Servius interjirets it the same with Gamelia /Eneid. 4. ad 
verb. Et Junone secunda. But it implies ranch more, as in- 
cluding the faculty, too, mtiture and perfect. See the Greek 
Scholiast on Pind. Nem. in Hym. ad Thya}uni Ulise filium 
Argi. TiXetog at b y'liiof iia to KaraatcEvix^cii' ti^v reXsid- 
rrira -ov IS tov ," that is, liuptials arc therefore called rfAtioi 
because they affect perfection of life, and do note thr.t ma- 
turity which should be in matrimony. For before n-iptials 
she is called Juno -jzapQivoq, that is, Virgo ; after im^Hials^ 
Tfi.Uia, which is, Adulta, or Perfecta 



672 



THE MASQUE OF HYMEN. 



Rea. Such was the golden, chain ' let down 
from heaven ; 

And not these links more even, 
Than these : so sweetly temper'd, so combined 

Bv union and refined. 
Here no contention, envy, grief, deceit, 

Fear, jealousy have weight ; 
Eut all is peace, and love, and faith, and bliss : 

What harmony like this ? 
The gall behind the altar quite is thrown ; 

This sacrifice hath none. 
NoAv no affections rage, nor humors swell ; 

But all composed dwell. 
O Juno, Hymen, Hymen, Juno ! who 

Can merit Avith you two ? 
Without 3'our presence, Venus can do nought, 

Save what with shame is bought ; 
No father can himself a parent show. 

Nor any house with prosperous issue grow. 
O then, what deities Avill dare 

With Hymen, or with Juno to compare ? 
This speech being ended, theij dissolved : and all took 

forth other j^ersons, (men and women) to dance 

other measures, galUards, and corantos : the ichilst 

this SoN'G importuned them to a Jit remembrance 

of the time. 

Think, yet, how night dotli waste, 

How much of time is past, . 
Wliat more than winged haste 

Your selves would take, 
If you wore biU to taste 
Tlie joy the nii;ht doth cast 

(O might it ever last) 
On this blight virgin, and her happy make. 

Their dances yet lasting, they were the second time 
importuned by speech. 

Re.a. See, see ! the bright '•* Idalian star. 
That lighteth lovers to their war, 
Complains that you her influence lose ; 
While thus the night-sports you abuse. 

Hym, The longing bridegroom,^ in the porch, 
Shews you again the bated torch ; 
And thrice hath Juno ■* mixt her air 
With fire, to summon you repair. 

1 Mentioned by Homer. Ilia. 6, whicli many have inter- 
preted diversely, all allegorically. Pla. in Tha3teto, under- 
stands it to be the Sun, which while he circles the world in 
his course, all things are safe, and preserved : others vary it. 
Macrob. (to whose interpretation I am specially afTected in 
my allusion) considers it thus ; in .Som. Scip. libr. 1. cap. 14. 
Ergo cum ex summo Dfeo mens, ex mente anima sit ; ani- 
nia vero et condat, et vita compleat omnia quae sequuntur, 
cunctaque hie unus fulgor illuminct, et in universis appareat, 
ut in nuiltis speculis, ])er ordinem positis, vultus unus : 
cumque omnia continuis successionibus se sequantur, 
degenerantia per ordinem ad imum meandi : invenie- 
tur pressius intuenti i summo Deo usque ad ultlmam re- 
rum fiBcem una mutuis se vinculis rcligans, et nusquam in- 
terrupta connexio. Et ha;c est Homeri Catena aurea, quam 
pendere de ca!lo in terras Dcumjussisse commemorat. To 
which strength and evenness of connexion, I have not ab- 
surdly likened this uniting of Humors and Affections by the 
sacred Powers of marriage. 

2 Stella Veneris, or Venus, which when it goes before 
the sun, is called Phosphorus, or Lucifer; when it follows, 
Hesperus, or Noctifer (as Cat. translates it.) See Cic. 2. de 
Nat. Denr. Mar. Cap. de Niip. Phil, et Uet. 1. 8. The na- 
ture of this star Pythagoras first found out : and the present 
otfice Clau. expressetli in Fescen. Atollcns thalamis Idali- 
um. jubar Hilectus Vencri nasoitur Hesperus. 

8 It was a custom for the man to stan<l there, expecting 
ilie approach of his bride. See IJotto, de Rit. Nupt. 

* Alluding to that of Virg. /Eneid. 4. Prima ct Tellu.^, 
et Pronuba Juno 

Dant signum : fulscre ignes, ct conscius a;ther 
Connubii, &c. 



Ilea. Sec, now she clean withdraws her light 
And, as you should, gives place to night, 
That spreads her broad and blackest wing 
Upon the world, and comes to bring 
A '" thousand sevcral-color'd loves. 
Some like sparrows, some like doves, 
That hop about the nuptial-roorn, 
And fluttering there, against you come, 
Warm the chaste bower, which ^ Cypria strows. 
With many a lily, many a rose. 

Hyjn. Haste, therefore, hasts,- and call, away! 
The gentle night is prest to pay 
The usury of long delights, 
She owes to these protracted rites. 

At this, the trhole scene being draiDn again, and aU 
covered with clouds, as a night, they left off their 
intermixed dances, and returned to their first 
2>laces ; ichere, as they were but Icgitming to f/ioi'c, 
this SoxG, the third time, urged them. 

O know to end, as to begin : 

A minute's loss in love is s'n. 

These humors will the n;?!; out-v.-jar 

In their own pastimes iiers •. 

You do our rites much v.'rong, 

In seeking to prolong 

These outward pleasures : 

The night hath other treasures 

Than these, though l(mg conceai'd, 

Ere day to be reveal'd. 

Then, know to end, zs to begin ; 

A minute's loss in lovo is sin. 

Here they danced their last dances, full of excellent 
delight and change, and, i?i their latter strain, 
fell into a fair orb or circle ; Reason standing 
in the midst, and speaking. 

Ilea. Here stay, and let your sports be 
The perfect'st figure is the round. [crown'd : 
Nor fell you in it by adventure, 
When reason was your guide and centre. 
This, this that beauteous '' ceston is 
Of lovers manj'-color'd bliss. 
Come, Hymen, make an inner ring, 
And let the sacrificers sing ; 
Cheer up the faint and trembling bride, 
That quakes to touch her bridegroom's side : 
Tell her Avhat Juno is to Jove, 
The same shall she be to her love ; 
His Avifc : M'hich we do rather measure 
A ^ name of dignity than pleasure. 
Up, youths ! hold up your lights in air. 
And shake abroad ^ their flaming hair. 
Now move united, and in gait. 
As you, in pairs, do front the state, 
With grateful honors thank his grace 
That hath so glorified the place : 

5 Stat, in Epit. Fulcra, torosque deffi, tencrum premit ag- 
men Amoriim. And Claud, in Epith. Pennati passim pue- 
ri, quo quemque vocavit Umbra, jacent. Both which proved 
the ancients feigned nianv Cupids. Kead also Prop. eleg. 
29. 1. 2. 

Venus is so induced by Stat. Claud., and others, to cel- 
ebrate nuptials. 

1 Venus's girdle, mentioned by Homer, Hi. f. which v/as 
feigned to be variously wrought with the needle, and in it 
woven love, desires, sweetness, soft parley, gracefulness, 
persuasion, and all the powers of Venus. 

1 8 See the words of ^lius Verus in Spartian. 

So Cat. in Nupt. Jul. et Manlii hath it. V'idcn' ut focM 
splendidas quatiunt comas ? and by and by after, aureas qua 
tiuut comas 



THE MASQUE OF HYMEN. 



673 



-And as. in circle, you depart 
Link'd hand in hand ; so, heart in heart, 
May all those bodies still remain 
Whom he -with so much sacred pain 
No less hath bound within his realms 
Than they are with the ocean's streams. 
Long nray his Union tind increase. 
As he, to ours, hath deign'd ms peace ! 

With this, to a soft strain of music, they paced 
once about, in ikeir rinij, every jjair makiny tJieir 
honors, as they cattle before the state : and then 
dissolving, icent down in cmqiles, led on by 
Hymen, the bride, and auspices folloiving, as to 
the nuptial boicer. After them, tlie musicians 
with this SoxG. 

Chui time is at Ins point arrived, 

For u'liich love's iiopes were so long lived. 

Lead, Hymen, lead away ; 

And let no object stay, 

Nor banquets, but sweet kisses, 

Tlie tnrties from their blisses. 

1 'lis Cupid calls to arm ; 

And this his last alarm. 



Of this Soxa, then, only one staff icas sung, but 
because I made it both in form and matter to 
emulate that land of poem, which was called 
Epithalamium," and by the ancients used to be 
sung lohen the bride loas led into her chamber, 
I have here set it down whole ; and do heartily 
forgive their ignorance whotn it chanceth not to 
please. Hoping that nemo doctus me jubeat 
Thalassioneni verbis dicere non Thalassi- 
onis. 

EPITHALAMION. 

Glad time is at liis point arrived. 

For which love's hopes were so long lived. 

Lead, Hymen, lead away ; 

And let no object stay, 

Nor banquets, but sweet kisses, 

The turtles from their blisses. 

'Tis Cupid calls to arm ; 

And this his last alarm. 

•Shrink not, soft virgin, you will love. 
Anon, what you so fear to prove. 

This is no killing war. 

To which you pressed are ; 

But fair and gentle strife, 

Wliich lovers call their life. 

'Tis Cupid cries, to arm ; 

And this his last alarm. 

Help, youths and virgins, help to sing 
Tiie prize which Hymen here doth bring. 

And did so lately 3 rap 

From forth the mother's lap, 

To place her by that side 

Where she must long abide. 

On Hymen, Hymen call, 

This night is Hymen's all. 



1 This poem had for the most jiart versum intercalarem, 
or carmen amieba?um : yet that not always one, but often- 
times varied, and sometimes neglected in the same song, as 
ill ours you shall lind observed. 

2 It had the name i Thalair.o ; dictum est autem Qa\anot 
cubiculum Nuptiale primo suo significatu, Trupa to daXeiv 
Sjtd. quod est sinsul genialem vitam agere. ?cal. in Poet. 

3 The bride was always feigned to be ravished ex gremio 
matris : or (if :.he were wanting) ex proximiX necessitudine, 
because that had succeeded well to Romulus, who, by force, 
gat wives for liim and his, from the Sabines. See Fast, antl 
that of Catul. Qui rapis tonoram ad virum virginem 

43 



Pee ! Hesperus is yet in view. 

What star can so deserve of you .' 
Whose light doth still adorn 
Your bride, that, ere the morn. 
Shall far more perfect be. 
And rise as bright as he ; 
When,* like to him, her name 
Is changed, but not her flame. 

Haste, tender lady, and adventure ; 

I'lie covetous house would have you enter. 

That it might wealthy be. 

And you, her 5 mistress, see : 

Haste your own good to meet ; 

And lift your golden feet 

Above the threshold high. 

With prosperous augury. 

Now, youths, let go your pretty arms ; 
Tile place within chants other charms. 

Whole showers of roses flow ; 

And violets seem to grow, 

Stiew'd in the chamber there. 

As Venus' mead it were. 

On Hymen, Hymen call, 

This night is Hymen's all. 

fJood matrons, that so well are known 
To aged husbands of your own, 

Place you our bride to-night ; 

And ' snatch away the light • 

That 8 she not hide it dead 

Beneath her spouse's bed , 

Nor 3 he reserve the same 

To help the funeral flame. 

So ! now you may admit him in ; 
The act he covets is no sin, 

But chaste and holy love. 

Which Hymen doth apjirove ; 

Without whose hallowing (ires 

All aims are base desires. 

On Hymen, Hymen call. 

This night is Hymen's all. 

Now free from vulgar spite or noise, 
May you enjoy your mutual joys , 

Now, you no fear controls. 

But lips may mingle souls ; 

And soft embraces bind 

To each tlie other's mind. 

Which may no power untie. 

Till one or both must die ! 

And look, before you yield to slumber, 
That your delights be drawn jiast num.'jer ; 

Joys, got with strife, increase. 

Affect no sleepy peace ; 

But keep the bride's fair eyes 

Awake with her own cries. 

Which are but maiden fears : 

And kTsses dry such tears. 

Then coin them 'twixt your lips so sweet, 
And let not cockles closer meet ; 
Nor may your murmuring loves 
Be drown'd by » Cypris' doves : 



•* When he is Phosphoras, yet the same star, as 1 have 
noted before. 

5 At the entrance of the bride, the custom was to g'vo hex 
the keys, to signify that she was absolutely mistress of llie 
lilace,"and the whole disposition of the family at her cire. 
Fest. 

This was also another rite : that she might not touch 
the threshold as she entered, but was lifted over it. Servius 
saith, because it was sacred to Vesta. Plut. in QucBst. Rom. 
remembers divers causes. But that, which I take to come 
nearest the f nith, was only the avoiding of sorcerous drugs, 
used by witches to be buried under that place, to tlie destroy- 
ing of marriage amity, or the power of generation. Sen 
Alexand. in Genialibus, and Christ. Landus upon Catul. 

7 For this, look Fest. in Voc. Rapi. 

8 Quo utroque mors propinqua alterius ulterius captari 
putatur. Fest. ib. 

A frequent surname of Venus, not of the place, as Cy 
pria : but quod parere faciat, ij to kvsiv r.apexovaa, Theoph. 
Phurnut. and tlie grammarians upon Homer, see them 



674 



THE MASQUE OF HYMEN. 



Let ivy not so bind 
Ait when your arms are twined : 
That you may both ere day, 
Rise perfect every way. 

And, Juno, whose great powers protect 
Tlie marriage-bed, with good effect, 

Tlie labor of this night 

]5less thou, for future light : 

And thou, tliy Iiappy charge. 

Glad Genius,! enlarge ; 

That they may both, ere day, 

Rise perfect, every way. 

And ■Venus,2 thou, with timely seed, 
Which may their after-comforts breed, 

1 Deus Natura;, sive gignendi. And is the same in the 
male, aa Juno in the female. Hence Genialis Lectus, qui 
nuptiis steniitur, in honorcm Genii. Fest. Genius meus, quia 
me genuit. 

2 She hath this faculty given by all the ancients. See 
Horn. Iliad. 0. Lucret. in prim. Virg. in 2. Georg. &c. 



Inform the gentle womb , 
Nor let it prove a tomb : 
Rut, ere ten moons be wasted, 
The birth, by Cynthia hasted. 
So may they both, ere day, 
Rise perfect every way. 

And, when the babe to light is shown, 
Let it be like each parent known ; 

Much of the fallier's face, 

JSIore of the mother's grace ; 

And eitlier grandsire's spirit. 

And fame, let it inherit. 

That men may bless th' embraces, 

That joined two such races. 

Cease, j'ouths and virgins, you have dene , 
Shut fast the door : and as they soon 

To their perfection haste. 

So may their ardors last. 

So either's strength outlive 

All loss that age can give : 

And, though full years be told. 

Their forms grow slowly old. 



Hitherto extended the first night's solemnity, whose grace in the execution, left not where to add unto it, with w isli- 
ing : I mean (nor do I court them) in those, that sustained the nobler parts. Such was the exquisite perfonnance, as, 
beside the pomp, splendor, or what we may call apparelling of such presentments, that alone (had all else been absent) 
was of power to surprize with delight, and steal away the spectators from themselves. Nor was there wanting whatso- 
ever might give to the furniture or complement ; either in richness, or strangeness of the habits, delicacy of dances, mag- 
nificence of the scene, or divine rapture of music Only, the envy was, that it lasted not still, or, now it is past, cannot 
by imagination, much less description, be recovered to a part of that spirit it had in the gliding by. 

Yet, that I may not utterly defraud the reader of his hope, I am drawn to give it those brief touches, which may leave 
behind some shadow of what it was : and first of the attires. 

Tliat of the lords, had part of it, for the fashion, taken from the antique Greek statues, mixed with some modern addi- 
tions : whicli made it both graceful and strange. On their heads they wore Persic crowns, tliat were with scrolls of gold 
plate turned outward, and wreathed about w ith a carnation and silver net-lawn ; the one end of which hung carelessly 
on the left shoulder ; the other was tricked up before, in several degrees of folds, between the plaits, and set with ri .ii 
jewels and great pearl. Their bodies were of carnation cloth of silver, richly wrought, and cut to express the naked, in 
manner of the Greek thorax ; girt under the breasts with a broad belt of cloth of gold, embroidered, and fastened before 
with jewels : their labels were of white cloth of silver, laced, and wrought curiously between, suitable to the upper half 
of their sleeves ; whose nether parts with their bases, were of watchet cloth of silver, cheveroned all over with lace. 
Their mantles were of several-colored silks, distinguishing their qualities, as they were coupled in pairs ; the first, sky- 
color ; the second, pearl-color ; the third, flame-color ; the fourth, tawny; and these cut in leaves, which were sulitily 
tacked up, and embroidered with O's, and between every rank of leaves a broad silver race. They were f^istened on tlie 
right shoulder, and fell compass down the back in gracious folds, and were again tied with a round knot to the fasten 
ing of their swords. Upon their legs they wore silver greaves, answering in work to their labels. And these were then 
accoutrements. 

The ladies attire was wholly new, for the invention, and full of glory ; as having in it the most tme impression of a 
celestial figure : the upper part of white cloth of silver, wrought with Juno's birds and fruits; a loose under garment, 
full gathered, of carnation, striped with silver, and parted with a golden zone ; Beneath that, another flowing garment, 
of watchet cloth of silver, laced with gold ; through all which, though they were round, and swelling, there yet appeared 
some touch of their delicate lineaments, preserving the sweetness of proportion, and expressing itself beyond expression. 
The attire of their heads did answer, if not exceed ; their hair being carelessly -(but yet with more art than if more af- 
fected) bound under the circle of a rare and rich coronet, adorned with all variety, and choice of jewels ; from the top 
of which flowed a transparent veil, down to the ground ; whose verge returning up, was fastened to either side in most 
sprightly manner. Their shoes were azure and gold, set with rubies and diamonds ; so were all their garments ; and 
every part abounding in ornament. 

No less to be admired, for the grace and greatness, was the whole machine of the spectacle from whence they came . 
the first part of which was a MUvPOKOSMOS, or globe, filled with countries, and those gilded ; where the sea was ex 
prest, heightened with silver waves. This stood, or rather hung (for no axle was seen to support it) and turning softly, 
discovered the first masque (as we have before, but too runningly, declared) which was of the men, sitting in fair compo- 
sition, within a mine of several metals : to which the lights were so placed, as no one was seen ; but seemed as if only 
Reason, with the splendor of lier crown, illumined the whole grot. 

On tlie sides of this, which began the other part, were placed two great statues, feigned of gold, one of Atlas, the oth- 
er of Hercules, in varied postures, bearing up the clouds, which were of relievo, embossed, and traluccnt as naturals : 
to these a cortine of painted clouds joined, which reached to the utmost roof of the hall ; and suddenly opening, revealed 
the three regions of air: in the highest of which sat Juno, in a glorious throne of gold, circled with comets, and fiery 
meteors, engendered in that hot and dry region ; her feet reaching to tlie lowest : where was made a rainbow, and within 
it musicians sea'ed, figuring aiiy spirits, their habits various, and resembling the several colors caused in that part of the 
air by reflection. The midst was all of dark and condensed clouds, as being the proper iilace where rain, hail, and othel 
watery meteors are made; out of which two concave clouds from the rest thrust forth themselves (in ratiire of those 
Nimbi, wherein, by Homer, Virgil, &c., the gods are feigned to descend) and these carried the eight ladies over the 
heads of the two terms ;i who, as the engine moved, seemed also to bow themselves (by virtue of their shadows) and 
iipcharge their shoulders of their glorious burden : when having set them on the earth, both they and the clouds gath- 
ered themselvcij up again, with some rapture of the beholders. 

But that, which (as above in place, so in the beauty) was most taking in the spectacle, was the sphere of fire, in the 
10|) of all, encompassing the air, and imitated with such art and industry, as the spectators might discern the motion 
(all the time tlie shews lasted) without any mover; and thai so swift, as no eye could distinguish any color of the 
light, but might form to itself five hundred several hues out of the translucent body of the air, objected betwiat it and 
tliem 

And this w is crowned with a statue of Jupiter the Thunderer. 



1 .\tlas and Hercules, the figures mentioned before 



THE BARRIERS. 



675 



THE BARRIERS. 

Ok the next iiifilit, wliose solemnity was of Bakriers, (all mention of tlifi former being utterly removed and taken 
away) there appeared, at the lower end of the liall, a mist made of delicate perfumes; out of which (a battle beiuo 
sounded under the stage) did seem to break forth two ladies, the one representing Truth, the other Opimion ; but both 
BO like attired, as they could by no note be distinguished. The color of their garments was blue, their socks white ; 
they were crowned witli wreaths of palm, and in their hand each of them sustained a palm-bough. These, after the 
mist was vanisheil, began to examine each other curiously with their eyes, and approaching the state, the one expostu- 
lated the other in this manner : 



Truth. Who art thou, thus that imitat'st my 
In steps, in habit, and resembled face ? [grace, 

Ojnn. Grave Time' and Industry' my parenti 

are ; 
My name is Truth, who, through these sounds 

of Avar, 
Which figure the wise mind's discursive sight, 
In mists by nature wrapt, salute the light. 

Truth. I am that Truth, thou some illusive 
spright ; 
Whom to my ILkcness, the black sorceress Night 
Hath of these dry, and empty fumes created. 

Opln. Best herald of thine own birth, well 
related, 
Put me and mine to proof of words, and facts. 
In any question this fair hour exacts. 

Truth. I challenge thee, and fit this time of 
love. 
With this position, which Truth comes to prove ; 
That the most honor'd state of man and wife. 
Doth far exceed the insociate virgin life. 

Opin. I take the adverse part ; and she that 
best 
Defends her side, be Truth bj' all confest. 

Truth. It is confirm'd. With what an equal 

brow 
To Truth, ^ Opinion's confident ! and how, 
Like Truth, her habit shews to sensual eyes; 
But whosoe'er thou be, in this disguise, 
Clear Truth, anon, shall strip thee to the heart ; 
Arid shew how mere phantastical thou art. 
KnoM", then, the first production of things 
Required two ; from mere one nothing springs : 
Without that knot the theme thou gloriest in, 
(The unprofitable virgin,) had not been. 
The golden tree of marriage began 
In Paradise, and bore the fruit of man ; 
On whose sweet branches angels sat and sung. 
And from whoso firm root all society sprung. 
Love (whose strong virtue wrapt heaven's soul 

in earth. 
And made a woiuan glorj' in his birth) 
In marriage opens his inflamed breast ; 
And lest ill him nature should stifled rest. 



1 Truth is feignetl to be the daughter of Saturn : who in- 
ieed, with the ancients, was no other than time, and so his 
name alludes, K')(5i/ g. Plut. in QuKst. To which confer the 
jireek Adage, a)ii Hi t/jo; 0ms r{]v dX-'idanv xpovo;. 

- Hippocrat. in a certain epistle to Philopcem. describeth 
Jier, Mulicrem, quas non mala videatur, sed audacior aspectu 
pt concitatior. To which Cesare Ripa, in his Inconolog. al- 
ludeth in those words, Faecia, ne bella, n6 dispiacevole, &c. 



His genial five about the world he darts ; 
Which lips with lips combines, and hearts with 

hearts. 
Marriage Love's object is ; at whose bright eyes. 
He lights his torches, and calls them his skies. 
For her he wings his shoulders ; and doth fly 
To her white bosom as his sanctuary : 
In which no lustful finger can profane liim, 
Nor aiiy earth with black eclipses wane him. 
She makes him smile in sorrows, and doth stand 
'Twixt him and all wants, with her silver hand. 
In her soft locks his tender feet are tied ; 
And in his fetters he takes worthy pride. 
And as geometricians have ajiproved, 
That lines and superficies are not moved 
By their o^ai forces, but do follow still 
Their bodies' motions ; so the self-loved will 
Of man or woman should not rule in tliem. 
But each with other wear the anadem. 
Mirrors, though dcck'd with diaiuonds, are 

nought worth. 
If the like forms of things they set not forth ; 
So men or women are woi-th nothing neither, 
If cither's eyes and hearts present not either. 

Opin. Untouch'd Virginity, laugh out; to see 
Freedom in fetters placed, and urg'd 'gainst 

thee. 
What griefs lie groaning on the nuptial bed > 
What dviU society ? in what sheets of lead 
Tumble and toss the restless married pair. 
Each, oft, offended with the other's air ? 
From whence springs all-devouring avarice. 
But from the cares which out of wedlock rise ? 
And, where there is in life's bcst-temper'd fires 
An end, set in itself to all desires, 
A settled quiet, freedom never check'd ; 
How far are married lives from this eft'ect ? 
Euripus,' that bears ships in all their pride, • 
'Gainst roughest winds, Avith violence of his tide, 
And ebbs and flows seven times in every day, 
Toils not more turbulent or fierce than they. 
And then what rules husfeands prescribe their 

wives ! 
In their eyes circles, they must bound their lives. 
The moon, when farthest from the si;n she sliines. 
Is most refulgent, nearest, most declines : 
But 3'our poor wives far off must never roam. 
But waste their beauties near their lorcLs at home : 
And when their lords range out, at honte must 

hide, 
[Most] IDvC to begged monopolies, all their pride. 
When their lords list to feel a serious fit. 

s A narrow sea, betn'een Auli^, a port of Bceotia, and tlie 
isle Euboea. See Pomp. Mela, lib. 2. 



07 6 



THE BARHIERS. 



They must be serious ; when to show their wit 
In jests and laughter, they must laugh and jest ; 
When they wake, wake ; and when they rest, 

must rest. 
And to their wives men give such narrow scopes. 
As if they meant to make them walk on ropes : 
No tumblers bide more peril of their necks 
In all their tricks, than wives ia husband's 

checks. 
Where virgins, in their sweet and peaceful state. 
Have all things perfect ; spin their own free fate ; 
Depend on no proud second ; are their own 
Centre and circle ; now, and always one. 
To whose example we do still hear nam'd 
One God, one nature, and but one Avorld fram'd. 
One sun, one moon, one element of lire, 
So of the rest ; one king, that doth inspire 
Soul to all bodies, in their royal sphere. 

Truth. And where is marriage more declar'd 
than there ! 
Is there a band more strict than that doth tie 
Tlae soul and body in such unity ? 
Subjects to sovereigns ; doth one mind display 
In the one's obedience, and the other's sway ; 
Believe it, marriage suffers no compare, 
When both estates are valued, as they are. 
The virgin were a strange, and stubborn thing. 
Would longer stay a virgin, than to bring 
Herself fit use and profit in a malce. 

Opin. How she doth err, and the whole heaven 
mistake ! 
Look, how a flower that close in closes grows, 
Hid from rude cattle, bruised with no ploughs. 
Which th' air doth stroke, sun strengthen, show- 
ers shoot higher, 
It many youths, and many maids desire ; 
The same, when cropt by cruel hand 'tis wither' d, 
Ko youths at all, no maidens have desired : 
So a virgin, while untouch'd she doth remain. 
Is dear to hers ; but when with body's stain 
Her chaster flower is lost, she leaves to appear 
Or sweet to young men, or to inaidens deai". 
That conquest then may crown me in this war, 
Virgins, O virgins, fly from Hymen far. 

Truth. Virgins, O virgins, to sweet Hymen 
For as a lone vine, in a naked field, [yield. 

Never extols her branches, never bears 
liipc grapes, but with a headlong heaviness wears 
Her tender body, and her highest sprout 
Is quickly levell'd with her fading root ; 
By whom no husbandman, no youths will dwell ; 
But if by fortune, she be married well 
To the elm her husband, many husbandmen 
And many youths inhabit by her, then : 
So whilst a virgin doth, untouch'd, abide, 
All unmanur'd, she grows old with her pride ; 
But when to equal wedlock, in lit time. 
Her fortune, and endeavor lets her climb. 
Dear to her love, and parents she is held. 
Virgins, O virgins, to sweet Hymen yield. 

Opin. These are but words ; hast thou a knight 
By stroke of arms, the simple verity ? [will try, 

TnUh. To that high proof I would have dared 
thee. 
I'll straight fetch champions for the bride and mc. 

Opin. The like will I do for virginity. 



Here they both descended the hall, lohcre at the lotecr 
end, a march being sounded loith drums and fifes, 
there entered (led forth by the Earl of Kotting' 
ham, wlio was Lord High Constable for thai 
night, and the Earl of Worcester, Earl Marshal^ 
sixteen knights armed with pikes, and sioords ; 
their plumes and colors, carnation and white ; all 
richly accoutred, and making their ho7iors to the. 
state, as they marched by in pairs, were all ranked 
on one side of the hall. They pil(<'Ced sixteen 
others like accoutred for riches, and arms, only 
that their colors xoere varied to watehet and white ; 
who iccre by the same earls led tip, and passing 
in like manner by the state, 2^l«-ced on the oppo- 
site side. 

J^y this time, the Bar being brought tip, Truth 
proceeded. 
Truth. Now join ; and if this varied trial fail, 
To make mj'' truth in wedlock's praise prevail, 
I will retire, and in more power appear. 
To cease this strife, and make our question clear. 

Whereat Orixioy insulting, follmced her loith this 
speech, 
Opin. Ay, do ; it were not safe thou shouldst 
abide : 
This speaks thy name, with shame to quit thy 
side. 

Here the champions on both sides addrest themselves 
for fight, first single ; after, three to three : and 
performed it with that alacrity, and vigor, as if 
Mars himself had been to triumph before Venus, 
and invented a neio masqice. When on a sudden, 
(the last six having scarcely ended) a striking 
light seemed to fill all the hall, and out of it an 
Angel or messenger of ghry appearing. 

Angel. Princes, attend a tale of height and 

wonder. 
Truth is descended in a second thunder, 
And now will greet you, with judicial state. 
To grace the nuptial part in this debate ; 
And end with reconciled hands these Avars. 
Upon her head she wears a crown of stars. 
Through which her orient hair Avaves to her 

Arastc, 
By Avhich believing mortals hold her fast, 
And in those golden cords are carried even, | 

Till with her breath she bloAVS them up to heaven. I 
She Avcars a robe enchased Avith eagles eyes. 
To signify her sight in mysteries : 
Upon each shoulder sits a milk-Avhitc dove, 
And at her feet do Avitty serpents move : 
Her spacious arms do reach from east to Avest, 
And you may see her heart shine through her 

breast. 
Her right-hand holds a sun Avith burning rays. 
Her left a curious bunch of golden keys. 
With Avhich heaven's gates slie locketh and dis- 
A crystal mirror hangeth at her breast, [plays. 
By which men's consciences are search' d, and 

drest : 
On her coach-Avheels Hypocrisy lies rack'd; 
And squint-eyed Slander, Avith Vain-glory 

back'd. 
Her bright eyes burn to dust, in AA'hich shines 
An angel ushers her triumphant gate, [Fate : 
1 Whilst Avith her fingers fans of stars she tAvists, 



THE BAHRIERS. 



677 



And Mith them beats back Error, clad in mists. 
Eternal Unity behind her shines, 
That fire and -water, earth and air combines. 
Iler voice is like a trumpet loud and shrill, 
Which bids all sounds in earth and heaven be 

still. 
And see ! descended from her chariot now. 
In this related pomp she visits you. 

Ento- Truth. 
Truth. Honor to all that honor nuptials, 
To Avhose fair lot, in justice, now it falls, 
That tliis my counterfeit be here disclosed, 
Who, for virginity, hath herself opposed. 
Nor though my brightness do undo her charms. 
Let these her knights think, that their equal 

arms 
Are wrong'd therein : For valor wins applause. 
That dares but to maintain the weaker cause. 
And princes, see, 'tis mere Opinion 
That in Truth's forced robe, for Truth hath gone ! 
Her gaudy colors, pieced with many folds. 
Shew what uncertainties she ever holds : 
Vanish, adulterate Truth ! and never dare 
With proud maids praise, to press where nup- 
tials are 



And, champions, since you see the truth I held; 
To sacred Hymen, reconciled, yield : 
Nor (so to yield) think it the least despight : 
" It is a conquest to submit to right," 

This royal judge of our contention 
Will prop, I know, what I have undergone ; 
To whose right sacred highness I resign. 
Low at his feet this starry crown of mine. 
To shew his rule and judgment is divine ; 
These doves to him I consecrate withal, 
To note his innocence, without spot, or gall ; 
These serpents, for his ■\\isdom : and these 

rays. 
To shew, his piercing splendor : these bright 

keys 
Designing power to ope the .ported skies, 
And speak their glories to his subjects' eyes. 

Lastly, this heart, with which all heai-ts be 
true : 

And truth in him malie treason ever rue. 

With this they icere led forth, hand in hand, recon- 
ciled, as in triumph. And thus the solemnities 
ended. 

Vivito coiicordfB. ct nostniin riiscirp iir.uir." 



THE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID 



The worthy custom of honoring worthy marriages, with these noble solemnities, hath of late years advanced itself fre- 
quently with "us : to the reputation no less of our court, than nobles; expressing besides (through the difficulties of 
evpense and travel with the cheerfulness of undertaking) a most real affection in the personaters, to those, for whose sake 
Ihey would sustain these persons. It behoves then us, that are trusted with a part of their honor in tliese celebrations, 
to do nothing in them beneath the dignity of either. With this proposed part of judgment, I adventure to give that 
abroad which in my first conception I intended honorably fit : and, though it hath labor'd since, under censure, I, thai 
know truth to be always of one stature, and so like a rule, as who bends it the least way, must needs do ar injury to the 
ri"ht, cannot but smile at their tyrannous ignorance, that will otTer to slight ine (in these things being an artificer) and 
give themselves a peremptory license to judge who have never touched so much as to the bark, or utter shell of any 
knowledge But their daring dwell with them. They have found a place to pour out their follies ; and I a scat, to sleep 



out the passage. 

The scene to this Masque, was a high, steep, 
red cliff, advancing itself into the clouds, figur- 
ing the place, from whence (as I have been, not 
fabulously, informed) the honorable family of 
the Radciiffs first took their name, a clivo ruhro, 
and is to be written with that orthography ; as 
I have observed out of master Camden, in his 
mention of the carls of Sussex. This cliff was 
also a note of height, greatness, and antiquity. 
Before which, on the two sides, were erected 
two pilasters, charged with spoils and trophies 
of Love and his mother, consecrate to marriage : 
amongst which, Avcrc old and young persons 
figured, bound with roses, the wedding gar- 
ments, rocks and spindles, hearts transfixed with 
arrows, others flaming, virgins' girdles, garlands, 
and worlds of such like ; all wrought round and 
bold : and over head two personages. Triumph 
and Victory, in flying postures, and twice so big 
as the life, 'in place of the arch, and holding a 
garland of myrtle for the key. All which, with 
the pillars, seemed to be of burnished gold, and 
embossed out of the metal. Beyond the cliff 
was seen nothing but clouds, thick, and ob- 
scure ; till on the sudden, with a solemn music, 
a bright sky breaking forth, there were discov- 
ered first two doves,' then two swans ' with 
silver geers, drawing forth a triumphant chariot ; 
in wliich Yenus sat, crowned with her star, and 
beneath her the three Graces, or Charites, Aglaia, 
Thalia, Euphrosyne, all attired according to 
their antique figures. These, from their chariot, 
alighted on the top of the cliff, and descending 
by certain abrupt and winding passages, Venus 
having left her star only flaming in her seat, 
came to the earth, the Graces throwing garlands 
all the way, and began to speak. 

Veil. It is no common cause, ye will conceive, 
My lovely Graces, makes your goddess leave 
Her state in heaven, to-night, to visit earth. 
Love late is fled away, my eldest birth, 
Cupid, whom I did joy to call my son ; 
And, whom long absent, Venus is undone. 

Spy, if you can, his footsteps on this green ; 
For here, "as I am told, he late hath been. 
With divers of his brethren,^ lending light 

1 Both doves and swans were sacred to this goddess, and 
IS well with the one as the other, her chariot is induced by 
Ovid, lib. 10 and 11 iMetamor. 

2 Alluding to the Loves (the torch-bearers) in the Queen's 
Masque before. 



From their best flames, to gild a glorious night ; 
Which I not grudge at, being done for her. 
Whose honors, to mine own, I still i^refer. 
But he not yet returning, I'm in fear. 
Some gentle Grace, or innocent Beauty hero, 
Be taken with him : or he hath surprised 
A second Psyche, and lives here disguised. 
Find ye no track of his stray' d feet ? 

1 Gra. Not I. 

2 Gra. Nor I. 

3 Gra. Nor 1. 
Yen. Stay, nymphs, we then will try 
A nearer v<'ay. Look all these ladies' eyes, 
And see if there he not concealed lies ; 
Or in their bosoms, 't^\ixt their swelling breasts 
The wag affects to make himself such nests : 
Perchance he hath got some simple heart, to hide 
His subtle shape in ; I will have him cry'd, 
And all his virtues told ! that, when they'd kno^\ 
What spright he is, she soon may let him go, 
That guards hun noAV ; and think herself right 

blest, 
To be so timely rid of such a giiest. 
Begin, soft Graces, and proclaim reward 
To her that brings him in. Speak to be heard. 

1 Grace. Beauties, have ye seen this toy. 

Called Love, a little boy,' 
Almost naked, Avanton, blind ; 
Cruel now, and then as kind ? 
If he be amongst ye, say ? 
He is Venus' runaway. 

2 Grace. She that will but now discover 

Where the winged wag doth hover, 
Shall to-night receive a kiss. 
How, or where herself woiild wish : 
But, who brings him to his mother, 
Shall have that kiss, and another. 

3 Grace. He hath marks about him plenty : 

You shall know him among twenty. 
All his body is a fire. 
And his breath a flame entire. 
That being shot, like lightning, in, 
AVounds the heart, but not the skin. 

I Grace. At his sight, the sun hath turn'd,* 
Neptune in the Avaters burn'd ; 

3 In this Love, I express Cupid, as he is Veneris filing 
and owner of the following qualities, ascribed him ly tiif 
antique and later poets. 

■i See Lucian. Dial. Deor. 

678 



THE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 



679 



Hell hath felt a greater heat ; ' 
Jove himself forsook liis seat : 
From the centre to the sky, 
Are liis trophies reared high.^ 

2 Grace. Wings he hath, which though ye clip, 

He Avill leap from lip to lip. 
Over liver, lights, and heart, 
But not stay in any part ; 
And, if chance his arrow misses, 
He will shoot himself, in kisses. 

3 Grace. He doth bear a golden bow. 

And a quiver, hanging low, 
Full of arrows, that outbrave 
Dian's shafts; where, if he have 
Any head more sharp than other. 
With that first he strilies his mother. 

I Grace. Still the fairest are his fuel. 
When his days are to be cruel. 
Lovers' hearts arc all his food ; 
And his baths their warmest blood : 
Nought but Avounds his hand doth season, 
And he hates none like to Reason. 

'2 Grace. Trust him not ; his words, though sAveet, 
Seldom with his heart do meet. 
All his practice is deceit ; 
Every gift it is a bait ; 
Not a kiss but poison bears ; 
And most treason in his tears. 

3 Grace. Idle minutes are his reign ; 

Then, the straggler makes his gain. 
By presenting maids with toj's. 
And would have ye think them joys : 
'Tis the ambition of the elf. 
To have all childish as himself. 

1 Grace. If by these ye please to know him. 

Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 

2 Grace. Though ye had a will to hide him. 

Now, we hope, ye'U not abide him. 

3 Grace. Since you hear his falser play ; 

And that he's Venus' runaway. 

At this, from hehmd the trophies, CariD dlscov- 
ercd himself, and came forth armed ; attended 
with twelve boys, viost antlckhj attired., that 
represoifed the Sjmrts, and pretty Lightnesses 
that accompany Love, iinder the titles of Joci 
and Risus ; and are said to wait on Venus, as 
she is Prcefect of Marriaye.^ 

Cup. Come, my little jocund Sports, 
Come away ; the time now sorts 
With your pastime : this same, night 
Is Cupid's day. Advance your light. 
With your revel fill the room. 
That our triumphs be not dumb. 

• Tiliereiolth they fell into a subtle capricious dance, 
to as odd a music, each of them bearing two 



1 And Claud, in laptu Proscrp. 

2 Such was the power ascrih'j liun, by all the ancients : 
whereof there is extant an elegant Greek epigram. Phil. 
Poe. wherein he makes all the other deities despoiled by 
him, of tlieir ensigns ; Jove of his thunder, Phoebus of his 
arrows, Hercules of his club, &c. 

3 Wliich Horat. consents to, Car. lib. 1. ode 2, 

Erycina ridens, 

Quain Jocus circuni volat, et Cupido. 



torches, and nodding tolth their antic faces, 
with other variety of ridiculous gesture, which 
gaoe much occasion of mirth and delight to the 
spectators. The dance ended, Cupid went 
forioard. 

Cup. Well done anticks ! now my bow. 
And my quiver bear to show ; 
That these beauties, here, may know, 
By Avhat arms this feat was done, 
That hath so much honor won 
Unto Venus and her son. 

At which, his mother apprehended him : and circling 
him In, with the Graces, began to demand. 

Ven. What feat, what honor is it that you boast, 
My little straggler ? I had given you lost. 
With all your games, here. 

Cup. Mother ! 

Ven. Yes, sir, she. 
What might your glorious cause of triumph be ? 
Have you shot Minerva * or the Thespian dames -■ 
Heat aged Ops again,* with youthful flames ? 
Or have you made the colder Moon to visit 
Once more, a sheepcote ? Saj', what conquest is it 
Can make you hope such a renown to win ? 
Is there a second Hercules brought to spin r 
Or, for some new disguise, leaves Jove his 
thunder ? 

Cuj). Nor that, nor those, and yet no less a 
wonder ^ — [lie espies HvirEN*. 

Which to tell, I may not stay : 
Hymen's presence bids away ; 
'Tis, already, at his night. 
He can give you further light. 
You, ray Sports, may here abide. 
Till 'I call to light the bride. [Slips from her. 

Enter Hymen. 
Hy. Venus, is this a time to quit your car ? 
To stoop to earth, to leave alone your star. 
Without your influence, and, on such a night,' 
Which should be crown' d with your most cheer- 
ing sight. 
As you were ignorant of what were done 
By Cupid's hand, your all-triumphing son ? 
Look on this state ; and if you yet not know, 
AVhat crown there shines, whose sceptre here 

doth grow ; 
Think on thy loved ^^neas, and what name, 
Maro, the golden trumpet of his fame. 
Gave him, read thou in this. A prince that draws 
By example more, than others do by laws : ® 



* She urges these as miracles, because Pallas, and the 
Muses, are most contrary to Cupid. See Luc. Dial. Vqn. ct 
Cupid. 

5 Rhea, the mother of the gods, whom Lucian, in that 
place, makes to have fallen franticly in love by Cupid's 
means, with Atys. So of the IMoon, with Endyraion, 
Hercules, &c. 

s Here Hymen, the god of marriage, entered ; and was so 
induced liere, as you have him described in my Hymena;i. 

7 When she is nuptiis pra^fecta, with Juno, Suadela 
Diana, and Jupiter himself. Paus. in Messeniac. et Plut 
in Problem. 

s jEneas, the son of Venus, Virgil makes throughout, the 
most exquisite pattern of piety, justice, prudence, and all 
other princely virtues, with whom (in way of that excel- 
lence) I confer my sovereign, applying in his description his 
own word us.irped of tliat poet, Parcere subjectis, et debel- 
lare superbos 



C80 



THE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 



That is so just to his great act, and thought, 
To do, not what kings may, but -what kings 

ought. 
Who, out of piety, unto peace is vow'd. 
To spare his subjects, yet to quell the proud ; 
And dares esteem it the first fortitude, 
To have his passions, foes at home, subdued. 
That -was reserv'd, until the Parcae spim 
Their whitest wool ; and then his thread begun. 
Which thread, when treason would have burst,' 

a soul 
To-daj'' renown'd, and added to my roU,^ 
Opposed ; and, b}' that act, to his name did 
The honor to be saver of his king. [bring 

This king whose worth, if gods for virtue love, 
Should Venus with the same affections move. 
As her iEneas ; and no less endear 
Her love to his safety, than when she did cheer. 
After a tempest,' lohg-afflicted Troy, 
Upon the Lybian shore ; and brought them joy. 

Ven. I love, and know his virtiies, and do boast 
Mine OM'n renown, Avhcn I renown him most. 
My Cu.pid's absence I forgive, and praise, 
That me to such a present grace could raise. 
His champion shall, hereafter, be my care : 
But s^jcak his bride, and what her virtues are. 

III/. She is a noble virgin, styled. The Maid 
Of the Red-cliff, and hath her dowry weigh'd 
No less in A-u-tue, blood, and form, than gold ; 
Thence, where my pillar's rear'd, you may be- 
hold, [name. 
Fill'd with love's trophies, doth she take her 
Those pillars did uxorious Vulcan frame,* 
Against this day, and underneath that hill, 
He, and his Cyclopes, are forging still [night. 
Some strange and curious piece, to adorn the 
And give these graced nuptials greater light. 

Here Vulcan 2^resented himself, as overhearinr) 
Hymen, attired in a cassock girt to him, with 
hare arms, his hair and beard rough ; his hat 
of blue, and ending in a cone ; in his hand a 
hammer and tongs, as coming from the forge. 

Vul. Which I have done ; the best of all my 
life; 
And have my end, if it but please my wife, 
And she commend it, to the labor'd Avorth. 
OleaA-e, solid rock ! and bring the Avonder forth. 

At which with a loud and full music, the cliff 
jMrted in the midst, and discovered an illustri- 
ous concave, filed icith an ample and glistering 
light, in tohich an artificial sphere loas made of 
silver, eighteen foot in the diameter, that turned 
perpetualh) : the coluri tccre heightened with 
gold ; so tcere the arctic and antarctic circles. 



i In that nionstinus conspiracy of E. Gowry. 
2 Titulo tunc crescere posses, 
Nunc per te titulus. 

3 Virg. jfJ.ijid. lib. 1. 

- The ancient poets, whenisoever Ihey would intend any 
thing to be done with great mastery, or excellent art, made 
Vulcan the artificer, as Honi. 11 Y. in the forging of 
Achilles's armor, and Virg. for ^neas, ^neid. 8. He is 
also said to be the god of fire and light. Sometime taken 
for the purest beam : and by Orph. in Hym. celebrated for 
.he sun and moon. But more especially by Eurip. in 
Troad. he is made Facifer in Nuptiis. Which present 
office we give him here, as being Calor Naturffi, and Prseses 
TiUminis. See Plat, in Cratyl. For li s description, read 
Pausan. in Eliac. 



the tropics, the equinoctial, the meridian and 
horizon ; only tlio zodiac loas of pure gold : in 
tohich the masquer's, under tlie characters of the 
twelve signs, icere placed, ansiccring them in 
number ; tchose offices, loith the whole frame, as 
it turned, Vulcan went foricard to describe. 

It is a si^herc, I've formed round and even. 
In due proportion to the sphere of heaven, 
With all his lines and circles ; that compose 
The perfect'st form, and ajjtly do disclose 
The heaven of marriage : A\-hich I title it : 
Within Avhose zodiac, I haA'e made to sit. 
In order of the signs, tAvelve sacred poAvers, 
That are presiding at all nuptials hours : 

The first, in Aries' place, respecteth prido 
Of youth, and beauty ; graces in the bride. 

In Taurus, he loves strength and manliness ; 
The virtues Avhich the bridegroom should pro 

fess. 
In Gemini, that noble poAver is shOAvn, 
That tAvins their hearts, and doth of tAvo maks" 

one. 
In Cancer, he that bids the Avife give Avay 
Witli bacliAvard yielding to her husband'a 

SAvay. 
In Leo, he that doth instil the heat 
Into the man : Avhich from the folloAving seat 
Is temper'd so, as he that looks from thence 
Sees yet they keejD a Virgin innocence. 
In Libra's room, rules he that doth suj^ply 
All happy beds Avith SAveet equality. 
The Scorpion's place ho fills, that makes the 

jars. 
And stings in A\-edlock ; little strifes and Avars : 
AVhich he, in th' Archer's throne, doth soon 
remoA'e, [love 

By making, Avith his shafts, ncAV Avounds ol 
And those the foUoAver with more heat inspires 
As, in the Goat, the sun renews his fires, i 

In Avet Aquarirts' stead, reigns he that shovrers 
Fertility upon the genial boAvers. 

Last, in the Fishes place, sits he doth say, 
In married joys, all should be dumb as they. 
And this hath Vulcan for his Venus done, 
To grace the chaster triumph of her son. 
Yen. And for this gift, AA'ill I to heaven return, 
And A'OAv for ever, that my lamj) shall burn 
"^^'ith pure and chastest fire ; or never shine, ^ 
But Avhcn it mixcth Avith thy sphere and mine. 

Here Venus returned to her chariot, with the 
Graces ; ivhile Vulcan, calling out the priests 
of Hymen, who loere the musicians, teas inter ■ 
rupted by Pyraciion.^ 

Vul. Sing then, ye priests. 
Pyrac. Stay, Vulcan, shall not these 
Come forth and dance r 



5 As Catul. hath it in nup. Jul. et Manl. Avithout Ilymeij, 
which is marriage, Nil potest Venus, fama quod bona 
comprobet, &c. 

One of the Cyclops, of whom, with the other two 
Bro))tes and Steropes, see Virg. ^neid. 
Ferrum exercebant vasto Clyclopes in antro, 
Brontesquc, Steropesque et nudus membra Pyracmon &-o 



niE HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. 



68] 



Vul. Yes, my Pyracmon, please 
The eyes of these spectators with our art.' 

Pl/rac. Come here then, Brontes, bear a Cy- 

clop's part, 
^ncl Steropes, both with your sledges stand, 
And strike a time unto them as they land ; 
And as they forwards come, still guide their 

paces. 
In musical and SAveet proportion'd graces ; 
While I upon the work and frame attend, 
Aiid Hymen's priests forth, at their seasons, 

send [admire 

To chaunt their hymns ; and make this square 
Our great artificer, the god of fire. 

Here the musicians, attired in yolloio, with icreaths 
of marjoram^ and veils like Hymen's j^ricsts, 
sung thejirst staff of the following Epithala- 
viion : which, because it toas sung in pieces 
between the dances, shewed to be so mang several 
songs ; but was made to be read an entire poem. 
After the song, they came (descending in an 
oblique motion) from the Zodiac, and danced 
their first dance ; then music i7iterposed, (but 
varied with voices, only keeping the same cJio- 
rus) they danced their second dance. So after, 
their third and fourth dances, which were all 
full of elegancy and curious device. And thus 
it ended.^ 



EPlTHjlL-iMIOJ^'. 

Up, youths and virgins, up, and praise 

The god, whose nigijts oufehiiie his days ; 
Hymen, whose hallowed rites 
Could never boast of brighter lights ; 
Whose bands pass liberty. 



1 As when Iloni. Iliad. S, makes Thetis for her son 
Achilles, to visit Vulcan's liouse, he feigns that Vulcan 
had made twenty tripods, or stools with golden wheels, to 
move of themselves miraculously, and go out and return 
fitly. To which the invention of our dance alludes, and is 
in the poet a most elegant place, and worthy the tenth 
reading. 

2 The two latter dances vi'oro made by master Thomas 
Giles, the two first by master Hier. Heme: who, in the 
persons of the two Cyclopes, beat a time to them with their 
iiammcrs. Tlie tunes were master Alphonso Ferrabosco's. 
The device and act of the scene master Inigo Jones's, with 
addition of the trophies. For the invention of the whole, 
and the verses, Assertor qui dicat esse meos, imponot 
plaaiario pudorem. 

Tlic attire of the masquers throughout was most graceful 
and noble ; partaking of the best both ancient and later 
figure. The colors carnation and silver, enriched both with 
embroidery and lace. The dressing of their heads, feathers 
and jewels ; and so excellently ordered to the rest of the 
habit, as all would suflTer under any de^^cription, after the 
uhew. Their performance of all, sj magnificent and illus- 
trious, that nothing can add to the seal of it, but the sub- 
Bcription of their names : 



The Duke of Lenox, 
Earl of Arundell, 
Earl of Pembroke, 
Earl of iloNTcoMERY, 
Lord D'AtfBiGKT, 



Master Essskine. 



Jjord of Walde:«, 
Lord Hav, 
Lord Sankfe, 
Sir Ro. IticHE, 
Sir Jo. KErfrtETHiE, 



Two of your troop, tliat with the mom were free, 
Are now waged to his war. 

Ami «hat tliey are. 
If you'll perfection see, 
Yourselves must be. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star! 

What joy or honors can compare 
With holy nuptials, when they are 

Made out of equal parts 
Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts ! 
When in the happy choice. 
The spouse and spoused have the foremost voic» ' 
Such, glad of Hymen's war, 

Live what they are, • 

And long perfection see : 
And such ours be. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star! 

The solemn state of this one night 
Were fit to last an age's light ; 

But there are rights behind 
Have less of state, but more of kind : 
Love's wealthy crop of kisses. 
And fruitful harvest of his mother's blisses. 
Sound then to Hymen's war ; 

That what these are. 
Who will perfection see, 
Jlay haste to be. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star ' 

Love's commonwealth consists of toys ; 
His council are those antic boys, 

Games, Laughter, Sports, Delights, 
That triumph with him on these nights : 
To whom we must give way. 
For now their reign begins, and lasts till day. 
Tiicy sweeten Hymen's war. 

And, in that jar. 
Make all, that married be, 
Perfection see. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished stai ! 

Why stays the bridegroom to invade 
Her, that would be a matron made ' 

Good-night, whilst yet we may 
Good-night, to you a virgin, say : 
To-morrow rise the same 
Your mother is,2 and use a nobler name. 
Speed well in Hymen's war, 

That, \^■hat you are. 
By your perfection, we 
And all may see. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star! 

To-night is Venus' vigil kept. 

This night no bridegroom ever slept; 

And if the fair bride do. 
The married say, 'tis liis fault too. 
Wake then, and let your lights 
Wake too ; for they'll tell nothing of your nigbls, 
But, that in Hymen's war, 

You perfect are. 
And such perfection, we 
Do pray should be. 
Shine, Hesperus, shins forth, thou wished star! 

That, ere the rosy-fingcr'd morn 
Behold nine moons, there may be bom 

A babe, t' uphold the fame 
Of Ratclilfe's blood, and Ramsey's name: 
That may, in his great seed. 
Wear the long honors of his father's dacd. 
Such fruits of Hymen's war 

Most perfect are : 
And all perfection, we 
Wish you should see. 
Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star I 

3 A wife or matron : which is a name of more dignit;; 
than Virgin. D. Heins. in Nup. Ottonis Heuniii. Ctad 
matri similis tute redibis. 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS; 

CELEBKATED FKOM THE HOUSE OF FAME, 
BY J'HE QUEEX OF GREAT BRITAIN, WITH HER LADIES, 

At Whitehall, Feb. 2, 1609. 

[dedicatiox.] 
ro THE GLORY OF OUR OWN, AND GRIEF OF OTHER NATIONS, MY LORD 

HENRY, 

PRINCE OF GREAT BRITAIN, ETC. 

Sir, — When it hath been my happiness (as would it we're more frequent) but to see your face, and, as passing by, to 
consider you ; I liave with as much joy, as I am now far from flattery in professing if, called to mind that doctrine of 
Bome great inquisitors in JVuture, who hold every royal and heroic form to partake and draw much to it of the heavenly 
virtue. For, whether it be tliat a divine soul, being to come into a body, first choosetli a palace for itself; or, being come, 
doth make it so ; or that J\rature be ambitious to have her work equal ; I know not : but what is lawful for me to under- 
stand and speak, that I dare ; which is, that both your virttte and your form did deserve your fortune. The one claimed 
that you should bo bcu-ii a prince, the otlier makes that you do become it. And wlien JVeccssitij (excellent lord) the mothe' 
of the Fates, hath so provided, that your form should not more insinuate you to the eyes of men,flian your virtue to their 
minds : it comes near a wonder to think how sweetly that habit flows in you, and with so hourjy testimonies, which to 
all posterity might liold tlie dignity of examples. Amongst the rest, your favor to letters, and these gentler studies, that go 
under the title of Hnmnnily, is not the least honor of your wreath. For, if once the wortliy professors of these learnings 
shall come (as heretofore tliey were) to be the core o{ princes, the crowns their sovereigns wear will not more adorn their 
temples ; nor their stamps live longer in their medals, than in such subjects' labors. Poetry, my lord, is not born with 
every man, nor every day : and in her general right, it is now my minute to thank your Highness, who not only do honoi 
ner with your care, but are curious to examine iier with your eye, and enquire into her beauties and strengths. Where 
though it hath proved a work of some difficulty to me, to retrieve the particular authorities (according to your gracious 
command, and a desire born out of judgment) to those things, which I writ out of fullness and memory of my formeJ 
readings : yet, now I have overcome it, the reward that meets me is double to one act : which is, that thereby your 
excellent understanding will not only justify me to your own knowledge, but decline the stiffness of other's original igno 
ranee, already armed to censure. For which singular bounty, if my fate (most excellent Prince, and only delicacy of 
mankind) shall reserve me to the age of your actions, whether in the camp or the council-chamber, that I may write, at 
nights, the deeds of your days; I will then labor to bring forth some work as worthy of your tame, as my ambition 
tlierein is of your pardon. 

By the most tnie admirer of your Hi<rhness''s virtues, 

And most hearty celebrater of them, Ben Jonson 



It increasing now to the third time of my being used in these services to her majesty's personal presentations, with the 
ladies whom she pleaseth to honor ; it wag my first and special regard, to see that the nobility of the invention should he 
answerable to the dignity of their persons. For which reason I chose the argument to be, A celebration of honorable. 
and true Fame, bred out of Virtue : observing that rule of the best artist,! to suffer no object of deliiiht to pass without his 
mixture of profit and exanqde. And because her majesty (best knowing that a principal part of life, in these spectacles, 
Siy in their variety) had commanded me to think on some dance, or shew, that might precede hers, and have the place 
of a foil, or false masque ; I was careful to decline, not only from others, but mine own steps in that kind, since the last 
year,3 I had an anti-masque of boys ; and therefore now devised, that twelve women, in the habit of hags, or witches, 
sustaining the persons of Ignorance, Suspicion, Credulity, &c. the opposites to good Fame, should fill that part ; not as a 
masqivs, but a spectacle of strangeness, producing multiplicity of gesture, and not unaptly sorting with the current, and 
whole fall of the device. 

His majesty, then, being set, and the whole company in full expectation, the part of the scene which first presented 
Itself was an ugly Hell ; v/hich flaming beneath, smoked \into the top of the roof. And in respect all evils are morally 
said to come from hell ; as also from that observation of Torrentius upon Horace's Canidia,^ quie tbt inslrucla venenis, ex 
Orii faucibus profecla videri possit : these witches, with a kind of hollow and infernal music, came forth from thence. 
First one, then two, and three, and more, till their number increased to eleven ; all differently attired : some with rats on 
their heads, some on their shoulders ; others with ointment-pots at their girdles ; all with spindles, tiinbrels, rattles, or 
other venefical instruments, making a confused noise, with strange gestures. The device of their attire was master 
Jones's, with the invention, and architecture of the whole scene, and machine. Only I prescribed them their properties 
of vipers, snakes, bones, herbs, roots, and other ensigns of their magic, out of the authority of ancient and late writers, 
wherein the faults are mine, if there be any found ; and for that cause I confess them. 

1 Hor. in Art. Poetic. s Vide La;vin. Tor com'ment, in Hor. Epod. lib 

2 In the masque at my lord Haddington's wedding. ode 5. 

682 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



683 



These eleven -witches beginning to dance, 
(which is an usual cereinonj' ' at their convents 
or meetings, where sometimes also they are 
vizarded and masked,) on the sudden one of 
them missed their chief, and interrupted the 
rest with this speech. 

Hag. Sisters, stay, we want our Dame ; ^ 
Call upon her by her name, 
And the charm we use to say ; 
That she quickly anoint,'^ and come away. 

1 Charm Dame, dame ! the vvatcli is set : 

Quickly come, we all are met. — 
From the lakes, and from the fens,* 
From the rocks, and from the dens, 
From the woods, and from the caves. 
From the church-yards, from the graves, 
From the dungeon, from the tree 
Tliat they die on, here are we ! 

Comes she not yet ? 
Strike another heat. 

2 Charm The weather is fair, the wind is good. 

Up, dame, on your horse of wood : ^ 

Or else tuck up your gray frock. 

And saddle your goat,6 or your green cock,' 

1 See tlie king's majesty's book (our sovereign) of Denio- 
tiology, Bodin. Remig. Uclrio. Alal. iMaleti. and a world of 
others in the general : but let us follow particulars. 

2 Amongst our vulgar witches, the honor of dame, (for so 
I translate it) is given with a kind of pre-eminence to some 
Bpecial one at their meetings ; which Delrio insinuates, Dis- 
quis. Mag. lib. 2. qua;st. 9. quoting that of Apuleius, lib. de 
Asin. aureo. do quadam caupona, regina Sagarum. And 
adds, ut scias etiam turn quasdam ab lis hoc titulo honora- 
tas. Which title M. Phihpp. Ludwigiis Elich. Dajinonoma- 
gia;, quoest. 10. doth also remember. 

3 VVhen they are to be transported from place to place, 
they use to anoint themselves, and sometimes the things 
they ride on. Beside Ajiul. testimony, see these later, Re- 
mig. Da;monolatriae lib. 1. cap. 14. Delrio, Disquis. Mag. 1. 
2. qua;st. 16. Bodin. DcBinonoman. 1. 2. c. 14. Barthol. de Spi- 
na. qua;st. de Strigib. Philippo Liudwigus Elich. qua;st. 10 
Paracelsus in magn. et occul. Philosophia, teacheth the con- 
fection. Unguentum ex carne recens natorum infantium, in 
pulmenti forma coctum, et cum herbis somniferis, quales 
sunt Papaver, Solanum, Cicuta, &c. And Giov. Bapti. Por- 
ta, lib. 2. Mag. Natur. cap. IC. 

* These places, in their own nature dire and dismal, are 
reckoned up as the fittest from whence such persons should 
come, and were notably observed by that excellent Lucan in 
the description of his Ericlitho, lib. 6. To which we may 
add this corollaiy out of Agrip. de occult, philosop. 1. 1. c. 48. 
Saturno correspondent loca qua;vis foetida, tenebrosa, subter- 
ranea, religiosa et funesta, ut ccemeteria, busta, et hominibus 
deserta habitacula, ct vetustate caduca, loca obscura, ethor- 
renda, et solitaria antra, caverna;, putei : prKferea piscinae, 
stagna, paludes, et ejusmodi. And in lib. 3. c. 42. speaking 
of the like, and in lib. 4. about the end, Aptissima sunt loca 
phirimuni expcricntia visionum, noctumarumque incursio- 
num et consimilium phantasmatum, ut coemcteria, et in qui- 
bus fieri solent cxccutioncs criminalis judicii, in quibus re- 
centibus anuis pulilicaj strages facta; sunt, vel ubi occisorum 
cadavcra, iiccdum expiata, nee rite sepulta, recentioribus 
flnnis subhumata sunt. 

s Delrio, Disq. Mag. lib. 2. quffist. 6. lias a story out of 
Triezius of this horse of wood : but that which our witches 
call so, is sometimes a broom-stalT, sometimes a reed, some- 
limes a distaff. See Remig. Damonol, lib. 1. cap. 14. Bodin. 
1. 2. cap. 4. &c. 

6 The goat is the Devil himself, upon whom they ride 
often to their solemnity, as appears by their confessions in 
Rem. and Bodin. ibid. His majesty also remembers the story 
of the devil's appearance to those of Calicut, in that form, 
Da;monol. lib. 2. cap. 3. 

^ Of the green cock we have no other ground (to confess 
ingenuously) than a vulgar fable of a witcii, that with acock 
of that color, and a bottom of blue thread, would transport 
herself through the air ; and so escaped (at the time of her 
being brought to execution) from the hand of justice. It 
was a tale when I went to school ; and somewhat there is 
like it ill Mart. Delr. Disq. JMag. lib. 2. quaist. 6. of one Zyti, 
a Bohemian, that, among other his dexterities, aliquoties 
equis rhcdariis vcctum, galUs gallinaceis ad epirrhcdiuhi 
siium alligalis, subsequebatui 



."Viid make his bridle a bottom of thread. 
To roll up how many miles you have rid. 
Quickly come away ; 
For we all stay. 

Nor yet ? nay, then, 
We'll try her agen. 

3 Charm. The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, 

.\jid so is the cat-a-mountain. 
The ant and the mole sit both in a hole. 

And the frog peeps out o' the fountain ; 
The dogs they do bay, and the timbrels play, 

The spindle is now a turning ; 8 
The moon it is red, and the stars are fled, 

But all the sky is a burning : 
The ditch is made,!* and our nails the spade. 

With pictures full, of wax and of wool ; 
Their livers I stick, with needles quick ; 

There lacks but the blood, to make up the flood. 

Quickly, dame, then bring your part in, 

Spur, spur upon little Jlartin,!'' 

RIerrily, merrily, make him sail, 

A worm m his mouth, and a thorn in his tail. 

Fire above, and fire below, 

With a wiiip in your hand, to make him go 



8 All this is but a periphrasis of the night, in then charm, 
and their applying themselves to it with their instruments, 
whereof the spindle in antiquity was the chief: and beside 
the testimony of Theocritus, in Pharmaceutiia (who only 
used it m amorous affairs) was of special act to the troubling 
of the moon. To which Martial alludes, lib. 9. ep. 30. Quae 
nunc Thessalico Lunam deduccre rliombo, &e. And lib. 12. 
ep. 57. Cum secta Colcho Lima vapulat rhoinbo. , 

This rite also of making a ditch with their nails is fre- 
quent with our witches, whereof see Bodin. Remig. Delr. 
Malleus Mai. Godelman. 1. 2. de Lamiis, as also the anti- 
qui^ of it most vively exprest by Hor. Satyr. 8. lib. 1. where 
he mentions the pictures, and the blood of a black lamb. 
All which are yet in use with our modern witchcraft. Seal 
pere terrain (speaking of Canidia and Sagana) 

Ungiiibus, et piillam divcllere mordicus agnam 
Coeperunt : cruor in fossam confusus, ut inde 
Maneis elicerent aniinas rcsponsa daturas. 
Lanea et effigies erat, altera cerea, &c. 

And then by and bv, 



- Serpcntes atque videres 



Infemas errare caneis, Lunamquc rubentem, 
Ke foret his testis, post magna latere scpulchra. 

Of this ditch Homer makes mention in Circe's speech to 
Ulysses, Odyss. K. about the end, Bo9pov biiv^at, &c. And 
Ovid. Metam. lib. 7. in Medea's magic, 

Ilaud procul egesta scrobibus telluro duabus 
Sacra facit, cultrosque in giitture velleris atri 
Conjicit, et patulas perfundit sanguine fossas. 

And of the waxen images, in Hypsipyle's epistle to Jasoa 
where he oxpresseth that mischief also of the needles: 

Devovct absentos, simulacraque cerea fingit ; 
Et miserum tenues in jccur urget acus. 

Bodin. Daemon, lib. 2. cap. 8. hath, (beside the known story 
of king Duffo out of Hector Boetius) much of the witches 
later practice in that kind, and reports a relation of a French 
ambassador's, out of England, of ceitain pictures of wax, 
'found in a dunghill near Islington, of our late queen's: 
which rumor I myself (being then veiy yonng) can yet lo- 
membcr to have been current. 

10 Their little Martin is he that calls them to their conven- 
ticles, which is done in a human voice, but coming forth, 
they find him in the shape of a great buck goat, upon whom 
they ride to their meetings, Delr. Disq. Mag. quajst. 16. lib. 3. 
And Bod. Dsmnn. lib. 2. cap. 4. have both the same relation 
from Paiilus Grillandus, of a ^\itch. Adveniente nocte et 
hora evocabatur voce quadam velut humana ab ipso Doemone, 
quern non vocant Dcemonem, sed Magisterulum, alia; Magis- 
trum Maitinettum, sivo Martinellum. Quas sic evocata, 
niox sumebat pyxidem unctionis et linebat corpus suum in 
quibusdam partibus et inembris, quo linito exibat ex domo. 
et inveniebat JIagisterulum suum in forma hirci illain expec- 
tantem apud ostium, super quo mulier eqiiitabat, et applicara 
solebat fortitcr manus ad crineis, et statim hircus ille ad- 
scendebat per acrera, et brevissimo tempore deferebat ip- 
sara. &.C. 



G81 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



O, now she's come ! 
Let all be dumb. 

At this the Dame ' entered to them, naked-armed, 
bare-footed, her frock tucked, her hair knotted, 
and folded loith vipers ; in her hand a torch 
made of a dead man's arm, lighted, girded icith 
a snake. To whom they all did reverence, and 
she siiake, tittering, hy xoay of question, the end 
wherefore they came."^ 

Dame. Well done, my Hags ! And come we 
fraught with spite, 

To overthrow the glorj' of this uight r 

Holds our great purpose ? 
Hag, Yes. 
Dame. Rut wants there none 

Of our just number ? 

Hags. Call us one by one, 

And then our dame shall see. 
Dame. First, then advance,-' 

My drovi'sy servant, stupid Ignorance, 

KnoAvn by thy scaly vesture ; and bring on 

Thy fearful sister, wild Suspicion, 

[As she names them they come fonoard. 

1 Tliis dame I make to lioar f!ie person of Ate, or Mis- 
chief, (for so I interpret it) out of Homer's description of her, 
'1. A. wlicre he makes her swift to Imrt mankind, strong, 
and sound of her feet ; and Iliad. T. walking upon men's 
heads ; in both places using one and the same phrase to sig- 
nify her power, BXavTi'va' livOpuKovs, Lffidens homines. I 
present her barefooted, and her frock tucked, to make her 
seem more expedite, by Horace's authority, Sat. 8. lib. 1. 
Succinctam vadere palla Canidiam pedibus nudis, passoque 
capillo. But for her hair, I rather respect another place of 
his, Epnd. lib. ode 5. where she appears Canidia brevibus 
iniplicata viperis Crincis, ct incomptura caput. And that of 
Lucan, lib. 6. speaking of Erichtho's attire, 

Discolor, et vario Furialis cultus amictu 
Iiiduitur, vultiisquo aperitur crine rcmoto, 
Et coma vipercis substringitur liorrida scrtis. 
For her torch, see Remig. lib. 9. cap. 3. 

" Which if it had been done either before, or otherwise, 
!iad not been so natural. For to have made themselves their 
own decipherers, and each one to have told upon their en- 
trance what they were, and whither they would, had been a 
piteous hearing, and utterly tnuvorthy any quality of a po- 
em : wherein a writer should always tmst somewhat to the 
capacity of tlie spectator, especially at these spectacles ; 
where men, beside inquiring eyes, are understood to bring 
quick ears, and not those sluggish ones of jjorters and me- 
chanics, that must be bored through at every act with nai'ra- 
tions. 

s In the chaining of these vices, I make as if one link 
produced another, and the Dame were born out of them all, 
so as they might say to her, Sola tencs scelcrum quicquid pos- 
sodimus omnes. Nor will it appear much violenced, if their 
series be considered, when the opposition to all virtue begins 
out of Ignorance, tliat Ignorance begets Suspicion, (for 
Knowledge is ever open and charitable) that Suspicion, Cre- 
dulity, as it is a vice ; for being a virtue, and free, it is oppo- 
•iitB to it: but such as are jealous of themselves, do easily 
credit any thing of others wliom they hate. Out of this Cre-i 
dufitj- springs Falsehood, which begets Slumiur : and that 
of MuiTnar presently grows aialice, which begets Impudence : 
and that Impudence, Slander : that Slander, Execration : 
Execration, Bitterness : Bitterness, Furj- : and Fuiy, Mis- 
chief. Now for the personal presentation of them, the au- 
thority in poetry is imiversal. But in the absolute Claudian, 
there is a particular and eminent place, where the poet not 
only produceth such persons, but almost to a like puipose, 
m Ruf. lib. 1. where AlectO, envious of the tunes, 

infemas ad limina tetra sorores 

Concilium defornie vocat, gloraeraritur in uniim 
Innumerffi pestcs Ercbi, quascunque sinistra 
Nox genuit foetu : nutrix discordia belli, 
Iniperiosa fames, leto vicina senectus, 
Impaticnsque sui morbus, livorque sccundis 
Anxius, et scisso moercns velamine luctus, 
Et timor, ct c<eco pra;ccps audacia vultu : 
with many others, fit to disturb the world, as ours the night. 



Whose eyes do never sleep ; let her knit hands 
"SMth quick Credulity, that next her stands, 
AVho hath but one ear, and that always ope ; 
Two-faced Falsehood follow in the rope ; 
And lead on Murmur, with the cheeks deep 

hung ; 
She, Malice, whetting of her forked tongue ; 
And Malice, Impudence, whose forehead's lost ; 
Let Impudence lead Slander on, to boast 
Her oblique look ; and to her subtle side. 
Thou, black-mouth'd Execration, stand applied ; 
Draw to thee Bitterness, whose pores sweat gall ; 
She, flame-ey'd llagd ; Kage, Mischief. 
Hags. Here we are all. 
Dame, Join now our hearts, we faithful op- 

posites 4 
To Fame and Glory. Let not these bright nights 
Of honor blaze, thus to offend our eyes : 
Shew ourselves truly envious, and let rise 
Our wonted rages : do what may beseem 
Such names, and natures ; Virtue else wiU deem 
Our powers decreas'd, and think us banish'd 

earth, 
No less than heaven. All her antique birth, 
As Justice, Faith, she will restore ; and, bold 
Upon our sloth, retrieve her age of gold. 
We must not let our native manners, thus. 
Corrupt with ease. Ill lives not, but in us. 
I hate to see these fruits of a soft peace, 
And curse the piety gives it such increase. 
Let us disturb it then,^ and blast the light ; 
Mix hell with heaven, and make nature fight 
Within herself ; loose the whole hinge of 

things ; 
And cause the ends run back into their sprin.'^'.s. 

Hags. What our Dame bids us do, 
We are ready for. 

Dame. Then fall to. 
But first relate me,^ what you have sought, 

* Here again by way of irritation, 1 make the dame pur 
sue the purpose of their coming, and discover their natures 
more largely : which had been nothing, if not done as doing 
another thing, but moratio circa vileni patuluraque orhem ; 
than which, the poet cannot know a greater vice ; he being 
that kind of artificer, to whose work is required so miicli 
exactness, as indiffercncy is not tolerable. 

5 These powers of troubling nature, frequently ascribed to 
witches, and challenged by themselves wherever they are 
induced, by Homer, Ovid, TibuUus, Pet. Arbiter, Seneca, 
Lucan, Claudian, to whose authorities I shall refer more 
anon. For the prcsc^it, iiear Socrat. in Apul. de Asin. aureo, 
1. 1. ddscribing Meroe the witch. Saga ct diviiiipotens 
ccelum dcponerc, terram suspcndere, fontes durare, monteia 
diluere, manes sublimare, deos infimare, sidera exlinguere, 
tartarum ipsum illuminare; and I. 2. Byrrhcna to Lucius, 
of Pamphile. Maga primi nominis, et omnis carminis sepul- 
cralis magistra creditur, qua; surculis et lapillis, et id genus 
frivolis inhalatis, oinncm istam lucem mundi sideralis, imia 
tartari et in vetustum chaos mergit : as also this latter of 
Remigius, in his most elegant arguments before his Dicmon- 
olatria. Qua, possit evertere funditus orbeni, Et mancis su- 
peris miscere, ha-c unica cura est. And Lucan. Quarum 
quicquid non creditur, ars est. 

<j This is also solemn in their witchcraft, to be examined, 
either by the devil or their dame, at their meetings, of what 
mischief they have done : and what tliey can confer to a 
future hurt. See M. Philippo Ludwigus Elich. Da;mono- 
magiiE lib. qua;st. 10. But Remigius, in the veiy form, lib. 
1. Dffimonolat. c. 22. CVucmadmodum solent hcri in villicis 
procuratoribus, cum eonim rationes expondunt, segnitiem 
negligentiamque durius castigaio ; ita Dsnion, in suis coini- 
tiis, quod tempus examinandis cnjusque rebus atque 
actionibus ipse constituit, eos pessinie habere consuevit, qui 
nihil afferunt quo se nequiores ac flagitiis cumulatiorea 
doceant. Nee cuiquam adeo iinpuiie est, si i superiore 
conventu nullo so scelere novo obstrinxerit ; sed sempei 



THE ilASQUE OF QUEENS. 



686 



Where you have been, and what you have 
brought. 

\ Hag. I have been all daj', looking aftei' i 
A raven, feeding upon a quarter ; 
And, soon, as she turn'd her beak to the south, 
I snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth. 

2 Hag. I have been gathering wolves' hairs, 
The mad dog's foam, and the adder's ears; 
The spurging of a dead-man's eyes. 
And all since the evening star did rise. 

oportet, qui ^atus esse volet in alinni, novum aliquod 
facinus focisse : and this doth exceedingly solicit them all, 
at such times, lest they should come unprepared. But we 
apply this examination of ours to the particular use; 
whereby, also, we take occasion, not 'only to express the 
thiucfs (as vapors, liquors, herbs, bones, flesh, blood, f;it, and 
such lilse, which are called Media magica) but the rites of 
gathering them, and from what places, reconciling, as near 
as we can, the practice of antiquity to the neoteric, and 
making it fomiliar with our popular witchcraft. 

1 For the gathering pieces of dead flesh, Cornel. Agrip. 
de occult. Philosoph. lib. 3. cap. 42. and lib. 4. cap. ult. 
observes, th.at the use was to call up ghosts .and spirits, 
with a fumigation made of that (and bones of carcasses) 
which I make my witch here, not to cut herseli", but to 
watch tlie raven, as Lucan's Erichtho, lil). G : 

Et quodcunque jacct niula telluro cadaver 
Ante fer.as volncresque sedet: nee carpere membra 
Vult ferro manibusque suis, morsusquo luporum 
Kxpoctat siccis raptura a faucibus artus. 

As if that piece were sweeter which the wolf had bitten, 
Of the raven had pick'd, and more effeotuous : and to do it, 
at her turning to the south, as with the prediction of a 
storm. "Which, though they be but minuter in ceremony, 
being observed, make the actmore dark and full of horrol'. 

2. Spuma canum, lupi crines, nodus hyen», oculi dr.a- 
conum, serpentis membrana, aspidis aures, are all men- 
tioned by tbe ancients in witchcraft. And Lucan particu- 
larly, lib. G. 

Hue quicqiiid foetu genuit natura sinistro 
Miscetur, non spuma canum, quibus uuda timori est, 
Viscera nou lyncis, non duras nodus hyen;e 
Defuit, tfec. 
And Ovid. Metamorph. lib. 7. reckons up others. But for 
the spurging of the eyes, let us retm-n to Lucan, in the 
same book, which piece (as all the rest) is written with 
an admirable height. 

Ast ubi servantur saxis, quibus intimus humor 
Ducitur, et ti-acta durescunt tabe medulke 
Corpora, ttmc omueis avidc desievit in artus, 
Immersitque manus oculis, gaudetquogolatos 
Eiiodisse orbeis, et sicca! pallida rodit 
Excremeuta manus. 

3. Pliny writing of the inandrako, Nat. Hist. 1. 25. c. 13. 
and of the digging it up, hath this ceremony, Cavcnt 
elfossuri contrarium ventum, et tribus circulis ante gladio 
circurascribunt, postea fodiunt ad occasum spectantes. But 
we have later tradition, that tlie forcing of it up is so fatally 
dangerous, as tlic groan kills, and therefore they do it with 
dogs, which I tliink but borrowed from Joscphus's report 
of the root Baaiias, lib. 7. de Bel. Judaic. Howsoever, it 
being so principal an ingredient in their magic, it was fit 
Blie sliould boast, to be tlie plucker up of it lierself. And, 
that the cock did crow, alludes to a prime circumstance in 
their work: for they all confess, tliat r.otbing is ao cross, or 
baleful to them in tlieir nights, as tliat tlio cock should crow 
before tlicj' have done. Which makes that their little mas- 
ters or martinets, whom I have mentioned before, use this 
form in di.-mis-iiig their conventions. Eja, faccssite propere 
hinc omnos, nam jam galli canere incipiuiit. Which I in- 
terpret to be, because that bird is tlie messenger of liglit, 
and so, contrary to their acts of darkness. See Remig. 
Dajmonolat. lib. 1. cap. 4. whore ho quotes that of Apollo- 
ni'is, do umbra Acliillis, Philostr. lib. 4. cap. 5. And Euseb. 
CcBsaricns. in coiifatat. contra Hicrocl. 4. do gallicinio. 

4. I have toiciicd at this before, in my note upon tlie 
first, of the use of gatheruig flesh, bones, and sculls: to 
which I now bring that piece of Apulei'.is, lib. 3. de Asino 
auieo, of Pamphile. Piiusque apparatu solito instruxit 
foralem oflicinani, omne genus aromatis, et ignorabiliter 
lamniis literatis, et infoelicium navium durantibus clavis 



3 Hag. I last night lay all alone 

On the ground, to hear the mandrake groan ; 
And pluck'd him up, though he grew full low 
And, as I had done, the cock did crow. 

4 Ilag. And I have been choosing out this 
From charnel houses, that wore full ; [scull, 
From private grots, and public pits : 

And frighted a sexton out of his wits. 

5 Hag. Under a cradle I did creep, 
By day ; a^ d when the child was asleep, 

defletorum, sepuitnrum etiam cadavemm expositis multw 
admodum membris, hie nares et digit!, illic carnosi clavl 
pendentiura, alibi trucidatorum servatus cruor, et extorta 
dentibus feranini trunca calvaria: And for sucli places, 
Lucan makes his witch to inliabit tliem, lib. G. Desertaque 
busta Incolit, et tumulos expulsis obtinet umbris. 

5. For this rite, see Barthol. de Spina, qua;st. de Strigibus, 
cap. 8. Slal. Malefic, torn. 2. wliere he disputes at large the 
transformation of v/itclies to cats, ajid tlieir sucking both 
tlieir spirits and tlie blood, calling tliem Striges, which 
Godelman, lib. de Lamiis, would have i stridore, et avibus 
foedissiinis ejusdem noininis, which I the rather incline to, 
cut of Ovid's authority. Fast. lib. G. v/here tlie poet 
ascribes to those birds, the same almost that these do 
to the witches. 

Kocte volant, pucrosque petunt nutricis egentcis, 

Et vitiant cunis corpora rapta suis : 
Carpere dicuntur lactentia viscera rostris, 

Et plenum poto sanguine guttur liabent. 

G. Their killing of infants is common, both for confection 
of their ointment (whereto one ingredient is the ftit boiled, 
as I have shewed before out of Paracelsus aiid Porta) as 
also out of a lust to do murder. Spienger in Mai. Malefic. 
reports that a witch, a midwife in the diocese of Basil, con- 
fessed to have killed above forty infants (ever as tliey wero 
new born, with pricking them in the brain with a needle) 
which she had offered to the devil. See the stoiy of the 
tluee witches in Rem. Do'inonola. lib. cap. 3, about the end 
of the chapter. And M. Philippo Ludwigus Eiich. Quaist. 
8. And that it is no new rite, read the practice of Canidia 
Epod. Herat, lib. ode .5. and Lucan, lib. G, whose admirable 
verses I can never be weaiy to transcribe : 

Nee cessant i ccede manus, si sanguine vivo 

Est opus, erunipat jugulo qui primus aperto 

Nee lefuglt ca;des, vivuni si sacra cruorem 

Extaque funerere poscunt trepidantia inenss. 

V'ulnere si ventris, non qutu natura vocabat, 

Extrahitur partus calidis poncndus in aris ; 

Et quoties savis opus est, et fortibus umbris 

Ipsa facit maneis. Honiinum mors omnis in usa est. 

7. The abuse of dead bodies in their witchcraft, both 
Poipbyrio and,Psellus are grave authors of. The one lib. de 
sacrif.' do verb ciiltu. Tlio other lib. de Diemo. which 
Apuleius touclicth too, lib. 2. de Asin. aureo. But Eemigius, 
who deals with later persons, and out of their own mouths, 
Dsmonol. lib. 2. cap. 3. atflnns, Hac et nostra; .-etatis niale- 
ficis hominibus inoris est facere, pra;sertiin sic cuju suppli- 
cio alTecti cadaver exemplo datum est, et in cruccm subla- 
tum. Nam non solum inde sortilegiis suis materiam mutu- 
antur : sed et ab ipsis carnificiniB instrumentis, teste, vin- 
culis, palo, ferramentis. Siquidem iis vulgi etiain opinione 
inesse ad incantationes magicas vim quandam et potostatem. 
And to this place I dare not, out of religion to the divine 
Lucan, but bring his verses from the same book 

Laqueum nodosque nocenteis 
Ore suo riqiit, pcndentia corpora carpsit, 
Abrasitque cnices, percussaque viscera ninibis 
Vulsit, et, incoctas adniisso .sole medullas. 
Insertum manibus chalybem nigranique per artus 
Stillantis tabi saniem, virusque coactuni 
Sustulit. et ncrvo morsus retinente pependit. 

8. These are Canidia's furniture, in Hora.Epod. lib. ode 5. 
Et uncta turpis ova rana; sanguine, pluraanque nocturniB 
strigis. And part of Medea's confection in Ovid. Meta- 
morph. lib. 7. Strigis infaraes, ipsiscum carnibus, alas. That 
of the skin (to make a purse for her fly) was meant ridicu- 
lous, to mock the keeping of their familiars. 

9. Cicuta, hyoscyamus, ophioglosson, solanum, martagon, 
doronicum, aconitum, are the common venefical ingredients 
remembered by Paracelsus, Porta, Agrippa, and others , 
which I make her to have gathered, as about a casde 



68G 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



At night, I suck'd the breath ; and rose, 
And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose. 

6 Hag. I had a dagger : what did I with that r 
Kill'd an infant to have his fat. 

A piper it got, at a church- ale, 

I bade him again blow wind in the tail. 

7 Ilag. A murderer, yonder, was hung in 

chains, 
The sun and the wind had shrunk his veins ; 
I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his hair, 
I brought off his rags that danced in the air. 

8 Ilag, The screech-owl's eggs, and the feath- 

ers black. 
The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back, 
I have been getting ; and made of his skin 
A pursct, to keep sir Cranion in. 

9 Hag. And I have been plucking, plants 
Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue, [among, 
Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's-bane ; 

And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en. 

10 Hag. I, from the jaws of a gardener's bitch. 
Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the 
Yet went I back to the house again, [ditch : 
Kill'd the black cat, and here's the brain. 

11 Ilaq. I went to the toad breeds under the 

wall, 
I charm'd-him out, and he came at my call ; 
I scratch'd out the eyes of the owl before, 
I tore the bat's Aving ; what would you have 

more ? 
Dame. Yes, I have brought, to help our vows, 
Horned poppy, cj'press boughs, 
The fig-tree wild that grows on tombs. 
And juice that from the larch-tree comes, 
The basilisk's blood, and the viper's skin : 
And now our orgies let us bc2;in. 



church, or some vast building (kept bj- dogs) among ruins 
and wild heaps. 

10. Ossaab ore rapta jejuna; canis, Horace gives Canidia, 
in the place before quoted. Which jejunro, I rather change 
to gardener's, as iuiagining such persons to keep mastitfs 
for the defence of their grounds, whither this hag might 
also go for simples : where, meeting with the bones, and 
not content with them, she AAOuld yet do a domestic hurt, 
in getting the cat's brains : which is another special ingre- 
dient ; and of so much more efficacy, by how mucli blacker 
the cat is, if you will credit Agr. Cap. de Suffitibus. 

11. These also, both by the confessions of witches, and 
testimony of writers, are of principal use in their witchcraft. 
The toad nicntinniMl in Virg. Gcor. lib. 1. Inventusque canis 
Bufo. Which by Pliny is called Rubcta, Nat. Hist. 1. 32. c. 5. 
and there celebrated for the force in magic. Juvenal toucheth 
at it twice witliin my memoiy, Satyr. 1. and 6 ; and of the 
owl's eyes, see Corn. Agrip. de occult. Philosoph. 1. 1. c. 15. 
As of the bat's blood and wings there : and in the 25th 
chapter with Bapt. Porta, 1. 2. c. 26. 

19. After all their boasted labors, and plenty of materials, 
as they imagine, I make the dame not only to add more, but 
stranger, and out of their means to get, (except the first, 
Papaver cornutum, which I have touch'd at in the confec- 
tion,) as Sepulchris caprificos erutas, et cupressos funebrei% 
as Uoracc calls them, where he arms Canidia, Epod.lib. ode 
5. Then Agaricum Laricis, of which see Porta, lib. 2. de 
Nat. Mag. against Pliny. And Basilisci, quern et Satumi 
Banguineni vocant venifici, tantasque vires habere ferunt. 
Cor. Agrip. de occult. Philos. 1. 1. c. 42. With the viper re- 
raenibcrcd by Lucan ; lib. 6. and the skins of serpents. 

Innataque rubris 
if.quoribus custos pretius;c vipera conchoe, 
Aut viventis adhuo Lybicie mcmbrana ccrasta;. 

And Ovid lib 7. 

Npc defuit illis 
Siiuamea ciniplici tenuis mcmbrana chelydri. 



Here the Dame put herself in the midst of them, 
and began her following Invocation /' 
You ^ fiends and furies (if yet maj' be 
Worse than ourselves) you that have quaked to 
see [charm' d. 

These ' knots untied, and shrunk, when we have 
You, that to arm us, have yourselves disarm'd. 
And to our powers resign' d your whips and 
brands [lands. 

AVhen we went forth, the scourge of men and 
You that have seen me ride, when Hecate 
Durst not take chariot ; when the boisterous sea, 
Without a breath of wind, hath knock'd the 
sky ; [why : 

And that hath ihundered, Jove not knowing 
When we have set tlie elements at wars, 
Made midnight see the sun, and day the stars ; 
When the wing'd lightning, in the course hath 

staid ; 
And swiftest rivers have run back, afraid. 
To see the corn remove, the groves to range. 
Whole places alter, and the seasons change ; 
When the pale moon, at the first voice down foil 
Poison'd, and durst not stay the second spell. 
Y'ou, that have oft been conscious of these sights • 
And thou,* three-formed star, that on these 

nights 
Art only powerful, to whose trijile name [same ; 
Thus we incline, once, twice, and thrice the 
If nov/ with rites profane, and foul enough, 
We do invoke thee ; darken all this roof. 
With present fogs : exhale earth's rot'ncst va- 
pors, [tapers. 
And strike a blindness through those blazing 
Come, lot a murmuring charm resound, 
The whilst Ave ^ bury all i' the ground 
But first, see every ^ foot be bare ; 
And every knee. 



1 WHierein she took occasion to boast all the power at- 
tributed to witches by the ancients, of which every poet (or 
the most) do give some : Homer to Circe, in the Odyss 
Theocritus to Simatha, in Pharmaceutria ; Virgil to Alphesi 
bajus, in his Eclogue, Ovid to Dipsas, in Amor, to Medea 
and Circe, in flletamorph. Tibullus to Saga ; Horace to 
Canidia, Sagana, Veia, Folia ; Seneca to Medea, and the 
nurse, in Here. CEte. Petr. Arbiter to liis Saga, in Frag, and 
Clandian to Megajra, lib. 1. in Rufinum ; Avho takes the 
habit of a Avitch, as they do, and supplies that historical 
part in the poem, beside her moral person of a Fuiy ; con- 
tirming the same drift in ours. 

2 These invocations are solemn Avith them, Avhcrcof Ave 
may see the forms in Ovid. JMetam. lib. 7. in Sen. Trag. 
Wed. in Luc. lib. 0. which of all is the boldest and most 
horrid, beginning, Eumenides, Stygiumque nefas, ptEna;que 
nocentum, &c. 

3 The untying of their knots is, when they are going to 
some fatal business ; Sagana is presented by Horace ; E.\i)e- 
dita, per totum donmm spargens Avcrnale is aquas, liorret 
capillis ut marinus asperis echinus, aut currens aper. 

* Hecate,-Avho is called Trivia, and Triformis, of whom 
Virgil, ^neid. lib. 4. Tergeminamque Hecaten, tria Virginia 
ora Diana;. She was believed to govern in witchcraft ; and 
is remembered in all their invocations : see Theocr. in 
Pharmaceut. %ai/)' 'Ex-iira SaaTrXrjrt, and Aledea in Senec. 
Jleis vocata sacris noctinm sidus veni, pessimos induta 
vultus : fronte non una minax. And Ericht. in Luc. Perse- 
phone, nostra;que Hecatis pars ultima, &c. 

5 This rite of burying their materials is often confessed in 
Remigius, and described amply in Hor. Sat. 8. lib. 1. Utque 
liipi barbam A-aria; cum dente colubroe abdiderint furtiRl 
terris, &c. 

*> The ceremony also, of baring their feet, is expressed by 
Ovid. Mctamoiph. lib. 7. as of their hair : 

Egreditur tectis vestes induta recinctas, 
Nuda pedem, nudos humeris infusa capillos. 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



68 Y 



Hag Yes, Dame, they are. 

4 Charm Deep,i O deep we lay tliee to sleep ; 

V\^e leave tliee drink by, if tliou cliaiice to be dry; 
Both milk and blood, tlie dew and tlie flood. 
We breathe in thy bed, at the foot and the head ; 
We cover tlieo warm, that thou take no harm : 
And when thou dost wake, 

Dame earth shall quake. 
And the houses shake. 
And her belly shall ake. 
As her back were brake. 
Such a birth to make. 
As is the blue dralie : 
Whose form thou shall take. 

Dame. Never a star yet shot ! 
Where be the ashes ? 

Hag. Here in the pot. 

Dame. ^ Cast them up ; and the flint-stone 
Over the left shoulder bone ; 
Into the west. 

Hag. It will be best. 

5 Charm. The sticks are across, there can be no loss. 
The sage is rotten, the sulphur is gotten 
Up to the sky, that was m the ground. 
Follow it then with our rattles, round ; 
Uiider the bramble, over the brier, 
A little more heat will set it on tire : 
Put it in mind to do it kind, 
Blow water and blow wind. 
Rouncy is over, Robbie is under, 
A flash of light, and a clap of thunder, 
A storm of rain, another of hail. 
We all must home in the egg-shell sail ; 
The mast is made of a grea't pin. 
The tackle of cobweb, the sail as tliin. 
And if we go through and not fall in 

And Ilorat. ibid. Pedibus luidis passoque capillo. And 
Senec. in tragccd. Med. Tibi more gcntis, vinculo solvens 
comani, sccrcta nudo nemora lustravi pede. 

1 Here tliey s]ieak, as if they were creating some new 
feature, which the devil persuades them to be able to do 
often, by the pronouncing of words and pouring out of 
liquors on the earth. Hear what Agrippa says, De occul. 
Phil. lib. 4, near the end. In evocationibus umbrarum fumi- 
garnus cum sanguine recenti, ciun ossibus mortuorum, et 
carno, cum ovis, lacte, melle, oleo, et similibus, qu;e aptum 
medium tribuunt animabus, ad sumenda corpora ; and a 
little before. Namque animae cognitis niediis, per qua 
quoiulam corporibus suis conjungebantur, per similes va- 
pores, liquorcs, nidoresque facile alliciuntur. Which doc- 
trine he had from Apuleius, without all doubt or question, 
wlio in lib. 3, de Asin. auroe, publisheth the same. Tunc 
decantatis spirantibus tibris litatvario latice; nunc rore fon- 
taiM), nunc lacte vaccino, nunc melle montano, libet et mulsi. 
Sic illos capiUas in niutuos nexus obditos, atque nodatos, 
(,uin niultis (idoribus dat vivis carbonibus adolendos. Tiuic 
(irotinus incxpugnabili magicte disciplinie pntestate, et coeca 
numinum coactorum violentia ilia corjiora quorum fuma- . 
bant stridentes capilli, spiritum m\itiiantur humanum et 
.<cntiunt, et audiunt, et ambulant. Et qua nidor suarum 
dncebat exuviarum veniunt. All which are mere arts of 
iSatan, when either himself will delude them with a false 
form, or troubling a dead body, makes them imagine these 
vanities the means: as, in the ridiculous circumstances that 
follow, he doth daily. 

2 This tlirowing of ashes and sand, with the flint-stone, 
cross sticks, and burying of sage, &c. are all used (and be- 
lieved by them) to the raising of storm and tempest. See 
Reiiii!;. lib. 1. Dcemon. cap. 25. Nider. Formicari. cap. 4. 
Hodin. Da-mon. lib. 2. cap. 8. And hero Codelman. lib. 9. 
cap. 0. Nam quando Diemoni grandines ciendi potestatem 
facit Dcus, tum maleficas instruit ; ut quandoque silices post 
tcrgum in oceidentcm versus projiciant, aliquando ut arenam 
aqua! torrentis in aerem conjiciant, plerumque scopas in 
aquam intingant, coelumquo versus spargunt, vel fossulS. 
facta ot liitio iiifuso, vel aqua digitum moveant : subinde in 
olli |)nrcorinn pilos bulUant, nonnunquam trabes vel lignain 
ripa transvorsi e coUocent, et alia id genus deliramenta effi- 
ciant Aiul when they see the success, they are more con- 
lirmed, as if the event followed their working. The like 
llusion is of their phantasie, in sailing in egg-shells, creep- 
ing tluough auger-holeS; and such like, so vulgar in their 
confcBsioiis. 



Da?ne. ^ Stay, all our charms do nothing Avin 
Upon the night* our labor dies. 
Our magic feature will not rise — 
Nor yet the storm ! avc must repeat 
More direful voices far, and beat 
The ground with vipers, till it sweat. 

C Chann.i Bark dogs, wolves howl, 
Peas roar, woods roll. 
Clouds crack, all be black. 
But the light our charms do mate 

Dame. Not ^-et ! my rage begins to s-wrcll ; 
Darkness, Devils, Night and Hell, 
Do not thus delay my spell. 
I call you once, and I call you twice ; 
I beat you again, if you stay my thrice : • 
Thorough these crannies where I peep, 
I'll let in the light to sec your sleep.* 
And all the secrets of your sway 
Shall lie as open to the day, 
As unto me. Still are you deaf ! 
Reach me a bough," that ne'er bare leaf. 
To strike the air : and Aconite,'^ 
To hurl upon this glaring light ; 
A rusty knife ^ to -wound m.ine arm ; 
And as it drops I'll speak a charm, 
Shall cleave the ground, as low as lies 
Old shrunk-itp Chaos, and let rise, 
Once more, his dark and reeking head, 
To strike the world, and nature dead, , 
Until my masjic birth be bred. 



3 This stop, or interruption slewed the l»etter, by causuig 
that general silence, which made all the following noises, 
inforced in the next charm, more direful, first imitating thai 
of Lucan. Miratur Erichtho H;i3 fatis licuisse moras ; 
irataque niorti Verberat immotum vivo serpente cadaver. 

4 And tlien their barking, howling, hissing, and confu- 
sion of noise expressed by the same author, in the same 
person. 

Tunc vox LethKos cunctis pollentior herbis 
Excantare deos, confundit murmura primum 
Dissona, et humana; multum discordia linguce. 
Latratus hahet ilia canum, gemitusque luporum. 
Quod trepidus bubo, quod strix noctuma queruntur, 
Ciuod strident ululantque feras, quod sibilat anguis 
Exprimit, et planctus illiss cautibus unds, 
Sylvarumque sonum, fractsque tonftma nubis. 
Tot reram vox tma fuit. 

See Rcmig. too, Dsmonolat. lib. I. cap. 19. 

5 This is one of their common menaces, when their magic 
receives the least stop. Hear Erichtho again, ibid. 

Tibi pessime mundi 
Arbiter immittam ruptis Titana cavemis. 
At subito feriere die. 

And a little before to Proserpina : 

Eloquar immenso terrae sub pondere quae te 
Contineant, Emis, dapes, &c. 

6 That wither'd straight, as it shot out, which is called 
ramus feralis, by some, and tristis by Senec. Trag. Med. 

7 A deadly poisonous herb, feigned by Ovid. Metam. lib. 7. 
to spring out of Cerberus's foam. Pliny gives it another 
beginning of name. Nat. Hist. lib. 27. cap. 3. Nascitur 
nudis cautibus, quas aronas vocant, et indeacnnitum dixere, 
nullo juxta ne pulven> ipiidc in imtiionte. Howsoever tho 
juice of it is like tiiat li(|ii(ir wliicli tho devil gives witches to 
sprinkle abroad, and do hurt, in the opinion of all the magic 
masters. 

8 A rusty knife I rather give her, than any other, as fittest 
for such a devilish ceremony, which Seneca miffht mean by 
sacro cultro in the tragedy, where he arms Medea to the 
like rite, (for any thing I know,) Tibi nudato pertore 
Moenas, sacro feriam brachia cultro : manet nostef sanguis 
ad aias. 



1 



688 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



7 Ciarm. Black go in, and blacker come out ; 

At thy going down we give dice a sliout. 
Hoo ! 1 

At thy rising again, thou slialt have two, 
And if tliou dost wliat we would have thee do, 
Thou slialt have three, thou shall have four. 
Thou Shalt have ten, tiiou shall have a score. 
Hoo! Har! Har ! IIoo ! 

8 Charm. A'cloud of pitch, a spur and a switch, 

To haste him away, and a whirlwind play, 
Before and after, with thunder for laughter, 
And storm=! for joy, of the roaring hoy ; 
His head of a drake, his tail of a snake. 

9 Charm. Alinnt, about, and about, 

"JTIU tl!c mists arise, and the lights fly out, 
The images neither be seen, nor felt ; 
The woollen burn, and the waxen melt; 
Sprinkle your liquors upon the ground, 
And into the air; around, around. 

Around, around, 

Around, around. 

Till a music sound,3 

And the pace be found. 

To which we may dance, 

And our charms advance. 

At xoliich, with a strange and sudden music, they 
fell into a mar/ical dance," full of ^^repostei-oiis 
change and gesticulation.* 

In the heat of their dance, on the sudden was heard 
a sound of loud music, as if many instruments 
had made one blast ; with lohich not only the hags 
themselves, but the hell into xchich they ran, quite 
vanished, and the tchole face of the scene altered, 

1 These shouts and clamors, as also the voice har, har, 
are very particular with them, by the testimony of Bodin, 
Remig. Dclrio, and M. Phil. Dudwigus Elich. who out of 
them reports it thus. Tola turba coUuviesqne pessima fes- 
cenninos in honorem D;emonum cantat obscoanissimos : 
ha;c canit Har. Har. Ilia, Diabole, Diabole, salta hue, salta 
illuc; altera, Lude hie, hide illic; alia, Sabaoth, sabaoth, 
&c. Imo clamoribuS; sibilis, ululatibus, popysmis furit, ac 
debacchatur: pulveribus, vel venenis acccptis, quae homi- 
nilnis pccudibusque spargant. 

2 Nor do they want music, and in a strange manner 
given them by the devil, if we credit their confessions in 
Reinig. Deem. lib. 1. cap. 10. Such as the Syrbenfean Quires 
were, which Athenfeus remembers out of Clearchus, Deip- 
nos. lib. 15, where every one sung what he would, without 
hearkening to his fi;llow ; like the noise of divers oars, fall- 
ing in the water. But be patient of Remigius's relation. 
Miris modis illic misccntur, ac turbantur omnia, nee ulla 
orationo satis exprimi queat, quim strepant sonis inconditis, 
absurdis, ac discrepantibus. Canil hie Daemon ad til)iam, 
vel verius ad contum, aut baculum aliquod, quod fort6 
humi repcrtum, buccK sen tibiam admovet. Ille pro lyra 
equi calvariam pulsat, ac digilis concrepat. Alius fuste vel 
clavSl graviore quercum tundit, iinde exauditnr sonus, ac 
boalus veluti tympanorum vehenientius pulsatonim. Iii- 
terciniint raucide, et composilo ad litul ninrein clangore 
Dsmones, ipsumqiie cfElum fragosa aridaque voce feriunt. 

3 The manner also of their dancing is confest in Bodin. 
lib. 2. cap. 4. And Remig. lib. 1. cap. 17 and 18. The sum 
of which M. Phil. Lud. Elich. relates thus, in his Dauno- 
nom. qua!St. 10. Tripudiis interdum intersunl facie liberl 
et aperia, interdum obducti larv3,, linteo, cortice, reticulo, 
peplo, vel alio velaminc, ant farrinario excerniculo involutil. 
And a little after. Omnia fiunt ritu absurdissimo, et ab omni 
cnnsuetudine hominum alienissimo, dorsis invicem obvorsis, 
et m orbem junctis manibus, saltando circumeunt perinde 
sua jactantes capita, ut qui ffislro agitantur. Reniigius adds 
out of the confession of Sibylla Morelia, Gyrum semper in 
laevam progredi. Which Pliny observes in the priests of 
Cybele, Nat. Hist. lib. 28. cap. 2. and to be done with groat 
religion. Bodin adds, that they use brooms in their hands, 
with w'.iich we armed our witches; and here we leave 
them. 

* But most applying to their property : who at their meet- 
ings dii all tilings contrary to the custom of men, dancing 
back to back, and hip to hip, their hands joined, and making 
their circles backward, to the left-hand, with strange fan- 
tastic motions of their heads and bodies. All which were 
excellently imitated by the maker of the dance. M. Ilie- 
rome Hcrno, whoso right it is here to be named. 



scarce sujfering the memory of such a thing, 
but in the place of it appeared a glorious and 
magnificent building, figuring the House of 
Fajie, in the top of which were discovered the 
twelve Masquers, sifting upon a throne triumphah 
erected inform of a pyramid, and circled with ah 
store of light. From ichom a person by this timo 
descended, in the furniture of Perseus, and ex- 
23ressing heroic and mascidine Virtue, began it 
speaJi. 

HEROIC VIRTUE. 
So sliould, at Fame's' loud sound, and Yirtue'a 
sight, 
All dark and envious witchcraft fly the light. 
I* did not borrow Hermes' wings, nor nsk 
His crooked sword, nor put on Pluto's casque. 
Nor on mine arm advanced with Pallas' shield, 
(By Avhich my face aversed, in open field 
I slew the Gorgon) for an empty name : 
When Virtue cut off Terror, he gat fame. 
And if, when Fame was gotten, Terror died, 
Vs^hat black Erynnis, or more hellish Pride, 
Durst arm these hags, now she is grown and great, 
To think they could her glories once defeat ? 
I was her parent, and I am her strength. 
Heroic Virtue sinks not under length 
Of years, or ages ; but is still the same, 
While he preserves, as when he got good fame. 
My daughter, then, whose glorious house you see 
Built all of sounding brass, whose columns be 
ilen-making poets, and those well-made men. 
Whose strife it was to have the happiest pen 
Kenown them to an after-life, and not 
"With pride to scorn the muse, and die forgot ; 
She, that enquireth into all the world, 
And hath about her vaulted palace hurled 
All rumors and reports, or true or vain, 
What utmost lands, or deepest seas contain, 
But only hangs great actions on her file ; 
She, to this lesser world, and greatest isle. 
To-night sounds honor, which she would have 

seen 
In yond' bright bevy, each of them a queen. 
Eleven of them are of times long gone. 
^ Penthesilea,' the bravo Amazon, 



5 The ancients expressed a brave and masculine virtue 
in three figures (of Hercules, Perseus, and Bel!ero])hon.) 
Of wliich wo choose that of Perseus, armed as we have do- 
, scribed him out of Hesiod. Scut. Here. See Apollodor. tlie 
grammarian, lib. 2. de Perseo. 

And here w« cannot but take the opportunity to make 
some more particular description of their scene, as also of 
the persons they presented ; which, though they were dis- 
posed rather by chance, than election, yet it is my part to 
justify them all : and then the lady that will ov.'n' her pre- 
sentation, may. 

7 To follow, therefore, the nile of chronology, which I 
have observed in my verse, tl;o most upward in time was 
Penthesilea. She was queen of the Amazons, and suc- 
ceeded Olrera, or ^as some will) Orithya ; she lived and was 
present at the seige of Troy, on their part, against the 
Greeks, and (as Justin gives her testimony) Inter fortissimos 
viros, magna ejus virlutis documenta extitere. She is no 
where named but with the preface of honor and virtue ; and 
is always advanced in the head of the worthiest women. 
Diodorus Siculus * makes her the daughter of IMars. She w.aa 
honored in her death to have it tlie act of Achilles. Of 
which Propertius f sings this triumph to her beauty, 

Aurea cui poslquam nudavll cassida froiitcm, 
Vicit victorem Candida forma virum. 



* Hist. lib. 2. 



t Lib. 3. eleg. 10. 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



689 



Swift-foot C.uiiLLA,' queen of Volscia, 
Victorious Tiioiiyius " of Scj'thia, 
Chaste Artemisia,^ the Carian dame, 
And fair-hair'd Beroxice,* Egypt's fame, 
Hypsicratea,^ glory of Asia, 

1 Next foUovvs Camilla, queen of the Volscians, celebra- 
ted by Virgil,* than whose verses nothins can be imagined 
more exquisite, or more honoring tlio person they describe. 
They are these, where he reckons up those that came on 
Turnus's part, against ^neas : 

Hos super advcnit Volsca de gente Camilla, 
Agmen agcns equitum, et florenteis a? re catervas, 
Belhitrix. Non ilia colo, calathisvo Minerva; : 
Fceraincas assueta manus, sod pra^Iia virgo 
Dura pati, cursuque pedum pra;vertcrc ventos. 
Ilia vel intacta; segetis per sumnia volarct - 
Gramina, nee teneras cnrsu liesissct aristas : 
Vel mare per medium fluctu suspensa tumenti, 
Ferret iter, celoris nee tingerct aiquore plantas. 

And afterwards tells her attire and arms, with the admira- 
tion that the spectatcrs had of her. All which, if the poet 
created out of him-;clf, without nature, he did but shew how 
much so divine a sunt could exceed her. 

- The third lived in the age of Cyrus, the great Persian 
monarch, and made him leave to live, Thomyris, queen of 
the Scythians, or Massagets. A heroine of a most invinci- 
ble and unbroken fortitude: who, when Cyrus had invaded 
hor, and taking hor o3ily son, (rather by treachery than war, 
as she objected,) had slain him ; not touched with the grief 
of so great a loss, in the juster comfort she took of a great 
revenge, pursued not only the occasion and honor of con- 
quering so potent an enemy, with whom fell two hundred 
thousand soldiers : but (what was right memorable in her 
victory) left not a messenger surviving of his side to report 
the massacre. She is remembered both by Herodotus,t and 
Justin, J to the great renown and glory of her kind, with this 
elogy: — Quod potentissimo Persarum Monarch^ hello con- 
gressa isst, ip?umq\ie et vita et castris spoliavit, ad juste ul- 
ciscendum fiUi ejus indignissimam mortem. 

'•> The fourth was honored to life in time of Xerxes, and 
was present at his great expedition into Greece ; Artemisia, 
the queen of Caria : whose virtue Herodotus,^ not without 
some wonder, records. That a woman, a queen, without a 
husband, her son a ward, and she administering the govern- 
ment, occasioned by no necessity, but a mere excellence of 
spirit, should embark herself for such a war : and there so 
to behave her, as Xerxes, beholding her fight, should say : 
— Viri quidem extiternnt inihi feminie, femins autem viri. || 
She is no less renowned for her chastity, and love to her 
husband MausoIus,5r whose bones (-.'.fter he was dead) she 
preserved in ashes, and drank in wine, making herself his 
tomb; and yet built to his memoiy a monument, deserving 
a place among the seven wonders of the world, which could 
not be done by less than a wonder of women. 

* The fifth was the fair-haired daughter of Ptolom^us 
Philadelphus, by the elder Arsinoe ; who, married to her 
brother Ptnlomaius, surnamed Evergetes, was after queen of 
Egj'pt. I find her written both Beronice and Berenice. 
This lady, upon an expedition of her new-wedded lord into 
Assyria, vowed to Venus if he returned safe, and conquer- 
or, the ofTering of her hair : which vow of her's (exacted 
by the success) she afteru'ard performed. But her father 
missing it, and therewith displeased, Conon, a mathemati- 
cian, who was tlien in household with Ptolomy, and knew 
well to flatter him, iiersuadcd the king that it was taken up 
to heaven, and made a constellation ; shewing him those 
seven stars, ad caudam Lennis, which are since called Coma 
Berenices. Which story then presently celebrated by Calli- 
machus, in a most elegant pneni, Catullus more elegantly 
converted: wherein llioy call lier tlic masnauinious even 
from a virgin : Alluding (as ilyginus ** says) to a rescue she 
made of her father in his flight, and restoring the courage 
and honor of his army, even to a victory. Their words are, 
Cognoram a. parva virgme magnaniinam.ft 
5 The sixth, that famous wife of Mithridates, and queen 
of Pontus, HypsicRATEA, no less an example of virtue than 



* y^neid. lib. 7. 

t In Clio. 

t Epit. lib. 1. 

^ In Poly hymn. 

II Herod, in Urania. 

If Val. Max. lib. 4. cap. R. and A. Gel. lib. IC. cap ,8 

** Astronom. lib. 2. in Loo. 

It CiUul. de Coma Beronic. 



Candace,® pride of Ethiopia, 

The Britain honor, Voadicea,^ 

The virtuous Pahnyrcne, Zexobia.s 

The wise and warlike Goth, Amalasunta,' 

the rest : who so loved her husband, as she was assistant to 
him in all labors and hazard of the war, in a masculine 
habit. For which cause (as Valerius Maximus* observes) 
she departeil with the chief ornament of her beauty. Ton- 
sis cnim capillis, equo se et armis assuefecit, quo facilius la 
boribus et periculis ejus intcresset. And afterward, in hia 
flight from Pompey, accompanied his misfortune, with a 
mind and body equally unwearied. She is so solemnly reg 
istered by that grave author, as a notable precedent of mar- 
riage loyalty and love : virtues that might raise a mean per- 
son to equality with a queen ; but a queen to the state and 
honor of a deity. 

The seventh, that renown of Ethiopia, Candace : from 
whose excellency the succeeding queens of that nation were 
ambitious to be called so. A woman of a most haughty 
spirit against enemies, and a singular affection to her sub- 
jects. I find her celebrated by Dion,t and Pliny,^ invading 
Egypt in the time of Augustus ; who, though she were en- 
forced to a peace by his lieutenant Pctronius, doth not the 
less worthily hold her place here ; when evciy where tliis 
elogy remains of her fame : that she was maximi animi mu- 
licr, tantique in siios niereti, ut omnes deinceps ^thinpium 
reginaj ejus nomine fuerint appellatie. She governed in ftlcroe. 

7 The eighth, our own honor, Voadicea, or Boadicea ; 
by some Bunduica, and Bunduca, queen of the Iceni, a peo- 
ple that inhabited that part of our island which was called 
East-Anglia, aqd comprehended Suffolk, Norfolk, Cam 
bridge, and Huntingdon shires. Since she was born here at 
home, we will first honor her with a home-born testimony 
from the grave and diligent Spenser : $ 

Bunduca Britoness, 

Bunduca, that victorious conqueress. 

That lifting up her brave heroic thought 

'Bove woman's weakness, with the Romans fought , 

Fought, and in field against them thrice prevail'd, &c. 

To which see her orations in story, made by Tacitus || and 
Dion: IT wherein is expressed all magnitude of a spirit, 
breathing to the'liherty and redemption of her country 
The latter of whom, doth honest her beside with a particu 
lar description : — Bunduica Britannica foemina, orta 
slirpe regia, quse non solum eis cum magna dignitate \yrx 
fait, sed etiam bellum omne administravit ; cujus aniraa 
virilis potius quam inuliehris erat. And afterwards, Foemina, 
forma honestissima, vultu severo, &c. All which doth 
wciiili the more to her true praise, in coming from the mouths 
of Romans, and enemies. She lived in the time of Nero. 

8 The ninth, in time, but equal in fame, and (the cause 
of it) virtue, was the chaste Zenobia, queen of the Pal 
myrcnes, who, after the death of her husband Odenatus, 
had the name to be reckoned among the thirty that usurped 
the Roman empire from Galienus. She continued a long 
and brave war against several chiefs ; and was at length 
triumphed on by Aurelian : but, ea specie, ut nihil poiiipa- 
bilius. P. Rom. videretur. Her chastity was such, ut ne 
virum suum quidem aciret, nisi tentatis conceptionibus. She 
lived in a most royal manner, and was adored after the 
custom of the Persians. When she made orations to her sol- 
diers, she had always her casque on. A woman of a most 
divine spirit, and incredible beauty. In Trebellius Pol- 
lid'^' * read the most notable description of a queen and 
her, that can be uttered with the dignity of an historian. 

9 The tenth, succeeding, was that learned and heroic 
Amalasunta, queen of the Ostrogoths, daughter to Theo- 
doric, that obtained the principality of Ravenna and almost 
all Italy. She drave the Burgundians and Ahnaines out of 
Liguria, and appeared in her government rather an example 
than a second. She was the most eloquent of her age, am' 
cunning in all languages of any nation that had commerce 
with the Roman empire. It is recorded of her,tt that Sine 
veneratione earn viderit nemo, pro miraculo fuerit ipsam 
audire loquentem. Tantaque illi in discernendo gravitas, ut 
criminis convicti, cum plecterentur, nihil sibi acerbum pati 
vidercntur. ^ 

* Lib. 4. cap. C. de amor, conjug. 
t Hist. Rom. lib. 54. 
t Nat. Hist. lib. 6. cap. 29. 
^ Annal. lib. 14. 
11 Ruins of Time. 
ir Epit. Joan. Xiphilin. in Ner. 
** In trigin. Tyrann. 

ft M. Anton. Cocci. Sabel (out of Cassiod.) Ennead 
lib. 3. 



690 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



The bold Valasca' of Bohemia ; 

These, in their lives, as fortunes, crown'd the 

choice 
Of womankind, and 'gainst all opposite voice 
Made good to time, had, after death, the claim 
To live etcrniz'd in the House of Fame. 
Where hourly hearing (as -what there is old ?) 
The glories of Bel-anna^ so well told, 
Queen of the Ocean ; how that she alone 
Possest all virtues, for which one by one 
They were so fam'd : and wanting then a head 
To form that sweet and gracious pyramid 
Wherein they sit, it being the sov'reign place 
Of all that palace, and reserv'd to grace 
The worthiest queen : these, without envy' on 
In life, desired that honor to confer, [her. 

Which, with their death, no other should enjoy. 
She this embracing with a virtuous joy. 
Far from self-love, as humbling all her worth 
To him that gave it, hath again brought forth 
Their names to memory ; and means this night, 
To make them once more visible to light : 
And to that light, from whence her truth of 
Confesseth all the lustre of her merit. {spirit 
To you, most royal and most happy king. 
Of whom Fame's house in every part doth ring 
For every virtiie, but can give no increase : 
Not, though her ioudest trumpet blaze your 

peace. 
Lo you, that cherish every great example 
Contracted in yourself; and being so ample 
A field of honor, cannot but embrace 
A spectacle, so full of love, and grace 
Unto your court : where every princely dame 
Contends to be as bounteous of her fame 
To others, as her life was good to her. 
For by their lives they only did confer 
Good on themselves ; but, by their fame, to 
And every ago, the benefit endures. [yours. 



1 The eleventh was that bravo Bohemian queen, Va- 
lAscA, who, for Iier courage, liad the surname of Bold : that 
to redeem herself and her sex from the tyranny of men, 
which they lived in, under Primislaus, on a ni<rht, and at 
an hour appointed, led on the women to the slaughter of 
their barbarous husbands and lords. And possessing them- 
selves of their liorses, arms, treasure, and places of strength, 
not only ruled the rest, but lived many years after with the 
lil)erty and fortitude of Amazons. Celebrated by Raphael 
Volateranus,* and in an elegant tract of an Italian f in 
Latin, who names himself Pliilalethes, Polytopiensis civis, 
inter prKstantissimas fajminas. 

2 The twelt'tli, and worthy sovereign of all, I make Bel- 
anna, royal queen of the ocean : of wliose dignity and per- 
son, the whole scope of the invention doth speak through- 
cut : which, to offer yovi again here, might but prove otfence 
to that sacred modesty, which liears any testimony of others 
iterated with more delight than her own praise. She being 
placed above the need of such ceremony, and safe in her 
princely virtue, against the good or ill of any witness. The 
name of Bel-anna I devised, to honor hers proper by ; as 
adding to it the attribute of Fair : and is kept by me in all my 
poems, wherein I mention her majesty with any sliadow or 
figure. Of whicl), some may come forth with a longer des- 
tiny than this age commonly gives to the best births, if but 
helped to light by her gracious and ripening favor. 

But here I discern a possible objection, arising against me ; 
to which I must turn : as. How I can bring persons of so 
different ages, to appear properly together? or why (which 
is more unnatural) with Virgil's Mezentius, I join the liv- 
ing with the dead ? I answer to both ti-.ese at once. Noth- 
ing is more proper ; nothing more natural. For these all 
live, and together, in their fame : and so £ present them. 



In Goograph. 1. 9. 



I Forcia. Qiiajat. 



Here the throne lolierein they sat, being machina 
A-ersatilis, suddenly changed; and m the jylace 
of it appeared Fama bona, as she is described 
(in Iconolog. di Cesare Ripa) attired in tohite, 
loith %ohite toitigs, having a collar of gold about 
her neck, and a heart hanging at it : which Orus 
Apollo, in his hierogl. interprets the note of a 
good Fame. In her right-hand she bore a trum- 
pet, in her left an olive-branch : and for her 
state, it was, as Virgil^ describes her, at the full, 
her feet on the ground, and her head in the 
clouds. She, after the tnusic had done, which 
waited on the turning of the machine, called from 
thence to Heroic Virtue, and spake this folloxoinQ 
speech. 

FAME. 
Virtue, my father and my honor ; thou 
That mad'st me good as great ; and dars't avo-w 
No Fame, for thine but what is perfect : aid. 
To-night, the triumphs of thy white-Aving'd 

maid. 
Do those renowned queens all vitmost rites 
Their states can ask. This is a night of nights. 
In mine own chariots let them, crowned, ride ; 
And mine own birds and beasts, in geers applied 
To draw them forth. Unto the first car tie 
Far-sighted eagles, to note Fame's sharp eye. 
Unto the second, griffons, that design 
SM'iftncss and strength, two other gifts of mine. 
Unto the last, our lions, that imply 
The top of graces, state, and majesty. 
And let those hags be led as captives, bound 
Before their wheels, Avhilst I my trumpet sound. 
At which the loud music sounded as before, to give 
the tnasquers time of descending. 

By this time, imagine the masquers descended ; 
and again mounted into three triumphant char- 



Besides, if I would fly to the all-daring power of poetry, 
where could I not take sanctuary .' or in whose poem .' Fol 
other objections, let the looks and noses of judges hover 
thick ; so they bring tlie brains : or if they do not, I care 
not. Wlicn I suffered it to go abroad, I departed with my 
right : and now, so secure an interpreter I am of my chance, 
that neither praise nor dispraise shall affect me. 

There rests only that we give the description we prom 
ised of the scene, which was the house of Fame. The 
structure and ornament of which (as is profest before) was 
entirely master Jones's invention and design. First, for the 
lower columns, he chose the statues of the most excellent 
poets, as Homer, Virgil, liucan, &c. as being the substantia! 
supporters of Fame. For the upper, Achilles, .(Eneas, 
CiBsar, and those great heroes, which these poets had cele- 
brated. All which stood as in massy gold. Between the 
pillars, underneath, were figured land-battles, sea-fight.?, 
triumphs, loves, sacrifices, and all magnificent subjects of 
honor, in brass, and heightened with silver. In which he 
profest to follow that noble description made by Chaucer of 
the place. Above were sited the masquers, over \^'hosp 
heads he devised two eminent figures of Honor and Virtue 
for the arch. The friezes, both below and above, were 
filled with several-colored lights, like emeralds, rubies, sap- 
phires, carbuncles, &c. the reflex of which, with our lights, 
placed in the concave, upon the masquers' habits, was full 
of glory. These haliits had in them the excellency of all 
device and riches; and were worthily varied by his inven- 
tion, to the nations wJiereof they were queens. Nor are 
these alone his due; but divers oiher accessions to the 
strangeness and beauty of the spectacle : as the hell, the 
fioing about of the chariots, and binding the witches, the 
turning machine, with the presentation of Fame, which I 
willingly acknowledge for him : since it is a virtue planted 
in good natures, tb.'it what respects they wish to obtain 
fViiitfuily from others, they give ingenuously themselves. 
^ ^Eneid. 4. 



THE MASQUE OF QUEENS. 



G91 



iots, ready to come forth. The first foui were 
drawn with eagles, (whereof I gave the reason, 
as of the rest, in Fame's speech) their four 
torch-bearers attending on the chariots sides, 
and four of the hags bound before them. Then 
followed the second, drawn by griffons, with 
their torch-bearers, and four other hags. Then 
the last, which was drawn by lions, and more 
eminent, (wherein her Majesty was) and had 
six torch-bearers more, peculiar to her, with the 
like number of hags. After which, a full tri- 
umphant music, singing this soxG, while they 
rode in state about the stage : 

Help, Iielp, all tongues, to celebrate this wonder : 
The voice of Fame should be as loud as thunder 
Her liouse is all of echo made, 
Where never dies the sound ; 
And as her.brow the clouds invade, 

Her feet do strike the ground. 
Sing then, good Fame, that's out of Virtue born : 
For, who doth Fame neglect, doth Virtue scorn. 

Here they lighted from their chariots, and 
danced forth their first dance : then a second, 
immediately following it: both right curious, 
and full of subtle and excellent changes, and 
seemed performed with no less . spirits, than 
of those they personated. The first was to the 
cornets, the second to the violins. After which, 
they took out the men, and danced the meas- 
ures ; entertaining the time, almost to the space 
of an hour, Avith singular variety : when, to give 
them rest, from the music which attended the 
chariots, by that most excellent tenor voice, and 
exact singer (her Majesty's servant, master Jo. 
AUin) this ditty was sung : 

VVIien all the ages of the earth 

Were crown'd, but in tliis famous birtli ; 

And that, when they would boast tlicir store 

Of worthy queens, they knew no more : 

How happier is that age, can give 

A queen, in whom all they iIj live . 



After it, succeeded their third dance ; thai; 
which, a more numerous composition could not 
be seen : graphically disposed into letters, and 
honoring the name of the most sweet and inge- 
nious prince, Charles duke of York. AVherein, 
beside that principal grace of perspicuity, the 
motions were so even and apt, and their expres- 
sion so just, as if mathematicians had lost pro- 
portion, they might there have found it. The 
author was master Thomas Giles. After this, 
they danced galliards and corrantos. And then 
their last dance, no less elegant in the place 
than the rest, ^vith which they took their char- 
iots again, and triumphing about the stage, had 
their return to the House of Fame celebrated 
with this last song ; whose notes (as the for- 
mer) were the work and honor of my excellent 
friend, Alfonso Ferrabosco. 

Who, Virtue, can thy power forget, 
That sees these live, and triumph yet ? 
Th' Assyrian pomp, tlie Persian pride, 
Greeks glory, and the Romans' dy'd : 

And who yet imitate 
Their noises tarry the same fate. 

Force greatness all the glorious ways 

You can, it soon decays ; 
But so good Fame shall never : 
Her triumphs, as their causes, are for ever. 



To conclude which, I know no worthier way 
of epilogue, than the celebration of who were 
the celebratcrs. 



The Queen's Majesty. 
The Co. of Arundel. 
The Co. of Derby. 
The Co. of Huntingdon. 
The Co. of Bedford. 
The Co. of BssBx. 



The Co. of Montgomery. 
The Vise, of Cbanborne. 
Tlie La. Eliz. Guilford. 
Tl]e La. Anne Winter. 
The La. Windsor. 
Tlie La. An-'ie (Jliffobb 



THE SPEECHES 



PRINCE HENRY'S BARRIERS 



The Lady of the Lake discovered. 
Lady. A silence, calm as are my waters, meet 
Your rais'd attentions, whilst my silver feet 
Touch on the richer shore ; and to this seat 
Vow my new duties, and mine old repeat. 

Lest any yet should do^rbt, or might mistake 
What nymph I am, behold the ample Lake 
Of which I'm styled ; and near it Merlin's 

tomb. 
Grave of his cunning, as of mine the womb. 

By this it will not ask me to proclaim 
More of myself, whose actions, and whose name 
Were so fuUfeign'din British Arthur's court ; 
No more than it will fit me to report 

What hath before been trusted to otir 'squire 
Of me, mj' knight, his fate, and my desire 
To meet, if not prevent, his destiny, 
And style him to the court of Britany ; 
Now when the island hath regain'd her fame 
Intire, and perfect, in the ancient name. 
And that a monarch equal good and great, 
Wise, temperate, just, and stout, claims Ar- 
thur's SEAT. 
Did I say equal ? too prodigal wrong 
Of my o'er-thirsty and unequal tongue ! 
How brighter far than when our Arthur liv'd. 
Are all the glories of this place reviv'd ! 
What riches do I see ; what beauties here ! 
What awe, Avhat love, what reverence, joy, and 
What ornaments of counsel as of court ! [fear ! 
All that is high, or great, or can comport 
Unto the style of majesty, that knows 
No rival, but itself, this place here Shows. 
Only the hou^se of Chivalry (howe'er 
The inner parts and store be full, yet here 
In that which gentry should sustain) dccay'd. 
Or rather ruin'd seems ; her buildings laid 
Flat with the earth, that were the pride of time. 
And did the barbarous Memphian heaps out- 
climb. 
Those obelisks and columns broke, and down, 
That struck the stars, and rais'd the British 

crown 
To be a constellation : shields and swords, 
Cobwebb'd, and rusty ; not a helm affords 
A sjDark of lustre, Avhich were wont to give 
Light to the world, and made the nation live ; 
When in a day of honor fire M'as smit 
To have put out Vulcan's, and have lasted yet. 
O, when this edifice stood great and high, 
That in the carcase hath such majesty, 
AVhose very skeleton boasts so much worth. 
What grace, what glories did it then send forth ! 
W^hen to the structure went more noble names 
Than the Ephosian temple lost in flames : 



When every stone was laid by virtuous hands ; 
And standing so, — O that it yet not stands ! 
More truth of architecture there was blazed. 
Than liv'd in all the ignorant Gotl^te have razed. 
There porticos were built, and seats for knights 
That Avatch'd for all adventunes, days and nights. 
The niches fill'd with statues to invite 
Young valors forth, by their old forms to fight. 
With arcs triumphal for their actions done. 
Out-striding the Colossus of the Sun. 
And trophies, rear'd of spoiled enemies. 
Whose tops pierc'd through the clouds, and bit 
the skies. 

Arthur discovered as a star above. 

Arth. And thither hath thy voice pierc'd. 
Stand not mazed. 
Thy eyes have here on greater glories gazed, 
And not been frighted. I, thy Arthur, am 
Translated to a star : and of that frame 
Or constellation that was call'd of me 
So long before, as showing what I should be, 
Arcturus, once thy king, and now thy star. 
Such the rewards of all good princes are ! 
Nor let it trouble thy design, fair dame. 
That I am present to it with my flame 
And influence ; since the times are now devolv'd 
That Merlin's mystic prophecies arc absolv'd. 
In Britain's name, the union of this isle. 
And claim both of my sceptre and my style. 

Fair fall his virtue, that doth fill that throne, 
In which I joj', to find myself so' out-shone : 
And for the greater, wish, men should him take, 
As it is nobler to restore than make. 

Proceed in thy great work ; bring forth thy 
knight 
Preserved for his times, that by the might 
And magic of his arm he may restore 
Those ruin'd seats of virtue, and build more- 
Let him be famous, as was Tristram, Tor. 
Launcelot, and all our list of knighthood ; or 
Who were before, or have been since : his name 
Strike upon heaven, and there stick his fame. 
Beyond the paths and searches of the sun. 
Let him tempt fate ; and M'hen a world is won, 
Submit it duly to this state, and throne. 
Till time, and utmost stay make that his own. 

But first receive this shield : Avhcrein is 
wrought 
The truth that he must follow; and (being taught 
The ways from heaven) ought not be despised 
It is a piece, was by the fates devised 
To arm his maiden valor ; and to show 
Defensive arms th' offensive should forego. 
Endow him with it, Lady of the Lake, 
692 



PRINCE HENRY'S BARRIERS. 



693 



And for the other mysteries here, awake 

The learned ^Merlin, when thou- shut'st him 

there, 
Thou buried'st valor too, for letters rear 
The deeds of honor high, and make them live. 
If then thou seek to restore prowess, give 
His spirit freedom ; then present thy night : 
For arms and arts sustain each others right. 

Lachj. INIy error I acknowledge, though too 
To expiate it ; there's no resisting fate. [late 

Arise, great soul ! fame by surreption got 
May stead us for the time, but lasteth not. 

O, do not rise with storm, and rage. \Thundex, 
lightning, S<,c.\ Forgive 
Repented wrongs. I'm cause thou now shalt live 
Eternally, for being deprest awhile, 
Want makes us know the price of what we avile. 

Merlix arising out of the tomb. 

Mer. I neither storm, nor rage ; 'tis earth ; 
blame her 
That feels these motions when great spirits stir : 
She is affrighted, and now chid by heaven, 
Whilst wo walk calmly on, upright and even. 

Call forth the fair Meli.vdus, thy knight, 
They are his fates that make the elements fight. 
And these but usual throes, when time sends 
A wonder or a spectacle of worth. [forth 

At common births the world feels nothing new ; 
At these she shakes ; mankind lives in a few. 

Lady. The heavens, the fates, and thy peculiar 
stars, 
Meliadus, shew thee ! and conclude all jars. 

Meliadxts, and his six assistants here discovered. 

Mer. Ay, now the spheres are in their tunes 
again. 
What place is this so bright that doth renrain 
Yet undemolish'd ? or but late built ? O, 
I read it now ; St. George's portico ! 
The supreme head of all the Avorld, where now 
Knighthood lives honor'd with a crowned brow. 
A noble scone, and fit to show him in 
That must of all worlds fame the garland win. 

Ladij. Does he not sit like Mars, or one that 
The better of him, in his armor clad ? [had 

And those his six assistants, as the pride 
Of the old Grecian heroes had not died ? 
Or like Apollo, rais'd to the world's view, 
Tlie minute after he the Python slew ? 

Mer. 'Tis all too little, Lady, you can speak. 
My thought grows great of him, and fain would 

break. 
Invite him forth, and guide liitn to his tent. 
That I may read this shield his fates present. 

Lady. Glory of knights, and hope of all the 

earth, [birth 

■ Come forth ; your fostress bids ! who from youv 

Hath bred you to this hour, and for this throne ; 

This is the field to make your virtue known. — 

If he were now, he says, to vow his fires 
Of faith, of love, of service, then his 'squires 
Had utter'd nothing for him : but he hopes 
In the first tender of himself, his scopes 
Were so well read, as it Avere no decor'm 
Where truth is studied, there to practise form. 

Mer. No, let his actions speak him ; and this 
shield 



Let down from heaven, that to his youth will 

yield 
Such copy of incitement : not the deeds 
Of antique knights, to eatch their fellows' 

steeds. 
Or ladies palfreys, rescue from the force 
Of a fell giant, or some score to unhorse. 
These were bold stories of our Arthur's age ; 
But here are other acts ; another stage. 
And scene appears ; it is not since as then : 
No giants, dwarfs, or monsters here, but men. 
His arts must be to govern, and give laws 
To peace no less than arms. His fate here draws 
An empire Avith it, and describes each state 
Preceding thci-e, that he should imitate. 

First, fair Meliadus, hath she wrought an isle, 
The happiest of the earth (which, to your style 
In time must add) and in it placed high 
Britain, the only name made Caesar fly. 

Within the nearer parts, as apt, and due 
To your first speculation you may view 
The eye of justice shooting through the land. 
Like a bright planet strengthen' d by the hand, 
Of first, and warlike Edward ; then th' increase 
Of trades and tillage, under laws and peace. 
Begun by him, but settled and promov'd 
By the third hero of his name, Avho lov'd 
To set his own a- work, and not to see 
The fatness of his land a portion be ■ 
For strangers. This was he, erected first 
The trade of clothing, by which art were nurs'd 
Whole millions to his service, and relieved 
So many poor, as since they have believed 
The golden fleece, and need no foreign mine. 
If industry at home do not decline. [here 

To prove which true, observe what treasure 
The wise and seventh Henry heap'd each year, 
To be the strength and sinews of a war, 
AVhcn Mars should thunder, or his peace but jar. 
And here how the eighth Henry, his brave son, 
Builds forts, made general musters, train'd 

youth on 
In exercise of arms, and girt his coast 
With strength ; to which (whose fame no tongue 

can boast 
Up to her worth, though all best tongues be glad 
To name her still) did great Eliza add 
A wall of shipping, and became thereby 
The aid, or fear, of all the nations nigh, [read. 
These, worthiest Prince, arc set you near to 
That civil arts the marshal must precede : 
That laws and trade bring honors in and gain, 
And arms defensive a safe peace maintain. 
But when your fate shall call you forth t' assure 
Your virtue more, though not to make secure, 
Mew here, what great examples she hath placed. 

First, two brave Britain heroes, that were 
graced 
To fight their Savior's battles, and did bring 
Destruction on the faithless ; one a king 
Richard, surnamed with the lion's heart, 
The other Edward, and the first, whose part 
(Then being but prince) it was to load these wars 
In the age after, but with better stars. 
For here though Coeur de Lion like a storm 
Pour on the Saracens, and do perform 
Deeds past an angel, arm'd with wrath and fire. 
Ploughing whole armies up, with zealous ire. 
And walled cities, while he doth defend 



694 



PRINCE HENRY'S BARRIERS. 



That cause that should aU warsbegm and, end ; 
Yet -when with pride, and for humane respect 
The Austrian colors he doth here deject 
With too much scorn, behold at length how fate 
Makes him a wretched prisoner to that state ; 
And leaves him, as a mark of fortune's spight, 
'When jninces tempt their stars beyond their 

light : 
■^Vliilst upright Edward siiincs no less than he, 
Under the wings of golden victory, 
Nor lets out no less rivers of the blood 
Of infidels, but makes the field a flood, 
And marches through it, with St. George's cross. 
Like Israel's host to the Egyptians' loss, 
Through the Red Sea ; the earth beneath him 

cold. 
And quaking such an enemy to behold. 
For which his temper'd zeal, see providence 
Flying in here, and arms him with defence 
Against th' assassinate made upon his life 
By a foul wretch, from Avhom he wrests the 

knife. 
And gives him a just hire : which yet remains 
A warning to great chiefs, to keep their trains 
About them still, and not, to privacy, 
Admit a hand that may use treachery. 

Nearer than these, not for the same high cause. 
Yet for the next (what was his right by laws 
Of nations due) doth fight that Mars of men 
The black prince Edward, 'gainst the French, 

Avho then 
At Cressy field had no more years than you ; 
Here his glad father has him in the view 
As he is entering in the school of war, 
And pours all blessings on him from afar 
That wishes can ; whilst he, that close of day, 
Like a young lion newly taught to prey. 
Invades the herds, so fied the French, and tears 
From the Bohemian crown the plume he wears, 
AVhich after for his crest he did preserve 
To his father's use, with this fit word, I serve. 
.But here at Poictiers he Avas Mars indeed. 
Never did valor with more stream succeed 
Than he had there ; he flow'd out like a sea 
Upon their troops, and left their arms no way : 
Or like a fire carried with liigh winds 
Now broad, and spreading, by and by it finds 
A vent upright, to look which way to burn ; 
Then shoots along again, or round doth turn, 
Till in the circling spoil it hath embraced 
All that stood nigh, or in the reach to waste : 
Such was his rage that day ; but then forgot, 
Soon as his sword was sheath'd, it lasted not, 
After the king, the dauphin, and French peers 
By yielding to him, wisely quit their fears, 
Whom he did use with such humanity, 
As thej' complain'd not of captivity ; 
But here to England without shame came in : 
To be his captives, Avas the next to win. 

Yet rests the other thunderbolt of war, 
Harry the fifth, to whom in face you are 
So like, as fate would have you so in worth, 
Illustrious jDrince. This A'irtue ne'er came forth, 
But Fame grew greater for him, than she did 
For other mortals ; Fate herself did bid 
'I'o save his life : the time it reach' d unto. 
War knew not how to give him enough to do. 
His very name made head against his foes. 
And here at Agincourt, where first it rose. 



It there hangs stiU. a comet over France, 
Striking their malice blind, that dare advance 
A thought against it, lightcn'd by your flame 
That shall succeed him both in deeds and name 

I-could report more actions yet of weight 
Out of this orb, as here of eighty- eight. 
Against the proud Armada, styled by Spain 
Tire Invincible ; that cover' d all the main. 
As if Avhole islands had broke loose, and SAvam, 
Or half of Norway Avith her fir trees came^ 
To join the continents, it Avas so great ; 
Yet by the auspice of Eliza beat : 
That dear-beloved of heaA'cn, Avhom to preserve 
The Avinds Avere call'd to fight, and storms to 

serve. 
One tumor droAvn'd another, billoAVS strove 
T' out-swell ambition, Avater air out-dr.ove : 
Though she not Avanted, on that glorious day. 
An ever-honor'd HoAvard to display 
St. George's ensign ; and of that high race 
A second, both AA-hich plied the fight and chase : 
And sent first bullets, then a fleet of fire. 
Then shot themselves like ordnance ; and a tiro 
Of ships for pieces, through the enemies moon. 
That Avaned before it greAV : and now they soon 
Are rent, spoil'd, scatter' d, tost Avith all disease, 
And for their thirst of Britain drink the seas. 
The fish Avere never better fed than then. 
Although at first they fear'd the blood of men 
Had chang'd their element, and Neptnne shook, 
As if the Thunderer had liis palace took. 

So here in Wales, Low Countries, France and 

Spain, 
You may behold both on the land aiid main, 
The conquest got, the spoils, the trophies rear'd 
By British kings, and such as noblest heard 
Of all the nation, Avhich may make to invite 
Your valor upon need, but not to incite 
Your neighbor princes, give them all their due, 
And be prepared if they Avill trouble you. 
He dotli but scourge himself, his sword that 

draAVS 
Without a purse, a counsel, and a cause. 

But all these spurs to virtue, seeds of praise, 
Must yield to this that comes. Here's one avlU 

raise 
Your glory more, and so above the rest. 
As if the acts of all mankind Avcre prest 
In his example. Here are kingdoms raix'd 
And nations join'd, a strength of empire fix'd 
Conterminate Avith heaven ; the golden A'cin 
Of Saturn's age is here broke out again. 
Henry but join'd the roses, that ensign'd 
Particular families, but this hath join'd 
The rose and thistle, and in them combined 
A union, that shall never be declined. 
Ireland, that more in title, than in fact. 
Before Avas conquer'd, is his laurels act ! 
The wall of shipping by Eliza made, 
Decay'd (as all things subject are to fade) 
He hath new-built, or so restored, that men 
For noble use, prefer it afore then : 
Royal and mighty James, Avhose name shall set 
A goal for all posterity to sweat. 
In running at, by actions hard and high : [fly. 
This is the height at Avhich your thoughts must 
He knows both hoAv to gOA'crn, how to save, 
What subjects, Avhat their contraries should 

have, 



PRINCE HENRY'S BARRIERS. 



695 



What can be done by power, and. what by love, 
What should to mercy, what to justice move : 
All arts he can, and from the hand of Fate 
Hath he enforced the making his own date. 
Within liis proper virtue hath he placed 
His guards 'gainst Fortune, and there fixed fast 
The -wheel of chance, about which kings are 

hurl'd. 
And whose outrageous raptures fill the world. 

Lady. Aj, this is he, Meliadus, whom you 
Must only serve, and give yourself unto ; 
And by your diligent practice to obey 
So wise a master, learn the art of sway. 

INIerlin, advance the shield upon his tent. 
And now prepare, fair knight, to prove the 

event 
Of 5'our bold Challenge. Be your virtues 

steel'd, 
And let your drum give note you keep the field. 

[Dru7n beats. 
— Is this the land of Britain so rcnown'd 
For deeds of arms, or are their hearings drown'd 
That none do answer ? 

Mcr. Stay, methinks I see 
A person in yon cave. Who should that be ? 
I know her ensigns now ; 'tis Chivalry 
Possess' d w'ith sleep, dead as a lethargy : 
If any charm will wake her, 'tis the name 
Of our Meliadus. I'll use his fame. 

Lady, Meliadus, lord of the isles, 
Princely Meliadus, and whom fate now styles 
The fair MeUadus, hath hung his shield 
Upon his tent, and here doth keep the field. 
According to his bold and princely word ; 
And wants employment for his pike and sword. 

Chivalry, com Ing forward. 
Chi. Were it from death, that name would 
wake me. Say, 
Which is the knight ? O, I could gaze a day 
Upon his armor that hath so reviv'd 
My spirits, and tells me that I am long-liv'd 
In his appearance. Break, you rusty doors, 
That have so long been shut, and from the shores 
Of all the world, come, knighthood, like a flood 
Upon those lists, to make the field here good, 



And }^our own honors, that are now call'd forth 
Against the wish of men to prove your worth 1 



THE BARRIERS. 

After xohicli Merlin speaks to the Trmcc. 

Mer. Nay, stay your valor, 'tis a wisdom high 
In princes to use fortune reverently. 
He that in deeds of arms obeys his blood. 
Doth often tempt his destiny beyond good. 
Look on this throne, and in his temper view 
The light of all that must have grace in j-ou : 
His equal justice, upright fortitude 
And settled prudence, with that peace endued 
Of face, as mind, always himself and even. 
So Hercules, and good men bear up heaven. 

I dare not speak his virtues, for the fear 
Of flattering him, they come so nigh and near- 
To Avonders ; yet thus much I prophesy 
Of him and his. All ears your selves apply. 
You, and your other you, great king and 

queen. 
Have }'et the least of your bright fortune seen. 
Which shall rise brighter every hour with time, 
And in your pleasure quite forget the crime 
Of change ; your age's night shall be her noon. 
And this young knight, that now puts forth so 

soon 
Into the world, shall in your names achieve 
More garlands for this state, and shall relieve 
Your cares in governme)it ; while that young 

lord 
Shall second him in arms, and shake a sword 
And lance against the foes of God and you. 
Nor shall less joy your royal hopes pursue 
In that most princely maid, whose form might 

call 
The world to war, and make it hazard all 
His valor for her beauty ; she shall be 
Mother of nations, and her princes see 
Rivals almost to these. Whilst you sit high, 
And led by them, behold your Britain fly 
Beyond the line, when what the seas before 
Did bound, shall to the sky then stretch his 

shore. 



OBEHON", THE FAIRY PRINCE; 



A MASQUE OF PRINCE HENRY'S. 



The first face of the scene appeared all obscure, and 
nothing ^^et'ceived but a dark rock, with trees be- 
yond it, and all loildness that could be p)resented : 
till, at one corner of the cliff, above the horizon, 
the moon began to shew, and rising, a Satyr was 
seen by her light to put forth his head and call. 
1 Sat. Chromis ! ' Mnasil !• ' none appear ? 
See you not who riseth here ? 
You saw Silenus, late, I fear." — 
I'll prove, if this can reach your ear. 
Tie icound his cornet, and thought himself answered ; 
but tvas deceived by the echo. 
O, yoti wake then ! come away. 
Times be short are made for play ; 
The humorous moon too will not stay : — 
What doth make you thus delay ? 
Hath his tankard * touch'd your brain ? 
Sure, they're fallen asleep again : 
Or I doubt it Avas the vain 
Echo, did me entertain, 
Prove again — 
Wound his cornet the second time, and found it.] 
I thought 'twas she ! 
Idle nymph, I pray thee be 
Modest, and not follow me : 
I not love myself, nor thee.* 
Here he toound the third time, and teas ansivered by 
another Satyr, who likewise shewed himself. 
Ay, this sound I better know : 
List ! I would I could hear moe. 
At this they came running forth severally, to the 
number of ten, from divers parts of the rock, 
leaping and making antick actions and gestures ; 
some of them speaking, some admiring : and 

1 They are the names of two young Satyrs, I find in Vir- 
jjil Eclog. 6. that took Silenus sleeping ; who is feigned to be 
the poedagogue of Bacchus : as the Satyrs are his collusores, 
m- play-fellows. So doth Diodor. Siculus, Synesius, Julian, 
in Caesarib. report them. 

2 A proverbial speech, when they will tax one the other 
r.f drinking or sleepiness : alluding to that former place in 
Virgil : 

• Cliromis et Mnasilus in antro 



Silenum, pueri, somno viderejacenteni, 
Inflatum hesterno venas, ut semper, laccho. 

3 Silenus is everywhere made a lover of wine, as in Cy- 
clops Eurip. and known by the notable ensign, his tankard : 
out of the same place of Virgil : Et gravis attrita pendebat 
cantharus ansa. As also out of that famous pieoe of sculp- 
ture, in a little gem or piece of jasper, observed by Mons. 
Casaubon, in his tract de Satyrica Poesi, from Rascasius 
Bagarrius : wherein is described the whole manner of the 
scene, and chori of Bacchus, with Silenus, and the Satyrs. 
An elegant and curious antiquity, both for the subtilty and 
labor: where, in so small a compass, (to use his words) 
there is Eorum, personaruin, actioiuim plane stupenda va- 
netas. 

■• Respecting that known fnhle of Echo's following Nar- 
cissus ; and his self-love. 



amongst them a Silexe, who is ever the prefect 
of the Satyrs, and so presented in all their choit 
and meetings. 

2 Sat. Thank us, and you shall do so. 

3 Sat. Ay, otxr number soon will grow. 

2 Sat. See Silenus ! * 

3 Sat. Cercops too ! 

4 Sat, Yes. AVhat is there now to do ? 

5 Sat. Are there any nymphs to woo ? 
4 Sat. If there be, let me have two."* 

Silen. Chaster language ! ^ These are nights. 
Solemn to the shining rites 
Of the Fairy Prince, and knights ■ 
"SVHiile the moon their orgies lights. 

2 Sat. "Will they come abroad, anon ? 

3 Sat. Shall we see young Oberox ! 

4 Sat. Is he such a princelj'' one. 

As you spake him long agon ? 
Silen. Satyrs, he doth fill with grace 
Every season, every place ; 
Beauty dwells but in his face ; 
He's the height of all our race.* 
Our Pan's father, god of tongue,* 
Bacchus, though he still be young, 

5 In the pomps of Dionysius, or Bacchus, to every coin- 
pany of Satyrs, there was still given a Silene for their over 
seer or governor. And in that which is described by Athe- 
n.-eus in his fifth book. Bini Sileni non semel commcmo- 
rantur, qui totidem plurium Satyrorum gregibus prssint. 
Erant enim eorum epistati, pnEsuIes, et coryphtei, proptet 
grandcm a;tatem. He was also purpureo pallio veslitus cum 
alhis soleis, et petasatus, aureum caduceum parvum ferens. 
Vid. Athence. Dipnos. lib. 6. de pompa Ptolemaic-J. 

6 The nature of the Satyrs tiie wise Horace expressed 
well, in the word, when he called them Risores et Uicaces, 
as the Greek poets, Nonnus, &c. style them tptXoKEfiTOijiovs. 
Nee solum dicaces, sed et jnoni in venerera, et saltatores 
assidiii et credebantur, et fingebantur. 

Unde Satyrica saltatio, qu« ciKiuvig dicebatur, et 4 qua 
Satyri ipsi atKivi/icxTai. Vel k Sicino inventore, vel dTrd 
r/7s Kiiniacios, id est, a motu saltationis satyrorum, qui est 
concitatissimus. 

f But in the Silenes was nothing of this petulance and 
lightness, but, on tlie contraiy, all gravity and profound 
knowledge of most secret mysteries. Insonuich as the most 
learned of poets, Virgil, when he would write a poem of 
the beginnings, and hidden nature of things, with other 
great antiquities, attributed the parts of disputing them, tn 
Silenus, rather than any other. Which whosoever think? 
to be easily, or by chance done by the most prudent writer 
will easily betray his own ignorance or folly. To this, see 
the testimonies of Plato, Synesius, Herodotus, Strabo, Plii 
lostratus, Tertullian, &c. 

8 Among the ancients, the kind, both of the Centaurs and 
Satyrs, is confounded ; and common witi) either. As some 
times the Satyrs are said to come of the Centaurs, and 
again the Centaurs of them. Either of them are Siipnt;, 
but after a diverse manner. And Galen observes out of Hip- 
pocrates, Comment. 3. in 6. Epidemicor. that both tlie 
Athenians and lonians called the Satyrs (pripa;, or <jiripsai, 
which name the Centaurs have with Homer : from whence, 
it were no unlikely conjecture, to think ourvvord Fairies to 
come. Viderint critici. 

3 Mercury, who for tlis love of Penelope, while she was 
keeping her lather Icarius's herds on the mountain Taygo 

696 



THE MASQUE OF OBEROX. 



697 



Pho3bus, when he crowned sung,' 

Nor j\Iars, when first his armor rung,- 
Might with him be named that daj' : 

He is lovelier, than in May 

Is the S2)ring, and there can stay 

As little, as he can decay. 
Omn. O, that lie would come away ! 
3 Sat. Grandsirc, we shall leave to play^ 

"With Lyanis ■* now ; and serve 

Only Oberox. 
Silen. He'll deserve 

All you can, and more, my boys. 
i Sat. Will he give us pretty toys, 

To beguile the girls withal ? 

3 Sat. And to make them quickly fall. 
Silen. Peace, my wantons ! he will do 

More than j'ou can aim unto. 

4 Sat. Will .he build us larger caves ? 
Silen. Yes, and give you ivory staves. 

When you hunt ; and better wine — 

1 Sat. Than the master of the vine ? 

2 Sat. And rich prizes, to be won, 

When we leap, or when we run ? 
1 Sat. Ay, and gild our cloven feet ? 

3 Sat. Strew our heads with powder sweet ? 

1 Sat. Bind our crooked legs in hoops 

Made of shells, with silver loops ? 

2 Sat. Tic about our ta'hmy wrists 

Bracelets of the fairy twists ? 
i Sat. And, to spight the coy nymphs' scorns. 
Hang upon our stubbed horns 
Garlands, ribands, and fine posies — 

3 Sat. Fresh as when the flower discloses ? 

1 Sat. Yes, and stick our pricking ears 

With the pearl that Tethys wears. 

2 Sat. And to answer all things else. 

Trap our shaggj' thighs with bells ; 

That as we do strike a time. 

In our dance shall make a chime — 

3 Sat, Louder than the rattling pipes 

Of the wood gods — 
1 Sat. Or the stripes 

Of the taber ; * when we carry 
Bacchus up, his pomp to vary. 

{as, turned liimsclf into a fair buck-goat ; with whose sports 
and tlattorie:! t lie nymph bein;; taken,he begat on her Pan : who 
was born, Capite cornuto, barhaque ac pedibiis hircinis. As 
Hornet hath it in Hymnis : And Lucian, in dialogo Panis et 
Mercurii. He was called the giver of grace, xa/nJorr/j, 
0rt((5pof, Koi Aei'koj. Hilaris et albus, nitens Cyllenius alis. 
As Bacclms was called ai'Oios, flovidus ; and Hebo, i lanu- 
gine ct inolli astate, semper virens. 

1 Apollo is said, after Jupiter Jiad put Saturn to flight, to 
have sung his father's victory to the harp, Purpurea toga 
decorus, ct laura coronatus, mirificciiue deos onines qui m> 
cubuerant, in coiivivio delcctavisse. Which Tibullus, in 
lib. 2. Elegiar. points to: 

>Sed nitidus, pulcherque veni. Nunc indue vestem 
Purpureani, longas nunc bene necte comas 
Clualem te uiemorant Saturno rege fuguto 
Victoris laudes tunc cecinisse Jovis. 

3 He was then lovely, as being not yet stained with blood, 
and called %/iD(TOJr('|Xf:f "A/jjjs, quasi aureum flagellum (vel 
rectius auream galeain) habens. 

3 In Julius Pollux, lib. 4. cap. 19. in that part, which he 
entitles de satyricis personis, we read, that Silenus is called 
na-TT-os, that is, avus, to note his great age : as amongst the 
eomic persons, the reverenced for their years were called 
jrdTTTTOi : and with Julian in C<es. Bacchus, when he 
speaks him fair, calls him -naTrntSioi'. 

i A name of Bacchus, Lyajus, of freeing men's minds 
from cares : raoa to XiJto, solvo. 

5 Erat solenne Baccho in pompa tcnerorum inoro puero- 
nim gestari k Sileiio, et Satyris, Bacchis prajcedentibus, 



Otnn. 0, that he so long doth tarry ! 
Silen. See ! the rock begins to ope. 

Now you shall enjoy your hope ; 
'Tis about the hour, I know. 
There the loholo scene opened, and within loas dis' 
covered the frontispiece of a bright and glorioia 
palace, tchose gates and walls were transparent, 
Before the gates lag two Syi^vaxs, armed icith 
their clubs, and drest in leaves, asleep. At this 
the Satgrs wondering, Siletius proceeds : 
Silen. Look ! does not his palace show 
Like another sky of lights ? 
Y'onder, with him, live the knights. 
Once, the noblest of the earth. 
Quicken' d by a second birth : 
W^ho, for prowess, arid for truth. 
There are crown'cl with lasting youth : 
And do hold, by Fate's command. 
Seats of bliss in Fairy land. 
But their guards, methinks, do sleep ! 
Let us Avake them. — Sirs, you keep 
Proper watch, that thus do lie 
Drown' d in sloth ! 

1 Sat. They have ne'er an 03-0 

To wake Avithal. 

2 Sat. Nor sense, I fear ; 

For they sleep in either ear.s 

3 Sat. Holla, Sylvans ! — sure they're caved 

Of sleep these, or else they're graves. 

4 Sat. Hear you, friends ! — who keeps tha 

keepers ? 

1 Sat. They are the eighth and ninth sleepers ! 

2 Sat. Shall we cramp them ? 
Sile?i.. Satyrs, no. 

3 Sat. Would we had Boi-eas here, to blow 

Off their heavy coats, and strip them. 

4 Sat. Ay, ay, ay ; that we might whip them 

3 Sat. Or that Ave had a wasp or two 

For their nostrils. 

1 Sat. Hairs Avill do 

Even as well : take my tail. 

2 Sat. What do you say to a good nail 

Through their temples ? 

2 Sat. Or an eel, 

In their guts, to make them feel ? 

4 Sat. Shall Ave steal aAvay their beards ? 

3 Sat. For Pan's goat, that leads the herds ? 
2 Sat. Or try, Avhether is more dead, 

His club, or the other's head ? 
Silen. AVags, no more : you grow too bold. 

1 Sat. I Avould fain noAV see them roU'd 

Down a hill, or from a bridge 
Headlong cast, to break their ridge- 
Bones : or to some river take 'em, 
Plump ; and see if that Avould Avake 'em, 

2 Sat. There no motion yet appears. 
Silen. Strike a charm into their ears. 

At tchich the Satyrs full suddenly into this catch. 

Buz, quoth the bUte fiie, 
Hum, quoth the bee : 

quaruni una semper erat Tyuipanistra, altera Tibicina, &c 
Vide Athena;. 

6 For they sleep \n either ear.] The Latin phrase is, 
In utram\is aurein dorraire ; and means to sleep soundly 
v/ithout any thoughts of care. — Wjial. 

'Jihey had it from the Greek: it is rightly rendered by 
Whalley. 

Et' aii(pOTCpa vv x' 1 '~iK\rjpos ovara 
MtXAti KaOevSrjfrtiv Men. Frag. 



698 



THE MASQUE OF OBERON. 



Biiz and hum they cry, 

And so do we. 
In his ear, in his nose, 

Thus, do you see ? — [They tickle than. 

Ho eat the dormouse ; 

Else it was he. 

The two Si/hans starting tip amazed, and betaking 
thernselves to their arms, icere thus questioned by 
Silenus : 
Silen. How now, Sylvans ! can you wake ? 
.1 commend the care you take 
In your watch ! Is this your guise, 
To have both your ears and eyes 
Seal'd so fast ; as these mine elves 
Mig-hi have stol'n you from yourselves ? 

3 Sat. We had thought we must have got 

Stakes, and heated them red-hot, 
And have bored you through the eyes, 
With the Cyclops,' ere you'd rise. 
2 Sat. Or have fetch'd some trees to heave 
Up your bulks, that so did cleave 
To the ground there. 

4 Sat. Arc you free 

Yet of sleep, and can yon see 

Who is yonder up aloof ? 
1 Sat. Be your eyes yet moon-proof ? 
I Stjl. Satyrs, leave your petulance, 

And go frisk about and dance ; 

Or else rail upon the moon : 

Your expectance is too soon. 

For before the second cock 

Crow, the gates will not unlock ; 

And, till then, we know we keep 

Guard enough, although we sleep. 
I Sat. Say j'ou so ? then let us fall 

To a song, or to a brawl : 

Shall we, grandsire ? Let us sport 

And make expectation short. 
Silen- Do, my wantons, what you please. 

I'll lie down and take mine ease. 
I .Sat. Brothers, sing then, and upbraid, 

As we use yond' seeming maid. 

SONG. . 
Now, my cunning )ady : moon. 
Can you leave the side so soon, 

Of the hoy, you keep so hid ? 
Midwife Juno sure will say, 
This is not the proper way. 

Of your paleness to he itid. 
But, perliaps, it is your jirace 
To wear sickness in your face. 

That there might be wagers laid 

Still, by fools, you are a maid. 

Come, yoiu" clianfes overthrow, 
What your look would carry so ; 

Moon, confess then, what you are, 
And be wise, and free to use 
Pleasures that you now do lose. 

Let us Satjrs have a share. 
Though our iornis be rough and rude, 
Yet o\u- arts uiny bo endued 

With mnre virtue: every one 

Cannot be Endymiou. 

Sere they fill suddenly into an anfich dance full of 
gesture and swift motion, and continued it till the 
crowing of the cock : at tohich they were inter- 
rupted by Silenus. 

Silen. Stay, the cheerful chanticleer 
Tells you that the time is near : — 

1 Vid. Cyc. Euripid. ulii Satiri Ulyssi auxilio sint ad am- 
bureiidura oculum Cyclop e. 



See, the gates already spread ! 

Every Satyr bow his head 

There the xchole palace opened, and the nation of 
Faies were discovered, some loith instruments, 
some bearing lights, others singing ; and within 
afar off in pterspective, the knights masquers sit- 
ting in their several sieges : at the further end of 
all, Oberox, in a chariot, lohich, to a hud tri- 
umphant music, began to move forward, draion by 
two white bears, and on either side guarded by 
three Sylvans, with one going iii front, 

SONG. 

Melt earth to sea, sea flow to air, 

And air fly into fire, 
Whilst we in tunes, to Arthur's chair 

Bear Olieron's desire ; 

Than which there's nothing can bo hinh'r. 
Save James, to whom it flies : 
But he the wonder is of tongues, of ears, of eyes. 

Who hath not heard, who hath not seen, 

Who hatli not sung his name .' 
The soul that hath not, hath not been ; 

But is the very same 

With buried sloth, and knows not fame, 
Which doth him best comprise : 
For he the wonder is of tongues, of ears, of eyes. 

By this time the chariot was come as far forth as 
the face of the scene. And the Satyrs beginning 
to leap, and express their joy for the unused state 
and solemnity, the foremost Sylvan began. to 
speak. 

1 Syl. Give place, and silence ; you v.-ere ruda 

too late ; 
This is a night of greatness, and of state, 
Not to be mixt with light and skipping sport ; 
A night of homage to the British court, 
And ceremony due to Arthur's chair, 
From nnr bright master, Oberox the fair ; 
Who, with these knights, attendants, hero pre- 

serv'd 
In Fairy land, for good they have deserv'd 
Of yond' high throne, are come of right to pay 
Their annual vows ; and all their glories lay 
At's feet, and tender to this only great. 
True majesty, restored in this seat ; 
To whose sole power and magic they do give 
The honor of their being ; that they live 
Sustain'd in form, fame, and felicity, 
From rage of fortune, or the fear to die. 

Silen. And may they M'ell. For this indeed 

is he, [see. 

!My boys, whom you must quake at, when you 
He is above your reach ; and neither doth. 
Nor can he think, within a Satyr's tooth : 
Before his iDrescnce you must fall or fly. 
He is the matter of virtue, and placed high. 
His meditations, to his height, are even : 
And all their issue is akin to heaven. 
He is a god o'er kings ; yet stoops he then 
Nearest a man, when he doth govern men ; 
To teach them by the sweetness of his swaj'. 
And- not by force. He's such a king as they, 
Who're tyrants' subjects, or ne'er tasted peace, 
Would, in their wishes, form for their release. 
'Tis he that stays the time from turning old, 
And keeps the age up in a head of gold. 
That in his own true circle still doth run ; 
And holds his course as certain as the sun. 
He makes it ever day, and ever spring, 



THE MASQUE OF OBERON. 



Where ho doth shine, and quickens every 

thing, 
Like a new nature : so that true to call 
Him, by his title, is to saA% He's all. 

1 Si/L I thank the M'ise Silenus for his praise. 
Stand forth, bright Faies and Elyes, and tune 

your lays 
Unto his name ; then let your nimble feet 
Tread subtile circles, that may ahvaj'S meet 
In point to him ; and figures, to express 
The grace of him and his great emperess. 
That all, that shall to-night behold the rites, 
Pcrform'd by princely Oberon, and these 

knights, 
May, without stoj), point out the proper heir 
Design'd so long to Arthur's crowns and chair. 

SONG 

BY TWO FAIES. 

1 Faie. Seek you majesty, to strike ? 

Bid the world produce Iiis like. 

2 Faie. Seek you glory, to amaze ? 

Here let all eyes stand at gaze. 

Clio. . Seek you wisdom, to inspire 

Touch them at no other's fire 

1 Faie. Seek you knowledge, to direct ? 

Trust to his without suspect. 

2 Faie. Seek you piety, to lead ? 

In his footsteps only tread. 
Clio. Every virtue of a king, 

And of all, in him, we sing. 

Then the lesser Faies dance forth their dance ; 
Avliich ended, a fidl Song follows, by all the 
voices. 

The solemn rites are well begun ; 

And though but lighted by tlie moon. 
They shew as rich, as if the sun 
Had made this night his noon. 
But may none wonder that they are so bright. 
The moon now borrows from a greater light : 
Then, princely Oberon, 

Go on. 
This is not every night. 

Oberon and the knights dance out the first 
masque dance : which was followed with tl.'s 

SONG. 
Nay, nay, 
You must not stay, 
Nor be weary yet ; 
This is no time to cast away 
Or fur Faies so to forget 
TLo virtue of their feet- 



Knotty leg?, and plants of clay, 
Seek for ease, or love delay. 
But with you it still should fare 
As with the air of which you are. 

After which, they danced forth their second 
masque dance, and were again excited by a 

SONG. 

1 Faie. Nor yet, nor yet, O you in this night blest. 

Must you have will, or hope to rest. 

2 Faie. If you use the smallest stay. 

You'll be overta'en by day. 

1 Faie. And these beauties will suspect 

That their forms you do neglect. 
If you do not call them forth. 

2 Faie. Or that you have no more worth 

Than the coarse and countiy Faiiy, 
That duth hamit the hearth, or dairy. 

Then followed the measures, corantos, galliards, 
&c., till Phosphorus the day-star appeared, 
an4 called them away ; but first they were in- 
vited home by one of the Sylvans, with this 

SONG. 
Gentle knights. 

Know some measure of your nights. 
Tell the high-graced Oberon, 
It is time that we were gone 
Here be forms so bright and aiiT, 

And their motions so they vary, 
As they will enchant the Fairy, 

If you longer here should tarry. 

Phos. To rest, to rest ! the herald of the day, 
Bright Phosphorus, commands you hence j obey. 
The moon is pale, and spent'; and winged night 
Makes headlong haste to fly the morning's sight ; 
Who now is rising from her blushing wars. 
And with her rosy hand puts back the stars. 
Of which myself the last, her harbinger. 
But stay to warn you, that you not defer 
Your j^arting longer : then do I give way. 
As Night hath done, and so must you, to Day. 

After this, they danced their last dance into the work 
And loith afidl Song the star vanished, and tM 
%cliole machine closed. 

O yet how early, and before her time. 
The envious morning up doth climb. 

Though she not love her bed ! 
What haste the jealous Sun doth make. 
His fiery horses up to talce. 

And once more shew his head ! 
Lest, taken with the brightuess of this night. 
The world should wish it last, and r.ever misa his ,'ighti 



LOVE FREED FEOM IGNORANCE AND FOLLY; 



A MASQUE OF HER MAJESTY'S. 



So soon as the Klng^s majestij loas set, and in expec- 
tation, there was heard a sti'ange tnusio of loild 
instruments. To lohich a Sphyxx. ' came forth 
dancing, leading Love bound. 

^kynx. Come, sir Tyrant, lordly Love, 

You that awe the gods above, -, 

As their creatures here below, 
With the sceptre call'd your bow ; 
And do all their forces bear 
In the quiver that you wear, 
Whence no sooner you do draAV 
Forth a shaft, but is a law ; 
Now they shall not need to tremble, 
"Wlien you threaten, or dissemble, 
Any more : and, though j'ou see 
Whom to hurt, you have not free 
Will, to act your rage. The bands 
Of your eyes, now tie your hands. 
All the triumphs, all the spoils 
Gotten by your arts, and toils. 
Over foe and over friend. 
O'er your mother, here must end. 
And you now, tliat thought to lay 
The world waste, must be my prey. 

Love. Cruel Sphynx, I rather strive 
How to keep the world alive, 
And uphold it ; without me, 
All again would chaos bo. 
Tell me, monster, what should move 
Thy despight, thus, against Love ? 
Is there nothing fair, and good, 
Nothing bright, but burns thy blood ? 
Still thou art thyself, and made 
All of practice, to invade 
Clearest bosoms. Hath this place 
None will pity Cupid's case ? 
Some soft eye, while I can see 
Who it is that melts for me. 
Weep a fit. Are all eyes here 
Made of marble ? But a tear, 
I Though a false one ; it may make 

Others true compassion take. 
I would tell you all the story 
If I thought you would be sorry, 
And in truth, there's none have reason. 
Like yourselves, to hate the treason. 
For it practis'd was on Beauty, 
Unto whom Love owes all duty. 
Let your favor but affright 
Sphynx here, I shall soon recite 
Every passage, how it was. 

1 By tliis Sphynx was understood Ignorance, who is al- 
way.s the enemy of Love and Beauty, and lies still in wait 
to entrap them. For which Antiquity has given her the 
Upper parts and face of a woman : tiie nether parts of a lion, 
uie wings of an eagle, to shew her fierceness, and swiftness 
to evil, where she ha;th power. 



Sphynx. Do, 111 laugh, or cry, alas ! 

Thinks, poor Love, can ladies' looks 
Save him from the Sphynx's hooks ? 

Love. No ; but these can witness bear 
Of my candor, when they hear 
What thy malice is : or, how 
I became thy captive now : 
And it is no small content, 
Falling, to fall innocent. 

Know then, all you Glories here. 
In the utmost East there were 
Eleven daughters of the morn. 
Ne'er were brighter bevies born, 
Nor more perfect beauties seen. 
The eldest of them was the queen 
Of the Orient,- and 'twas said, 
That she should Avith Phoebus wed. 
For which high-vouchsafed grace, 
He was loved of all their race. 
And they Avould, when he did rise, 
Do him early sacrifice • 

Of the rich and purest gum, 
That from any plant could come : 
And would look at him as far 
As they could discern his car : 
Grieving that they might jiot ever 
See him ; and when night did sevet 
Their aspects, they sat and wept 
Till he came, and never slept : 
Insomuch, that at the length 
Tliis their fervor gat such strength, 
As they would a journey prove, 
By the guard, and aid of Love, 
Hither to the farthest West : 
Where they heard, as in the East, 
He a palace, no less bright, 
Had, to feast in every night 
With the Ocean, Avhere he rested 
Safe, and in all statcf invested. — 

I, that never left the side 
Of the fair, became their guide. 
But behold, no sooner landing 
On this isle," but this commanding 
Monster Sphynx, the enemy 
Of all actions great, and high. 
Knowing, that these rites were done 

2 Tho meaning of this is, that these ladies being the per 
feet issue of beauty, and all worldly grace, were carried by 
Love to celebrate the majesty and wisdom of the king, 
figured in the sun, and seated in these extreme parts of the 
wo-dtl ; \'Kliere they were rudely received by Ignorance, on 
their first approach, to the hazard of their ali'ccfion, it beuig 
her nature to hinder all noble actions ; but that the Love 
which brought them thither, was not willing to forsake 
tliem, no more than they were to abandon it ; yet was it 
enough perplex'd, in that the monster Ignorance still covets 
to enwrap itself in dark and obscure terms and betray that 
way, whereas true Love affects to express itself with all 
clearness and simplicity. 

700 



LOVE FREED FRO:\I FOLLY. 



701 



To the M'isdom of the sun, 
From a cliff sui-prised them all : 
And, though I did humbly fall 
At her lion's feet, and pray'd 
As she had the face of maid, 
That she would compassion take 
Of these ladies, for whose sake 
Love would give himself \ip ; she 
Swift to evil, as you see 
B-f her wings, and hooked hands, 
First did take my offer'd bands, 
Then, to prison of the night 
Did condemn those sisters bright, 
There for CA'cr to remain, 
'Less they could the knot unstram 
Of a riddle, which she put 
Darker, than where thoy are shut : 
Or, from thence, their freedoms prove 
AVith the utter loss of Love. 
They imwilling to forego 
One, who had deserved so 
Of all beauty, in their names; 
Were content to have their flames 
Hid in lasting night, ere I 
Should for them untimely die. 

I, on t'other side as glad 
That I such advantage had, 
To assure them mine, engaged 
AYillingly myself, and waged 
"With the Monster, that if I 
Did her riddle not untie, 
I would freely give my life 
To redeem theni and the strife. 

^phijnx. Have you said, sir ? will you try. 
Now, your known dexterity ? 
You presume upon your arts, 
Of tying, and untying hearts ; 
And it makes you confident : 
But, anon, you will repent. 

Love. No, Sphynx, I do not presume ; 
But some little heart assume 
From my judges here, that sit 
As they would not lose Love yet. 

Uplnjnx. You are pleasant, sir, 'tis good, 

hove. Love docs often change his mood. 

Sphynx. I shall make you sad agen. 

Love. I shall be the sorrier, then. 

Sphi/nx. Come, sir, lend it your best ear. 

Love. I begin t' have half a fear. 

Uphijnx. First, Cupid, you must cast about 
To find a world the world without. 
Wherein what's done, the eye doth do ; 
And is the light and treasure too. 
This eye still moves, and still is fix'd, 
And in the pow'rs thd-eof are mix'd 
Two contraries ; Avhich time, till now, 
Nor fate knew where to join, or how. 
Yet, if you hit the right upon. 
You must resolve these, all, by one. 

Love. Sphynx, you are too quick of tongue : 
Say't again, and take me along. 

Spliynx. I say ; you first must cast about 
To find a world the world without. 

Love. I say, that is already done, 

And is the new world in the moon. 

Sphynx. Cupid, you do cast too far ; 
This world is nearer by a star : 
So much light I'll give you to't. 

Ijove. Without a gl'iss r well, I shall do't. 



Your world's a lady, then : each creatxire 
Human, is a world in feature, 
Is it not ? 

Sphynx. Yes, but find out 

A world you must, the world without. 

Love. Why, if her servant be not here, 
She doth a single woj-ld appear 
.Without her world. 

Sphynx. Well you shall run ! 

Love. Nay, Sphynx, thus far is well begun. 

Sphynx. Wherein what's done, the eye doth do 
And is the light and treasure too. 

Love. That's clear as light ; for wherein lies 
A lady's power but in her eyes ? 
And not alone her grace and power. 
But oftentimes, her wealth and dower. 

Sphynx. I spake but of an eye, not eyes. 

Love. A one-eyed mistress that unties. 

Sphynx. This eye still moves, and still is fix'd. 

Love. A rolling eye, that native there, 

Yet throws her glances every where , 
And being but single, fain would do 
The offices, and arts of two. 

Sphynx, And in the powers thereof are mix'd 
Two contraries. 

Love. That's smiles and tears. 

Or fire and frost ; for either bears 
Resemblance apt. 

Sphynx. Which time, till now. 

Nor fate knew where to jom, or how. — ■ 
How now, Cupid ! at a stay? 
Not another word, to say ? 
Do you find by this, how long 
You have been at fault, and wrong ? 

Love. Sphynx, it is your pride to vex 

Whom you deal with, and perplex 
Things most easy : Ignorance 
Thinks she doth herself advance ; 
If of problems clear, she make 
Riddles, and the sense forsake, 
Which came gentle from the ]Muscs, 
Till her uttering, it abuses. 

Sphynx. Nay, your railing will not save you, 
Cupid, I of right must have you. 
Come my fruitful issue forth. 
Dance, and shew a gladness, worth 
Such a captive, as is Love, 
And your mother's triumph prove. 

Here the Follies, ichich toere twelve she- fools. 
enter and danse. 

Sphynx. Now, go take him up, and bear lum 
To the cliff,' where I will tear him 
Piece-meal, and give each a part 
Of his raw and bleeding heart. 

Love. Ladies, have your looks no power 
To help Love at such an hour ? 
Will you lose him thus ? Adieu ! 
Think, what will become of you. 
Who shall praise you, who admire ? 
AVho shall whisper by the fire 
As you stand, soft tales? .who bring 

you 
Pretty news, in rhymes who sing you .' 

1 This shews, that Love's expositions are not alway;: 
serious, till it be divinely instructed ; and that sometimes it 
niay be in the danger of ignorance and folly, who are the 
mother and issue : for no folly but is born of ignoranr.fi 



702 



LOVE FREED FROM FOLLY. 



Who shall bathe him in the streams 
Of j-our blood, and send you dreams 
Of deUght ? 
SpJvjnx. Away, go bear him 

Hence, they shall no longer hear him. 

Here the Muses priests, in number tioelve, ad- 
vance to his rescue, and sing the SoxG to a meas- 
ure. 

Gentle Love,i be not dismay'd. 

See the Muses pure, and lioly, 

By their priests have sent thee aid 

Against this brood of Folly. 
It is true, that Sphynx their dame 

Had tlie sense first from the Muses 

Which in uttering she doth lame., 

Perplexeth, and abuses. 
But they bid that thou should'st look 

In the brightest face here shining, 

And the same, as would a book. 

Shall help thee in divining. 

Love, 'Tis done ! 'tis done ! I've found it out — 
Britain's the world the world without. 
The king's the eye, as we do call 
The sun the eye of this great all. 
And is the light and treasure too ; 
For 'tis his wisdom all doth do. 
Which still is fixed in his breast, 
Yet still doth move to guide the rest. 
The contraries which time till now 
Nor fate knew where to join, or how, 
Are Majesty and Love ; which there, 
And no Avhere else, have their true sphere. 
Now, Sphynx, I've hit the right upon, 
And do resolve these all by one : 
That is, that you meant Albion. 

Priests. 'Tis true in him, and in no otiier, 
Love, thou art clear absolved. 
Vanish, Follies, with your mother, 

The riddle is resolved. 
Sphynx must fly, when Phosbus shines, 
And to aid of Love inclines. 

[Sphynx retires with the Follies. 

Love. Appear then, you my brighter charge. 
And to light yourselves enlarge, 
To behold that glorious star, 
For whose love you came so far, 
While the monster with her elves, 
Do precipitate themselves. 

Here the Graces enter, and sing this Soxo, croioii- 
ing Cujxid. 

A Crown, a crown for Love's bright head. 
Without whose liappy wit 



1 Here is understood the power of Wisdom in the Muses 
ministers ; by which name all that have tlie spirit of 
prophecy, are styled, and such they are tliat need to en- 
counter Ignorance aad Folly : and are ever ready to assist 
Love in any action of honor and virtue, and inspire him 
with their own soul 



AI! form and beauty had been dead. 

And we had died with it. 
For what are all the graces 
Without good forms, and faces ? 

Then, Love, receive the due reward 
Those Graces have prepar'd. 
Cho. And may no hand, no tongue, no eye 
Thy merit, or their thanks envy. 

Chorus a?id Graces. 

Cho. What gentle forms are these that move, 

To honor Love .' 
Ora. They are the briglit and golden lights 

That grace his nights. 
Cho. And shot from beauty's eyes, 

They look like fair Aurora's streams, 
Gra. They are her fairer daughter's beams, 

Who now doth rise, 
Cho. Then night is lost, or fled away ; 

For where such beauty shines, is ever daji 

The Masque Dance followed. 

Which done, one of the Priests alone sung. 

1 Priest. O what a fault, nay, what a sin 
In fate, or fortune had it been, 
So mtich beauty to have lost ! 
Could tlie world with all her cost 
Have redeem'd it .' 

Cho. No, no, no 
Priest. How so ? 
Cho. it would nature quite undo. 

For losing these, you lost her too. 

The Measures and Revels folloic. 

2 Priest. How near to good is what is fair ! 

Which we no sooner see, 
But with the lines, and outward air 

Our senses taken be. 
We wish to see it still, and prove. 

What ways we may deserve ; 
We court, we praise, we more than love ; 

We are not griev'd to serve. 

The last Masque-Dance. 

And after it, this full 

SONG. 
What just excuse had aged Time, 

His weaiy limbs now to have cased, 
And sate him down without his crime, 

While every thought was so much pleased 
But he so greedy to devour 

His own, and all that he brings forth, 
Is eating every piece of hour 

Some object of the rarest worth. 
Yet this is rescued from his rage. 
As not to die by time, or age : 
For beauty hath a living name, 
And will to heaven, from whence it came. 

Grand Chorus at going out. 

Now, now, gentle Love is free, and beauty blest 
With the sight it so much long'd to see. 
Let us the Muses priests, and Graces go to rest. 

For in them our happy labors be. 
Then, then, * * * music sound, and teach our feet, 

How to move in time, and measure meet : 
Thus should the Muses priests, and Graces go to rest 

Bowing to the sun, throned in t.'ie west. 



\ 



LOVE EESTORED 



IN A MASQUE AT COURT, 



BY GENTLEMEX, THE KING'S SERVANTS. 



I7ie Kmg and Court being seated, and in expectation, 

Enter Masquerado. 

I would I could make them a show myself ! 
In troth, ladies, I pity you all. You are in ex- 
pectation of a device to-night, and I am afraid 
you can do little else but expect it. Though I 
dare not shew my ftice, lean speak truth under 
a vizard. Good faith, an't please your majesty, 
your Masquers are all at a stand ; I cannot 
think your majesty will see any sho^y to-night, 
at least worth your patience. Some two hours 
since, we were in that forwardness, our dances 
learned, our masquing attire on and attired. A 
pretty fine speech was taken iip of the poet too, 
which if he never be paid for now, it's no mat- 
ter : his wit costs him nothing. Unless wo 
should come in like a morrice-dance, and whistle 
our ballad ourselves, I know not what we 
should do : we have neither musician to play 
our tunes, but the wild music here ; and the 
rogue play-boy, that acts Cupid, is got so 
hoarse, your majesty cannot hear him half the 
orcadth of your chair. 

Enter Plutus, as CuriD. 
See, they have thrust him out, at adventure. 
We humbly beseech your majesty to boar with 
us. We had both hope and purpose it should 
have been better, howsoever we are lost in it. 

Flu. What makes this light, feather' d vanity 
here ? awa}', impertinent folly ! Infect not this 
assembly. 

Masq. How, boy ! 

Flu. Thou common corruption of all man- 
ners and places that admit thee. 

Masq. Have you recovered your voice to 
rail at me ? 

Flu. No, vizarded impudence. I am neither 
player nor masquer : but the god himself, whose 
deity is here profaned by thee. Thou, and thy 
like, think yourselves authorized in this place 
to all license of surquedry. But you shall find 
custom hath not so grafted you here, but you 
maj- be rent up, and thrown out as unprofitable 
evils. I tell thee, I will have no more masquing ; 
I will not buy a false and fleeting delight so 
dear : the merry madness of one hour shall not 
cost me the repentance of an age. 

Enter Robix Goodfellow 
Rob. How ! no masque, no masque ? I pray 
you say, are you sure on't? no masque, indeed ! 
What do I here then ? can you tell ? 



Masq. No, faith. 

Rob. Slight, I'll be gone again, and there be 
no masque ; there's a jest. Pray you resolve me, 
Is there any ? or no ? a masque ? 

Flit. Who are you ? 

Rob. Nay, I'll teU you that when I can. Does 
any body know themselves here, tbink you ? I 
would fain know if there be a masque or no. 

Pla. There is none, nor shall be, sir; does 
that satisfy j'ou ? 

Rob. Slight, a fine trick ! a piece of England's 
Joy, this I Are these your court sports ? would 
I had kept me to my gambols o' the country 
still, selling of fish, short service, shoeing the 
Avild mare, or roasting of robin-redbreast. I'hese 
were better, than, after all this time, no masque : 
you look at me. I have recovered myself nov/ 
for you, I am the honest plain country spirit, 
and harmless ; Robin Goodfellow, he that sweeps 
the hearth and the house clean, riddles for 
the country maids, and does all their other 
drudgery, while they are at hot-cockles ; one 
that has discom-sed with your court spirits ere 
now ; but was fain to-night to run a thousand 
hazards to arrive' at this place : never poor gob- 
lin was so put to his shifts to get in to see noth- 
ing. So many thorny difficulties as I have past, 
deserved the best masque ; the wliole shop of 
the revels. I would you would admit some of 
my feats, but I have little hope of that, i'faith, 
you let me in so hardly. 

Flu. Su", here's no place for them nor you. 
Your rude good-fellowship must seek some 
other sphere for your admitty. 

Rob. Nay, so your stifi'-nccked porter told me 
at the gate, but not in so good words. His staff 
spoke somewhat to that boisterous sense : I am 
sure he concluded all in a non-entry, which 
made me e'en climb over the wall, and in by 
the wood-yard, so to the terrace, whore when 
I came, I found the oaks of the guard more iiu 
moved, and one of them, upon whose arm 1 
hung, shoved me off o' the ladder, and dropt 
me down like an acorn. 'T«'as well there was 
not a sow in the verge, I had been eaten up else. 
Then I heard some talk of the carpenters' waj', 
and I attempted that ; but there the Avoode'i 
rogues let a huge trap-door fall on mj' head. If 
I had not been a spirit, I had been mazarded. 
Though I confess I am none of those subtle 
ones, that ca^n creep through at a key-hole, or 
the cracked pane of a window. I must come 
in at a door, which Diade me once think of a 
trunk ; but that I would not imitate so catholic 

703 



704 



LOVE RESTORED. 



a coxcomb as Coryat. Therefore I took another 
course. I -watched what kind of persons the 
door most opened to, and one of their shapes I 
would belie to get in with. First I came with 
authority, and said, I was an engineer, and be- 
longed to the motions. They asked me if I were 
the fighting bear of last year, and laughed me 
out of that, and said the motions were ceased. 
Then I took another figure, of an old tire- woman ; 
but tired under that too, for none of the masquers 
would take note of me, the mark was out of my 
mouth. Then I pretended to be a musician, 
marry I could not shew mine instrument, and 
that bred a discord. Now there was nothing 
left for me that I could presently think on, but a 
feather-maker of Blackfriars, and in that shape 
I told them, Surely I must come in, let it be 
opened unto me ; but they all made as light of 
me, as of ray feathers ; and wondered how I 
could be a Puritan, being of so vain a vocation. 
I answered. We are all masquers sometimes : 
v.-ith which they knock'd Hypocrisy o' the pate, 
and made room for a bombard man, that 
brought bouge for a country ladjr or two, that 
fainted, he said, witti fasting for the fine sight 
since seven o'clock in the morning. O how it 
grieved me, that I was prevented of that shape, 
and had not touched on it in time, it liked mc 
so well ; but I thought I would offer at it yet. 
Marry, before I could procure my properties, 
alarum came that some of the whimlens had 
too much; and one shew'd how fruitfully they 
had Avatered his head, as he stood under the 
grices ; and another came out, complaining of a 
cataract shot into his eyes by a planet, as Jie was 
star-gazing. There was that device defeated ! 
By this time I saw a fine citizen's Avife or two 
let in ; and that figure provoked me exceedingly 
to take it ; which I had no sooner done, but 
one of the black-guard had his hand in my 
vestry, and was groping of me as nimbly as 
the Christmas cut-purse. He thouglrt he might 
be bold with me, because I had not a husband 
in sight to squeak to. I Avas glad to forego ray 
form, to be rid of his hot steeming affection, it 
so smelt of the boiling house. Forty other de- 
vices I had of wiremen and the chandrie, and 
I know not what else : but all succeeded alike. 
I offered money too, but that could not be 
done so privately, as it durst be taken, for the 
danger of an example. At last a troop of stran- 
gers came to the door, with Avhom I made myself 
sure to enter : but before I could mix, they were 
all let in, and I loft alone Avithout, for Avant of 
an interpreter. Wliich, when I Avas fain to be 
to myself, a Colossus [of] the company told me, 
I had English enough to carry me to bed ; 
with Avhicli all the other statues of flesh laughed. 
Never till then did I knoAV the Avant of an 
hook and a piece of beef, to have baited tliree 
or four of those goodly Avide mouths Avith. In 
this despair, Avlien all invention ard translation 
too failed me, I e'en Avcnt back, and stuck to this 
shape you see me in of mine own, Avith my 
broom and my candles, and came on confidentl5% 
giving out, I Avas a part of the DcA-ice ; at 
which, though they had little to 'do Avith Avit, 
yet, because some on't might be used here to- 
night, contrary to their knowledge, they thought 



it fit, Avay should be made for me ; and as it 
falls out, to small purpose. 

Plu. Just as much as you are fit for. AAvay, 
idle sj)irit ; and thou the idle cause of his ad- 
venturing hither, A'anish Avith him. 'Tis thou, 
that art not only the soAver of A'anities in these 
high places, but the call of all otlicr light follies 
to fall, and feed on them. I Avill endure thy prod- 
igality nor riots no more ; they are the ruin of 
states. Nor shall the tyranny of these nights 
hereafter impose a necessity upon me of enter- 
taining thcc. Let them embrace more frugal 
pastimes. V/hy should not the thrifty and 
right Avorshipful game of Post and Pair content 
them ; or the witty invention of Noddy, for 
counters ; or God make them rich, at the 
tables ? but masquing and revelling ! Were 
not these ladies and their gcntlcAvomen more 
house-Avifely employed, a dozen of them to 
a light, or twenty (the more the merrier) to 
save charges, in their chambers at home, and 
their old night-goAA-ns, at draw-gloves, riddles, 
dreams, and other pretty purposes, rather than 
to Avake here, in their flaunting Avires and tires, 
laced goAvns, embroidered petticoats, and other 
taken uji braveries ? AAvaj^, I Avill no more of 
these superfluous excesses. They are theao 
make me hear so ill, both in town and country, 
as I do ; AvMch if they continue, I shall be the 
first shall leave them. 

Masq. Either I am very stupid, or this is a re- 
formed Cupid. 

Bob. IIoAv ! does any take this for Cupid ? the 
Love in court ? 

Masq. Yes, is't not he ? 

Rob. Nay, then Ave spirits, I see, are subtler 
yet, and somcAvhat better discoverers. No ; it 
is not he, nor his brother Anti-cupid, the love 
of virtue, though he jiretend to it with his 
phrase and face : 'tis that impostor Plutus, the 
god of money, Avho has stolen Love's ensigns ; 
and in his belied figure rules the Avorld, making 
friendships, contracts, marriages, and almost re- 
ligion; begetting, breeding, and holding the 
nearest respects of mankind : and usurping all 
those offices in this age of gold, Avhich LoA'e 
himself performed in the golden age. 'Tis he 
that pretends to tie kingdoms, maintain cora- 
raercc, dispose of honors, make all places and 
dignities arbitrary from him, CA'cn to the very 
country, Avhcre Love's name cannot be razed 
out, he has yet gained there upon him by a 
proverb. Not for Love or Money. Tliere Love 
lives confined, by his tyranny, to a cold region, 
Avrapt up in furs like a MuscoA'ite, and almost 
frozen to death ; Avhile he, in his inforced shape, 
and Avith his ravished arms, Avalks as if he Avere 
to set bounds and give laws to destiny. 'Tia ^ 
you, mortals, that are fools ; and Avorthy to be 1 
such, that Avorship him : for if you had Avisdom, 
he had no godhead. He should stink in the 
graA^e with those Avretches, Avhose slave he Avas ; 
contemn him, and he is one. Come, follow me. 
I'll bring you Avhere, you shall find Love, and 
by the virtue of this majesty, Avho projecteth so 
poAverful beams of light and heat through this 
hemisphere, thaAV his icy fetters, and scatter the 
darkness that obscures him. 'Tlien, in despight 
of this insolent and barbarous Mammon, your 



LOVE RESTORED. 



705 



sports may proceed, and the solemnities of the 
mght be complete, without dependin<T on so 
earthly an idol. 

Pill. Ay, do ; attempt it : 'tis like to find most 
necessary and fortunate event, whatsoever is en- 
terprised without my aids. Alas, how bitterly 
the spirit of poverty spouts itself against my 
weal and felicity ! but I feel it not. I cherish 
and make much of myself, flow forth in ease 
Kud delicacy, while that murmurs and starves. 

Enter Cupid in his chariot, guarded \oiih the 

Masquers, in number ten. 

SOXG. 
O, How came Love, that is iiiinself a fire, 

To be so cold ? 
Yes, tyrant Money queiiclicth all desire. 

Or makes it old. 
But hero are beauties will revive 
Love's youth, and keep liis heat alive: 
As often as his torch here dies, 
He need but light it at fresh eyes. 
J^y, joy, the more : for in all courts, 
IJ love be cold, so are his sports. 

Cu]h I have my spirits again, and feel my limbs. 
Away with this cold cloud, that dims 
IMy light ! lie there, my furs and charms, 
Love feels a heat, that inward warms, 
And guards him naked, in these places. 
As at his birth, or 'mongst the Graces, 
Impostor Mammon, come, resi"-n 
This bow and quiver ; they are m.ine. 
Thou hast too long usurp'd my rites, 
I now am lord of mine own nights. 
Be gone, whilst yet I give thetr leave. 
When thus the world thou wilt deceive, 
• Thou canst in youth and beautv shine, 
Behe a godhead's form divine. 
Scatter thy^gifts, and fly to those 
Whore thine own honor may dispose ; 
But when to good men thou art sent, 
By Jove's direct commandment, 
Thou then art aged, lame, and blind, 
And canst nor path nor persons find. 
Go. honest spirit, chase him hence. 
To his caves ; and there let him dispense 
For murders, treasons, rapes, his bribes 
Unto the discontented tribes ; 
Where let his heaps grow daily less. 
And he and they still want success. 
The majesty that here doth move. 
Shall triumph, mare secured by Love, 



Than all his earth ; and never crave 

His aids, but force him as a slave. 

To those bright beams I owe my life, 

And I Avill pay it in the strife 

Of duty back. See, here are ten, 

The s])irits of courts, and flower of men, 

Led on by mo, with flam'd intents. 

To figure the ten ornaments. 

That do each courtly jiresence "-race. 

Nor will they rudely strife for place,' 

One to precede the other ; but 

As music them in form shall put. 

So will they keep their measures true, 

And make still their proportions new, 

Till all become one harmony. 

Of honor, and of courtesy, " 

True valor and urbanity, ' 

Of confidence, alacrity, 

Of promptness, and of industry, 

Hability, reaUty. 

Nor shall those graces ever quit your court, 

Or I be wanting to supply their sport. 

HERB THE FIRST DAXCE. 

SONG. 
This motion was of Love begot, 

It was so airy, light, and good, 
His wings into their feet he shot, 

Or else liimself into their blood. 
But ask not how : the end will prove, 
That Love's in them, or they're in Love. 

SECOND DANCE. 

SONG. 
Have men beheld the Graces dance. 

Or seen the upper orbs to move i" 
So these did turn, return, advance, 

Drawn l)ack by Doubt, put on by Love. 
And now like earth, themselves tiiey fix 
I'lll greater pow'rs vouchsafe to mix ' 
Their motions with them. Do not ifear 
You brighter planets of the sphere : 
Not one male heart you see. 

But rather to his female eves 

Would die a destin'd sacrifice, 
Than live at home, and free. 

THIRD DAitCE 

SONG 
Give end inito thy pastimes, Love. 

Before they labors prove : 
A little refS between. 
Will make thy next shows better seen. 

Now let them close their eyes, and seo 

If tliey can dream of thee, 
Since morning hastes to come in view ; 
And all the morning dreams are true 



A CHALLENGE AT TILT, 



AT A MARRIAGE. 



THE DAY AFTER THE MARRIAGE. 

The Court being in expectation, as before. 

Enter Two Cupids, striving. 

1 Ciqy. It is my riglit, and I will have it, 

2 Ciq). By what law or necessity? Pray you 
tome back. 

1 Ctqj. I serve the man, and the nobler crea- 
ture. 

2 Clip. But I the woman, and the purer ; 
and thercfoi-e the worthier. Because you are 
a handful above me, do you think to get a foot 
afore me, sir ? No, I appeal to you, ladies. 

1 Cup. You are too rude, boy, in this pres- 
ence. 

2 Cup. That cannot put modesty in mc, to 
make me come behind you though ; I will stand 
for mine inches with you, as peremptory as an 
ambassador : ladies, your sovereignties are con- 
cerned in mo ; I am the wife's page. 

1 Cup. And I the husband's. 

2 Cup. IIow ! 

1 Cup. II a ! 

2 Cup. One of us must break the wonder ; 
and therefore I that have best cause to be 
assured of mine own truth, demand of thee, by 
what magic thou wear'st my ensigns ? or hast 
put on my person ? 

1 Cap. BcM'are, young ladies, of this impos- 
tor ; and mothers, look to your daughters and 
nieces : a false Cupid is abroad : it is I that am 
the true, who to do these glad solemnities their 
proper rites, have been contented, not to put 
off, but to conceal my deity, and in this habit 
of a servant do attend him who was j^esterday 
the happy Bridegroom, in the compliment of his 
nuptials, to make all his endeavors and actions 
more gracious and lovely. 

2 Cup. He tells my tale, he tells my tale ; 
and pretends to my act. It was I that did this 
for the Bride : I am the true Love, and both 
this figure and those arms are usurped by most 
unlawful power : can you not perceive it ? do 
not I look liker a Cupid than he ? am I not 
more a child ? ladies, have none of you a pic- 
ture of mc in your bosom ? is the resemblance 
of Love banished your breasts ? Sure they are 
these garments that estrange me to you ! if I 
were naked, you would know me better : no 
relick of love left in an old bosom here ! what 
Bhould I do ? 

1 Cup. My little shadow is turned furious. 

2 Cup. What can I turn other than a fury 
itself, to see thj^ impudence ? If I be a shadow, 
what is substance ? was it not I that yester- 
night waited on the bride into the nuptial 
chamber, and, against the bridegroom ca;ne. 



made her the throne of love ? had I not lighted 
my torches in her eyes, planted my mother's 
roses in her cheeks ; were not her eye-brows 
bent to the fashion of my bow, and her looks 
ready to be loosed thence, like my shafts r had 
I not ripened kisses on her lips, fit for a Mer- 
cury to gather, and made her language sweeter 
than his upon her tongue ? Avas not the girdle 
about her, he was to untie, my mother's, 
wherein all the joys and delights of love were 
woven ? 

1 Cup. And did not I bring on the blushing 
bridegroom to taste those joys? and made him 
think all stay a torment ? did I not shoot my- 
self into him like a flame, and made his desires 
and his giaces equal? were n(.t nis looks of 
power to have kept the night alive in conten- 
tion with day, and made the morning never 
wished for ? Was there a curl in his hair, that 
I did not sport in, or a ring of it crisped, that 
might not have become Juno's fingers ? his very 
rnidressing was it not Love's arming ? did not 
all his kisses charge ? and every touch attempt : 
but his words, were they not feathered from my 
wings, and flew in singing at her ears, like 
arrows tipt with gold ? 

2 Cup. Hers, hers did so into his : and all his 
virtue was borrowed from my powers in her, as 
thy form is from mc. But, that this royal and 
honored assembly be no longer troubled with 
our contention, behold, I challenge thee of 
falsehood ; and will bring, upon the first day 
of the new year, into the lists, before this pal- 
ace, ten knights armed, Avho shall undertake 
against all assertion, that I am a child of !Mars 
and Venus : and, in the honor of that lady 
(whom it is my ambition to serve) that that 
love is the most true and perfect that still 
waiteth on the woman, and is the servant of 
that sex. 

1 Cup. But what gage gives my confident 
counterfeit of this ? 

2 Cup. ^ly bow and quiver, or what else I 
can make. 

1 Cup. I take only them ; and in exchange 
give mine, to answer, and punish this thy rash- 
ness, at thy time assigned, by a just niunber of 
knights, who, by their virtue, shall maintain 
me to be the right Cupid ; and true issue of 
valor and beauty : and that no love can como 
near either truth or perfection, biil, what is 
manly, and derives his proper dignity from 
thence. 

2 Cup. It is agreed. 

1 Cup. In the mean time, ladies, suspend 
your censures which is the right ; and to enter- 
tain your thoughts till the day, may the court 
hourly present yoiv with delicate and fresh 

706 



A CHALLENGE AT TILT. 



101 



I 



objects, to beget on \ou pretty and pleasing 
fancies ! may you feed on pure meats, easj^ of 
concoction, and di'ink that will quickly turn 
into blood, to make your dreams the clearer, 
and your imaginations the finer ! 

So they departed. 



Oil Neio-yeaf s-day, he that before is numbered the 
second Cupid, came now the Jirst, loith his ten 
Knights, attired in the Bride s colors, and light- 
ing from his chariot, spake : 

1 Clip. Now, ladies, to glad your aspects once 
again with the sight of Love, and make a spring 
smile in your faces, which must have looked 
like winter without me ; behold mc, not like a 
servant now, but a champion, and in my true 
figure, as I used to reign and revel in your 
faces, tickling your soft ears with my feathers, 
and laying little straws about your hearts, to 
' kindle bonfires shall flame out at j'our eyes ; 
playing in your bloods like fishes in a stream, 
or diving like the boys in the bath, and then 
rising on end like a monarch, and treading 
humor like water, bending those stiff pickardils 
of yours under this yoke my bow ; or, if they 
would not bend, whipping your rebellious var- 
dingales with my bow-string, and made them 
run up into your waists (they have lain so flat") 
for fear of Taj indignation. What ! is Cupid 
of no name Avith you r have I Ipst all reputa- 
tion, or what is less, opinion, by once putting 
off my deity ? Because I was a page at this 
Bolemnity, and would modestly serve one, for 
the honor of you all, am I therefore dishonored 
by all ? and lost in my value so, that every jug- 
gler that can purchase him a pair of wings and 
a quiver, is committed with me in balance, and 
contends with me for sovereignty ? Well, I 
will chastise you, ladies ; believe it, you shall 
feel my displeasure for this ; and I will be 
mighty in it. Think not to have those accesses 
to me you were wont ; j-ou shall wait four of 
those galleries off, and six chambers for me ; 
ten doors locked between you and me hereafter, 
and I will allow none of you a key : when I 
come abroad, you shall petition me, and I will 
not hear you ; kneel, and I will not regard you ; 
1 will pass by like a man of business, and not 
see you, and I will have no Master of Requests 
for you. There shall not the greatest pretender 
to a state-face living put on a more supercilious 
look, than I v>'ill do upon you. Trust me — ha ! 
what's this r 

Enter 2 Cupid, with his company often Knights. 

. 2 Clip. O, are you here, sir ! you have got 
the start of mc now, by being challenger, and 
so the precedency, you tl'ink. I see j'ou are 
resolved to try your title by arms then ; 'you 
will stand to be the right Cupid still ? how 
now ! what ails you that you answer not ? are 
you turned a statue upon my appearance ? or 
did you hope I would not appear, and that hope 
has deceived you ? 

1 Cup. Art thou still so impudent to belie 
my figure r that in what shape soever I present 
myself, thou wilt seem to be the same ; not so 



much as my chariot, but resembled by thee i 
and both the doves and swans I have borrowed 
of my mother to draw it ? the verj^ number of 
my champions emulated, and almost their hab- 
its ! what insolence is this ? 

2 Cap. Good little one, quarrel not ; yon 
have now put j-oiu-self upon others valor, not 
your own, and you must know you can bring 
no person hither to strengthen your side, but 
we can produce an equal. Be it Persuasion 
you have got there, the peculiar enchantress of 
your sex ; behold we have Mercury here to 
charm against her, who gives all lovers their 
true and masculine eloquence ; or are they the 
Graces you presume on, your known clients. 
Spring, Boa.uty, and Cheerfulness ? here are 
Youth, Audacity, and Favor, to encounter them, 
three more manly perfections, and much more 
powerful in working for Love : child, you are 
all the ways of winning too weak, there is no 
tliinking, either with your honor or discretion 
kept safe, to continue on a strife, wherein you 
are already vanquished ; yield, be penitent 
early, and confess it. 

1 Cup. I will break my bow and quiver into 
dust first (restore me mine own arms) or be 
torn in pieces with Harpies, marry one of the 
Furies, turn into Chaos again, and dissolve the 
harmonj' of nature. 

2 Cup. O, most stiffly spoken, and fit for the 
sex you stand for! Well, give the sign then: 
let tlie trumpets sound, and upon the valor and 
fortune of your champions put the right of your 
cause. 

1 Cup. 'Tis done. 



Here the TILTING took place 

After which, 

2 Cup. Now, Sir, you have got mightily by 
this contention, and advanced your cause to 8 
most high degree of estimation with these spec- 
tators ! have you not ? 

1 Cicp. Why, Avhat have yoii done, or won ? 

2 Cup. It is enough for me who was called 
out to this trial, that I have not lost, or that my 
side is not vanquished. 

Enter Hyjiex. 
Hy. Come, you must yield both ; this is nei- 
ther coiitention for you, nor time fit to contend : 
there is another kind of tilting would become 
Love better than this ; to meet lips for lances ; 
and crack kisses instead of staves : which there 
is no beauty here, I presume, so young, but can 
fancy, nor so tender, but would venture. Hero 
is the palm for which you must strive : which 
of you wins this bough, is the right and best 
Cupid ; and whilst you arc striving, let Hymen, 
the president of these solemnities, tell you 
something of your own story, and what yet you 
know not of yourselves. You are both true 
Cupids, and both the sons of Yenus by Mars, 
but this the first born, and was called Eros ; 
who upon his birth proved a child of excellent 
. beauty, and right worthy his mother ; but after 
his growth not answering his form, not onlj 
Venus, but the Graces, who laurscd him. becanio 



708 



A CHALLENGE AT TILT. 



extremely solicitous lor him ; and were im- 
pelled, out of their grief and care, to consult 
the oracle about him. Themis (for Apollo was 
not yet of years) gave answer, there wanted 
nothing to his perfection, but that they had not 
enough considered, or looked into the nature of 
the infant, which indeed was desirous of a com- 
panion only ; for though Love, and the true, 
might be bom of Venus single and alone, yet 
he could not thrive and encrease alone. There- 
fore if she affected his growth, Veniis must 
bring forth a brother to him, and name him 
Anteros; that with reciprocal affection, might 
pay the exchange of Love. This made that 
thou wert born her second birth. Since when, 
your natixres are, that either of you, looking 
upon other, thrive, and by your mutual respects 
and interchange of ardor, flourish and prosper ; 
whereas, if the one be deficient or wanting to 



the other, it fares worse Avitli both. Tliis is the 
Love that Hymen requires, without which no 
marriage is happy : when the contention is not, 
who is the true Love, but, being both trvie, who 
loves most ; cleaving the bough between you, 
and dividing the palm. This is a strife wherein 
you both win, and begets a concord worthy all 
married minds' emulation, when the lover trans- 
forms himself into the person of his beloved, as 
you two do now ; by whose example, let your 
knights (all honorable friends and ser-vants of 
Love) affect the like peace, and depart the lists 
eqiial in their friendships for ever, as to-day 
they have been in their fortunes. And may 
this royal court never know m^ore difference in 
humors; or these well-gia'ed nuptials more 
discord in affections, than wliat they presently 
feel, and may ever cvoid ! 

1, 2 Cup. To this Love says, Amen 



THE IRISH MASQUE, 
AT COURT, 

BY GENTLEMEN, THE KING'S SERVANTS. 



The King being set in exioectation, out ran a felloio 

attired Vtke a citizen : after him, three or four 

footmen, Dennise, Doxxell, Dekmock, and 

Patrick. 

Pat. For chreeshcs sayk, phair ish te king ? 
phicli isli ho, ant be ? show me te shweet faish, 
quickly. By got, o' my conshencc, tish ish he ! 
ant tou be king Yamish, me name is Dennish, I 
Bhcrve ti majesties owne cashtermonger, be me 
trote ; and cry peepsh, and pomwatcrsh in ti 
mayesties shervice, 'tis five year now. Ant ton 
vilt not trush me now, call up ti clarke o' ti 
kitchen, be ant be, shall give hish wort, upon 
hish book, ish true. 

Don. Ish it te fashion, to beate te imbasheters, 
here, and knocke 'hem o'te heads phit te phcit 
Btick ? 

Dsr. Ant make ter meshage run out a ter 
mouthsh, before tey shpeake vit te king ? 

Den, Peash Dermock, here ish te king. 

Der. Phair ish te king ? 

Don. Phich ish te king ? 

Don. Tat ish to king. 

Der. Ish tat te king ? Got blesh him ! 

Den. Peash, and take heet, vat tou shaysht, 
man. 

Der, Creesh blesh him, I shay. Phat reason 
I tayk heet, for tat ? 

Don. Creosh blesh ti shweet faish, king 
Yamish ; and my mistresh faish too : pre te, 
hear mo now. I am come a great vay of miles 
to she te now, by my fayt and trote, and graish 
o' got. 

Den, Phat ish te meaning o' tish, DonncU ? 
dish tou not shay, a gotsh name, I should tell 
ty tale for tee ? ant entray t me come to te court, 
and leave me vare at shiede, and seven ? by got, 
ish true now. 

Don. Yesh. But I thanke got I can tell my 
tayle my shelfe, now I bo here, I warrant tee : 
pre de hear me, king Yamish. 

Den. Pree dee heare me, king Yamish : I can 
tell tee better ten he. 

Pat. Pree dee heare neder noder on 'hem : 
bero'sh Dermock will shpeake better ten eder 
oder on 'hem. 

Der. No fayt, shweet hart, tow Ij'osht. 
Patrick hero ish te vesht man of hish tongue, 
of all de foure ; pre tee now heare him. 

Pat. By chreesh shave me, tow lyesht. I 
have te vorsht tongue in do company at thy 
shervish. Vill shome body shpeak .' 

Don. By my fayt, I vill not. 

Der. By my goship's hand, I vill not. 

Pat. Speake Dennish ten. 



Den. If I speake, te divoU ta5'ke me. I vill 
give tee leave to cram my mouth phit shamrokes 
and butter, and vater creeshes instead of pearsh 
and peepsh. 

Pat. If no body will shpeake, I vill shpeako. 
Pleash ty shweet faish, we come from Ireland. 

Der. We be Irish men, an't pleash tee. 

Don. Ty good shubshects of Ireland, and 
pleash ty mayesty. 

Den. Of Connough, Leymster, Ulster, Mun- 
ster. I mine one shelfe vash born in the English 
payle, and pleash ty mayesty. 

Pat. Sacrament o' chreesh, toll ty tale ty 
shelfe, and bo all tree. 

Den. And pleash ty graish I vill toll ' tee, tore 
vash a groat nowesh in Ireland of a great brideal 
of one o' ty lords hsre ant bo. 

Pat. Ty man Robyne, tey shay. 

Don. Mary ty man Toumaish, his daughter, 
tey shay. 

Der. Ay, ty good man, Toumaish o' Shuffolke. 

Don. He knoke ush o'te payt here, ash we 
come by, by a good token. 

Der. I' fayt, tere ish very much phoyt stick 
here stirring to-night. He takes ush for no 
shquires I tinke. 

Pat. No, he tinksh not ve bo imbasheters 

Don. No fayt, I tinke sho too. But tish mar- 
riage bring over a doshon of our besht maj'sh- 
ters, to bo merry perht tee shweet faish, an't be ; 
and daunsh a fading at te vedding. 

Den. But tey vere loeke to daunch naked, and 
pleash ty mayesty ; foa tey villanous vild Irish 
sheas have casht away all ter fine cloj'sh, as 
many ash cosht a towsand cowes, and garraves, 
I warrant tee. 

Der. And te prishe of a cashtell or two upoK 
tcyr backs. 

Don. And tey tell ty mayesty, tey have ner a 
great fish now, nor a shea moynshter to shave 
toyr cloyth ahve now. 

Pat. Nor a dovoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem 
out o' to bottom o' to vayter. 

Der. But tey musht oeno come and daunsh in 
teyr mantles now ; and show tee how teye can 
foot te fading and te fadow, and te phip a' Dun- 
boyne, I trow. 

Don. I pre dee now, let not ty sAveet faysh 
ladies make a mock on 'hem and scorn to daunsht 
vit 'hem now, becash tey be poor. 

Pat. Tey drink no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now. 

Don. It ish better ten usquebah to daunsh vit, 
Patrick. 

Pat. By my fater's hand, tey vill daunsh verv 
veil. 

709 



710 



THE IRISH MASQUE. 



Der. Ay, by St. Patrick vill tey ; for tey be 
liimble men. 

Den. And vill leap ash light, be creesh save 
me, ash he clat veares te biggest fether in ty 
court, king Yamish. 

Do: For all tey have no good vindsh to blow 
tern heter, nor elementsh to preserve 'hem. 

Don. Nor all te four cornersh o' te world, to 
creep out on. 

Pat. But tine own kingdomes. 

Don. Tey be honesht men. 
■ Pat. And goot men : tine ov/n shubshects . 

Der. Tou hast very good shubshects in Ire- 
land. 

Den. A great goot many, o' great good shub- 
shects. 

Do7i. Tat love ty maycsty heartily. 

Den. And vill run t'rough fire and vater for 
tee, over te bog and te baunoke, be te graish o' 
got, and graish o' king. 

Der. By got, tey vill fight for tee, king 
Yamish, and for my mistresh tcrc. 

Den. And my little maishter. 

Pat. And te vfrow, ty daughter, tat is in 
Tuchland. 

Don. Tey vill spend ter heart in ter belly for 
tee, as veil as ter legs in ter heclsh. 

Der. By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh 
for tee. 

Den. Pre tee make mush on t'om. 

Pat. Pre tee, sweet faysh, do. 

Don. Be not angry vit to honesh men, for te 
few rebelsh, and knavesh. 

Pat. Nor beleevc no tayles, king Yamish. 

Der. For, by got, tey love tee in Ireland. 

Don. Prcdce, l3id 'em welcome, and got make 
em rish for tee. 

Der. Tey vill make tcm shelves honesht. 

Deyi. Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush 
men, by my trote. 

Pat. No, nor forty, by my hant. 

Don. By justish Delouncs hant, not twenty. 

Der. By my lord Dcputish hant, not ten, in 
all ti great Brittayne. Shall I call hem to tee ? 

Don. Tey shit like poore men i' te porsh 
yonder. 

Pat. Shtay, tee poepe ish come ! [Baginpe, 
^•0., enter,'] harke, harkc'! 

Der. Let ush daunsli ten. Daunsh, Donnish. 

Den. By creesh sa'me, I ha' forgot. 

Don. A little till our mayshtersh be ready. 

Here the Footmen had a Dance, being six men, and 
six boys, to the bagpipe, and other rude music ; 
after xchich they had a Song, and then thty 
cried, 

Peash ! Peash ! Now room for our maysh- 
ters ! Room for our mayshters ! 

Then the Gentlemen dance forth a dance in their 
Irish mantles, to a solemn music of har^^s : 
which done, the Footmen fall to speak, again. 

Der. How like tou tish, Yamish ? and tey 



had fine cloyshs now, and liveries, like tine 
own men ant be ! 

Don. But te rugs make t'em shrug a little. 

Der. Tey have shit a great phoyle i' te cold 
ant be. 

Don. Isht not pity te cioysh be drown'd now ? 

Pat. Pre tee shee another daunsh, and be not 
veary. 

Here they were interrupted by a civil Gentleman 
of the nation, who brought in a Bard. 

Gent. He may be of your rudeness. Hold 

your tongues. 
And let your coarser manners seek some place, 
Fit for their wildness : this is none; be gone ! 
Advance, immortal Bard, come up and view 
The gladding face of that great king, in whom 
So many prophecies of thine arc knit. 
This is that James of which long since thou 

sung'st, 
Should end our countries most unnatural broils ; 
And if her ear, then deafen' d with the drum. 
Would stoop but to the music of his J)eace, 
She need not with the siDheres change harmony. 
This is the man thou promis'dst should redeem, 
If she Avould love his counsels as his laws, 
Her head from servitude, her feet from fall. 
Her fame from barbarism, her state from want 
And in her all the fruits of blessings plant. 
Sing then some charm, made from his present 

looks, 
That may assure thy former prophecies, 
And firm the hopes of these obedient spirits, 
Whose love no less than duty hath call'd forth 
Their willing powers : who if they had much 

more, 
Would do their all, and think they coutd not 

move 
Enough to honor that, which he doth love. 

Here the Bard sings to two harps. 

SONG. 
Cow both your licads at once, and hearts ; 

Obedience doth not well in jiarts. 
It is but standing in his eye, 

You'll feel yourselves chang'd by and by. 
Few live, that know, how quick :i spring 

Works in the presence of a king : 
'Tis done by this ; your slough let fall, 

And come forth new-bora creatures all. 

During this Song, the Masquers let fall thcit 
mantles, and discover their masquing apparel, 
Then they dance forth. 

After the dance the Bard sings this 

SONG. 

So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains, 

Wherein rude winter bound her veins ; 
So grows both stream and source of price, 

Tliat lately fetter'd were with ice. 
So naked trees get crisped heads, 

And color'd coats the roughest meads, 
And ail get vigor, youth, and spright, 

That are but look'd on by his light. 



MERCURY 
VINDICATED FROM THE ALCHEMISTS 

AT COURT, 

BY GENTLEMEN, THE KING'S SERVANTS. 



IjOucI music. After icldch the Scene is discov- 
ered ; being a Lahoratortj or Alchemist's loork- 
housc : YuLCAX looking to the registers, while 
a CvcLorE, tending the fire, to the cornets be- 
gan to sing. 

Cyc. Soft, subtile firo, tlioii sou! of art, 
Now do tliy part 

On weaker nature, that tlirougli age is lamed. 
Take but thy time, now slie is old, 
And tlie sun ber friend grown cold, 

She will no more in strife witli thee be named. 

J^ook, but how few confess her now, 

In check or brow ! 
From every head, almost, how she is frighted ! 

Tlie very age abhors Iier so, 

That it learns to speak and go, 
As if by art alone it could be righted. 

The Song ended, Mercuhy appeared, thrusting out 
his head, and afterward his body, at the tun- 
nel of the middle fnrnace : which Vulcan espy- 
ing, cried out to the Cyclops. 

Till. Stay, see ! our Mercury is coming fortli ; 
Ert and all the elements assist ! Call forth our 
philosophers. He will be gone. He Avill evapo- 
rate. Dear Mercury ! help. He flies. He is 
pcaped. Precious golden Mercury, be fixt : be 
not so volatile ! Will none of the sons of art 
appear ? 

In which time Meucuiiy having ran once or twice 
about the room, takes breath, and speaks. 

Mer- Now the place and goodness of it pro- 
tect me. One tender-hearted creature or other, 
save Mercury, and free him. Ne'er an old gen- 
tlewoman in the house, that has a wrinkle about 
her to hide me in ? I could run into a serving- 
woman's pocket now ; her glove, any little hole. 
Some merciful verdingale among so many, be 
bounteous, and undertake me : I will stand close 
up, any where, to escape this polt-footed philos- 
opher, old Smug here of Lemnos, and his smoaky 
family. Has he given me time to breath ! 
the variety of torment that I have endured in 
tlie reign of the Cyclops, beyond the most 
exquisite wit of tyrants ! The whole household 
of them are become Alchemists, since their trade 
of armor-making failed them, only to keep them- 
selves in fire, for this winter ; for the mischief 
a secret that they know, above the consuming 
of coals, and drawing of usquebagh ! howsoever 



they may pretend, imder the specious names of 
Geber, Arnold, Lull}', Bombast of Hohenhein, 
to commit miracles in art, and treason against 
nature. And, as if the title of philosopher, that 
creature of glory, were to be fetched out of a 
furiaace, abuse the curious and credulous nation 
of metal-men through the world, and make 
Mercury their instrument. I am their crude, 
and their sublimate ; their precipitate, and theii 
unctuous ; their male and their female ; some- 
times their hermaphrodite : what they list to 
style me. It is I, that am corroded, and ex- 
alted, and sublimed, and reduced, and fetch'd 
over, and filtered, and wash'd, and wiped ; what 
between their salts and their sulphurs, their oils 
and their tartars, their brines and their vinegars, 
you might take me out now a soused Mercur)^ 
now a salted Mercury, now a smoakcd and dried 
Mercury, now a powdered and pickled Mercury • 
never herring, oyster, or cucumber past so many 
vexations. My whole life with them hath been 
an exercise of torture : one, two, three, four, 
and five times an hour have they made me dance 
the philosophical circle, like an ape through a 
hoop, or a dog in a wheel. I am their turnspit 
indeed : they eat and smell no roast-meat but in 
my name. I am their bill of credit still, that 
passes for their victuals and house-room. It is 
through me, thej'' have got this corner of the 
Court to cozen in, where they shark for a hun- 
gry diet below stairs, and cheat upon your under- 
ofiiccrs, promising mountains for their meat, and 
all upon Mercury's security. A poor page of 
the larder, they have made obstinately believe, 
he shall be physician for the household next 
summer ; they will give him a quantity of the 
quintessence, shall serve him to cure kibes or 
the mormal o' the shin, take away the pustules 
in the nose, and Mercury is engaged for it. A 
child of the scullery steals all their coals for 
them too, and he is bid sleep secure, he shall 
find a corner of the philosopher's stone for't un- 
der his bolster, one day, and have the proverb 
inverted. Against which, one day I am to de- 
liver the buttery in, so many fii-kins of am'um 
2)0tabih', as it delivers out bombards of bouge to 
them, between this and that. For the pantry, 
they are at a certainty with me, and keep a 
tally, an ingot, a loaf, or a wedge of some live 

711 



712 



IklERCURY VINDICATED. 



pounds weight, which is nothing of nothing, a 
trifle. And so the black-guards are pleased 
with any lease of life, (for some 999,) especially 
those of the boiling-house, they are to have 
Medea's kettle hung up, that they may souse 
into it when they will, and come out renewed 
like so many stript snakes at their pleasure. 
But these are petty engagements, and, as I said 
below the stairs ; marry above here, periDCtuity 
of beauty, (do you heai-, ladies r) health, riches, 
honor ; a matter of immortality is nothing. 
They will calcine you a grave matron, as it might 
be a motlier o' the maids, and spring up a young 
virgin, out of her ashes, as fresh as a Phoenix : 
lay you an old courtier on the coals like a sau- 
sage, or a bloat herring, and after they have 
broiled him enough, blow a soul into him with 
a pair of bellows, till he start up into his gal- 
liard, that was made when Monsieur was here. 
They profess familiarly to melt dov/n all the old 
sinners of the suburbs once in a half-year, into 
fresh gamesters again ; get all the crack'd maid- 
enheads, and cast them into new ingots : half 
the wenches of the town are alchemy. See, 
they bcgiii to muster again, and draw their 
forces out against me ! the Genius of the place 
defend me ! You that are both the Sol and 
Jupiter of this sphere, Mercury invokes your 
majesty against the sooty tribe here ; for in 
5'our favor only, I grow recovered and warm. 

At which time Vulcan entering icith a troop of 
threadbare Alchemists, iirejiares them to the 
first Antimasque. 

Vul. Begin your charm, sound music, circle 
him in, and take hinr : if he will not obey, bind 
him. 

Theij all danced about Mekcuiiy tolth variety of 
changes, xohilst he defends himself toith his 
Caduceus, and after the Dance, S2}eaks. 

Mer. It is in vain, Vulcan, to pitch j'our net 
in the sight of the fowl thus : I am no sleepy 
Mars, to be catch'd in your subtile toils. I 
know what your aims are, sir, to tear the wings 
from my head and heels, lute me up in a glass 
with my own seals, while you might wrest the 
Caducous out of my hand, to the adultery and 
spoil of nature, and make your accesses by it, to 
her dishonor, more easy. Sir, would you believe 
it should be come to that height of impudence, 
in mankind, that such a nest of tire-worms as 
these arc, because their patron Mulciber hereto- 
fore has made stools stir, and statues dance, a 
dog of brass to bark, and (which some will saj', 
was his worst act) a woman to speak, should 
therefore with their heats call'd Balnei Cineris, 
or horse-dung, profess to outwork the sun in 
virtue, and contend to the great act of genera- 
tion, nay almost creation ? It is so, though : for 
in yonder vessels which you see in their labora- 
torj-, they have inclosed materials to produce 
men, beyond the deeds of Deucalion, or Prome- 
theus ; of Avhich, one, they say, had the philos- 
opher's stone, and threw it over his shoulder, 
the other the lire, and lost it. And what men 
are they, they arc so busy about, think j'ou ? 
not common ordinary creatures, but of rarity 
and excellence, such as the times wanted, and 



the age had a special deal of need of : such as 
there was a necessity, they should bo artificial 
for nature could never have thought or dreamt 
of their composition. I can remember some of 
their titles to you, and the ingredients ; do not 
look for Paracelsus' man among them, that ho 
promised you out of white bread, and Dele-wine, 
for he never came to light. But of these let me 
sec ; the first that occurs ; a master of the duel, 
a carrier of the differences. To him wont spirit 
of ale, a good quantity, with the amalgama of 
sugar and nutmegs, oil of oaths, sulphur of J 

quarrel, strong waters, valor precipitate, vapored 1 

o'er the helm with tobacco, and the rosin oi * 

Mars with a drachm of the business, for that's 
the word of tincture, the business. Ijct me alone 
with the business. I will carry the business. I 
do understand the business. I do find an affront 
in the business. Then another is a fencer in the 
mathematics, or the town's cunning-man, a crea- 
ture of art too ; a supposed secretary to the 
stars ; but, indeed, a kind of lying intelligencer 
from those parts. His materials, if I be not 
deceived, were juice of almanacs, extraction of 
ephemeridcs, scales of the globe, filings of fig- 
ures, dust of the twelve houses, conserve of 
questions, salt of confederacy, a pound of adven- 
ture, a grain of skill, and a drop of truth. I 
saw vegetals too, as well as minerals, put into 
one glass there, as adder's-tongue, title-bane, 
nitre of clients, tartar of false conveyance, au- 
rum palpabile, with a huge deal of talk, to which 
they added tincture of conscience, with the faces 
of honesty ; bvit for what this was, I could not 
learn ; only I have overheard one of the artists 
say, out o' the corruption of a lawyer was the 
best generation of a broker in suits : whethci 
this were he or no, I know not. 

Vid. Thou art a scorner. Mercury, and out of 
the pride of thy protection here, makest it thy 
study to revile art, but it will turn to thine own 
contumely soon. Call forth the creatures of the 
first class, and let them move to the harnrony of 
our heat, till the slanderer have sealed up his 
own lips, to his own torment. 

Mer. Let them come, let them come, I would 
not wish a greater punishment to thy impu- 
dence. 

Enter the second AxxiMAsauE, of imperfect crea- 
tures, toith helms of limbecks on their heads . 
ivhose dance ended, MEkcuRY proceeded. 

Mer. Art thou not ashamed, Vulcan, to offer, 
in defence of thy power and art, against the 
excellence of the sun and nature, creatures 
more imperfect than the very flies and insects 
that arc her trespasses and scapes ? Vanish, 
with thy insolence, thou and thy impostors, and 
all mention of you melt before the majesty of 
this light, whose Mercury henceforth I profess 
to be, and never again the philosophers'. 
Vanish, I say, that all who have but their 
senses, may see and judge the difference between 
thy ridiculous monsters and his absolute fea- 
tures. 

At lohich the lohole scene changed to a glorious 
boioer, wherein Nature was placed, with Pro- 
metheus at her feet, and the twelve Masquen 



MERCURY VINDICATED. 



713 



atanding about them. After ihey had been a 
while vietced, Pko.metheus descended, and Na- 
ture after him, singing. 

Kat. Flow young and fresh am 1 to-niglit, 
To sce't kept day by so much light. 
Ami twelve my sons stand in their maker's sight ? 
Help, wise Prometheus, something must be done, 
To shew they are tlie creatures of the Sun ; 
That eacli to other 
Is a brother, 
And Nature liero no step-danie, but a mother. 
Cho. Come forth, come forth, prove all the numbers then, 
That make perfection up, and may absolve you men. 
J\'at. But shew thy winding ways and arts. 
Thy risings, and thy timely starts, 
Of stealing fire from ladies eyes and hearts. 
Those softer circles are the young man's heaven. 
And tlicre more orbs and planets are than seven, 
To know whose motion 
Were a notion 
As wortliy of youth's study, as devotion. 
Cho. Come forth, come forth, prove all the time will gain. 
For Nature bids the best, and never bade in vain. 

HERE THE FIRST DA.VCE. 

After lohich this 

SONG. 

Pro. How many 'mongst these ladies here, 

Wish now Ihey such a mother were ! 
.A'iit Not one, I fear. 

And read it in their laughters : 

There's more, I guess, would wisli to be my daughters. 
Pro. You think they would not be so old. 

For so much glory. 
A'u: I think that thougli't so told 

Is no false pfece of story. 

'Tis yet with them biit beauty's noon, 

ThBv would not grandames be too soon. 



Pro. Is that your sex's humor? 

'Tis then since Niobe was chang'd that they have left 
that tumor. 
Clio. Move, move again, in forms as heretofore. 
J^at. 'Tis form allures. 

Then move, the ladies hero are store. 
Pro. Nature is Motion's mother, as she's yours 
Cho. The spring whence order flows, that all directs, 

And knits the causes with the efTects. 

HERE THEY DANCE THE MAIN DANCK 

Then they dance with the Ladies ; 
Then their last Dance. 

AFTEH WHICH, PR0METHEt;3 CALLS TO THEM IN THI^ 

SONG. 

Pro. What ! have you done 

So soon .' 
And can you from such beauty part :' 
You'll do a wonder more tlian I. 
I woman with her ills did fly ; 
But you their good, and them deny. 
Clio. Sure each hath left his heart 

In pawn to come again, or else he durst not start. 
J^'at. They are loth to go 

I know, 
Or sure they are no sons of mine. 
There is no banquet, boys, like this, 
If you hope better, you will miss ; 
Stay here, and take each one a kiss 
Cho. Which if you can refine, 

The taste knows no such cates, nor yet the palate 
wine. 
No cause of tarrying shun. 
They are not worth his light, go backward from the 
s'in. 

\^ITH WHICH IT KNDBD 



THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED, 

IN A MASaUE AT COURT, 1G15, 
BY THE LORDS AND GENTLEMEN, THE KING'S SERVANTS 



The Court being seated, and in expectation, 
Loud music: Pallas in her chariot descending, to 
a softer music. 
I/Ouk, look ! rejoice and ■wonder 
'That you, offending mortals, are 
(For all your crimes) so much the care 
Of him that bears the thunder. 

Jove can endure no longer, 

Your great ones, should yoiir less invade ; 
Or that 5'our weak, though bad. be made 
A prey unto the stronger. 
And therefore means to settle 
Astriea in her seat again ; 
And let down in his golden chain 
The Age of better metal. 
Which deed he doth the rathei'. 
That even Envy may behold 
Time not enjoy'd his head of i^'uld 
AlOne beneath his father. 
But that his care conserveth, 

As time, so all time's honors too, 
Regarding still what hcav'n should do. 
And not what earth deservt-th. 
[.'I tumult, and clashing of arms heard loithin. 
But hark ! what tumult from yon cave is lieard ? 
V/hat noise, what strife, what earthqualce and 
alarms, 
As troubled Nature for her maker fcar'd ; 
And all the Iron Age Avere up in arms ! 
Hide me, soft cloud, from their profancr eyes, 

Till insolent Rebellion take the field : 
And as their spirits with their counsels rise, 
I frustrate all with showing but my shield. 

[She retires behind a cloud. 
The Irox Age presents itself, calling forth the 

Evils. 
r. Age. Come forth, come forth, do we not hear 
What purpose, and how worth our fear, 

The king of gods hath on us ? 
He is not of the Iron breed, 
That would, though Fate did help the deed. 

Let Shame in so upon us. 
Rise, rise then up, thou grandame Vice 
Of all my issue. Avarice, 

Bring with thee Eraud and Slander, 
Corruption with the golden hands. 
Or any subtler 111, that stands 

To be a more commander. 
Thy boys, Ambition, Pride, and Scorn, 
Force, Rapine, and thy babe last born, 
Smooth Treachery, call hither 



Arm Folly forth, and Ignorance, 

And teach them all our Pyrrhic dance ' 

We may triiimph together, 
Upon this enemy so great, 
Whom if our forces can defeat, 

And but this once bring under. 
We are the masters of the skies. 
Where all the wealth, height, power lies, 

The sceptre, and the thunder. 
Which of j-ou would not in a war 
Attempt the price of any sear. 

To keep your own states even .' 
But here, which of you is that he, 
Would not himself the weapon be. 

To ruin Jove and heaven ? 
About it then, and let him feel 
The Iron Age is turn'd to steel, 
Since he begins to threat her ; 
And though the bodies here arc less 
Than were the giants ; he'll confess 
Our malice is far greater. 
The Evils enter for the Antimasque and Da"N'CE. ta 
two drums, trumpets, a,nd a confusion of Jiartiui 
music: At the end of which, Pallas 7'e-appears, 
shewing her shield. The Evils are turned to 
Statues. 

Pal. So change, and perish, scarcely knowing 
how. 
That 'gainst the gods do take so vnin a vow, 
And think to equal -with your mortal dates, 
Their lives that lira obnoxious to no fates. — 

'Twas time t appear, and let their folly see, 
'Gainst whom they fought, and with what des- 
tiny. 
Die all, that can remain of you, but stone 
And that be seen awhile, and then be none ! 
Now, now descend, you both belov'd of Jove, 
And of the good on earth no less the love ; 

[ The scene changes ; and she calls 

AsTR.EA and the Golden Age. 

Descend, you long, long wish' a and wanted pair 

And as your softer times divide the air. 

So shake all clouds off with your golden hair ; 

For Spite is spent : the Iron Age is fled, 

And, with her power on earth, her name is dead. 

Astrjea and the Golden Age descending toith a 

SONG. 
^sl. Q. Jige. And are we then 
To live agen, 
AVita men .' 
Jist. Will J jve such pledges to the earth restore 
As justice i 

714 



THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED 



715 



O. Age. Or llie purer ore ! 

Pal. Once more. 

O. Age. But do tliey know, 

How much tliey owe ? 
Below ? 
As). And will of {irace receive it, not as due i 
Pal. II" not, tliey harm themselves, not you. 
Ast. True. 
G. Age. True. 

Chu. Let narrow natures, how they will, mistake, 

Tile great should still be good for tlieir own sake. 

[They come forward. 
Pal. Welcome to eartli, and reign. 
Ast. O. Age. But how, witiiout a train 

Shall we our state sustain .' 
Pal Leave that to Jove : therein you are 
No little part of his Minerva's care. 

Expect awhile. 

You far-fam'd spirits of this happj- isle, 

That, for your sacred songs have gain'd .the 

style 
Of Phcebiis' sons, whose notes the air aspire 
Of th' old Egyptian, or the Thracian lyre, 
That Chauceh, Goaver, Lidgate, Spexser, 

hight, 
Put on your better flames, and larger light. 
To wait upon the Age that shall yoirr names 

new nourish, 
Since Virtue press'd shall grow, and buried 

Arts shall flourish. 

Chau. Qow. Wo come. 

Lhl. Speri, We come. 

Omiies. Our best of fire, 

Is that which Pallas dolli inspire. 

[ T/ieij descend. 

Pal. Then see jau. yonder souls, set far with- 
in the shade. 

That in Elysian bowers the blessed seats do 
keep, 

That for their living good, now semi-gods are 
made.. 

And went away from earth, as if but tara'd with 
sleep r 

These we must join to wake ; for these are of 
the strain 

That justice dare defend, and will the age sus- 
tain. 

C!io. Awake, awake, for whom these times were kept, 
O wake, wake, wake, as you had never slept I 
Make haste and put on air, to be their guard. 
Whom once but to defend, is still reward. 

Pal. Thus Pallas throws a lightning from her 
shield. [The scene of light discovered. 

Cho. To which let all that doubtful darkness 
yield. 
• Ast. Now Peace. 

G. Afje. And L-ove. « 

Ast. Faith. 

G. Age. Joys. 

.ist. G. Age. All, all increase. [A 2}ause. 

Chau. And Strife, 

Goto. And Hate, 

Lid. And Fear, 

Spcn. And Pain, 

Omnes. All cease. 

Pal. No tu.mor of an iron vein. 
The causes shall not come again. 

Olio But, as of old, all now be gold. 
jNIove, move then to the sounds ; 
And do not only walk your solemn rounds 
But give those light and airy bounds, 
That fit the Genii of these gladder grounds 



The first Daxce. 

Pal. Already do not all thii gs smilg ? 
Ast, But when they have enjoy 'd awhile 

The Age's quickening power : 
Age. That every thought a seed doth bring, 
And every look a plant doth sjn'ing, 

And every breath a flower : 

Pal. The earth unplough'd shall yield her croy 
Pure honey from the oak shall drop, 

The fountain shall run milk : 
The thistle shall the lily bear. 
And every bramble roses wear, 
And every worm make silk. 

Cho. The \'ery shrub shall balsam sweat, 
And nectar melt the rock with heat. 

Till earth have drank her fill : 
That she no harmful weed may know, 
Nor barren fern, nor mandrake low, 

Nor mineral to kill. 

Here the main Dance. 

After which, 

Pal. But here's not all : you must do more, 
Or else you do but half restore 
The Age's liberty. 
Poo. The male and female us'd to join. 
And into all delight did coin 
That pure simplicity. 

• Then Feature did to form advance. 
And Youth call'd Beauty forth to dance, 

And every Grace was by : 
It was a time of no distrust. 
So much- of love had nought of lust. 

None fcar'd a jealous eye. 
The language melted in the car, 
Yet all without a blush might hear. 

They liv'd Avith open vow. 

Cho. Each touch and kiss was so well placed. 
They were as sweet as they were chaste. 
And such must yours be now. 

Here they dance loith the Ladies, 

Ast, What change is here } I had not more 
Desire to leave the earth before. 

Than I have now to stay ; 
My silver feet, like roots, are wreath' cl 
Into the ground, ray Agings are sheath' d, 

And I cannot away. 

Of all there seems a second birth, 
It is become a heaven on earth, 

And Jove is present here. 
I feel the god-head ; nor will doubt 
But he can fill the place throughout, 

AVhose power .is every where. 

This, this, and only such as this, 
The bright Astrsea's region is, 

"Where she would pray to live, 
And in the midst of so much gold, 
Unbought with grace, or fear unsold, 

The laAV to mortals give. 

Here they dance the Galliards and Corantos. 

Pallas, [ascending, and calling the Poets.] 
'Tis now enough ; behold you here. 
What Jove hath built to be your sphere. 
You hither must retire. 



716 



THE GOLDEN AGE RESTORED. 



Aiid as his bounty gives you cause 
Be.ready still without your pause, 

To sliGW the Avorld your fire. 
Like lights about Astrtea's throne, 
You here must shine, and all be one, 

In fervor and in flame ; 
That by your union she may grow, 
And you, sustaining her, may know 

The Age stOl by her name. 



Who vows, against or heat or cold, 
To spin your garments of her gold. 

That want may touch you never ; 
And making garlands every hour, 
To write your names in every flower 

That you may live for ever. 

Cho. To Jove, to Jove, be all the honor given, 

That tliaiikful iiearts can raise from earUi to heaven. 



THE MASQUE OF CHRISTMAS 

AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT, 1616. 



The Conn being seated, 

En(er Ceiustmas, icith two or three of the guard, 
attired in round hose, long stockings, a close 
doublet, a high-croioned hat, with a brooch, a 
long thin beard, a truncheon, little rtiffs, ichite 
shoes, his scarfs and garters tied cross, and his 
drum beaten before him. 

Why, gentlemen, do you know what you do ? 
ha ! would you have kept me out ? Christmas, 
old Christmas, Christmas of London, and Cap- 
tain Christmas ? Pray you, let me be brought 
before my lord chamberlain, I'll not be answered 
else : ' Tis merry in hall, ichen beards wag all : I 
have seen the time you have wish'd for me, for 
a merry Christmas ; and now j-ou have me, they 
would not let me in : / must come another time ! 
a good jest, as if I could come more than once 
a year : Why I am no dangerous person, and so 
I told my friends of the guard. I am old Greg- 
ory Christmas still, and though I come out of 
Pope's-hcad alley, as good a Protestant as any 
in my parish. The truth is, I have brought a 
Masque here, out o' the city, of my own making, 
and do present it by a set of my sons, that come 
out of the lanes of London, good dancing boys 
all. It was intended, I confess, for Curriers- 
Hall ; but because the weather has been open, 
and the Livery Avere not at leisure to see it till 
a frost came, that they cannot work, I thought 
it convenient, with some little alterations, and 
the groom of the revels' hand to't, to fit it for a 
higher place ; Avhich I have done, and though I 
say it, another manner of device than your 
New-year's-night. Bones o' bread, the king ! 
(seeing James.) Son Rowland ! son Clem ! be 
ready there in a trice : quick, boys ! 
Enter his Sons and DAiroiiTEES, (ten in number,) 
led in, in a string, bij Cupid, icho is attired in a 
flat cap, and a prentice s coat, loith wings at his 
shoulders. 
MisnuLE, in a velcet cap, with a sprig, a short cloak, 
great yellow ruff, like a reveller, his torch-bearer 
bearing a 7-ope, a cheese, and a basket, 
Cahol, a long tawney coat, icith a red cap, and a 
flute at his girdle, his torch-bearer carrying a 
song-book ojJen. 
MixcED-PiE, like a fine cook's wife, clrest neat; her 

man carrying a pie, dish and sjjoons. 
Gambol, like a tumbler, icith a hoop and bells ; his 
torch-bearer arm' d xoitha colt-stajf, and a binding 
cloth. 
Post and Pair, loith a pia-ii'-royal of aces in his 
hat ; his garment all done over with pairs and 
purs; his squire ca7r>jing a box, 'cards, and 
counters. 



New-Year's- Gift, in a blue coat, sorving-mari 
like, icith an orange, and a sprig of rosemary giL 
on his head, his hat full of brooches, with a col- 
lar of ginger-bread, his torch-bearer carrying o 
march-pane with a bottle of xoinc on either arm. 

Mumming, in a masquing pied suit, icith a vizard, 
his torch-bearer carrying the box, and ringing it. 

Wassel, like a neat sempster and songster ; hef 
page bearing a brown bowl, dreat loith ribands, 
and rosemary before her. 

Offering, in a short goion, icith a porter's staff in 
his hand, a wyth born before him, and a bason, 
by his torch-bearer. 

Baby-caivE, drest like a boy, in a fine long coat^ 
biggin-bib, muckender, and a little dagger ; his 
usher bearing a great cake, with a bean and a 
pease. 

They enter singing. 

Now God preserve, as you do well deserve. 

Your majesties all, two there ; 
Voiir hii;liiie3s small, with my good lords all, 

And ladies, how do you do there ? 

Give me leave to ask, for I bring you a masque 

From little, little, little London ; 
Which say the kin^ likes, I have passed the pikes, 

ir not, old Christmas is undone. {J^oisc without. 

Chris. Ha, peace ! what's the matter there ? 

Gam. Here's one o' Friday-street would 
come in. 

Chris. By no means, nor out of neither of tlie 
Fish- streets, admit not a man ; they ai'e not 
Christmas creatures : fish and fasting days, foh ! 
Sons, said I well .'' look to't. 

Ga7n. No body out o' Friday-street, nor the 
two Fish-streets there, do you hear ? 

Car. Shall John Butter o' Milk street come 
m ? ask him. 

Gam. Yes, he may slip in for a torch-bearer, 
so he melt not too fast, that he will last till the 
masque be done. 

Chris. Right, son. 

Our dance's freight is a matter of eight, 

And two, the which are wenches : 
In all they be ten, four cocks to a hen, 

And will swiin to tlie tune like tenches. 

Each hath his knight for to carry his light, 
Which some would say are torches ; 

To bring them here, and to lead tliem there, 
And home again to their own porches. 

Now their intent. 

Enter Yenus, a deaf tire-ico7nan. 
Yen, Now, all the lords bless me ! where an 
I, trow ? where is Cupid ? " Serve the king ! ' 
they may serve the cobler well enough, some of 
'em, for any courtesy they have, I wisse ; thej 
have need o' mending ; unrude people they are, 

717 



718 



THE MASQUE OF CHRISTMAS. 



your courtiers ; hero Avas thrust upon thrust 
indeed : "was it ever so hard to get in before, 
trow ' 

Chris. How now? what's the matter? 

Veil. A place, forsooth, I do want a place : 
I would have a good place, to see my child act 
in before the king and queen's majesties, God 
bless 'cm ! to-night. 

Chris. Why, here is no place for you. 

Ven. Right, forsooth, I am Cupid's mother, 
Cupid's own mother, forsooth ; yes, forsooth : 
I dwell in Pudding-lane : — ay, forsooth, he is 
prentice in Love-lane, with a bugle maker, 
that makes of your bobs, and bird-bolts for 
ladies. 

Chris. Good lady Venus of Pudding-lane, j'ou 
must go out for all this. 

Ven. Yes, forsooth, I can sit any where, so I 
m.ay see Cupid act: he is a pretty child, though 
I say it, that perhaps should not, you will say. 
I had him by my first husband, he was a smith, 
forsooth, we dwelt in Do-little-lanc then : he 
came a month before his time, and that may 
make him somewhat imperfect ; but I was a 
fishmonger's daughter. 

Chris. No matter for your pedigree, your 
hou^se: good Venus, will you depart? 

Ven. Ay, forsooth, he'll say his part, I war- 
rant him, as well as e'er a play-boy of 'em all .■ 
I could have had money enough for him, an I 
would have been tempted, and have let him 
out by the week to the king's players. Master 
Burbage has been about and about with me, 
and so has old master Hemings too, they have 
need of him : where is he, trow, ha ! I would 

fain see him pray God they have given him 

some drink since he came. 

Chris. Arc you ready, boys ! Strike up, 
nothing \v\\\ drown this noise but a drum : a' 
peace, yet ! I have not done. Sing — 

Now tlicir intent is above to present — 

Car. Why, here be half of the properties for- 
gotten, father. 

Offer. Post and Pair want'* his pur-chops, and 
his iDur dogs. 

Car. Have you ne'er a son at the groom por- 
ter's, to beg or borrow a pair of cards quickly ? 

Gam. It shall not need, here's your son 
Cheater without, lias cards in his pocket. 

Offer. Ods so ! speak to the guards to let him 
in, under the name of a property. 

Gam. And here's New-year's-gift has an 
orange and rosoDiary, but not a clove to stick 
in't. 

Neio-Year. Why let one go to the spicerj'. 

Chris. Fy, fy, fy ! it's naught, it's naught, 
boys ! 

\cn. Why, I have cloves, if it be cloves you 
want, I have cloves in my purse, I never go 
without one in my mouth. 

Car. And Mumming has not his vizard nei- 
ther. 

Chris. No matter ! his own face shall serve, 
for a punishment, and 'tis bad enough ; has 
Wassel her bowl, and Minced-pie her spoons ? 

Offer. Ay, ay : but ^Misrule doth not like his 
suit : he says, the players have lent Irim one too 
little, on purpose to disgrace him. 



Chris. Let him hold his peace, and his dis- 
grace will be the less : Avhat ! shall we proclaim 
where we were furnish' d ? !Mum ! mum ! a' 
peace ! be r 'aciy, good boys. 

Now their intent is above to present, 

With all the appurtenances, 
A riglit Christmis, as of old it was, 

To be gatliered out of the dances. 

Which they do brinsr, and afore the Itinjr, 
The queen, and prince, as it were now 

Drawn here by love ; who over and above, 
Doth draw himself in the geer too. 

Here the drum, and fife sounds, and they march 
about once. In the second coming up, Chkist- 
Ji;vs proceeds in his Song. 

Hum drum, sauce for a coney ; 

No more of yoiu' martial music ; 
Even for the sake o' tlie next new stake, 

For there I do mean to use it. 

And now to ye, who in place are to see 

With roll and farthingale hooped : 
I pray you know, though he want his bow. 

By' the wings, that this is Cupid. 

He might go back, for to cry JVhut you lad:'! 

But that were not so witty : 
His cap and coat are enough to note, 

Tltat he is the love o' the city. 

And he leads on, though he now bo gone, 

For that was only his-rule : 
But now comes in,"Tom of Bosoms-inn, 

And he presenteth Mis-rule. 

Which you may know, by the very show. 

Albeit you never ask it : 
For there" you may see, what his ensigns be, 

Tlie rope, the cheese, and tlie basket. 

Tliis Carol plays, and has been in his days 

A cbirpins boy, and a kill-pot : 
Kit Cobler it is, I'm a father of his, 

And lie dwells in the lane called Fill-pot. 

But who is this ? O, my daughter Cis, 

I\Iinccd-pie ; withjier do not dally 
On pain o' your life : she's an honest cook's wid. 

And comes out of Scalding-alley. 

Next in the trace, comes Gambol in place ; 

And, to make my tale the shorter, 
My son Hercules, tane out of Distaff-lane, 

But an active man, and a porter. 

Now Post and Pair, old Christmas's heir, 

Doth make and a gingling sally ; 
And wot you wiio, 'tis one of my two 

Sons, card-makers in Pur-alley. 

Next in a trice, with his box and his dice, 

Mac'-[)ipin my son, but younger, 
Brings Mumming in ; and the knave will win, 

For he is a costermonger. 

But New-year's-gift, of himself makes shift. 

To tell you what his name is : 
With orange on head, and his gingei-breail, 

Clem Wasiie of Honey-lane 'tis. 

This, I tell yon, is our jolly AVassel, 
And for Twelfth-night more meet too 

Pile works by the ell, and her name is Nell, 
And she dwells in Threadneedle-street too. 

Then Offering, he, with his dish and his tree. 

That in every great house keepeth, 
Is by my son, young Little-worth, done. 

And in I'enny-rich street he sleepeth. 

Last, Baby-cake, that an end doth make 
Of Christmas' merry, merry vein-a. 

Is child Rowlan, and "a straight young man. 
Though he come out of Crooked-lane-a. 

There should have been, and a dozen I weeii, 

But 1 could find but one more 
Child of Christmas, and a Log it was 

When I them all had gone o'er 



THE :MASQUE of CHRISTMAS. 



719 



I prayed him, in a time so trim, 

Tliat he would iiiHk3 one to prance it : 
And I myself would have been rlie twelftli 
O" but Log was too heavy to dance it. 

Now, Cupid, come you on. 

Cup. Yon loorthy icigJits, Idivj, lords, and 
hiights, 
Or queen and ladies bright : 
Cupid invites you to the sights 
He shall present to-night. 

Yen. 'Tis a good child, speak out ; hold up 
your head, Love. 

Cup. And which Cupid — and rohich Cupid — 

Yen. Do not shake so, Robin ; if thou be'st 
a-cold, I have some warm waters for thee here. 

Chris. Come, you put Robin Cupid out with 
your waters, and your fisling ; will you be 
gone ? 

Ven. Ay, forsooth, he's a child, you must 
conceive, and must be used tenderly ; he was 
never in such aii assembly before, forsooth, but 
once at the WarmoU Quest, forsooth, where he 
said grace as prettily as any of the sheriff's 
hinch-boys, forsooth. 

Chris. Will you peace, forsooth r 

Cup. And ichich Cupid — and which Cupid, — 

Yen. Ay, that's a good boy, speak plain, 
Robin : how does his majesty like him, I i^ray r 
■\\ill he give eight-pence a day, think you ■ 
Speak out, Robin. 

Chris. Xay, he is out enough, you may take 
him avray, and begin your dance : this it is to 
have speeches. 



Yen. You wrong the child, you do wrong the 
infant ; I 'peal to his majesty. 

Here they dance. 

Chri*. Well done, boys, my fine boys, my 
bully boys ! 

THE EPILOGUE. 

Sings. Xor do you think that llicir legs is nil 
The commendation of my sons, 
For at the Artillery garden they shall 
As well forsootli use tiieir guns. 

And march as fine, as the Muses nine. 

Along the sireets of London : 
And in their I)rave tires, to give their false fires 

Especially Tom my son. 

Now if the lanes and the allies afford 

Puch an ac-ativity as this ; 
At Christmas next, if they keep their word. 

Can the children of Chcapside miss .' 

Thonch, put the case, when they come in place, 
They should not dance, hut hop : 

Their very gold lace, with their silk, would 'em 
grace. 
Having so many knights o' the slitp. 

Cut were I so wise, I might seem to advise 

So sreat a |)otentate as yourself: 
They s!iould,sir, I tell ye, spare't out of their belly, 
^ And this way spend some of their pelf. 

Ay, and come to the court, for to make you soma 
sport. 
At the least once every year. 
As Christmas hath done, wi;h his seventh or eighttl 
son. 
And his couy'.e of daughters dear 

Jl.no "HVJ IT SVZlS'i. 



A MASQUE, 

PRESENTED IN THE HOUSE OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LORD HAl' , 

BY DIVERS OF KOBLE QUALITY HIS FRIENDS, 

FOR THE ENTERTAINMENT OF MONSIEUR LE BARON DE TOUR, 

ETtTRAORDINABV AMBASSADOR FOR THE FRENCH KINO, 

On Saturday, February 22, 1617. 

Q'JID TITUIX'M P03CIS ? VERSUS DUO TRESVE LEGASTUR. — MaRT. 

THE MASQUE OF LETHE. 



The Front before the Scexe was an Arch-tui- 

UJIPHAL, 

On the top of which, Humanity, ;;/(iccri in figure, 
sat toith her lap of floivers, scattering them with 
her right-hand I and holding a golden chain in 
her left hand : to sheto both the freedom and the 
bond of courtesy, icith this inscri2Hion : 

SURER OMNIA VULTUS. 

On the two sides of the arch. Cheerfulness and 
Readiness, her servants. 

Cheerfulness, in a loose floicing garment, filling 
out wine from an antique piece of plate ; iciththis 
word, 

ADSn LiETITI^ DATOR. 

Readiness, a winged maid, with two faming 
bright lights in her hands ; and her word, 

AMOR ADDIDIT ALAS. 



The Scene discovered, is, on the one side, the head 
of a boat, and in it Charon putting off from the 
shore, having landed certain imagined ghosts, 
whom Mercury there receives, and encourageth 
to come on totcards the river Lethe, who appears 
lying in the jJcrson of an old man. The Fates 
sitting by him on his bank; a grove of myrtles 
behind them, presented in 2^erspective, and grow- 
ing thicker to the outer-side of the scene. Mer- 
cury, perceiving them to faint, calls them on, and 
shews them his golden rod. 

Mer. Nay, faint not now, so near the fields of 

rest. 
Here no more Furies, no more torments 
dwell. 
Than each hath felt already in his breast ; 
Who hath been once in love, hath proved his 
hell. 
Up then, and follow this my golden rod. 

That points you next to aged Lethe's shore. 
Who pours his Avaters from his urn abroad. 
Of which but tasting, you shall faint no more. 



Lethe. Stay ; who or what fantastic shades are 
That Hermes leads ? [these. 

Mer. They are the gentle forms 

Of lovers tost upon those frantic seas, 
^Vhence Venus sprung. 
Lethe. And have rid out her storms ? 
Mer. No. 

Lethe. Did they perish ? 
Mer. Yes. 
Lethe. How? 
Mer. Drown'd by Love, 

That drew them forth with hopes as 

smooth as were 
Th' unfaithful Avaters he desired them 
proTe. 
Lethe. And turn'd a tempest when he had them 

there ? 
Mer. He did, and on the billow would he roll, 
And laugh to see one throw his heart 
away ; 
Another sighing, vapor forth his soul ; 
A third to melt himself in tears., and say, 

O love, I noio to Salter loater turn 

Than that I die in ; then a fourth, to cry 
Amid the surges. Oh ! I burn, I burn. 

A fifth laugh out. It is my ghost, not 1. 
And thus in pairs I foimd them. Only one 

There is, that walks, and stops, and 
shakes his head. 
And shuns the rest, as glad to be alone. 

And whispers to himself, ho is not dead. 

Fates. No more arc all the rest. 
Mer. No ! 

1 Fate. No. 
Mer. But why 

Proceeds this doubtful voice from des- 
Fates. It is too sure. [tiny ? 

Mer. Sure ! 

2 Fate. Ay. Thinks Mercury, 

That any things or names on earth do die. 
That are obscured from knowledge of the 

Fates, 
Who keep all rolls ? 

720 



THE MASQUE OF LETHE. 



721 



3 Fate. And know all nature's dates ? 
Mer. They say themselves, they are dead. 

1 Fate, It not aiDpcars, 

Or by onr rock, 

2 Fate. Our spindle, 

3 Fate. Or our shears. 

Fates. Here all their threads are growing yet, 

none cut. 
Mer. I 'gin to doubt, that Love with charms 
hath put 
This phant'sie in them ; and they only 

think 
That they are ghosts. 

1 Fate. If so, then let them drink 

Of Lethe's stream. 

2 Fate. 'Twill make them to forget 

Love's name. 

3 Fate. And so, they may recover yet. 
Me^; Go, now unto the reverend lake : 

[ To the shades. 
And having touch'd there ; up and shake 
The shadows off, which yet do make 
Us you, and you j-ourselves mistake. 

Wire they all stoop to the water, and dance forth 
their Antimasque in several gestures, as they 
lived ill love : and retiring into the grove, before 
the last 2'erson he off the stage, the first Couple 
appear in their posture between the trees, ready 
to come forth, changed. 

Mer. See ! see ! they are themselves again. 

1 Fate. Yes, now they are substances and men. 

2 Fate. Love at the name of Lethe flies. 
Lethe. For, in obUvion drown'd, he dies. 

3 Fate. He must not hope, though other states 

He oft subdue, he can the Fates. 
Fates. 'Twerc insolence to think his po'.vers 
Can work on us, or equal ours. 

Cho. Return, return, 

Like lights to burn. 
On earth 
For others good : 
Your second birth 
Will fame old Lethe's flood ; 
And warn a world, 
Tiiat now are liurl'd 
Abcut in tempest, how they prove 

Shadows for Love. 
Leap forth : your light it is the nobler made, 
By being struck out of a shade. 

Here they dance forth their entry, or first dance : 
after which Cupid apiJearing, meets them. 

Cup. Why, now you take me ! these are rights 
That grace Love's days, and crown his nights ! 
These are the moiions I would see. 
And praise in them that follow me ! 



Not sighs, nor tears, nor wounded hearts. 
Nor flames, nor ghosts : but airy parts 
Tried and refined as yours have been. 
And such they are, I glory in. 

Mer. Look, look unto this snaky rod. 
And stop your cars against the charming god ; 
His every word falls from him is a snare : 
Who have so lately known him, should beware^ 

Here they dance their Main Dance. 

Cup. Come, do not call it Cupid's crime. 
You were thought dead before your time ; 
If thus you move to Hermes' will 
Alone, you will he thought so still. 
Go, take the ladies forth, and talk. 
And touch, and taste too : ghosts can walk. 
'TwLxt eyes, tongues, hands, the mutual strife 
Is bred tlaat tries the truth of life. 
They do, indeed, like dead men move. 
That think they live, and not in love ! 

Here they take forth the Ladies, and the Uevels 
follow. After which. 

Mer. Nay, you should never have left off ; 

But staid, and heard your Cupid scoff. 

To find you in the line you were. 
Cup. Your too much wit, breeds too much fear. 
Mer. Good fly, good night. 
Cup. But will you go .'' 
Can you leave Love, and he entreat you so ? 

Here, take my quiver and my bow, 
My torches too ; that you, by all, may know 

I mean no danger to your stay : 
This night, I will create my holiday, 

And be yours naked and entu-e. 
Mer. As if that Love disarm'd were less a fire !/ 

Away, away. 

They dance their going out : tohich done, 

Mer. Yet lest that Venus' wanton son 

Should with the world be quite undone, 
For your fair sakes (you brighter stars, 
Who have beheld these civil wars) 
Fate is content these lovers here 
Remain still such ; so Love will sweat 
Never to force them act to do, 
But what he will call Hermes to. 
Cup. I swear ; and with like cause thank Mer- 
cury, 
As these have to thank him and Destiny, 

Cho. All then take cause of joy : for who hath not.' 
Old Lethe, that their follies are forgot : 
We, that their lives unto their fates they fit; 
Tliey, tliat they still shall love, and love with wiL 

AMD THUS IT ENDED 



4G 



THE VISION OF DELIGHT; 



PKESEKTED AT COURT IN CHRISTMAS 101'' 



The SCENE, — A Street in Perspective of fair 
bxdldinej discovered. 

DELIGHT 

Ts seeji to come as afar off', accompanied with Grace, 
Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, Laughter ; 
andfolloioed by Wonder. 

Stilo recitativo. 

Del. Let us play and dance, and sing, 
Let ns now turn every sort 
Of the pleasures of the spring, 
To the graces of a court. 
From air, from cloud, from dreams, from toys, 
To sounds, to sense, to love, to joys ; 
Let your shows be new, as strange, 

Let them oft and sweetly vary ; 
Let them haste so to their change, 

As the sccirs may not tarry. 
Too long t' expect the plcasing'st sight. 
Doth take away from the delight. 

Here the first Antimasque entered. 

A She-monster delivered of six Burratines, that 
dance with six Pantaloons ; which done, 

Del. Yet hear what your Delight doth pray : 
All sour and sullen looks awaj', 
That are the servants of the day ; 
Our sports are of the humorous Night, 
"Who feeds the stars that give her light. 
And useth than her wont more bright, 
To help the Ylsion of Delight. 

Night r/sc>s sloichj, and fa/ces her chariot bespangled 
icith stars. 

See, see, her scepter and her crown 
Are all of flame, and from her gown 
A train of light comes waving down. 
This night, in dew she will not steep 
The brain, nor lock the sense in sleep ; 
But all awake with phantoms keep, 
And those to make delight more deep. 

By this time the Night and Moon being both risen ; 
Night hovering over the j'lace, sung. 

MHght, Break, Phant'sie, from thy cave of cloud, 
And spread thy purple wiiips ; 
Kovv all thy figures are allow'd, 
And various shapes of things ; 
Create of airy forms a stream, 
It must have Wood, and nought of phlegm ; 
And though it be a waking dream, 
Cho. Yet let it like an odor rise 
To all the senses here, 
And fall like sleep upon (Iieir eyes, 
Or music in their ear. 



The Scene here changed to cloud, from which 
Phant'sie breaking forth, spake. 

Phan. Bright Night, I obey thee, and am 

come at thy call, 
•But it is no one dream that can please these all ; 
Wherefore I would know what dreams would 

delight 'em : ['em. 

For never was Phant'sie more loth to affright ' 
And Phant'sie, I tell you, has dreams that have 

wings, [have stings : 

And dreams that have honey, and dreams that 
Dreams' of the maker, and dreams of the teller, 
Dreams of the kitchen, and dreams of the cel- 
lar: 
Some that are tall, and some that are dwarfs, 
Some that are halter' d, and some that weai 

scarfs ; 
Some that are proper, and signify o' thing, 
And some another, and some that are nothing . 
For say the French verdingale, and the French 

hood 
Were here to dispute ; must it be understood 
A feather for a wisp were a lit moderator ? 
Your ostrich, believe it, 's no faithful translator 
Of i)erfect Utopian; and then 'twere an odd 

piece 
To see the conclusion peep forth at a cod-piece. 

The politic pudding hath still his two ends. 
Though the bellows and bag-pipe were ne'er so 

good friends : 
And who can report what offence it Avould be 
For a squirrel to see a dog climb a tree ? 
If a dream should come in now to make you 

afeard, [beard ; 

With a windmill on his head, and bells at his 
Would you straight wear your spectacles here 

at your toes, [on your nose ? 

And your boots on your brows, and your spurs 
Your whale he will swallow a hogshead for a 

pill ; [skm. 

But the maker o' the mousetrap is he that hath 
And the nature of the onion is to draw tears. 
As well as the mustard : peace, pitchers have 

ears, [mind 'em. 

And shittle-cocks wings, thqse thmgs do not 
If the bell have any sides, the clapper will find 

'em : [tabor, 

There's twice so much music in beating the 
As in the stock -fish, and somewhat less labor. 
Yet all this while, no proportion is boasted 
'Twixt an egg and an ox, though both have been 

roasted ; [tern, 

For grant that most barbers can play on the cit« 

722 



THE VISION OF DELIGHT. 



723 



Is it requisite a lawyer should plead to a ghit- 

tern ? 
You -will say now the morris-bells were but 

bribes 
To make the heel forget that e'er it had kibes ; 
I say, let the wine make ne'er so good jelly, 
The conscience of the bottle is much in the belly : 
For why ? do but take common council i' your 

way, 
And toll me who'll then set a bottle of hay 
Before the old usurer, and to his horse 
A slice of salt butter, perverting the cotu'se 
Of civil society ? open that gap. 
And out skip your fleas, four and twenty at a 

clap, 
With a chain and a trundle-bed following at 

th' heels. 
And will thcj' not cry then, the world runs a- 
As for example, a belly, and no face, [wheels? 
With the bill of a shovcler may here come in 

place ; 
The haunches of a drum, with the feet of a pot. 
And the tail of a Kentish man to it : why not ? 
Yet would I take the stars to he cruel. 
If the crab and the rope-maker ever fight duel, 
On any dependence, be it right, be it wrong : 
But, mum : a thread may be drawn out too 

long. 

Here the second Anlimasque of Phantasms came 
forth, and danced. 

Phan. Why, this you will say was phantasti- 

cal now. 
As the Cock and the Bull, the Whale and the 

Cow, 
But vanish ! away ! \They retire.^ I have change 

to present you. 
And such as I hope will m.ore truly content 

you. — 
Behold the gold-hair'd Hour descending here. 
That keeps the gate of heaven, and turns the 

year. 
Already with her sight how she doth cheer. 
And makes another face of things appear. 

Here one of the Hours descending, the lohole scene 
changed to the bower of ZiV.viwu.vs, whilst Peace 
sung as foUoweth : 

Peace. Why look you so, and .ill turn dumb, 

To see tlie opener of the new year come ; 
My presence ratlicr sliould invite, 
And aid and urge, and call to your delight ; 
The many pleasures that I bring 
Are all of youth, of heat, of life and spring, 
And were prepared to warm your blood. 
Not fix it thus, as if you statues stood. 
Cho. We see, we hear, we feel, we taste, 

We smell the change in everj' flow'r. 
We only wish that all could last, 
And be as new still as the hour. 

Wonder. Wonder must speak or break ; what 
is this? grows 
The wealth of nature here, or art ? it shows 
As if Favonius, father of the spring. 
Who in the verdant meads doth reign sole king, 
Had roused him here, and shook his feathers, 

wet 
With purple swelling nectar ; and had let 
The sweet and fruitful dew fall on the ground 
To force out all the flowers that might be found : 
Or a IMinerva with her needle had 



The enamour'd earth with all her riches clad, 
And made the downy Zephyr as he flew 
Still to be followed with the Spring's best luie. 
The gaudy peacock boasts not in his train 
So many lights and shadows, nor the rain- 
Resolving Iris, when the Sun doth court her. 
Nor purple pheasant while his aunt doth sport her 
To hoar him crow, and Avith a i^erched pride 
Wave his discolor'd neck and pui-ple side. 
I have not seen the place could more surprise, 
It looks, methinks, like one of Nature's eyes. 
Or her whole body set in art : behold ! 
How the blue bindweed doth itself infold 
With honey-suckle, and both these intwine 
Themselves with bryony and jessamine, 
To cast a kind and odoriferous shade. 

Phan. How better than they are, are all things 
made 
By Wonder ? But awhile refresh thine eye, 
I'll put thee to thy oftener. What and Why ? 

Here, to a loud music, the Boioer opens, and the 
Masquers are discovered as the Glories of the 
Spring. 

Won. Thou wilt indeed ; v/hat better change 

appears ? 
Whence is it that the air so sudden clears, 
And all things in a moment turn so mild ? 
Whose breath or beams have but proud earth 

with child. 
Of all the treasure that great Nature's worth. 
And makes her every minute to bring forth ? 
How comes it winter is so quite forced hence, 
And lock'd up under ground ? that every sense 
Hath several objects ? trees have got their heads, 
And fields their coats? that now the shining 

meads 
Do boast the paunce, the lily, and the rose ; 
And every flower doth laugh as Zei:)hyr blows 3 
That seas are now more even than the land ? 
The rivers run as smoothed by his hand ; 
Only their heads are crisped by his stroke : — 
How plays the yearling with his brow scarce 

broke 
Now in the open grass ! and frisking lambs 
Make wanton salts about their drj'-suck'd 

dams ! 
Who to repair their bags do rob the fields. 

How is't each bough a several music yields 5 
The lusty throstle, early nightingale. 
Accord in tune, though vary in their tale ; 
The chirping swallow call'd forth by the sun, 
And crested lark doth his division run ? 
The yellow bees the air -with murmur fill, 
The finches carol, and the turtles bill ? 
Whose power is this ? what god ? 

Phan. Behold a king. 
Whose presence maketh this perpetual spring ; 
The glories of which spring grov.' in that bower 
And are the marks and beauties of his power 

Cho. 'Tis he, 'tis he, and no power else. 

That makes all this what Phanl'sie tells ; 
The founts, the flowers, tlie birds, the bees. 
The herds, the flocks, the grass, the trees. 
Do all confess him ; but most tliese 
Who call him lord of the four seas, 
King of the less and greater isles. 
And all tliose happy when he smiies. 
Advance, his favor calls you to advance. 
And do your this night's homage in a dance. 



r24 



THE VISION OF DELIGHT. 



Here they danced their Entry, after which they 
sung again. 

Cho Agaia '■ again ! you cannot be 
Of such a true delight too free, 
Which, who once saw, would ever see : 
And if they could tlie object prize, 
Would, while it lasts, not think to rise. 
But wish their bodies all were eyes. 

Here they danced their Main Dance, after tohich 
they sutiy. 

€lw. In curious knots and mazes so. 

The Spring affirst was taught to go ; 

And Zephyr, when he came to woo 

His Flora, had their motions too : 

And thence did Venus learn to lead 
The Idalian brawls, and so to tread 

As if the wind, not she, did walk ; 

Nor prest a flower, nor bow'd a Btalfe. 



Here they danced with the Ladies, and the ichoU 
"R^y-EijS followed ; after which Aurora, appeared, 
(the Night and Moon being descended,) and this 
E]}ilogue followed. 

Aur. I -Nvas not wearier where I lay 
By frozen Tithon's side to-nigbt ; 
Than I am •willing now to stay, 
And be a part of your delight. 
But I am urged by the Day, 
Against my will, to bid you come away. 

C/io. They yield to time, and so must all. 

As night to sport, day doth to action call ; 

Which they the rather do obey. 

Because the Morn with roses strews the way 

Here they danced their going off: 

AM) THT7S IT EBDEO. 



PLEASURE RECONCILED TO VIRTUE 



A MASQUE; 

As it was presented at CouH, before King James, 1619. 



The Scene was the Mountain 

ATLAS, 

Wlio had his top ending in the figure of an old 
man, his head and beard all hoary, and frost, as 
if his shoulders were covered toith snoio ; the rest 
wood and rock. A grove of ivy at his feet ; out 
of tohich, to a 2oild tnusic of cymbals, flutes and 
tabors, is brought forth Comus, the god of cheer,- 
or the Belly, riding in triumph, his headcroicn'd 
with roses and other flowers, his hair curled: 
they that loait upon him crown'd with ivy, their 
javelins done about with it ; one of them going 
with Hercules his bowl hare before him, xohile 
the rest present him with this 



FULL CHORUS. 

Room ! room ! make room for tlie Bouncing Belly 

First father of sauce, and deviser of jelly ; 

Prime master of arts, and the giver of wit, 

That found out the excellent engine the spit ; 

The plough and the flail, the mill and the hopper, 

The hutch and the boulter, the furnace and copper. 

The oven, the haven, the mawkin, the peel, 

The hearth and the range, the dog and tlie wheel : 

He, he first invented the hogshead and tun. 

The gimlet and vice too, and taught them to run. 

And since with the funnel and Hippocras bag. 

He has made of himcslf, that now he cries swag ! 

VVhich shows, though tlie pleasure be but of four inches, 

Yet he is a weasel, the gullet that pinches 

Of any delight, and not spares from his back 

Whatever to make of the belly a sack ! 

Hail, hail, plump paunch ! O the founder of taste, 

For fresh meats, or jxiwder'd, or pickle, or paste, 

Devourer of broil'd, baked, roasted, or sod ; 

And emptier of cups, be they even or odd : 

All which have now made thee so wide in the waist. 

As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced ; 

But eating and drinking until thou dost nod. 

Thou break'st all thy girdles, and break's! forth a god. 

Bowl bearer. Do you hear, my friends ? to 
■whom did you sing all this now ? Pardon me 
only that I ask you, for I do not look for an 
answer; I'll answer myself: I know it is now 
such a time as the Satunials for all the world, 
that every man stands under the eves of his 
own hat, and sings what pleases him ; that's 
the right and the liberty of it. Now you sing 
of god Comus, here, the belly-god ; I say it is 
well, and I say it is not well ; it is well as it is 
a ballad, and the belly worthy of it, I must 
needs say, an 'twere forty yards of ballad more, 
as much ballad as tripe. But when the beUy is 
not edified by it, it is not well ; for where did 
you ever read or hear that the belly had any 
ears ? Come, never pump for an answer, for 
you are defeated : our follow Hunger there, that 
was as ancient a retainer to the BeUy as any of 



us, was turn'd away for being unseasonable 
not unreasonable, but unseasonable ; and now 
is he, poor thin-gut, fain to get his living with 
teaching of starlings, magpies, parrots, and 
jack-daws, those things he would have taught 
the Belly. Beware of dealing with the Belly, 
the Belly will not be talk'd to, especially when 
he is fiill; then there is no venturing upon 
Venter, he Avill blow you all up, he will thun. 
der indeed la ! Some in derision call him the 
father of farts ; but I say he was the first in- 
ventor of great ordnance, and taught us to dis- 
charge them on festival days, would we had a 
fit feast for him, i' faith, to shew his activity ; I 
Avould have something now fetched in to please 
his five senses, the throat ; or the two senses, 
the eyes : pardon me for my two senses ; for 1 
that carry Hercules's bowl in the service, may 
see double by my place ; for I have drunk like 
a frog to-day : I would have a tun now brought 
in to dance, and so many bottles about him. 
Ha ! you look as if you would make a problem 
of this ; do you see, do you see ? a problem : 
Why bottles, and why a tun ? and why a tun 
and why bottles, to dance ? I say, that men 
that drink hard, and serve the Belly in any 
place of quality, (as the jovial tinkers, or the 
lusty kindred,) are living measures of drink, and 
can transform themselves, and do every day, to 
bottles or tuns, when they please : and when 
they have done all they can, they are as I say 
again (for I think I said somewhat like it afore) 
but moving measures of drink, and there is a 
piece in the cellar can hold more than all they. 
This will I make good, if it please our new god 
but to give a nod, for the Belly does all by signs ; 
and I am for the belly, the truest clock in the 
world to go by. 

Here the first ANTiMAsauE, danced by Men in the 
shape of bottles, tuns, §c. 

Enter Hekcules. 

Her. AVhat rites are these ? breeds eartn more 
monsters yet ? 
AntiBus scarce is cold : what can beget [her ! 
This store ? and, stay ! — such contraries upon 
Is earth so fruitful of her own dishonor ? 
Or 'cause his vice was inhumanity, 
Hopes she by vicious hospitality 
To work an expiation first ? and, then, 
(Help virtue,) these are sponges and not men ; 
Bottles ; mere vessels ; half a ton of paunch ! 
Ho'vv i and the other half thrust forth in haunch ! 
Whose feast ? the Belly's ? Comus ! and my cup 

725 



r2s 



PLEASURE HECONCILED TO VIRTUE. 



Brought in to fill the drunken orgies up, 
And here abus'd ; that was the crown'd reward 
Of thirsty heroes, after labor hard ! 
Burdens and shames of nature, perish, die ! 
For yet you never liv'd, but in the sty. 
■ Of vice have wallow' d, and, in that swine's 

strife. 
Been buried under the oftence of life : 
Go reel and fall under the load you make, 
rill your swollen bowels burst Avith what you 

take. 
Can this be pleasure, to extinguish man, 
Or so quite change him in his iigure ? can 
The Belly love his pain, and be content 
With no delight but what's a punishnient ? 
These monsters plague themselves, and fitly too, 
For they do suffer what, and all they do. 
But here must be no shelter, nor no shrowd 
.For such : Sink, grove, or vanish into cloud ! 

At this the Grove and Antlmasque vanished, and 
the ivhole Music was discovered, sitting at the foot 
of the mountain, with Pleasure and Virtue 
seated above them. 

Cho. Great friend and servant of the good, 

Let cool awhile tliy heated blood, 
And from thy mighty labor cease. 

Lie down, lie down, 
And give thy troiildcd spirits peace: 
Whilst Virtue, fur whose sake 
Tliou dost tliis f,'udlike travail take, 
May of tlie choicest herbage make, 

Here on this mountain bred, 
A crown, a crown 

For thy immortal head. 



Here Hercules lay doion at their feet, and the 
second Antiniasque, xohich loas of Pigmies, aj)- 
peared. 

1 Pig. Antseus dead, and Hercules yet live ! 
Where is this Hercules ? what would I give 

To meet him now ? meet him ! nay, three such 

other. 
If they had hand in murder of our brother ? 
With three ! with four, viit\\ ten, nay, with as 

many 
As the name yields ? pray anger, there be any 
Whereon to feed my just revenge, and soon ! 
How shall I kill him? hurl him 'gainst the 

moon, 
And break liim in small portions ! give to Greece 
His brain, and every tract of earth a piece ! 

2 Pig. He's yonder. 
1 Pig. Where ? 

3 Pig. At the hill-foot asleep. 

1 Pig. Let one go steal his club. 

2 Pig. My charge ; — I'll creep. 

4 Pig. He's ours ! 
1 Pig. Yes, peace. 

3 Pig. Triumph ! we have him, boy. 

4 Pig. Sure, sure, he's sure. 

1 Pig. Come, let us dance for joy. [Music. 

At the end of their Dance they thought to surprise 
him, ichen suddenly, being awaked by the music, 
he roused himsef, and they all ran into holes. 

SONG. 

Wake, Hercules, awake ; but heave up thy black eye, 
'Ti^ only ask'd IVom thee to look, and these will die, 



Or fly: — 
Already tliey are fled, 
Whom scorn hath else left dead. 

At which Mercury descended from the Hill, icith 
a garland of 2}02)lar, to crown him, 

Mer. Rest still, thou active friend of Virtue ; 

these 
Should not disturb the peace of Hercules : 
Earth's worms, and honor's dwarfs, at too great 
Prove or provoke the issue of the gods, [odds, 
See here a crown the aged Hill hath sent thee, 
My grandsire Atlas, he that did present thee 
With the best sheep that in his fold were found. 
Or golden fruit in the Hesperian ground, 
For rescuing his fair daughters, then the prey 
Of a rude pirate, as thou cam'st this way ; 
And taught thee all the learning of the sphere, 
And hov/, like him, thou might'st the heavens 

itjj-bear. 
As that thy labor's virtuous recompense. 
He, though a mountain now, hath yet the sense 
Of thanking thee for more, thou being still 
Constant to goodness, guardian of the hill ; 
Aiitaius b}^ thee suffocated here, 
And the voluptuous Comus, god of cheer, 
Beat from his grove, and that defaced : but now 
The time's arrived that Atlas told thee of, how 
B' unalter'd law, and working of the stars, 
There shoitld be a cessation of all jars, 
'Twixt virtue and her noted ojiposite, [sight 
Pleasure ; that both should meet here in the 
Of Hesperus, the glory of the west, 
The brightest star that from his burning crest 
Lights all on this side the Atlantic seas. 
As far as to thy pillars, Hercules I 
See where he shines. Justice and AVisdom placed 
About his throne, and those with honor graced, 
Beauty and Love ! it is not with his brother 
Bearing the world, but ruling such another 
Is his renown ; Pleasure, for his delight 
Is reconciled to Virtue, and this night [bred 
Virtue brings forth twelve princes have been 
In this rough mountain, and near Atlas' head, 
The hill of knovv'ledge ; one, and chief of whom, 
Of the bright race of Hesperus is come, 
Who shall in time the same that he is be. 
And now is only a less light than he : 
These now she trusts with Pleasure, and to these 
She gives an entrance to the Hesperides, 
Fair beauty's garden ; neither can she fear 
They should grow soft, or wax effeminate here; 
Since in her sight, and by her charge all's done 
Pleasure the servant, Virtue looking on. 

Here the whole choir of music called the twelvt 
Masquers forth from the top of the mountaini 
ichich then opened, loith this 

SONG. 

Ope, aged Atlas, open then thy lap, 

And from tliy beamy bosom strike a light, 
That men may read in the mysterious map 
All lines, 
And signs 
Of royal education, and the right. 

See how lliey come and show, 
That are but born to know. 

Descend, 

Descend ; 
Though pleasure lead, 
Fear not to follow : 



PLEASURE RECONCILED TO VIRTUE. 



727 



Tliey who are hted 
Within tlie liill 

Of skill, 
IMay safely treail 
What path they will , 
No ground of good is hollow. 

Tn their descent from the hill, D^d.vlus ca?ne down 
before them. 

Her. But, Hermes, stay, a little let me pause ; 
Who's this that leads ? 

Mcr. A guide that gives them laws 
To all their motions, Daedalus the -wise. 

Hsr. And doth in sacred harmony comprise 
His precepts ? 

Mer. Yes. 

Her. They may securely prove, 
Then, any labyrinth, though it be of love. 

Here, while they put themselves in form, DiEDALUs 
had his first 

SONG. 

Deed. Come on, come on ! and where you go, 
So interweave the curious knot. 
As ev'n the observer scarce may know 
Which lines are Pleasure's, and wliich not. 

First finure out the doubtful way, 
At which a while all youth should stay, 

Wlicre she and Virtue did contend, 
Which should have Hercules to friend. 

Then as all actions of mankind 

Are but a labyrinth or maze : 
So let your dances be entwined, 

Yet not perplex men unto gaze ; 

But measured, and so numerous too. 
As men may read each act they do ; 

And when they see the graces meet. 
Admire the wisdom of your feet. 

Foi dancing is an exercise, 

Not only shows the mover's wit, 
But makcth the beholder wise, 

As he hath power to rise to it. 

HERE THE FIKST DAKCE. 

After lohich, 

SONG. 

ViiA. O more and more ! this was so well. 
As praise wants half his voice to tell, 

Again yourselves compose ; 
.And now put ail the aptness on. 
Of figure, that proportion 

Or color can disclose : 

That if those silent arts were lost. 
Design and picture, they might boast 

From you a newer ground ; 
Instructed by the height'ning sense 
Of dignity and reverence, 

In tlieir true motions found. 

Begin, begin ; for look, the fair 
Do longing listen to what air 

You form your second touch : 
That they may vent their murmuring hymns 
Just to tlie [time] you move your limbs. 

And wish their own were such. 



Make haste, make haste ; for this 
The labyrinth of beauty is. 

HERE THE SECOND DANCE. 

After which, 

SONG. 
Deed. It follows now you are to prove 

The subtlest maze of all, that's love. 

And if you stay too long. 

The fair will think you do them wrong. 

Go choose among but with a mind 

As gentle as the stroking wind 

Runs o'er the gentler flowers. 
And so let all your actions smile 
As if they meant not to beguile 

The ladies, but the hours. 

Grace, laughter, and discourse may meet. 

And yet the beauty not go less : 
For what is noble should be sweet. 

But not dissolv'd in wantonness. 

Will you that I give the law 

To all your sport, and sum it ? 
It should bo such should envy draw. 

But overcome it. 

Here they danced with the Ladies, and the whole 
Revels followed; which ended. Mercury 
called to Daedalus in this speech : lohich was 
after repeated in Song by two trebles, tioo ten ■ 
ors, a base, and the whole Chorus. 

SONG. 
JMsr. An eye of looking back were well, . 
Or any murmur that would tell 
Your thoughts, how you were sent, 
And went 
To walk with Pleasure, not to dwell. 

These, these are hours by Virtue spared. 
Herself, she being her own reward ; 
But she will have you know. 
That though 
Her sports be soft, her life is hard. 

You must return unto the Hill, 

And there advance 
With labor, and inhabit still 

That height and crown, 
Yrom whence you ever may look down 

Upon triumphed chance. 

She, she it is in darkness shines, 
'Tis she that still herself refines. 
By her own light to every eye ; 
More seen, more known, when Vice stands by : 
And though a stranger here on earth. 
In heaven she hath her right of birth. 

There, there is Virtue's seat : 
Strive to keep her your own ; 

'Tis only she can make you great. 
Though place here make you known. 

After which, they danced their last Dance, a}id 
returned into the scene, ichich closed, and was 
a mountain again, as before. 

AND SO IT ENDED. 



This pleased the king so well, as he would see it again 
when it was presented with these additions 



FOR THE HONOR OF WALES. 



The SCENE standing, as before, a Mountain ; hut 
now the name changed from Atlas to Craig -Eriri, 

Enter Griffith, Jenkix, and Evan, a Welsh 
Attorney, 

Grif Cossin, I know what belongs to this 
place syinwhat petter than you ; and therefore 
give me leave to bo pold to advise you. 'Is not 
a small matter to offer yourself into presence of 
a king, and auU his court ? Be not too bj'ssie 
and forward, till you be caull'd ; I tauke reason 
to you. 

Jen. Cym, never tauke any taukes ; if the 
king of • Gread Prittaine keep it assizes here, I 
will cym into court ; loog yovv, do you see now, 
and please Got. 

Grif. Taw, d yn ynbhyd, y, dhwyti-n ablianabhy, 
voh peth othfolineb, ag y tyny gwatwar ar dy wlac, 

Jen. Gad vyn lonyth. I say, I will appear in 
court. 

Ec. Appear as yow s'ud do then. Dab Jenkin, 
in good sort ; do not discredit the nation, and 
pyt wrong upon us aull by your rassnoss. 

Jon. What do yow cauU rassnoss, Evan y 
Gynrn ? is not aull the cyntrie, and aull Welse, 
and the prince of Wales too, abused in him ? 
By this hand, I will tell it the king's own ears 
every 'oord, do j''ou see him now ? Bless j^our 
ursip, i^ray got is in heaven bless every ince of 
your ursip ; and Wales is commend it to your 
ursip, from top to toe, with aull his hearts aull 
over, by got utch me, and would be glad as a sil- 
ling to see yow in him. Come it down once a day, 
and try ; I tell yow now, yow s'all be as wel- 
comely there as where you were in yowr own cyn- 
tries last two symmcrs, and pershancc we'll made 
yow as good s'ecro too : we'll promise yowr ur- 
sip as good a piece of seeze, as yow need pyt 
in your head, and i^leas' yow s'all be toasted 
too. Go to, see him once upon a time yowr own 
sellivc, is more good mean yow, than is aware of : 
by got' is very hard, but s'all make yow a shes- 
tice of x^cace the first days you come ; and pcr- 
shance (say nothing) knight o' the s'iro too : 'is 
not Worsters, nor Pembrokcs, no Montgymeries, 
s'all carry him from yow. But aull this while 
s'all I tell you a liddell now ? 'Is a great huge 
deal of anger upon yow, from all AValcs and tlic 
nation, that your ursip would suffer our young 
ftiaster Sarles, your ursip's son and heir, and 
prince of Wales, the first time he ever jjlay 
dance, to be pit up in a mountain (got knows 
where) by a paltcrly poet, how do you say him, 
Evan? 

Ev. Libia. 

Jen. Vellhy ! Libia. And how do yow caull 
him the mountain ? his name is 

Ev. Adlas. 

Jen. Hynno, hynno, Adlas-? Ay, please j^our 
ursip, 'is a Welse atturney, and a preddilie schol- 
lers, a wear him liis long coat, lined with seepes- 



skin, as yow see every days o' the week. A 
very sufficient litigious fellows in the terms, and 
a finely poets out o' the terms ; he has a sprig 
of lawrel already towards his girlonds. He was 
get in here a Twelfe-night and see aull ; what 
do you call it, your matters, and says is naught, 
naught, stark naught. 

Ev. I do say, an't please his madestee, I do 
not like him with all his heart ; he is plug'd in 
by the ears, without aull piddles or mercies of 
propriedies or decorums. I will do injuries to 
no man before his madestee ; but 'is a very vile 
and absurd as a man would Aviss, that I do say, 
to pyt the prince of Wales in an outlandis moun- 
tain ; when he is known, his highness has as 
goodly mountains, and as tawll a hills of his 
own, (look yow, do yow see now) and of as good 
standing, and as good disccnt as the proudest 
Adlas christned. 

Jen. Ay, good Evan, I pray you reckon his 
madestee some of the Welse hills, the mountains. 

Eo. Why there is Talgarth. 

Jen. Well sayd. 

Eo. Eliennietli. 

Jen. Well saj'^d, Evan. 

Ed, Caider Arthur. 

Jen. Toudge him, toudge him. 

Ev. Pen-maen-maur. 

Jen. Is good boys, Evan. 

Ev. And Craig-Eriri. 

Jen. Aw, Vellhy! Why law you now, 'is not 
Pen-macn-maur and Craig-Eriri as good sound 
as Adlas ever whit of him ? 

Ev. 'Is caull'd the British Aulpcs, Craig-Eriri, 
a very sufficient hills. 

Jen. By got, we will play with him hills for 
hills, for sixteen and forty shillings when he 
dares. 

Eo, I pray you let it alone your wachers a 
liddlc while, cossin Davy ap Jenkin, and give it 
leave I may give his madestee and the court in- 
formations toudging now the reformations. 

Jen. Why, cannot yow and I tauke too, cos- 
sin ? the hauU (God bless it) is big inough to 
hold both our taukes, and we were twice as 
much as we are. 

Eo. Why tauke it all then, if you think is 
reason in you. 

Jen. No ; I know is no reason, Evan, I confess 
him ; but every man would shew liimselve a good 
subject as he can to his means ; I am a subject 
by my place, and two heads is better than one I 
imagine under correction. 

Eo. Got's ownes ! here is no corrections, 
man ; imagine what yow please, do in got's 
name, imagine, imagine, why do you not ima- 
gine ? here is no pcnyrths of corrections. 

Grif. Awgdwin Taivson. 

Eo. 'Is so invincibles, so inmercifullys igno- 
rant, a man knows not upon what inces of 
ground to stand to him ; does conceive it n« 

728 



FOR THE HONOR OF WALES. 



729 



more as I am a true Welse Christian, than (sir- 
reverence o' the company) the hilts of his dagger. 

Jen, Go to, I will make the hilts conceive a 
knock upon your pate, and pershance a bump 
too, if you tauke. 

Ev. How ! upon my pate ? 

Jen. Yes, upon your pate, your poetly pate, 
and 3-our law pate too., 

Grif. Tawson, Taicson ! For' got yow will go 
near to hazard a thumb, and a fowre irnger of 
your best hand, if you knock him here ; you 
may knock him better s'eape at Ludlow a great 
deal : do you know the place where it is ? 

Eo. Well, I can be patient, I trust, I trust, it 
is in a presence, I presume, that loves no quar- 
rels nor replies, nor the lies, nor the shallcnge, 

nor the duels : but 1 will do my 'byssiness 

now, and make this a byssiness for another days 

hereafter : pleas' your madestee By got I 

am out of my tempers terribly well, got forgive 
me, and pyt me in my selve again. How does 
your highness 1 know not a 'oord or a sylla- 
ble what I say ; 'is do me that vexations. 

Grif. O Evan, for the honor of Wales ! 

Ev. I remember him now, 'tis enough : — 
blessings upon me, is out o' my head again ; 
lost, quite lost : this knock o' my pate has knock 
aull my wits out o' my brains, I think, and turn 
my reasons out of doors. Believe it, I will rub, 
and break your s'ins for this, I will not come so 
nigh as your head, but I will take your nose in 
my way, very sufficiently. 

Jen. Hang your sufficiency. 

Ev. 'Tis well, very well, 'tis better, better ex- 
ceedingly well. 

Enter Howell and Rheese, loith their Harps. 

IIow. What ! you mean ho ! to make us 

so long tarry here, ha ? 

Grif. Marry, here is aull undone with distem- 
pers, methinks, and angers, and passions. 

Rheese. AVho is angry ? 

Ev. Why it is I is angry, and hungry too, if 
you mark me ; I could eat his Flintseer face 
now : ofter to knock my pa*e in the hearing of 
all these, and more too ! well, before his mades- 
tee I do yet forgive him now with all my heart, 
and will be revenged another time. 

How. Why that is good Evan, honest, brave 
Evan. 

Rheese. Ha' yow told the king's madestee of 
the alterations ? 

Ev. I am now once again about him ; peace : 
please your madestee, the Welse nation hearing 
that the prince of Wales was to come into the 
hills again, afore your madestee, have a desire 
of his highness, for the honor of Wales, to make 
him a Welse hills, which is done without' any 
manner of sharshese to your madestee, only 
shanging his name : he is cauU now Craig-Eriri, 
a mountain in Carnarvanseere : has as grey 
beard, and as much snow upon his head aull the 
year long — 

Jen. As Adlas for his guts. 

Ev. He tells your madestee true, for aull he 
Is a liddle out of season : but cym every man 
tell as much as he can now ; my quality is, I 
hope, sufficiently known to his madestee, that I 
am Reotor Chori is all my ambitions, and that I 



would have it aull AVelse, that is the short and 
the long of the requests. The prince of Wales 
we know is. all over Welse. 

Jen. And then my lord marquis. 

Eo. Both my lord marquis is as good, noble, 
true Briton, as any ever is come out of Wales. 

Jen, My lord MontgjTnery is as sound Welse 
too as flese and blood can make liim. 

How. And the Howards by got, is Welse as 
strait as any arrow. 

Ev. Houghton is a town bear his name there 
by Pipidiauke. 

How. And Erwyn, his name is Wyn ; but the 
Dutsmen come here in Wales, and cauU him 
Heer-win. 

Rheese. Then Car is plain Welse, Caerlcon, 
Caermardin, Cardiffe. 

Jen. And Palmer, his ancestors was call him 
Penmaure. 

Rheese. And Acmooty, is Ap-mouth-wye of 
Llanmouthwye. 

Jen. And Abercromy, is aull one as Abermar- 
lys. 

Ev. Or Abertau. 

How. Or Aberdugled haw. 

Rheese. Or Abeshondhy. 

Jen. Or Abergcveny. 

Hoiv. Or Aberconway. 

Ev. Aberconway is very like Abercromy, a lid- 
dle hard s'ift has pyt 'em aull into Wales ; but our 
desires and petitions is, that the musiques be all 
Welse, and the dances, and no 'Ercules brought 
in now with a great staff, and a pudding upon 
him. 

Jen. Aw ! was his distaff, was not his club. 

Ev. What need of 'Ercules, when Cadwalla- 
der — 

Jen, Or Lluellin, or Rheese ap GryfTyth, or 
Cradock, or Owen Glendower, with a Welse 
hook and a goat-skin on his back, had done very 
better, and twice as well ? 

Eo. Nay, and to pyt apparel on a pottle of hay, 
and call him Lantpeus. 

Grif. The belly-^ods too, was as proper a mon- 
ster as the best of 'em. 

Ev, I stand to it, there was neither poetries 
nor architectures, nor designs in that belly-god ; 
nor a note of musics about him. Come, bring 
forth our musics, yow s'all hear the true Prltan 

strains now, the ancient Welse harp yow 

tauke of their Pigmoes too, here is a Pigmces 
of Wales now : set forth another Pigmces by 
him ! 

Enter ttco 'Wovaon, follotced hy the Musicians. 

1 Wo. Aio diesits ! what a bravely company ia 
here ! This is a finely haull indeed. 

2 Wo. What a deal of fine candle it is ! 

Jen. Ay, peace ; let his madestee hear the 
music. 

2 Wo. Ble mae yr Brenin ? 

Jen. Docko ve. 

1 Wo. Diesus bless him ! saint Davy bless 
him ! I bring my boy o' my back ten mile hero 
to loog upon him : loog Hullin, loog Hullin ! 
Steioch hummaoen nayd Dutnma braveris : you 
s'all hear him play too. 

Ev. Peace, no more pradling ; begin set him 
doAvn. {Music, 



730 



FOE, THE HONOR OF WALES. 



FIRST SONG. 

Svari. V is not come here to tank of Brut, 

From wlience the Welse floes take his root ; 
Nor tell long pedigree of Prince Camber, 
Whose linage would fill auU this chamber ; 
Nor sing the deeds of old Saint Davy, 
Th' ursip of which would fill a navy. 
But hark yow me now, for a liddel tales 
S'all make a gread deal to the credit of Wales ; 
Clw. In which we'll toudge your ears, 

With the praise of her thirteen s'ecrcs. 

And make yow as glad and merry 

As fourteen pot of Perry. 

Still, still, we'll toudge your cars, 

With the praise, &lc. 

SECOND SONG. 

li'o-j) 'Tis true, was wear him sherkin freize, 

But what is that ? we have store of seize, 
And Got is plenty of goats milk 
That sell him well, will buy him silk 
Enough to make him fine to quarrel 
At Hereford sizes in new apparel ; 
And get liim as much green velvet perhap^ 
S'all give it a face to his Monmouth cap. 
Cho. But then the ore of Lempster, 
By got is never a sempster. 
That, when he is spun, e'er did. 
Yet match him with hir thrid. 
Still, still, &c. 

THIRD SONG. 

Bluese. AuU this's the back's ; now let us tell ye, 
Of some provisions for the belly : 
As cid, and goat, and great goat's mother, 
And I'unt, and cow, and good cow's uther : 
And once but taste o' the Welse mutton, 
Your Englis sccp's not worth a button. 
And then for your fiss, s'all shoose it your diss. 
Look but about, and there is a trout, 
Cho. A salmon, cor, or chevin. 
Will feed you six or seven. 
As tauU man as ever swagger. 
With Welse hook, or long dagser. 
Still, still, &c. 

FOURTH SONG. 

Eean But aull this while was never think 
A word in praise of our Welse drink. 
Yet for all tiiat is a cup of Bragat, 
All England s'eerc may cast his cab-at. 
And what you say to ale of Webley, 
Toudge him as well, you'll praise him trebly, 
As well as Methcglin, or sider, or meath, 
S'all a'ake it your dagger quite out o' the seath. 
Cho. And oat-cake of Guarthenion, 

With a goodly leek, or onion. 

To give as sweet a rellis 

As e'er did harper Ellis. 
Still, still, &c. 

FIFTH SONG. 

fibifl. And yet, is nothing now all this, 
If of our musiques we do miss ; 
Both harps and jiipes too, and the crowd 
Must aull come in and tauke alowd, 
As loud as Bangu, Davie's bell, 
Of which is no doubt yow have hear tell, 
As well as our lowder" Wrexham organ, 
And rumbling rocks in seere Glamorgan ; 
Cko. Where look but in the ground there, 

And you s'all see a sound there, 

That put him altogedder. 

Is sweet as measure pedder. 
Still, still, &c. 

SIXTH SONG. 

Tlhcese. Au, but wnat say yow should it shance too. 
That we should leap it in a dance too, 
And make it you as great a pleasure. 
If but your eyes be now at leisure ; 
As in your ears shall leave a laughter. 
To last upon you six days after .' 
Ha ! well-a-go to, let us try to do 
As your old Britton, things to be writ on 



Cho. Come put on other looks now, 

And lay away your hooks now ; 
And though yet yow ha' no pump, rirs, 
Let 'em hear that yow can jump, sir:' 
Still, still, &c. 

Jen. Speak it your conscience now ; did your 
ursip ever see such a song in your days ? 'is not 
as finely a tunes as a man would wiss to put in 
his ears ? 

Ed. Come, his madesty s'all hear better to 
your dance. 

TIei'e a Dance of Mex. 

Ev, Haw ! well danced, very well danced ! 

Jen. Well plaid, Howell : well plaid, Rheese I 
Da loharry ! vellhee ! well danced, i' faith ! 

Ev. Good boys, good boys ! pold and Prittan, 
pold and Prittan. 

Jen. Is not better this now than pigmies ? this 
is men, this is no monsters, and you mark him : 
well, caull forth you goats now, your ursip 
s'all see a properly natural devise come from the 
Welse mountains : is no tuns, nor no bottils : 
stand by there, s'ow his ursip the hills ; was 
dronkenry in his eyes, that make that devise in 
my mind. But now marg, marg, your ursip, I 
pray yow now, and yow s'all see natures and 
propriedies ; the very beasts of Wales s'all do 
more than your men pyt in bottils and barrils, 
there was a tale of a tub, i' faith. [Music.'] Is 
the goat herd and his dog, and his son, and his 
wife make musiques to the goats as they come 
from the hills ; give 'em rooms, give 'em rooms, 
now they cym ! the elderly goats is indifferently 
grave at first, because of his beard, and only 
tread it the measures ; byt yow will see him put 
off' his gravities by and by well enough, and 
frisk it as fine as e'er a kid on 'em aiill. The 
Welse goat is an excellent dancer by birth, thai 
is written of him, and of as wisely carriage, 
and comely behaviors a beast (for his footing 
especially) as soine one or two man, got bless 
him. 

Ev. A haull, a hauU, come a haul! ! Aio 
vellhee. 

Here the 'Dance of Goats. 

1 Wo. Nay, and your madestee bid the Welso 
goats welcome ; the Welse wen'ces s'all sing 
your praises, and dance your healths too. 

SONG. 

1 Worn. Au, God bless it onr good king S'ames, 

His wife and his sildren, and aull his reams, 

2 Worn. And anil his ursipful s'istice of peace about him, 

1 Worn. And send that his court be never without him. 

2 Worn. Ow, that her would come down into Wales, 

1 Worn. Her s'ud be very welcome to Welse Ales. 

2 Worn. I have a cow, 

1 Worn. And I have a hen ; 

2 Worn. S'all give it milk, 

1 Worn. And eggs for aull his men. 
Both. It self s'all have venison and other seere. 

And may it be starved, that steal him his deer. 
There, there, and every where. 

Jen, Cym, dance now, let us hear your dance, 
Ev. Ha ! well plaid Ales. [dance. 

How. For the honor of Wales. 

Here the Men and Women dance togetlier. 

Jen. Digon ! enough, enough, digon. — Well 
now all the absurdities is removed and clear'd ; 
the rest, and please your grace, s'all tarry stiU, 



FOU THE IIOXOH OF WALES. 



731 



and go on as it was ; Virtue and Pleasure was 
well enough, indifferently well enough : only we 
will intreat Pleasure to cym out of Driffimdore, 
that is the Golden Valley, or Gclthleedore, that 
is the Golden Grove, and is in Care Harden, 
the Welse Garden. Is a thousand place in 
Wales as finely places as the Esperides every 
cruni of him ; Merlin was born there too, put 
we would not make him rise now and wake him, 
because we have his prophecies already of your 
madcstce's name to as good purpose, as if he 
were here in presence, Pod liy geller, Ecan ? 

Ed. You will still pyt your solve to these 
plunses, you mean his madestee's anagrams of 
Charles James Stuart. 

Jen. Ay, that is Claimes Arthur's Seate, Avhich 
is as much as to say, your madestee s'ud be the 
first king of Gread Prittan, and sit in Cadier 
Arthur, which is Arthur's Chair, as by Got's 
olessing you do : and then your son, master 
Sharles his, how do you cauU him ? is Charles 
Stuarts, Calls tru hearts, that is us, he calls us, the 
Welse nation, to be ever at your service, and love 
you, and honor you, which we pray you under- 
stand it his meaning. And that the musicians 
j-ondcr are so many Brittis bards that sing o'pen 
the hills to let out the prince of Wales, and his 
W^else friends to you, and all is done. 

Grif. Very homely done it is I am well as- 
sured, if not very rudely : but it is hoped your 
majesty will not interpret the honor, merits, 
love and affection of so noble a portion of your 
people, by the poverty of these who have so 



imperfectly utter'd it : j'ou will rather for theii 
sakes, who are to come in the name of Wales, 
my lord the prince, and the others, pardon what 
is past, and remember the country has always 
been fruitful of loyal hearts to your majesty, a 
very garden and seed-i)lot of honest minds and 
men : what lights of learning hath Wales sent 
forth for your schools ? what indiistrious stu- 
dents of your laws ? what able ministers of 
your justice ? whence hath the crown in all 
times better servitors, more liberal of their lives 
and fortunes ? where hath your court or coun- 
cil, for the present, more noble ornaments or 
better aids ? I am glad to see it, and to speak 
it, and though the nation be said to be uncon- 
quered, and most loving liberty, yet it was never 
mutinous, and please your majesty, but stout, 
valiant, courteous, hospitable, temperate, ingen- 
ious, capable of all good arts, most lovingly con- 
stant, charitable, great antiquaries, religious 
preservers of their gentry and genealogy, as 
they are zealous and knowing in religion. 

In a word, it is a nation bettered by prosperity 
so far, as to the present happiness it enjoys under 
your most sacred majesty, it wishes nothing to 
be added but to see it perpetual in you and your 
issue. 

God of his great goodness grant it, and shew 
he is an arrant knave, and no true Briton, 
does not say Amen too with his heart. 



PLSASUBC BECONCILED TO VIRTUE FOLLOWED ; 
ENOCC. 



NEWS 
FROM THE NEW WORLD DISCOVERED IN THE MOON, 

A MASQUE, 

As it was in-esented at Court, before King James, 1620. 
Nascitur e tenebhis: et se siei vindicat obbi3 



Emertwo Heralds, a Prixter, Chronicler, and 
Factor. 

1 Her. Ne^vs, news, news ! 

2 Her. Bold and brave news ! 

1 Her. New as the night they are born in. 

2 Her. Or the phant'sie that begot them. 

1 Her. Excellent news ! 

2 Her. Will you hear any news ? 

Print. Yes, and thank you too, sir : what's 
the price of them ? 

1 Her. Price, coxcomb ! what price, but the 
price of your ears ? As if any man used to pay 
for any thing here. 

2 Her. Come forward ; you should be some 
dull tradesman by your pig-headed sconce now, 
that think there's nothing good any where, but 
what's to be sold. 

Print. Indeed I am all for sale, gentlemen ; 
you say true, I am a printer, and a printer of 
news ; and I do hearken after them, wherever 
they be, at any rates ; I'll give any thing for a 
good copy now, be it true or false, so it be news. 

1 Her. A fine youth ! 

Chro. And I am for matter of state, gentle- 
men, by consequence, story, (my Chronicle,) to 
fill up my great book, which must be three ream 
of paper at least ; I have agreed with my stationer 
aforehand to make it so big, and I want for ten 
quire yet. I have been here ever since seven 
a clock in the morning to get matter for one 
page, and I think I have it complete ; for I have 
both noted the number, and the capacity of the 
degrees here ; and told twice over how many 
candles there are in the room lighted, which I 
will set you down to a snuff precisely, because 
I love to give light to posterity in the truth of 
things. 

1 Her. This is a finer youth ! 

Fact. Gentlemen, I am neither printer nor 
chronologor, but one that otherwise takes pleas- 
ure in my pen : a factor of news for all the shires 
of England ; I do write my thousand letters a 
week ordinary, sometimes twelve hundred, and 
maintain the business at some charge both to 
hold up my rej^utation with mine own ministers 
in town, and my friends of correspondence in 
the country ; I have friends of all ranks, and of 
all religions, for which I keep an answering 
catalogue of dispatch ; wherein I have my puri- 
tan news, my protestant news, and my pontifi- 
cial news. 



2 Her. A superlative this ! 

Fact. And I have hope to erect a Staple for 
News ere long, whither all shall be brought, 
and thence again vented under the name of 
Staple-news, and not trusted to your printed 
conundrums of the serpent in Sussex, or the 
witches bidding the devil to dinner at Derby : 
news, that Avhen a man sends them down to the 
shires where they are said to be done, were 
never there to be found ! 

Print. Sir, that's all one, they were made for 
the common people ; and why should not they 
have their pleasure in believing of lies are made 
for them, as you have in Paul's, that make them 
for yourselves ? 

1 Her. There he speaks reason to you, sir. 

Fact. I confess it ; but it is the printing I am 
offended at, I would have no news printed ; for 
when they are printed they leave to be news ; 
while they are Avritten, though they be false, 
they remain news still. 

Print. See men's divers opinions ! It is the 
printing of them makes them news to a great 
many who Avill indeed believe nothing but what's 
in print. For those I do keep my presses, and 
so many pens going to bring forth wholesome 
relations, which once in half a score years, as 
the age grows forgetful, I print over again with 
a new date, and they are of excellent use. 

Chro. Excellent abuse rather. 

Print. Master Chronicler, do not you talk, I 
shall — 

1 Her, Nay, gentlemen, be at peace one with 
another, we have enough for you all three, if 
you dare take upon trust. 

Print. I dare, I assure you. 

Fact. And I, as much as comes. 

Ckro, I dare too, but nothing so much as I 
have done : I have been so cheated with false 
relations in my time, as I have found it a far 
harder thing to correct my book, than collect it. 

Fact. Like enough : but to your news, gentle- 
men, whence come they ? 

1 Her. From the Moox, ours, sir. 

Fact. From the Moon ! which way ? by sea 
or by land ? 

1 Her. By moon-shine ; a nearer waj', I take 
it. 

Print. Oh, by a trunk ! I know it, a thing 
no bigger than a flute-case : a neighbor of mine, 
a spectacle-maker, has drawn the moon through 

732 



NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD. 



733 



it at the bore of a whistle, and made it as great 
as a drum-head twenty times, and brought it 
within the length of this room to me, I know 
not how often. 

Chro. Tut, that's no news : your pcrplexive 
glasses are common. No, it will fall out to be 
Pythagoras' s way, I warrant you, by writing 
and reading in the moon. 

Print. Right, and as well read of you, i'faith : 
for Cornelius Agrippa has it, in disco luii(e, there 
'tis found. 

1 Her. Sir, you are lost, I assure you : for 
ours came to you neither by the way of Corne- 
lius Agrippa, nor Cornelius Drible. 

2 Her. Nor any glass of 

1 Her. No philosopher's phant'sie. 

2 Her. Mathematician's perspicil. 

1 Her. Or brother of the Rosie Cross's intelli- 
gence, no forced way, but by the neat and clean 
power of poetry. 

2 Her. The mistress of all discovery. 

1 Her. Who after a world of these curious 
uncertainties, hath employed thither a servant of 
her's in search of truth : who has been there — 

2 Her. In the moon. 

1 Her. In person. 

2 Her. And is this night return' d. 

Fact. Where ? which is he ? I must see his 
dog at his girdle, and the bush of thorns at his 
back, ere I believe it. 

1 Her. Do not trouble your faith then, for if 
that bush of thorns should jirove a goodly grove 
of oaks, in what case were you and your expec- 
tation r 

2 Her. These are stale ensigns of the stage's 
man in the momi, delivered down to j'ou by 
musty antiqiiity, and are of as doubtful credit 
as the makers. 

Chro. Sir, nothing again antiquity, I pray you, 
I must not hear ill of antiquity. 

1 Her. Oh ! you have an old wife, belike, or 
your venerable jerkin there, — make much of 
them. Our relation, I tell you still, is news. 

2 Her. Certain and sure news. 

1 Her-. Of a new world. 

2 Her. And new creatures in that world. 

1 Her. In the orb of the moon. 

2 Her. AVhich is now found to be an earth in- 
habited. 

1 Her. With navigable seas and rivers. 

2 Her. Variety of nations, policies, laws. 

1 Her. With havens in't, castles, and port- 
towns. 

2 Her. Inland cities, boroughs, hamlets, fairs, 
and markets. 

1 Her. Hundreds and wapentakes ! forests, 
parks, coney-ground, meadow-pasture, what 
not? 

2 Her. But differing from ours. 

Fact. And has your poet brought all this ? 
Chro. Troth, here was enough : 'tis a pretty 
piece of poetry as 'tis. 

1 Her. Would you could hear on, though ! 

2 Her. Give your minds to't a little. 

Fact. What inns or ale-houses are there there ? 
does he tell you ? 

1 Her. Truly, I have not ask'd him that. 

2 Her. Nor were you best, I believe. 

Fact. Why in travel a man knows these things 



without offence ; I am sure if he be a good poet 
he has discovered a good tavern in his time. 

1 Her. That he has, I should think the worse 
of his verse else. 

Print. And his prose too, i' faith. 
Chro. Is he a man's poet, or a woman's poet, 
I pray you ? 

2 Her. Is there any such difference ? • 

Fact. Manj% as betwixt your man's tailor, and 
your woman's tailor. 

1 Her. How^ may we beseech you ? 

Fact. I'll shew you ; your man's jjoet may 
break out strong and deep i' the mouth, as he 
said of Pindar, Monte decurrens vclut amnis : but 
your woman's poet must flow, and stroke the 
ear, and, as one of them said of himself sweetly. 

Must write a verse as smooth and calm as cream, 
In wliich tliere is no torrent, nor scarce stream. 

2 Her. Have you any more on't ? 

Fact. No, I could never arrive but to this 
remnant. 

1 Her. Pity ! would you had had the whole 
piece for a pattern to all poetry. 

Print. How might we do to see your poet ? 
did he undertake this journey, I i^ray you, to 
the moon on foot ? 

1 Her. Why do you ask ? 

Print. Because one of our greatest po.ets (I 
know not how good a one) went to Edinburgh 
on foot, and came back ; many, he has been 
restive, they say, ever since ; for we have had 
nothing from him : he has set out nothing, I am 
sure. 

1 Her. Like enough, perhaps he has not all 
in ; when he has all in, he will set out, I war- 
rant you, at least those from whom he had it : 
it is the very same party that has been in the 
moon now. 

Print. Indeed ! has he been there since ? be- 
like he rid thither then ? 

Fact. Yes, post, u^on the poet's horse, for a 
wager. 

1 Her. No, I assure you, he rather flew upon 
the wings of his muse. There are in all but 
three ways of going thither : one is Endymion's 
way, by rapture in sleep, or a dream. The other 
Menippus's way, by wing, which the poet took. 
The third, old Empedocles's way ; who, when 
he leaped into JEtna, having a dry sear body, 
and light, the smoke took him, and whift him 
up into the moon, where he lives yet waving up 
and down like a feather, all soot and embers, 
coming out of that coal-pit : our poet met him,' 
and talk'd with him. 

Ckro. In what language, good sir ? 

2 Her, Only by signs and gestures, for they 
have no articulate voices there, but certain mo- 
tions to music : all the discourse there is har- 
mony. 

Fact. A fine lunatic language, in faith ; how 
do their lawyers then ? 

2 Her. They are Pythagoreans, all dumb as 
fishes, for they have no controversies to exercise 
themselves in. 

Fact. How do they live then ? 

1 Her. On the dew of the moon, like gras3« 
hoppers, and confer with the doppers. 

Fact. Have you doppers ? 



734 



NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD. 



2 Her. A world of doppers ! but they are 
there as lunatic persons, walkers only : that have 
leave only to hum and ha, not daring to proph- 
esy, or start iip upon stools to raise doctrine. 

1 Her. The brethren of the Rosie Cross have 
their college within a mile of the moon ; a cas- 
tle in the air that runs upon wheels with a 
winged lanthorn — 

Print. I have seen it in print. 

2 Her. All the xjhantastical creatures you can 
think of are there. * 

Fact. 'Tis to be hoped there are women there, 
then. 

1 Her. And zealous women, that will out-groan 
the groaning wives of Edinburgh. 

Fact. And lovers as phantastic as ours. 

2 Her. But none that will hang themselves for 
love, or eat candles ends, or drink to their mis- 
tresses' eyes, till their own bid them good night, 
as the sublunary lovers do. 

Fact. No, sir? 

2 Her. No, some few you shall have, that sigh 
or whistle themselves away ; and those are pres- 
ently hung up by the heels like meteors, with 
squibs in their tails, to give the wiser sort warn- 
ing. 

Print. Excellent! 

Fact. Are there no self-lovers there ? 

2 Her. There were ; but they are all dead of 
late for want of tailors. 

Fact. 'Slight, what luck is that! we could 
have spared them a colony from hence. 

2 Her. I think some two or three of them live 
yet, but they are turn'd moon-calves by this. 

Print. O, ay, moon-calves 1 what monster is 
that, I pray you ? 

2 Her. Monster ! none at all, a very familiar 
thing, like our fool here on earth. 

1 Her. The ladies there play with them instead 
of little dogs. 

Fact. Then there are ladies ? 

2 Her. And knights and squires. 
Fact. And servants and coaches ? 

1 Her. Yes, but the coaches are much o' the 
nature of the ladies, for they go only with wind. 

Chro. Pretty, like China wagons. 

Fact. Have they any places of meeting with 
their coaches, and taking the fresh open air, and 
then covert when they please, as in our Hyde- 
park or so ? 

2 Her. Above all the Hyde-parks in Christen- 
dom, far more hidden and private ; they do all 
in clouds there : they walk in the clouds, they 
sit in the clouds, they lie in the clouds, they 
ride and tumble in the clouds, their very coaches 
ai'e clouds. 

Print. Bvit have they no carmen to meet and 
break their coaches ? 

2 Her. Alas, carmen ! they will over a carman 
there, as he will do a child here : you shall have 
a coachman with checks like a trumpeter, and a 
wind in his mouth, blow him afore him as far 
as he can see hini ; or skir over him with his 
bats wings, a mile and a half, ere he can steer 
his wry neck to look where he is. 

Fact. And they have their New Wells too, 
and physical waters, I hope, to visit, all time of 
year ? 

I Her. Your Tunbridge, or the Spaw itself 



are mere puddle to them : when the pleasant 
months of the year come, thej"- all flock to cer- 
tain broken islands which are called there the 
Isles of Delight. 

Fact. By clouds still ? 

1 Her, What else? their boats are clouds too. 

2 Her. Or in a mist ; the mists are ordinary in 
the moon ; a man that owes monej' there, needs 
no other protection ; only buy a mist, and walk 
in't, he is never discerned ; a matter of a baubee 
does it. 

1 Her. Only one island they have, is call'd the 
isle of the Epico3nes, because there under one 
article both kinds are signified, for they are 
fashioned alike, male and female the same ; not 
heads and broad hats, short doublets and long 
points; neither do they ever untruss for dis-. 
tinction, but laugh and lie do'^nr in moon-shine," 
and stab with their poniards ; vou do not know 
the delight of the Epicoenes in moon-shine. 

2 Her. And Avhen they have tasted the springs 
of pleasure enough, and bill'd, and kist, and are 
ready to come aAvay ; the slices only lay certain 
eggs, (for they are never with diild there,) and 
of those eggs are disclosed a race of creatures 
like men, but are indeed a sort of fowl, in part 
covered with feathers, (they call them Volatees,) 
that hop from island to island ; you shall see a 
covey of them, if you please, presently. 

1 Her. Yes, faith, 'tis time to exercise their 
eyes, for their ears begin to be weary. 

2 Her. Then know we do not move these wings so soon 
On which onr poet mounted to the moon, 
Menippus like, but all 'twixt it and us, 
Thus clears and helps to the presentment, thus. 

Enter the Volatees for the Antimasque, and 

Dance. 

After lohich, 

2 Her. We have all this while (though the 
muses' heralds ) adventured to tell your majesty 
no news ; for hitherto we have moved rather to 
your delight, than your belief. But now be 
pleased to expect a more noble discovery worthy 
of your ear, as the object will be your eye : a 
race of your own, formed, animated, lightened 
and heightened by you, Avho rapt above the 
moon far in speculation of your virtues, have 
remained there intranced certain hours, with 
wonder of the piety, wisdom, majesty reflected 
by you on them, from the divine light, to -\^'hich. 
only you are less. These, by hoAv much higher 
they have been carried from eartli, to contem- 
plate your greatness, have now conceived the 
more haste, and hope, in this their return home 
to approach your goodness ; and led by that 
excellent likeness of yourself, the truth, imi- 
tating Procritus's endeavor, that all their mo- 
tions be formed to the music of your peace, and 
have their ends in your favor, which alone is 
able to resolve and thaw the cold they have 
presently contracted in coming through the 
colder region. [Music. 

Here the Scene opens, and discovers the Renion of 
the Moon, from which the MASQUEiiS descend, 
and shake ojf their icicles. 

FIRST SONG. 
Howe'er the brightness inaj' amaze. 
Move you, and stand not still at gaze, 



NEWS FROM THE NEW WORLD. 



rsa 



As dazzled with the light : 
But with your motions fill the place, 
And let tlieir fulness win you grace, 

Till you collect your sight. 
So while the warmtli you do confess. 
And temper of these rays no less, 

To quicken and retlne, 
You may by knowledge grow more bold, 
And so more able to beliold 

The body whence they shine. 

THE FIRST DANCE FOLLOWS. 

SECOND SONG. 

Now look and see in yonder throne, 
How all tliose beams are cast from one ! 

This is that orb so bright. 
Has kept your wonder so awake ; 
Whence you as from a mirror take 

Tlie sun's reflected light. 

Read him as you would do the book 
Of all perfection, and but look 

What his proportions be ; 
No measure that is thence contrived, 
Or any motion thence derived, 

But is pure harmony. 

HERE THE MAIN DANCE AND REVELS. 

THIRD SONG. 

Not that we think you wearv be, 
For he 

That did this motion give, 

And made it so long live, 
Could likewise give it perpetuity. 

Nor that we doubt you have not more, 
And store 



Of changes to delight, 
For they are infinite. 
As is the power tliat brought forth these before 

Cut since the earth is of his name 

And fame 

So full, you cannot add, 

Be both the first and glad 
To speak liim to the region wh.enco you came. 

THE LAST DANCE. 

FOURTH SONG. 

Lock, look already where I am. 

Bright Fame, 
Got up unto the sky, 

Thus high. 
Upon my better wing. 

To sing 
The knowing king, 
And made the music here. 
With yours on earth the samt. 

Cho. Join then to tell his name, 

And say but James is he : 
All ears will take the voice. 
And in the tune rejoice. 
Or Truth hath left to breathe, and Fame 
hath left to be. 

1 Her. See what is tliat this music brihgs, . 

And is so carried in the air about ? 

2 Her. Fame, that doth nourish the renown of 

kings, 
And keep that fair, which Envy would 
blot out. 

THUS IT RSOPn. 




A MASQUE 

OP 

THE METAMORPHOSED GIPSIES, 

AS IT "WAS THRICE PRESENTED TO KING JAMES, 

First at Burleigh on the mil; next at Belvoir ; and lastly at Windsor, August, 1621. 

THE SPEECH AT THE KING'S ENTRANCE AT BURLEIGH, 



MADE IN THE CHARACTER OF THE PORTER. 



If for our thoughts there could but speech be found. 

And all that speech be xitte/d in one sound, 

So that some 2>ower above «s would afford 

TJie means to make a language of a word, 

It should be welcome ! in that only voice 

We iDotdd receive, retain, erijoy, rejoice ; 

And all effects of love and life dispense. 

Till it were call'd a co2nous eloquence ; 

For should we vent our spirits, noio you are come, 

In other syllables, icere as to be dumb. 

Welcome, O welcome then, and enter here. 

The house your bounty built, and still doth rear. 

With those high favors, and those heaphl increases 



Which shews a hand not grieved but ichen It ceases 
The Master is your creature, as the place ; 
And every good about him is your grace : 
Whom, though he sta^id by silent, think not rude. 
But as a man turn'cl all to gratitude. 
For what he ne'er can hope, how to restore. 
Since lohile he meditates one, you pour on more. 
Vouchsafe to think he only is 02}prest 
With their abundance, not that in his breast 
His powers are stiqnd grown ; for pilease you enter 
Him, and his house, and search him to the centre ; 
You'll find within no thanks, or vows there shorter. 
For having trusted thus much to his Porter. 



THE PROLOGUE AT WINDSOR. 



As many blessings as there be bones 

In Ptolemy's fingers, and all at ones, 

Held up in an Andreto's cross for the nones. 

Light on you, good master ; 
' I dare be no xcaster 

Of time or of speech. 

Where you are in place. 

I only beseech 

You take in good grace. 



Our folloxoing the court. 

Since 'tis for your sport 

To have you still merry, 

And iiot make you weary. 

We may strive to 2}lease, 
So long (some loill say) till we grow a disease. 

But you, sir, that twice 
Have graced lis already, encourage to thrice : 
Wherein if our boldness your ixdience invade. 
Forgive us the fault that your favor hath made. 



Enter a Gipsy (being the Jackman,) leading a horse 
laden with five little children bound in a trace of 
scarfs iqjon him ; folloioed by a second, leading 
another horse laden with stolen poxdtry, §c. 

Jack. Room for the five princes of ^gj^it, 
mounted all \\\)on one horse, like the four sons 
of Ayraon, to make the miracle the more by a 
head if it may be ! Gaze vipon them, as on the 
oifspring of Ptolemy, begotten upon several 
Cleopatras, in their several counties ; especially 
on this brave spark struck out of Flintshire, 
upon justice Jug's daughter, then sheriff of the 
county, Avho running aAvay with a kinsman of 
our captain's, and her father pursuing her to the 



marches, he great with justice, she great with 
juggling, they were both, for the time, turn'd 
stone, upon the sight each of other, in Chester : 
till at last, (see the wonder,) a jug of the town- 
ale reconciling them, the memorial of both their 
gravities, his in beard, and her's in belly, hath 
remained ever since preserved in picture upon 
the most stone jugs of the kingdom. The fa- 
mous imp yet grew a wretchock ; and though 
for seven years together he was carefully car- 
ried at his mother's back, rock'd in a cradle of 
Welsh cheese, like a maggot, and there fed with 
broken beer, and blown wine of the best daily, 
yet looks as if he never saw his quinquomium. 
'Tis true, he can thread needles on horseback. 

736 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



737 



or draw a yard of inkle through his nose : but 
what is that to a gro'wii gipsy, one of the blood, 
and of his time, if he had thrived ! therefore, 
till with his painful progenitors he be able to 
beat it on the hard hoof, to the bene hoicse, or the 
itawling-ken, to nip a jan, and cly the jark, 'tis 
thought fit he march in the infants' equipage ; 

With tlie convoy, cheats and peckage, 
Out of clutch of Harinan Beckage, 
To their libkiiis at the Cracknian'.s, 
Or some skipper of the Blackman's. 

2 Gijxs'j. Where the cacklers, but no grunters, 
Shall uncas'd be for the hunters : 
Those we still must keep alive ; 
Ay, and put them out to thrive 
In the parks, and in the chases, 
And the finer walled places ; 
As St. James's, Greenwich, Tibals, 
'^^^lere the acorns, plump as chibals. 
Soon shall change both kind and name, 
And proclaim them the king's game. 
So the act no harm maj^ be 
Unto their keeper Barnaby ; 
It will prove as good a service. 
As did ever gipsy Gervice, 
Or our captain Charles, the tall-man. 
And a part too of our salmon. 

Jachnan. If we here be a little obscure, 'tis 
our pleasure ; for rather than we will offer to be 
our own interpreters, avc are resolved not to be 
understood : yet if any man doubt of the signifi- 
cancy of the language, we refer him to the third 
volume of Reports, set forth by the learned in 
the laws of canting, and published in the gipsy 
tongue. Give me my guittara, and room for 
pur chief! [Music. 

Enter the Captain, xvith six of his Attendants. 

HERE THEY DANCE. 

After lohich, 

SONG. 

Jack. From the famous Peak of Darby, 

And the Devil's Arse there hard by, 
Where we yearly keep our musters, 
Thus the ^Egyptians throng in clusters 

Be not frighted with our fashion, 
Though we seem a tatter'd nation ; 
We account our rags our riches, 
So our tricks exceed our stitches. 

Give us bacon, rinds of walnuts, 
Shells of cockles, and of small nuts, 
Ribbons, bells, and saflron'd linen, 
All the world is ours to win in. 

Knacks we have that will delight you, 
Slights of hand that will invite you 
To endure our tawny faces, 
And not cause you cut your laces. 

All your fortunes we can tell ye, 
Be they for the back or belly : 
In the moods too, and the tenses, 
That may lit your fine five senses. 

Draw but then your gloves, we pray you, 
And sit still, we will not fray you j 
For though we be here at Burley, 
We'd be loth to make a hurly. 

Enter the Pateico. 
Fai. Stay, my sweet singer. 
The touch of thy finger 
47 



A little, and linger, 
For me, that am bringer 
Of bounds to the border. 
The rule and recorder, 
And mouth of your order, 
As priest of the game. 
And prelate of the same. 

There's a gentry cove here, 
Is the top of the shire. 
Of the Bever-Ken, 
A man among men ; 
You need not to fear, 
I've an eye and an ear 
That turns here and there, 
To look to our gear : 

Some say that there be 
One or two, if not three, 
That are greater than he. 

And for the roome-morts, 
I know by their ports, ■ 
And their jolly resorts. 
They are of the sorts 
That love the true sports 
Of king Ptolemeus 
Our great Coriphseus, 
And queen Cleopatra, 
The gipsies grand matra. 
Then if we shall shark it^ 
Here fair is and market. 

Leave pig by and goose. 
And play fast and loose, 
A short cut, and long. 
With, ever and among. 
Some inch of a song, 
Pythagpras' lot. 
Drawn out of a pot ; 
AVith what says Alchindus, 
And Pharaotes Indus, 
John de Indagine, 
With all their xiayince 
Treating of palmistry. 
And this is almistry. 

Lay by your wimbles, 
Your boring for thimbles, 
Or using your nimbles. 
In diving the pockets. 
And sounding the sockets 
Of simper-the-cockets ; 
Or angling the purses 
Of such as will curse us ; 
But in the strict duel, 
Be merry and cruel. 
Strike fair at some jewel. 
That mint may accrue well. 
For that is the fuel. 
To make the tuns brew well. 
And the pot ring Avell, 
And the brain sing well. 
Which we may bring well 
About by a string well. 
And do the thing well. 
It is but a strain 
Of true legerdemain. 
Once, twice, and again. 

Or what will you say now, 
If with our fine play nov/ 



738 



TIIE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



Our knackcts and dances, 
We work on the fancies 
Of some of these Nancies, 
These Trickets and Tripsies, • 
And make them turn gipsies. 

Hero's no justice LijDpus 
"Will seek for to nip us. 
In Cramp-ring or Cippus, 
And then for to strip us. 
And after to whip us, 
While here we do tarry, 
His justice to vary ; 

But be wise and wary, 

And Ave may both carry 
The Kate and the Mary, 
And all the bright aery, 
Away to the quarry. 
If our brave Ptolemy 
Will but say, Follow me. 

3 Gipsy. Captain, if ever at the Bowzing Ken, 
You have in draughts of Darby drill' d your 

men, 
And we have serv'd there armed all in ale. 
With the brown bowl, and charg'd in braggat 

stale : 
If muster' d thus, and disciplined in drink, 
In our long watches we did never wink. 
But so commanded by you, kept our station. 
As we preserv'd our selves a loyal nation ; 
And .never yet did branch of statute break, 
Made in your famous palace of the Peak. 
If we have deem'd that mutton, lamb, or veal. 
Chick, capon, turkey, sweetest we did steal ; 
As being by our jNIagna Charta taught 
To judge no viands wholesome that are bought. 
If for our linen we still us'd the lift. 
And with the hedge (our Trade's Increase) made 

shift. 
And ever at your solemn feasts and calls. 
We have been ready, with the ^Egyptian brawls. 
To see Kit Callot forth in j^rose or rhyme. 
Or who was Cleopatra for the time. 

If we have done this, that, more, such, or so ; 

Now lend your ear but to the Patrice. 

Capt. Well, dance another strain, and we'll 
think how. 

1 Gipsrj. Meantime in song do you conceive 
some vow. {Music. 

HEUE THEY DANCE. 

SECOND SONG. 

Pat The fiiery beam upon you, 
The stars to glister on yuii ; 

A moon of light, 

In the noon of night, 
Till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you ! 
The wheel of fortune guide jou. 
The boy with the bow beside you ; 

Run aye in the way, 

Til! the bird of day, 
And the luckier lot betide you ! 

Capt. [surveying the eomjmny.'] Bless my sweet 
masters, the old and the young, 
From the gall of the heart, and the stroke of the 
tongue. 
With 3'ou, lucky bird, I begin ; [Goes up to the 
King.] let me see, 
I aim at the best, and I trow you are he : 
Here's some luck already, if 1 understand 



The grounds of mine art ; here's a gentleman's 

hand. 
I'll kiss it for luck sake : You should, by thi3 

line. 
Love a horse and a hound, but no part of a swine. 
To hunt the brave stag, not so much for the food 
As the weal of your body, and the health of your 

blood. Jries store, 

You're a man of good means, and have tetrito- 
Both by sea and by land ; and were born, sir, to 

more, [peace, 

Which you, like a lord, and a prince of youi 
Content with your havings, despise to increase : 
You are no great wencher I see by your table. 
Although your Mons Veneris says your are able ; 
Y''ou live chaste and single, and have buried 

your wife. 
And mean not to marry, by the line of your life. 
Whence he that conjectures your qualities, Icams 
Y'^ou are an honest good man, and have care of 

your beams. 
Your Mercury's hill too, a wit doth betoken, 
Some book- craft 3'ou have, and are pretty well 

spoken. 
But stay, — in your Jupiter's mount, what is 

here ? 
A king ! a monarch ! what wonders appear 1 
High, bountiful, just ; a Jove for your parts, 
A master of men, and that reign in their hearts 



I'll tell it my train. 
And come to you again. 

THIRD CONG. 



[ Wilhdraics 



Pat. To the old, long life and treasure ; 

To the young, all health and pleasure ; 

To the fair, Ihsir face 

With eternal grace ; 
And the soul to be loved at leisure. 
To the witty, all clear mirrors, 
To tlie foolish their dark errors ^ 

To the loving sprite, 

A secure delight : 
To the jealous his own false terrors. 

Capt. [Advances again to the King.] Could any 
doubt that saw tliis hand. 
Or y\-\\Q A'ou are, or what command 

Y'ou have uj)on the fate of things, 
Or would not say yoti were let down 
From heaven, on earth to be the crown, 

And top of all your neighbor-kings ? 
To see the ways of truth you take, 
To balance business, and to make 

All Christian differences cease . 
Or till the quarrel and the cause 
Y^ou can compose, to give them laws, 

As arbiter of war and peace. 
For this, of all the world, you shall 
Be styled James the Just, and all 

Their states dispose, their sons and 
daughters, 
And for your fortunes, you alone. 
Among them all shall work your own, 

By peace, and not by human slaughters, 
But why do I presuim, though true. 
To tell a fortune, sh't (0 you. 

Who are tlie maker here of all ; 
Where none do stand, or sit in view. 
But owe their fortunes unto you. 

At least v/hat they good fortune call ? 



THE GirSIES METAMOEP^^OSED. 



733 



My self a Gipsy here do shine, 
5fet are you maker, sir, of mine. 

Oh that confession could content 
Ho high a bounty, tliat doth know 
No part of motion, but to flow. 

And giving never to repent ! 

May still the matter wait your hand, 
That it not feel or stay, or stand ; 
But all desert still over-charge. 
' And may your goodness ever find 
In mo, whcm you have made, a mind 
As thankful as your own is large ! 

[Music. 

HERE THEY DANCE. 

Afier tckich, 
The Prince s fortune is offered at by the 

2 Gipsy. As my captain hath begun 

With the sire, I take the son : — 

Your hand, sir ! 
Of your fortune be secure, 
Love and she are both at your 

Command, sir ! 
See what states are here at strife. 
Who shall tender you a wife, 

A brave one ; 
And a fitter for a man. 
Than is oifer'd here, you can 

Not have one. 
She is sister of a star. 
One the noblest now that are. 

Bright Hesper, 
Whom the Indians in the East 
Phosphor call, and in the West 

Hight Vesper. 
Courses even with the sun. 
Doth her mighty brother run, 

For splendor. 
What can to the marriage-night, 
More than morn and evening light. 

Attend her ? 
Save the promise before day, 
Of a little James to play 

Hereafter 
'Twixt his grandsires knees, and move 
All the pretty Avays of love, 

And laughter. 
Whilst with care you strive to please 
In your giving his cares ease, 

And labors : 
And by being long the aid 
Of the empire, make afraid 

111 neighbors. 
Till yourself shall come to see 
What we wish yet far to be 

Attending : 
For it skills not when or where 
That begins, which cannot fear 

An ending. 
Since your name in peace or war^. 
Nought shall bound, until the stars 

Up take you : 
And to all succeeding view. 
Heaven a constellation new 

Shall make you. [Music. 

HEEE THEY DANCE. 



After which, ' 

The Lady IMarquess Buckingham's, by the 

3 Gip. Hurl after an old shoe, 

I'll be merry, whatc'cr I do, 
Thoiigh I keep no time. 
My words shall chime, 
I'll overtake the sense with a rhjnue. — 
Face of a rose, 
I pray thee depose 
Some small piece of sUver ; it shall be no loss. 
But only to make the sign of the cross : 
If your hand you hallow, 
Good fortune will follow, 
I swear by these ten, 
You shall have it agen, 
I do not say Avhen. 
But, lady, either I am tipsy. 
Or you are to fall in love with a gipsy ; 
Blush not, dame Kate, 
Foi", early or late, 
I do assure you, it Avill be your fate. 

Nor need you be once asham'd of it, madam^ 
He's as handsome a man as ever was Adam 

A man out of wax. 

As a lady would aks : 

Yet he is not to wed ye, 

H' has enjoy'd you already. 

And I hope he has sped j-e. — • 

A dainty young feUow ; 

And though he look yellow, 

He ne'er will be jealous. 

But love you most zealous, 
There's never a line in your hand but doth tell 

us. 
And you are a soul so white, and so chaste 
A table so smooth, and so newly ra'ste. 

As nothing call'd foul 

Dares approach with a blot. 

Or any least spot ; 

But still you control. 

Or make your own lot. 
Preserving love pure, as it fkst was begot. 

But, dame, I must tell ye. 

The fruit of your belly. 

Is that you must tender, 

And care so to render ; 

That as your self came 

In blood, and in name, 

From one house of fame, 

So that may remain 

The glory of twain. [Music. 

HEKE THEY DANCE. 

After lohich, 

The Countess of Rutland's, by the 

3 Gip. You, sweet lady, have a hand too, 
And a fortune you may stand to ; 
Both your bravery, and your bounty, 
Style j'ou mistress of the county : 
You will find it from this night. 
Fortune shall forget her spight. 
And heap all the blessings on you. 
That she can pour out upon you. 
To be lov'd, where most you love. 
Is the worst that. you shall prove : 
And by him to be embraced, 



740 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



. Who so long hath, known you chaste, 
Wise and fair ; whilst you renew 
Joys to him, and he to you : 
And Avhen both j'our years are told, 
Neither think the other old. 

A7id the Countess of Exeter's by the 
Patrico. Madam, we knew of your coming so 
late, 
We could not well fit you a nobler fate 
Than what you have ready made : 
An old man's wife 
Is the light of his life, 
A young one is but his shade. 
You will not importune. 
The change of your fortune : 
For if you dare trust to my fore-casting, 
'Tis presently good, and it will be lasting. 

\_Music, 

HERE THEY DANCE. 

After lohich 

The Countess of Buckingham's by the 

4 Gip, Your pardon, lady, here you stand. 

If some should judge you by your hand. 
The greatest felon in the land 

Detected. 
I cannot tell you by what arts, 
But you have stolen so many hearts. 
As they would make you at all parts 

Suspected. 
Your very face first such a one 
As being view'd, it was alone, 
Too slippery to be look'd upon ; 

And threw men : 
But then your graces they were such, 
As none could e'er behold too much ; 
Both every taste and every touch 

So drcAV men. 
Still blest in all you think or do, 
Two of your sons are gijjsies too. 
You shall our queen be, and, s'ee who 

Importunes 
The heart of either yours or you ; 
And doth not wish both George and Sue, 
And every bairn besides, all new 

Good fortunes. 

The Lady Puiibeck's, by the 

2 Gi^}. Help me, wonder, here's a book, 
"Where I w-ovild for ever look : 
Never yet did gipsy trace 
Smoother lines in hands or face : 
Venus here doth Saturn move, 
That you should be Queen of Love ; 
And the other star's consent ; 
Only Cupid's not content ; 
For though you the theft disguise, 
You have robb'd him of his eyes. 
And to shew his envy further. 
Here he chargcth you Avith i^urther : 
Says, although that at your sight, 
He must all his torches light ; 
Though your cither cheek discloses 
Mingled baths of milk and roses ; 
Though your lips be banks of blisses. 
Where he plants antl gathers kisses ; 



And yourself the reason why, 
Wisest men for love may die ; 
You will turn all hearts to tinder, 
And shall make the world one cinder. 

A>id the Lady Elizabeth Hatton's, by the 
5 Gip. Mistress of a fairer table 
Hath no history nor fable : 
Others fortunes may be shown, 
You are builder of your own. 
And whatever heaven hath gi'n you, 
You preserve the state stiU in you ; 
That Avhich time would have d>epart, 
Youth without the help of art. 
You do keep still, and the glory 
Of your sex is but your story. 

The Lord Chamberlain's, by the 
Jachnaii. Though you, sir, be Chamberlain, 
have a key 
To open your fortune a little by the way : 

You are a good man. 

Deny it that can : 

And faithful you are. 

Deny it that dare. 
You know how to use your sword and your pen^ 
And you love not alone the arts, but the men 
The Graces and Muses every where follow 
You, as you Avere their second Apollo ; 
Only your hand here tells you to your face, 

You have wanted one grace, 
To perform what has been a right of your place ; 
For by this line, which is Mars his trench. 
You never yet help'd your master to a wench. 

'Tis well for your honor he's pious and chaste, 
Or you had most certainly been displaced 

HERE THEY DANCE. 

The Lord Keeper's fm-tune, by the 

Patrico. As happy a palm, sir, as most i' the 

land — 
It should be a pure, and an innocent hand. 

And worthy the trust. 

For it says you'll be just, 

And carry that purse 

^Vithout any curse 

Of the public weal. 

When you take out the seal. 

You do not appear, 

A judge of a year. 

I'll A'enture my life 

You never had wife. 

But I'll venture my skill, 

You may when you will. 
You have the king's conscience too in your breast. 

And that's a good guest ; 

Which you'll have true touch of, 

And 3^et not make much of. 
More than by truth yourself forth to bring 
The man that you are, for God and the king. 

The Lord Treasurer's fortune, by the 
3 Gipsy. I come to borrow, and you'll grant my 

demand, sir, 
Since 'tis not for money, pray lend me your 

hand, sir, [it. 

And yet this good hand, if you please to stretch 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



741 



Had tli.e errand been money, could easily fetch it : 
You command the king's treasure, and yet on 

my soul 
You handle not much, for your palm is not foul : 
Your fortune is good, and will be to set 
The ofSce upright, and the king out of debt ; 
To put all that have pensions soon out of their 

_ pain, 
By bringing the exchequer in credit again. 

The Lord Privy Seal's, hy the 

2 Gip. Honest and old, 

In those the good part of a fortune is told ; 

God send you your health. 
The rest is provided, honor and wealth : 

All which you possess, 
Without the making of any man less. 
Nor need you my warrant, enjoy it you shall, 
For you have a good privy seal foi it all. 

The Earl Marshal's, hij tn.e 

3 Gqo. Next the great master, (vho is the 

donor, 
I read you here the preserver of honor. 
And spy it in all your singular parts. 
What a father you are, and a nurse of the arts. 
By cherishing Avhich, a way you have found, 
How they free to all, to one may be bound : 
And they again love their bonds ; for to be 
Obliged to 3'ou, is the way to be free. 
But this is their fortune : — hark to your own. 
Yours shall be to make true gentry known 
From the fictitious, not to prize blood 
So much by the greatness as by the good ; 
To shew, and to open clear virtue the Avay, 
Both whither she should, and how far she may : 
And whilst j'ou do judge 'twixt valor and noise, 
To extinguish the race of the roaring boys. 

The Lord Steward's, hij the 
i dp. I find by this hand. 

You have the command 
Of the very best man's house in the land : 
Our captain and we, 
Ere- long, will see 
If you keep a good table ; 
Y'our master is able. 
And here be bountiful lines, that say 
Y''ou'll keep no part of his bounty away. 
There's written y)-a«A; 
On your Venus' bank : 
To prove a false steward you'll find much-ado. 
Being a true one by blood, and by office too. 

The Lord Marquis Hamilton's, bi/ 
3 Gy;. Only your hand, sir, and welcome to 
court ; 
Here is a man both for earnest and sport. 
Y'^ou were lately employ' d. 
And your master is joy'd 
To have such in his train 
So well can sustain 
His person abroad. 
And not shrink for the load, — 
But had you been here, 
Y'ou should have been a gipsy, I swear ; 
Our captain had summon'd you by a doxy. 
To whom you would not have answer'd by 
proxj , 



One, had she come in the way of your scepter, 
'Tis odds, you had laid it by to have leapt her. 

[ Mas id 

HERE THEY DANCE. 

After %ohich, 

Music, which leads to Second Dance. 

During ivhich the Patrico and Jackjian sinff this 
Song : atid towards the end of it, Cockrel, 
Clod, TowNSHEAD, Puppy, and other Clowns 
enter behind. 

Pair. Why, this is a sport, 

See it nortli, see it soutli ; 

For tlie taste of tlie court, 
Jack. For the court's own nioutli. 

Come, Windsor, the town, 

Witlj the mayor, and oppose, 

We'll put them all down, 
Patr. Do-do-down, like my hose. 

A gipsy in his shape, 

More calls the beholder, 

Than the fellow with the ape. 
Jack. Or the ape on his shoulder. 

He's a sight that will take 

An old judge from his wench, 

Ay, and keep him awake ; 
Pair. Yes, awake on the bench. 

And has so much worth, 

Tl'.ough he sit in the stocks. 

He will draw the girls forth. 
Jack. Ay, forth in their smocks. 

Tut, a man's but a man : 

Let the clowns with their sluts 

Come mend us if they can, 
Pati: If they can for their ?uts. 
Both. Come mend us, come lend us, their shouts and 
their noise. 

Like thunder, and wonder at Ptolemy's boys. 

C'jfl/t. Oh the Lord ! what be these ? Tom, 
dost thou know ? Come hither, come hither, 
Dick, didst thou ever see such ? the finest olive- 
colored spirits, they have so danced, and gingled 
here, as they had been a set of over-grown 
fairies. 

Clod. They should be morris-dancers by their 
gingle, but they have no napkins. 

Cock. No, nor a hobby-horse. 

Clod. Oh ! he's often forgotten, that's no rule ; 
but there is no Maid Marian nor Friar amongst 
them, M'hich is the surer mark. 

Cock. Nor a fool that I see. 

Clod. Unless they be all fools. 

Town. Well said, Tom Fool ; why, thou sim- 
ple parish ass thou, didst thou never see any 
gipsies ? Tliesc are a covey of gipsies, and the 
bravest now covey that ever constable flew at ; 
goodly, game gipsies, they are gipsies of thia 
year, of this moon, in mj'- conscience. 

Clod. Oh, they are called the !Moon-men, I 
remember now ! 

Cock. One shall hardly see such gentlemen- 
like gipsies though, under a hedge, in a whole 
summer's day, if they be gipsies. 

Town. Male gipsies all, not a Mort among 
them. 

Pup. Where, where ? I could never endirre 
the sight of one of these rogue-gipsies : which 
be they ? I would fain see 'em. 

Clod. Yonder they are. 

Pup. Can they cant or mill ? are the}' masters 
in their art ? 

Town. No, batchelors these ; they cannot have 
proceeded so far ; they have scarce had their 
time to be lousy yet. 



742 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



Pup. All the better : I -nould be acquainted 
with, them while they are in clean life, they will 
do their tricks the cleanlier. 

Cock. We must have some music then, and 
take out the wenches. 

Pu]}. Music ! we'll have a whole poverty of 
jjipcrs ; call Cheeks upon the bagpipe, and Tom 
Tickle-foot with his tabor. Clod, will you gather 
the pipe-money ? 

Clod. I'll gather it an you will, but I'll give 
none. 

Pup. Why, well said ! Clav,- a churl by the 
a — and he'll s — in your fist. 

Cock. Ay, or whistle to a jade, and he'll pay 
you with a f — . 

Clod. F — ! 'tis an iU wind that blows no man 
to profit : — See where the minstrel comes in the 
mouth on't. 

Cock. Ay, and all the good wenches of Wind- 
Eor after him ; yonder is Pruo o' the park. 

Toivn, And Frances o' the castle. 

Pup. And Long Meg of Eaton. 

Clod. And Christian o' Dorney. 

Town. See the miracle of a minstrel ! 

Cock. He is able to muster up the smocks of 
the two shires. 

Pup, And set the codpieces and they by the 
ears atpleasiire. 
Enter the two Vi-pevs picci/inrf, and folloioed bij Pbu- 

DENCE, Frances, Cicely, Meg, Che,istian, and 

other Wenches. 

Town. I cannot hold now, there's my groat, 
let's have a fit for mirth sake. 

Cock. Yes, and they'll come about us for 
luck's sake. 

Pup. But look to our pockets and purses, for 
our own sake. 

Clod. Ay, I have the greatest charge, if I 
gather the monej% 

Cock. Come, girls, here be gipsies come to 
town, let's dance them down. [Music. 

Here they take out the Wenches, and dance Country 
Dances, 

During ivhich the Gipsies and the Patrico come 
about them prying, and pick their pockets . 

Fat. Sweet doxies and dells. 
My Roses and Nells, 
Scarce out of the shells. 
Your hands, nothing else. 
We ring you no knells 
With our Ptolemy's bells. 
Though we come from the fells ; 
But bring you good spells, 
And tell you some chances, 
In midst of your dances, 
That fortune advances. 
To Prudence or Frances ; 
To Cicely or Harry, 
To Roger or Mary, 
Or Peg of the dairy ; 
To lilaudlin or Thomas ; 
Then do not run from us. 
Although we look tawny, 
We are healthy and brawny, 
Whate'er your demand is, 
We'll give you no.jaundis. 
Vap. Say you so, old gipsy ! 'Slid, these go 



to't in rhymes ; tliis is better than canting by 
the one half. 

Town. Nay, yoii shall hear them : peace, they 
begin with Prudence ; mark that. 
Pup. The wiser gipsies they, marry. 
Town. Are you advised ? 
Pup. Yes, and I'll stand to't, that a wise gipsy, 
(take him at the time o' the year) is as politic a 
piece of flesh as most justices in the county 
where he stalks. 

3 Gip. To love a keeper your fortune loill be. 

But the doucets better than him or his fee. 
Town. Ha, Pruc, has he hit you in the teeth 
with the sweet bit ? 

Pup. Let her alone, slie'U swallov.' it well 
enough ; a learned gipsy ! 

Town. You'll hear more hereafter. 
Pup. Marry, and I'll listen : wlio stands next ; 
Jack Cockrel ? 

2 Gip. YouU have good luck to horse-flesh, o' 
my life, 
You plougKd so late with the vicar's wife. 
Pup. A prophet, a prophet, no gipsy ! or if 
he be a gipsy, a divine gipsj'. 

Town. Mark Frances, now she's going to't, tho 
virginity o' the parish ! 

Pat. Fear not, in hell you'll never lead apes, 

A mortified maiden of fl,ve escapes. 
Pup. By'r lady, he touch'd the virgin-string 
there a little too hard. They are arrant learned 
men all I see ; Avhat say they upon Tom Clod } 
list. 

1 Gip. Clod's feet will in Christmas go near to 
be bare. 
When he has lost cdl his hobnails at p)osi 
and at 'pair. 
Pup. He has hit the right nail o' the head, 
his oAvn game. 

Town. And the very metal he deals in at play, 
if you mark it. 

Pup. Peace, who's this ? Long Meg ? 
Town. Long and foul Meg, if she be a Meg, as 
ever I saw of her inches : pray Heaven they fit 

her with a fair fortune ! she hangs an a ter ■ 

ribly. 

Pup. They slip her, and treat upon Ticklefoot. 
1 Gip. On Sundays you rob the p)Oors box with 
your tabor ; 
The collectors would do it, you save them 
a labor. 
Pup. Faith, but a little : they do it non «^>- 
stante. 

Town, Here's my little Christian forgot ; have 
you any fortune left for her ? a straight-laced 
Christian of sixteen. 

Pat. Christian shall get her a loose-bodied goicn 
In trying how a gentleman differs from a 
clown. 
Pup. Is that a fortune for a Christian? a Turk 
with a gipsy could not have told her a worse. 

Town. Come, I'll stand myself, and once ven- 
ture the poor head o' the town ; do your worst, 
my name's Townshead, and here's my hand, I'll 
not be angry. [lives, 

3 Gip. A cuckold you mxist be, and that for three 
Your oicn, the parson's, and your wive' s. 
Town. I swear I'll never marry for that, an't 
be but to give fortime, my foe, "the lie ; Come, 
Paul Puppj', you must in too. 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



743 



Pup. No, I'm well enough ; I would have no 
good fortune an I might. 

4 Gip. Yet look to yourself, you'll have some ill luck, 

And shortly, — for I have his purse at a 

pluck. [Aside to the Patrico. 

Fat. Away, birds, mum ! 
I hear by the hum, 
If beck-harman come, 
He'll strike us all dunib. 
With a noise like a drum, 
Let's give him our room, 
Here this way some. 
And that way others, 
"We are not all brothers : 
Leave me to the cheats, 
I'll sheAv 'em some feats. 

[The Gipsies run off different ways. 

Fup. What ! are they gone ? flown all of a 
Budden ? This is fine, i' faith : a covey call you 
'em ? they are a covey soon scatter' d, methink : 
who sprung them I marie ? 

Totcn. Marry, yourself, Puppy, for aught I 
know ; you quested last. 

Clod. Would he had quested first for me, and 
sprung them an hour ago ! 

Town. Why, what's the matter, man ? 

Clod. 'Slid, they have sprung my purse, and 
all I had about me. 

Town. They have not, have they ? 

Clod. As I am true Clod, have the}'', and ran- 
sacled me of every penny — outcept I were with 
child with an owl, as they say, I never saw such 
luck, its enough to make a man a whore. 

Pup. Hold thy peace, thou talkst as if thou 
hadst a license to lose thy purse alone in this 
company : 'slid, here be those can lose a purse 
in honor of the gipsies, as well as thou for thy 
heart, and never make words of it : I have lost 
my purse too. 

Cock. What 'was there in thy purse, thou 
keep'st such a whimpering ? was the lease of 
thy house in it ? 

Pup. Or thy grannam's silver ring ? 

Clod. No, but a mill sixpence of my mother's 
I loved as dearly, and a two-pence I had to spend 
over and above ; besides, the harper that was 
gathered amongst us to pay the piper. 

Town. Our whole stock, is that gone ? how 
will Tom Ticklefoot do to wet his whistle then ! 

Pup. Marry, a new collection, there's no mu- 
sic else, masters ; he can ill pipe, that wants his 
upper lip. 

Toion. Yes, a bagpiper may want both. 

Pru. They have robb'd me too of a dainty 
race of ginger, and a jet-ring I had, to draw 
-Jack Straw hither on holy- days. 

Town. Is't possible ! fine-finger' d gipsies, i' 
faith. 

Meg. And I have lost an inchanted nutmeg, 
all gilded over, was inchanted at Oxford for me, 
to put in my sweet-heart's ale a-mornings : Avith 
a row of Avhite pins that prick me to the very 
heart, the loss of them. 

Clod. And I have lost, besides my purse, my 
best bride-lace I had at Joan Turnup's Avedding, 
and a halp'orth of hobnails : Frances Addle- 
breech has lost somcAvhat too, besides her maid- 
en-head. 

Fran, Ay, I have lost my thimble, and a skein 



of Coventry blue I had to Avork Gregory Litch- 
field a handkerchief. 

Chris. And I, unhappy Christian as I am, 
have lost my Practice of Piety, Avith a bowed 
groat ; and the ballad of Whoop Bamahy, Avhich 
grieves me ten times Avorse. 

Clod. And Ticklefoot has lost his clout, he 
says, Avith a three-pence and four tokens in't ; 
besides his taboring- stick even noAv. 

Cock. And I my knife and sheath, and mj' fine 
dog's-leather gloves. 

Town. Have Ave lost never a dog amongst us ! 
where's Puppy ? 

Pup. Here, good man ToAvnshead, you have 
nothing to lose, it seems, but the Town's brains 
you are trusted Avith. 

Re-enter the Patrico, loith the rest of tJie Gipsies, 

Oh, my dear marrows I 
No shooting of arroAvs 
Or shafts of your Avit, 
Each other to hit. 
In your skirmishing fit. 
Your store is but small, 
Then A'cnture not all : 
Remember, each mock 
Doth sjjend o' the stock. 
And Avhat was here done, 
Being under the moon, 
And at afternoon. 
Will prove right soon 
Decep)tio visus, 
Done gratio risus. — 
There's no such thing 
As the loss of a ring. 
Or Avhat you count Averse, 
The miss of a purse. 
But hey for the main, 
And pass for the strain. 
Here's both come again ! 

And there's an old tAvinger 
Can shcAV ye the ginger : 
The pins and the nutmeg- 
Are safe here Avith slut Meg, 
Then strike up your tabor. 
And there's for your labor ; 
The sheath and the knife, 
I'll venture my life. 
Shall breed you no strife, 
But like man and Avifc, 
Or sister and brother. 
Keep one Avith another. 
And light as a feather, 
Make haste to come hither. 

The Coventry-blue 
Hangs there upon Prue, 
And here is one opens 
The clout and the tokens ; 
Deny the boAv'd groat, 
And you lie in your throat ; 
Or the taborer's nine-pence. 
Or the six fine pence. 

As for the ballad. 
Or the book, Avhat you call it ; 
Alas, our society 
Molls not Avith piety ; 
Himself hath forsook it. 
That first undertook it. 



m 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



For thimble or bride-lace, 
Search yonder side lass. 
All's to be found, 
If you look yourselves round : 
We scorn to take from ye, 
We had rather spend on ye. 
If any man wrong ye, 
The thief is among ye. 

To2C7i, Excellent, i' faith ! a most restorative 
gipsy ! all's here again ; and yet by his learning 
of legerdemain, he would make us believe we 
had robbed ourselves ; for the hobnails are come 
to me. 

Cock. May be, he knew whose shoes lacked 
clouting. 

Piq}, Ay — he knows more than that, or I'll 
never trust my judgment in a gipsy again. 

Cock. A gipsy of quality, believe it, and one 
of the king's gipsies, this ; a drink-alian, or a 
drink-braggatan ? Ask him. The king has his 
noise of gipsies, as well as of bearwards and 
other minstrels. 

Pup. What sort or order of gipsies, I pray, sir ? 

Pat. A flagon-flekian, 

A Devil's arse-a-Pekian 
Born first at Niglington, 
Bred up at Filchington, 
Boarded at Tappington, 
Bedded at Wappington. 

Toion. Fore me, a dainty derived gipsy ! 

Picp. But I pray, sir, if a man might ask on 
you, how came your captain's place first to be 
call'd the Devil's Arse ? 

Pat. For that take my word, 
We have a record. 
That doth it afford. 
And says ovu" first lord, 
Cocklorrel he hight, 
On a time did invite 
The devil to a feast ; 
The tail of the jest, 
(Though since it be long,) 
Lives yet in a song ; 
Wliich if you would hear, 
Shall plaiiily appear. 
Like a chime in your ear. 
I'll call in my clerk. 
Shall sing like a lark. 

Code. Oh ay, the song, the song in any case ; 
if you want music, we'll lend him our music. 

Come in, my long shark, 
With thy face browai and dark ; 
W^ith thy tricks and thy toys, 
Make a merry, merry noise, 
To these mad country boys. 
And chaunt out the farce 
Of the crand Devil's Arse. 



[ Musi 



SONG. 



Cocklorrel would jieeds have the devil his giiest. 
And bade him into the Peak to dinner, 

Where never the fiend had such a feast, 
Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner. 

His stomach was queasy, (lie came thither coacht,) 
The jogging had made some crudities rise ; 

To help it he call'd for a puritan poacht, 
That us'd to turn up the eggs of his eyes. 



And so recovered unto his wish. 

He sate him down, and he fell to eat ; 
Promoter in plumb-broth was the first dish. 

His own privy kitchen had no such msat 

Yet, thougli with this he much were taken. 
Upon a sudden he shifted his trencher. 

As sonn as he spied the bawd and bacon. 
By which you may note the Devil's a wenchcr. 

Six pickled tailors sliced and cut, 
Sempsters, and tirewomen, fit for his palate : 

With fcathermen and perfumers put 
Some twelve in a charger to make a grand salleL 

A rich fat usurer stew'd in his marrow. 
And by him a lawyer's head and green sauce ; 

Both wliicli his belly took in like a barrow, 
As if till then he had never seen sauce. 

Then carbonadoed and cook'd with pains. 
Was brought up a cloven Serjeant's face : 

The saucj was made of his yeoman's brains, 
Tliat had been beaten out with his own mace. 

Two roasted sheriffs came whole to the board : 
(The feast had nothing been without 'em) 

Both living and dead they were fox'd and fuiT'd, 
Their chains like sausages hung about 'em. 

The very next dish was the mayor of a town, 
With a pudding of maintenance tlirust in his belly. 

Like a goose in the feathers, drest in his gown. 
And liis couple of hinch-boys boil'd to a jelly. 

A London cuckold hot from the spit. 
And when the carver up had broke him, 

The Devil chop'd up his head at a bit, 
But the horns were very near like to choake him. 

The chine of a letcher too there was roasted, 
With a plump harlot's haunch and garlike, 

A pander's pettitoes, that had boasted 
Himself for a cajitain, yet never was warlike. 

A large fat pasty of a midwife hot ; 

And for a colli bak'd meat into the story, 
A reverend painted lady was brought. 

And cotlin'd in crust till now she was hoary. 

To these, an overgrown justice of peace. 
With a clerk like a gizzard truss'd under each ana 

And warrants for sippits, laid in his own grease, 
Set over a chaffing dish to be kept warm. 

The jowl of a jailor serv'd for a fish, 

A constable sous'd with vinegar by ; 
Two aldermen lobsters asleep in a dish, 

A deputy tart, a churchwarden pyfe. 

All which devonr'd, he then for a close 

Did for a full draught of Derby call ; 
He heav'd the huge vessel up to his nose 

And left not till he had drunk up all. 

Then from the table he gave a start, 
Wliere banquet and wine were nothing scarce. 

All which he flirted away with a f;tit. 
From whence it was called the Devil's Arse. 

Pup. An excellent song, and a sweet song- 
ster, and would have done rarely in a cage, with 
a dish of water and hemp-seed ! a fine breast of 
his OAvn ! Sir, you are a prelate of the order, 
I understand, and I have a terrible grudging 
now upon me to be one of your company ; will 
your captain take a prentice, sir ? I would bind 
myself to him, body and soul, either for one- 
and- twenty years, or as many lives as he would. 

Clod. Ay, and put in my life for one, for I am 
come about too ; I am sorry I had no more 
money i' my purse when you came first upon us, 
sir ; if I had known you wordd have pick'd my 
pocket so like a gentleman, I would have been 
better provided; I shall be glad to venture a 
purse with your worship at any time you'll ap* 
point, so you would prefer me to your captain ; 
I'll put in security for my truth, and serve out 
mv time, though I die to-morrow. 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



745 



Cock. Ay, upon those terms, sir, and I hope 
your captain keeps bettor cheer than he made 
for the devil, for my stomach will ne'er agree 
with that diet, we'll be all his followers ; I'll go 
home and fetch a little money, sir, all I have, 
and you shall pick my pocket to my face, and 
I'll avouch it : a man would not desire to have 
his purse pickt in better company. 

Pup. Tut, they have other manner of gifts 
than picking of pockets, or tolling fortunes. 

Cock. Ay, and if they would but please to 
shew them, or thought us poor county mortals 
worthy of them. 

Pup. What might a man do to be a gentle- 
man of your company', sir ? 

Cock. Ay, a gipsy in ordinary, or nothing. 

Pat. Friends, not to refel ye. 
Or any way quell ye, 
To buy or to sell yo, 
I only must tell ye. 
Ye aim at a mj-sterj'', 
Worthy a history ; 
There's much to be done, 
Ere you can be a son, 
Or a brother of the moon, 
'Tis not so soon 
Acquir'd, as desir'd. 
You must be ben-bowsy. 
And sleepy and drowsy. 
And lazy, and lousy. 
Before ye can rouse ye, 
In shape that avows ye. 
And then ye may stalk 
The gipsies walk. 
To the coops and the pens. 
And bring in the hens, 
Though the cock be left sullen 
For loss of the pullen : 
Take turkey or capon, 
And gammons of bacon, 
Let nought be forsaken. 
We'll let you go loose, 
Like a fox to a goose. 
And shew you the sty 
Where the little pigs lie ; 
Whence if you can take 
One or two, and not wake 
The sow in her dreams. 
But by the moon-beams 
So warily hie, 
As neither do cry ; 
You shall the next day 
Have license to play 
At the hedge a flirt, 
For a sheet or a shirt : 
If your hand be light, 
I'll shew you the slight 
Of our Ptolemy's knot. 
It is, and 'tis not. 

To change your complexion, 
With the noble confection 
Of walnuts and hog's-grease, 
Better than dog's-grcase : 
And to milk the kine, 
Ere the milk-maid fine 
Hath open'd her eyne ; 



Or if you desire 
To spit or fart fire, 
I'll teach you the knacks 
Of eating of flax ; 
And out of your noses. 
Draw ribands and posies, 
As for example, 
Mine own is as ample 
And fruitful a nose. 
As a wit can sirppose ; 
Yet it shall go hard, 
But there will be spared, 
Each of you a yard, 
And worth your regard. 
When the color and size 
Arrive at your eyes. 
And if you incline 
To a cup of good wine, 
When you sup or dine ; 
If you chance it to lack, 
Be it claret or sack ; 
I'll make this snout. 
To deal it about, 
Or this to run out 
As it were from a spout. 

Toion. Admirable tricks, and he does them 
all se defondendo, as if he would not be taken in 
the trap of authority by a frail fleshly con- 
stable. 

Pup. Without the aid of a cheese. 

Chd. Or help of a flitch of bacon. 

Cock. Oh, he would chirp in a pair of stocks 
sumptuously; I'd give any thing to see him 
play loose with his hands Avhen his feet were 
fast. 

Pup. O' my conscience he fears not that, an 
the marshal himself Avere here ; I protest I ad 
mire him. 

Pat. Is this worth your wonder ! 
Nay then you shall under- 
stand more of my skill 
I can (for I will) 
Here at Burley o' the Hill 
Give you all your fill, 
Each Jack with his Gill, 
' And shew you the king. 

The prince too, and bring 
The gipsies were here. 
Like lords to appear, 
With such their attenders. 
As you thought offenders, 
Who now become new men. 
You'll know them for true men ; 
For he we call chief, 
I'll tell't ye in brief, 
Is so far from a thief, 
As he gives yc relief 
With his bread, beer, and beef. 
And 'tis not long sin'e 
Ye drank of his wine. 
And it made you fine. 
Both claret and sherry, 
Then let us be merry ,• 
And help with your call, 
For a hail, a hall ! 
Stand up to the wall, 



74fi 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



Both good men, and t;ill, 
We are one man's all.' 
Omnis. A hall, a hall, a hall ! 



Enter the Gipsies Metamokphosed, i. e. dressed 
ill rich Habits^ and Dance. 

Pat. "Why now yo behold, 
'TAvas truth that I told, 
And no device ; 
Thej' are chang'd in a trice. 
And so will I 
Be myself, by and by. 

I only now 

Must study how 
To come off with a grace. 
With my Patrico's place : 
Some short kind of blessing. 
It self addressing 
Unto my good master. 
Which light on him faster, 
Than wishes can fly. 
And you that stand by 
Be as jocund as I ; 
Each man Avith his voice, 
Give his heart to rejoice. 
Which I'll requite. 
If my art hit right. 
Though late now at night, 
Each clov.'n here in sight. 
Before day light. 
Shall prove a good knight : 
And your lasses, pages 
Worthy their wages. 
Where fancy engages 
Girls to their ages. 

Clod. Oh, any thing for the Patrico ; what 
is't ? what is't ^ 

Pat. Nothing, but bear the bob of the close, 
It Avill be no burden you may Avell suppose, 
But bless the sov'reign and his senses. 
And to Avish aAvay offences. 

Clod. Let us alone, Bless the sovereign and his 
senses. [being, 

Pat. We'll take them in order, as they have 

And first of seeing. 

From a gipsy in the morning, 
Or a pair of squint eyes turning : 
From the goblin, and the spectre. 
Or a drunkard, though Avith nectar ; 
From a Avoman true to no man, 
Which is ugly besides common ; 
A smock rampant, and the itches 
To be putting on the breeches : 



1 When the Masque Avas represented atBever Castle, the 
fallowing lines Avere used instead of those in the text : — 

The fifth of August, 
Will not let saw-dust 
Lie in your throats, 
Or cobwehs, or oats ; 
But help to scour ye. 
This is no Gowry, 
Has drawn James hither. 
But the goodnian of Bever, 
Our Buckingham's father ■ 
Then so much the rather 
Make it a jolly niftht. 
For 'tis a holy night ; 
Spight of the constable. 
Or dean of Dunstabfe. 



Wieroso'er they haA-e thoir being, 
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his seeinq. 

Pat. From a fool, and serious toys ; 

From a lawyer, three parts noise : 
From impertinence, like a drum 
Beat at dinner in his room ; 
From a tongue Avithout a file, 
Heaps of phrases and no style. 
From a fiddle out of tune. 
As the cuckoAV is in June, 
From the candlesticks of Lothbury, 
And the loud pure Avives of Banbury ; 
Or a long pretended fit. 
Meant for mirth, but is not it ; 
Only time and ears out-A\'earing, 

Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his hearing. 

Pat. From a strolling tinker's sheet, 
Or a pair of carrier's feet : 
From a lady that doth breathe 
Worse abOA'e than underneath ; 
From the diet and the knoAA'ledge 
Of the students in Bears-college ; 
From tobacco, with the type 
Of the dcA-il's glyster-pipe ; 
Or a stink all stinks excelling. 
From a fishmonger's stale dAvelling ; 

Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his smelling. 

Pat. From an oyster and fried fish, 
A soAv's baby in a dish ; 
From any portion of a SAvine, 
From bad A^enison, and Avorso Avlne ; 
Ling, what cook soe'cr it boil. 
Though Avith mustard sauced and oil. 
Or Avhat else would keep man fasting, 

Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his tasting. 

Pat. Both from birdlime, and from pitch, 
From a doxey and her itch ; 
From the bristles of a hog, 
Or the ring-Avorm in a dog ; 
From the courtship of a briar. 
Or St. Anthony's old fire : 
From a needle, or a thorn. 
In a bed at e'en or morn ; 
Or from any gout's least grutch ng, 
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his touching. 

Pat. Bless him too from all offences, 
In his sports, as in his senses ; 
From a boy to cross his Avay, 
From a fall, or a foul day. 
Bless him, O bless him, heaven, and lend 

him long 
To be the sacred burden of all song ; 
The acts and years of all our kings t' 

outgo ; [so. 

And Avhile he's mortal, Ave not think him 

After which, ascending up, the Jackman sings. 

SONG FIRST. 

Jack. The sports are done, yet do not let 
Vour joys in sudden silence set ; 
Delight and dumbness never met 

In one self-subject yet. 
If things oppos'd must mixt appear. 
Then add a boldness to your fear, 

And speak a hymn to him, 
Where all your duties do of right belong, 
Which I will sweeten AVith an under-soiig. 



- I 



THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED. 



Captain. Glory of ours, and grace of all the 
earth ; 
Flow Avell your figure cloth become your birth ! 
A.S if your form and fortune equal stood, 
And only virtue got above your blood. 

SONG SECOND. 

JmI:. Virtue, his kingly virtue, wliicli did merit 
This isle entire, and you are to inherit. 

4 Gipsy. How right he doth confess him in 

his face, 
His brow, his eye, and ev'ry mark of state ; 
As if he were the issue of each Grace, 

And bore about him both his fame and fate. 

SONG THIRD. 

Jack. Look, look, is he not fair, 
And fresh arid fragrant loo, 
As summer sky, or purged air, 
And looks as lilies do, 
That were tliis morning hlown. 

4 Gip. Oh more ! that more of him were known. 

3 Gip, Look how the winds ujjon the waves 
grown tame. 

Take up land sounds upon their purple wings : 
And catching each from other, bear the same 

To every angle of their sacred springs. 
So will we take his praise, and hurl his name 

About the globe, in thousand airj' rings. 
If his great virtue be in love with fame, 

For that contemn' d, both are neglected things. 

SONG FOURTH. 

Jack. Good princes soar above their fame. 
And in their worth, 
Come greater furtli. 
Than in their name. 



Such, such the f;\ther is, 
AVhom ev'ry title strives to kiss ; 
Who on his royal grounds unto himself doth raise, 
The work to trouble fame, and to astonish praise. 

Gip. Indeed he is not lord alone of all the 

state. 
But of the love of men, and of the empire's fate, 
The muses' arts, the schools, commerce, our 

honors, laws. 
And virtues hang on him, as on their working 

cause. 

2 Gip. His hand-maid justice is. 

3 Gip. Wisdom, his wife. 

4 Gip. His mistress, mercy. 

5 Gip. Temperance, his life. 

2 Gip. His pages bounty and grace, which 

many prove. 

3 Gip. His guards are magnanimity and love. 
4:- Gip. His ushers, counsel, truth, and pietv. 
5 Gip. And all that follows him, felicity. 

SONG FIFTH. 

Jack. Oh that we understood 

Our good ! 
Tliere's happiness indeed in hlooiJ 
And store. 
But how much more, 
When virtue's flood 
In the same stream doth hit .' 
As that grows high with years, so happiness with it 

Capt. Love, love his fortune then, and vir- 
tues known, 

Who is the top of men, 
But makes the happiness our own ; 
Smce where the prince for goodness is renown' d^ 
The subject with felicity is crown'd. 



THE EPILOGUE AT Yv^IXDSOR. 



At Burlcigii, Bever, and note last at Windsor, 
Which shews wc are gi^psies of no common kind, 

sir : 
You have beheld '(and with delight) their change, 
And how they came transform'd, may think it 

strange; 
It being a thing not touch' d at by our poet, 
Good Ben slept there, or else forgot to sheto it : 
But lest it 2}rove like loonder to the sight, 
To see a gipsy, as an JEthiop, lohite, 
Know, that what dy'd our faces, was an ointment 



Made, and laid on by master Woolfe's a2yp>oini';n 
The court Lycanthropos ; yet without spells > 
By a mere barber, and no magic else, 
It toas fetch' d off ivith loaler and a ball, 
And to our transformation, this is all, 
Save what the master fashioner calls his 
For to a gipsy's metamorphosis. 
Who doth disguise his habit and his face. 
And takes on a false person by hisjilace, 
The poioer of poetry can never fail /m; 
Assisted by a barber and a tailor. 



THE MASQUE OF AUGURS 



WITH THE 



SEVERAL ANTIMASQUES, 



PRESENTED uN TWELFTH-NIGHT, IGC'3 



SCENE. — The Court-Buttcry-Jiatch. 
Enter Notch and Slug. 

Notch. Come, now my head's in, I'll evenven- 
hipe the whole : I have seen the lions ere now, 
and he that hath seen them may see the king. 

Slufj. I think he may ; but have a care you go 
not too nigh, neighbor Notch, lest you chance to 
have a tally made on your pate, and be clawed 
with a cudgel ; there is as much danger going 
too near the king, as the lions. 

Enter Groom of the Revels. 

Groom. Whither, whither now, gamesters ? 
what is the business, the affair ? stop, I beseech 
you. 

Notch. This must be an officer or nothing, he 
is so pert and brief in his demands : a pretty 
man ! and a pretty man is a little o' this side 
nothing ; howsoever v/e must not be daunted 
now. I am sure I am a greater man than he out 
of the court, and I have lost nothing of my size 
since I came to it. 

Groom. Hey-da ! Avhat's this? a hogshead of 
deer broke out of the king's buttery, or some 
Dutch hulk ! whither are you bound ? the wind 
is against you, you must back ; do you know 
where you are ? 

Notch. Yes, sir, if we be not mistaken, we are 
at the court ; and would be glad to speak with 
something of less authority, and more wit, that 
knows a little in the place. 

Groom. Sir, I know as little as any man in the 
place. Speak, what is your business ? I am an 
officer, groom of the revels, that is my place. 

Notch. To fetch bouge of court, a parcel of 
invisible bread and beer for the players ; (for 
they never see it;) or to mistake six torches 
from the chaudry, and give them one. 

Groom. How, sir ? 

Notch. Come, this is not the first time you have 
carried coals, to your own house, I mean, that 
should have warm'd them. 

Groom. Sir, I may do it by my jilace, and I 
must question you farther. 

Notch. Be not so musty, sir ; our desire is 
only to know whether the king's majesty and 
the court expect any disguise here to-night ? 

Groom. Disguise ! what mean you by that ? 
do you think that his majesty sits here to expect 
drunkards ? 



Notch. No ; if he did, I believe you would 
supply that place better than you do this : Dis 
guise was the old English word for a masque, sir 
before you were an implement belonging to the 
Revels. 

Groom. There is no such word in the office 
now, I assure you, sir ; I have served here, man 
and boy, a prenticeship or twain, and I should 
knoAV. But, by what name soever yoii call it, 
here will be a masque, and shall be a masque, 
when you and the rest of your comrogues shall 
sit disguised in the stocks. 

Notch. Sure, by your language you were never 
meant for a courtier, howsoever it hath been 
your ill fortune to be taken out of the nest 
young ; you are some constable's egg, some 
such widgeon of authorit)-, you are so easily 
offended ! Our coming was to shew our loves, 
sir, and to make a little merry with his majesty 
to-night, and we have brought a masque with us, 
if his majesty had not been better provided. 

Groom. Who, you ! you, a masque ! why you 
stink like so many bloat-herrings newly taken 
out of the chimney ! In the name of ignorance, 
whence came you ? or what are you ? you have 
been hang'd in the araoke sufficiently, that is 
smelt out already. 

Notch. Sir, we do f.ome from among the brew- 
houses in St. Katlv'.»rine's, that's true, there you 
have smoked us ; the dock comfort your nos- 
trils ! and we may have lived in a mist there, 
and so mist our purpose ; but for mine own 
part, I have brou;i';ht my properties with me, to 
express what I am ; the keys of my calling 
hang here at my girdle, and this, the register- 
book of my function, shews me no less than a 
clerk at all points, and a brewer's clerk, and a 
brewer's head-clerk. 

Groom. A man of accompt, sir ! I cry you 
mercy. 

Slag. Ay, sir, I knew him a fine merchant, a 
merchant of hops, till all hopt into the water. 

Notch. No more of that ; what I have been, I 
have been ; Avhat I am, I am : I, Peter Notch, 
clerk, hearing the Christmas ijivention Avas 
drawn dry at court ; and that neither the king's 
poet nor his architect had wherewithal left to 
entertain so much as a baboon of quality, nor 
scarce the Wehh ambassador, if lie should come 
there : out of my allegiance to wit, drew in 
some other friends that have as it were presumed 

74S 



THE MASQUE OF AUGURS. 



749 



cut of their own naturals to fill up the vacuum 
'A'ith some pretty presentation, Avhicli we have 
addressed and convoyed hither in a lighter at 
the general charge, and landed at the back-door 
of the bu,tterj', through my neighbor Slug's 
credit there. 

Sh((/. A poor lighterman, sir, one that hath 
had the honor sometimes to lay in the king's 
Deer there ; and I assure you I heard it in no 
worse place than the verj^ buttery, for a certain, 
there would be no masque, and from such as 
could command a jack of beer, two or three. 

Elite}' Vangoose. 

I'ati. Dat is all true, exceeding true, de in- 
ventors be barren, lost, tw'o, dre, vour mile, I 
know that from my selven ; dey have noting, no 
ting van deir own, but vat dey take from do 
card, or de zea, or de heaven, or de hell, or de 
rest van de veir clementen, dc place a ! dat be 
BO common as de vench in the bordello. Now 
me would bring in some dainty new ting, dat 
never Avas, nor never sail be in de rebus natara ; 
dat has never van de materia, nor de forma, nor 
dc hoffen, nor de voot, but a mera devisa of de 
brain — 

Groom. Hey-da ! what Hans Flutterkin is 
this ? what Dutchman does build or frame cas- 
tles in the air ? 

Notch. He is no Dutchman, sir, he is a Britain 
born, but hath learn'd to misuse his own tongu.e 
in travel, and now speaks all languages in ill 
English ; a rare artist he is, sir, and a projector 
of masques. His project in ours is, that wo 
should all come from the three dancing bears in 
St. Katherine's (you may hap know it, sir) hard 
by where the priest fell in, which alehouse is 
kept by a distressed lady, whose name, for the 
honor of knighthood, will not be known ; yet 
she is come in person here errant, to fill wp the 
adventure, with her t•s^■o women that draw drink 
under her ; gentlewomen born all three, I as- 
sure you. 

Enter the Lady, tcith her two Maids. 

Slug, And were three of those gentlewomen 
that should have acted in that famous matter of 
England's Joy in six hundred and three. 

Lacli/. What talk you of England's Joy, gen- 
tlemen ? you have another matter in hand, I 
wiss, England's Sport and Dehght, if you can 
manage it. The poor cattle' yonder are passing 
away the time Avith a cheat loaf, and a bombard 
of broken beer, how will ye dispose of them ? 

Groom. Cattle ! what cattle does she mean ? 

Lady. No worse than the king's game, I as- 
sure you ; the bears, bears both of quahty and 
fashion, right bears, true bears. 

Notch. A device only to express the place 
from whence we come, my lady's house, for 
which we have borrowed three very bears, that, 
as her ladysliip aforesaid says, are Avell bred, and 
can dance to present the sign, and the bearward 
to stand for the sign-post. 

Groom. That is pretty ; but are you sure you 
have sufficient bears for that purpose ? 

Slug. Very sufficient bears as any are in the 
ground, the Paris-garden, and can dance at first 
sight, and play their own tunes if need be. 



John Urson, the bearward, offers to play them 
with any city-dancers christened, for a ground 
measure. 

Notch. Marry, for lofty tricks, or dancing on 
the ropes, he will not undertake, it is out of 
their element, he says. Sir, all our request is, 
since we are come, we may be admitted, if not 
for a masque, for an antic-masque ; and as we 
sliall deserve therein, we desire to be returned 
with credit to the buttery from whence we came 
for reward, or to the porter's lodge Avith discred- 
it, for our punishment. 

Groom. To be whipt Avith your bears ! well, I 
could be Avilling to venture a good Avord in be- 
half of the game, if I Avere assured the aforesaid 
game Avould be cleanly, and not fright the ladies. 

Notch. For that, sir, the bearward hath put in 
security by Avarranting my lady and her Avomen 
to dance the whole changes Avith them in safety • 
and for their abusing the place, you shall not 
need to fear, for he hath given them a kind of 
dietrbread to bind them to their good behavior. 

Groom. Well, let them come ; if you need 
one, I'll help you myself. 

Enter John Ursox with his Bears, who dance 
tvhile he sings the foUoicing 

BALLAD. 

Tlioush it may seem rude 
For me to intrude, 

VA'ith these my bears, by cliance-a ^ 
'Twere sport for a king. 
If tliey could sing 

As well as tliey can dance-a 

Then to put you out 
Of fear or doubt, 

We came from St. ICutherir.e-a 
These danchig three. 
By the help of me, 

Who am the post of the sign-a. 

We sell good ware. 
And we need not care 

Though court and country know it; 
Our ale's o' the best, 
And each good guest 

Prays for their souls that brew it. 

For any ale-house, 
We care not a louse, 

Nor tavern in all the town-a 
Nor the Vintry-Cranes, 
Nor St. Clement's Danes, 

Nor the Devil can put us down-a.. 

Who has once there been. 
Comes thilher again. 

The liquor is so mighty ; 
Beer strong and stale. 
And so is our ale, 

And it burns like aqua-vits. 

To a stranger there, 
If any appear. 

Where never before he has been . 
We shew the iron gate, 
The wheel of St. Kate, 

And the place where the priest fell in 

The wives of Wapping, 
They trudge to our tapping, 

And there our ale desire : 
And still sit and drink, 
Till they spue and stink. 

And often piss out our fire. 

From morning to night. 
And about to day-light, 

They sit, and never grudge it ; 
Till the fish-wives join 
Tiieir single coin, 

And the tinker pawns his bud et. 



750 



THE MASQUE OF AUGURS. 



If their brains be not well, 
Or their bladders do swell, 

To ease them of their burden, 
My lady will come 
VVith a bowl and a broom, 

And her handmaid with a jorden. 

From court we invito 
Lord, lady, and knight, 

Squire, gentleman, yeoman, and groom ; 
And all our stiff drinkers, 
Smiths, porters, and tinkers. 

And the beggars shall give ye room. 

Van, How like you, how like you ? 

Groom. Excellent! the bears have done learn- 
edly, and sweetly. 

Van. Tis noting, tis noting ; vill you see some- 
ting ? iek sail bring in de Turkschen, met all 
zin bashaws, and zin dirty towsand Yanitsaries 
met all zin whooren, eunuken, all met an ander, 
de soiie van Persia, de Tartar cham met de groat 
king of MoguU, and made deir men, and dcir 
horse, and deir elephanten, be seen fight in the 
ayr, and be all killen, and aliven, and no such 
ting. And all dis met de ars van de Catropricks, 
by de refieshie van de glassen. 

Notch. Oh, he is an admirable artis-t. 

Slug. And a half, sir. 

Groom. But Avhcre will he place his glasses ? 

Van. Fow, dat is all can, as it be two, dree, 
veir, vifo towsand mile off ; ick sail multiplien 
de vizioun, met an ander secret dat ick heb : 
Sprcck, vat vill you habcn ? 

Groom. Good sir, put him to't, bid him do 
something that is impossible ; ho will undertake 
it, I warrant you. 

Notch. I do not like the Mogul, nor the great 
Turk, nor the Tartar, their names are somewhat 
too big for the room ; naarry, if he could shew 
us some coiintry-players, strolling about in sev- 
eral shires, Avithout license from the office, that 
■would please I know Avhom ; or some Welsh 
pilgrims — 

Van. Pilgrim ! now you talk of de pilgrim, it 
come in my head. Ick vill sliow you all de 
whole brave pilgrim o' dc world : de pilgrim dat 
go now, now at de instant, two, dre towsand 
mile to de great Mahomet, at de !Mecha, or here, 
dere, every where, make de fine labyrints, and 
ahew all de brave error in de vorld. 

Slug. And shall we see it here ? 

Van. Yaw% here, here, here in dis room, tis 
very room ; vel vat is dat to you, if ick do de 
ting ? vat an devil, vera boten devil ? 

Groom. Nay, good sir, be not angry. 

Notch. 'Tis a disease that follows all excellent 
men, they cannot govern their passions ; but let 
him alone, try him one bout. 

Groom. I would try him ; but what has all 
this to do with our mask ? 

Van. O si'", all de better vor an antick-mask, 
de more absura it be, and vrom de purpose, it be 
ever aU de better. If it go from de nature of de 
ting, it is de more art : for dere is art, and dere 
is nature, yow sail see. IIocos Pocos ! paucos pa- 
lahros ! 

Here the second ANXiMAsauE. 

Which was a perplexed Dance of straying and de- 
formed PiLGRiiis talcing several paths, till loifh 
the opening of the light above, and breaking forth 



'f Apollo, they tccro all frighted away, and tkc 
MAix Masque begun : 

Apollo descending, sung,^ 

It is no dream ; you all do wake, and see ; 
Behold who comes ! far-shooting PhfBbus,2 he 
That can both hurt and Ileal ; 3 and with his voico * 
Rear towns, and make societies rejoice ; 
Tliat taught the muses all their harmony. 
And men the tuneful art of augury.'' 
Apollo stoops, and when a god descends, 
May mortals think he hath no vulgar ends. 

Being near the earth, he called these persons folloic- 
ing, loho came forth as from their tombs. 

Linus ! 6 and Orpheus ! ^ Branchus ! ^ Idmon ! ° 
My sacred sons, rise at your father's call, [all, 
From your immortal graves; where sleep, not 
Yet binds your i^owers. ."death, 

Linus. Here., 

Orpheiis. Here. 

Branchus. What sacred breath 
Doth re-inspire us ? 

Idmon. Who is this we feel ? 

PhcomonoS.^° What heat creeps through me 
as when burning steel 
Is dipt in Avater ? 

Apollo. Ay, PhoBmonoy, 
Thy father JPhcebus' fury fiUeth thee : 
Confess my godhead, once again I call, 
Let Avhole Apollo enter in you all, 
And folloAv me. 

0/nnes. We fly, Ave do not tread ; 
The gods do use to raA'ish Avhom they lead. 

Apollo being descended, sheiccd them where the 
King sat, and sung forward. 

Benold the love and care of ail the gods, 

Of ocean and the happy isles ; 
That whilst tlie world about him is at odds 

Sits crov.'ned lord here of himself, and smiles. 



1 Artcs eximias quatuor Apollini acceptas tulit antiquitaa 

2 Sagittandi peritiani, unde apud Homerura, frequens 
illud epitheton hKriBoXug, longe jaculans. 

3 Medicinam, unde medicinomeii adeptus. 
* Blusicani, unde fiovariyerri; appellatus. 

^ Et Divinationem (in qua eliam Augurium) unde AugJtl 
ApoUo dictus. Virg. ^neid. lib. 4. et Hor. Car. lib. 1. Od. 2. 
Nube candentes iiumeros amictus 
Augur Apollo. 
Et Carm. Scecul. ult. ubi doctissimus Poeta has artes toti 
dem versibus complectitur, 

Augur utfulgente decorus arcu 
Phoebus, acceptusque novem camcenis, 
Qui salutari levat arte fessos 
Corporis artus. 
" TJnus, Apollinis et Terpsichoros fiiius. Pans. 
" Orpheus, Apollinis et Calliopes, de quibus Virg. in 
Ecloga inscript. 
JS'on me carmiiiibus vincet, non Thracius Orpheus, 
Ncc Linus, huic mater quamvis, atque huic pater adsit, 
Orphei Oalliopea, Lino formosus Apollo. 
8 Branchus, Apollinis et Jances fiiius, de quo vid. Strab 

lib. 4. et Statium Thobaid. lib. 3. patrioque squalifc 

honori Branchus. 

Idmon, Apollinis et Astcries fiiius. De il!o vid. Val 
Flac. lib. 1. Argonautic. 

Contra Phoebiiis Idmon 

Kon pallore viris non ullo horrore comarum 
Terribilis, plenus fatis, Phoeboque quieto, 
Cui genitor tribuit monitu prfenoscere Divum 
Omina, sou flammas, sen lubricacoininus exta, 
Seu plenum certis interroget aera pennis. 
19 Piiosmonoe filia Phuebi, qwx prima canuen heroicuni 
cecinit. Hesiod in Theog. 



THE MASQUE OF AUGURS. 



751 



Cho. To see the errin;; mazes of inanlund, 

Who seek for that dotli punish them to find 

Then he advanceth with them to the King. 

/Ipol. Prince of thy peace, see what it is to love 
Tlio powers above ! 
Jove Iiath commanded mo 

To visit thee ; 
And in thine honor with niyi music rear 

A college here,2 
Of tuneful aujjurs, whose divining skill 

Shall wait thee still, 
And be the heralds of his highest \v\\\. 

The work is done, 
And I have made their president thy son ; 
Great Mars too, oh these nights, 

Hath added Salian rites.s 
Yond, yond afar, 
They closed in their temple are,* 
And each one guided by a star. 
Cho. Haste, haste to meet them, and as they advance, 
'Twixi every dance. 
Let us interpret their prophetic trance. 

Here they fetched out the MAsauERS [i. e. the Au- 
gurs,] and came before them with the torch- 
bearers along the stage, singing this full 

SOXG. 

Apol. Which way, and whence the ligntning flew, 
Or how it burned, bright and blue, 
Design and figure by your lights : 
Then forth, and shew the several flightp- 
Your birds have mado,6 or what the wing. 
Or voice in augury doth bring. 



1 Allusio ad lUud Ovidii Epistol. Epist Parid. 
Dion aspicies, firmataque turribus altis 
McEnia Apollinece structa canore lyra. 

' Augiirandi scientia nobitis crat et antiqua, apnd gentes 
prsesertim Hetruscos : quibus erat collegium et domiciiium 
celeberrimura Auguruni, quorum summa fuit authoritas et 
dignitas per totam Italiam, potissimum KomfE. Romulus, 
urbe condifa, collegium ct Augures ibi instituit, ipse nobilis, 
et apud Liv. lib. 1. et Tull. lib. 1. Optimus Augur. Eorum 
Ufficium fuit auspicia captare, et ex iis coUigere signa futu- 
rarum rerum, Dcorumquo raonita considerare de eventibus 
prosperis vel adversis. Sacra erat Romanis et res regia ha- 
bita, dignitasque penes patricioa et principes viros mansit, 
ctiam apud imperatores obtinuit, unde ab Apolliue nostro 
talis Praises Pulchre designatus. 

3 Saltationes in rebus sacris adhibebantur apud omnes 
pene gentes : et a .saliendo, sen saltatione sacra ad saliare 
carmen institute, Salii dicti et Marti consecrati. Oranes 
etiam qui ad cantum et tibiara ludebant Salii et Salisiibsuli 
dicebantur. Salius t'/u'wJds, vet. gloss, et Pacuv. Pro impe- 
rio SIC Salisubsulus vestro cxcubet Mars, et Virg. iEneid. 
lib. 8. 

Turn Salii ad cantua mcensa altaria circum 
Populeis adsunt cvincti tempora raniis. 

* Auguria captaturi caelum eligebant purnm et serenum, 
aereque nitido. Lituum (qui erat baculus incurvus, augu- 
rale signum) manu tenebat augur. Eo cceli regiones de- 
Bignabat, et mctas inter quas contineri debebant auguria : et 
lias vocabantur templa: unde contemplalio dicta est consi- 
deratio, et nieditatio rerum saeranuii,nt dextrum sinistrum- 
que latus observaret : in impetrato sibi ipse regiones deiini- 
ebat ; in oblato manum suam respexit Isevani aut dextram. 
Regiones ab oriente in occasum terminabat limite decunia- 
no, et cardinc ex transverso signo metato, quo oculi ferrent 
quam longissime. Antica in ortum vergebat ; Postica regio 
i tergo ad occasum : dextra ad meridiem : sinistra ad sep- 
tentrionem. Observationes fiebant augure sedente, capito 
vclato, toga duplici augurali Candida aniicto, 4. media nocte 
ad raediam diem, crescente non deficiente die. Neque cap- 
tabantur auguria post mensem Julium, propterea quod aves 
redderentur imbeciliores et morbidtE, pullique eorum esstnt 
imperfecti. 

6 Augurandi scientia Jpi'iOof^'orfta dicta ; divinatio per 
aves. Aves aut oscines, aut .prajpetes ; oscinos, quse ore, 
prspetes, qum volatu augurium significant. Pulli tripudio. 
Aves auspicat;e, ct prtepetes, aquila, vultur, sanqualis seu 
ossifraca, triarches, sive buteo, immussulus, accipiter, cyg- 
nus, columba ; oscines, cornix, corvus, anscr, cicoria, ardea, 
ncctua ; inauspicatse, milvus, parra, nycticorax, striges, hi- 
rundc, picus, &c 



Which hand tlio crow cried on, how high 
Tlie vulture, or tlio hern did fly ; 
What wing tlie swan made, and the dove, 
The stork, and which did get above: 
Shew all the birds of fond or prey. 
But pass by the unlucky jay, 
The night-crow, swallow, or the kito, 
Let these have neither right, 
Cho. Nor part, 

In this night's art 

Here the Torch-bearers danced. 

After ichich the Augurs laid by their staves, and 
danced their entry ; which done, Apollo and tlie 
rest interpreted the Augury. 

Apol. The signs are lucky all, and right," 

There hath not been a voice, or flight, 

Of ill presage — 
Lin. The bird that brings 7 

Iter augury alone to kings, 

The dove, hath flown. — 
Orph. And to thy peace. 

Fortunes and the Fates increase. 
Bran. Minerva's hernshaw, and her owl,8 

Do both proclaim, tllou shalt control 

The course of things. 
Tdm. As now they be 

With tumult carried — 
Apol. And live free 

From hatred, faction, or the fear 

To blast the olive thou dost wear. 
Clto. More is behind, which these do long to show. 

And what the gods to so great virtue owe 

Here the Main Dance. 

Cho. .'=;iii, stiil the auspice is so good,' 
We wish it were but understood ; 

It even puts Apollo 
To all his strengths of art, to follow 
The flights, and to divine 
What's meant by every sign.io 
Thou canst not less be than the charge 

Of every deity ; 
That thus art left here to enlaVge, 

And shield their piety ! 
Thy neighbors at thy fortune long have gaz'd , 
Cut at tl)y wisdom all do stand amaz'd. 
And wish to be 
O'ercome, or governed by thee ! 
Safety itself so sides thee where thou go'st, 
And Fate still offers what thou covet'st most. 

Here the Revels, 

After tchich, Apollo went up to the KiXG, end 
sung. 

Apol. Do not expect to hear of all 

Your good at once, lest it forestal 

A sweetness would be new : 
Some things the Fates would have conceal'u, 
Prom us the gods, lest being reveal'd, 
Our powers shall envy you. 

Ilabcbant dextra et Isva omnia , antica et postica ; orl- 
entalia et occidentalia. Gra;ci, cum se ad septentrioneni 
obverterent, ortum ad dextram habuere. Romani meridiem 
in auspicando cum tucrentur, ortum ad Iffivam habuere 
Itaque sinistrae partes eadera sunt Romanis quae Grrecis dex- 
tra; ad ortum. Sinistra igitur illis meliora, dextra pejora : 
Gra?cis contri. Sinistra, pertinentia ad ortum : salutaria, 
quia ortus lucis index et auctor Dextra, quia spectant occa- 
sum, tristia. 

^ Columbre auguria non nisi regibus dant : qnianunquam 
singulEe volant : sicut rex nunquam solus incedit. NuntiiB 
pacis. 

8 Ardea et ardeola, rerum arduarum auspicium. Miner- 
voe sacra. Apud Homer. Iliad, k. ifcf i'm Ipoiiioi. 

Auspicium, ab ave specienda. Paul. Nam quod nos 
cum pra;positione diciraus aspicio, apud veteres sine prcepo- 
sitione sjricio dicebatur. 

10 Signa qua; seso efferent, crant multifaria : nam si obji- 
ceretur avis aliqua, considerabatur quo volatu ferretur, an 
obliquo vel prono, vel supino motu corporis ; quo flecteret, 
contorqueret, aut contraheret membra ; qua in parte se oo- 
cultaret : an ad dextram vel sinistram canereut oscinos, iic- 



7u2 



THE MASQUE OF AUGUKy. 



It is enough ymr people learn 

" Tiie reverence of your peace. 
As well as strangers do discern 

The glories, by th' increase ; 
And that the jirincely augur here, your son,i 
Do by his father's lights his courses run. 

CJic. Him shall you see triumphing over all, 

Both foes and vices : and your young and tall 
Nephews, his sons, grow up in your embraces. 
To give this island princes in long races. 

TIere the heaven ope?ied, and Jove, icitli the senats 
of the ' Gods was discovered, lohile Apollo re- 
turned to his seat, and ascending, sung. 

Mpol. See, heaven expecteth my return. 
The forked fire beghis to burn, 
Jove beckons me to come. 
Jove. Though Phcebiis be the god of arts. 
He must not take on him all parts ; 
But leave his father some. 
jS;)oZ. My arts are only to obey. 
Jose. And mine to sway,'- 



1 Romulus augur fuit, et Ntima, ct reliqui reges Roman!, 
sicut ante eos Turnus, Rhamnctes, et alii. • LacedsBmon;; 
suis regibus aiigureni assessorem dabant. Cilices, Lycii, 
Oaiae, Arabes, in sumnia veneratione habuerunt auguria. 

3 Vila Orpheuwi iii hym. da oninip Jovis, 



Jove is tliat one, whom first, midst, last, you call; 
The power that governs, and conserveth all ; 
Earth, sea, and air, are subject to our check, 
And fate with heaven, moving at our beck. 

Till Jove it ratify 

It is no augury, 
Though utter'd by the mouth of Destiny. 
Apol. Dear father, give the sign, and seal it then. 

The Earth riseth. 

It ia the suit of Earth and men. 
Jiive. What do these mortals crave without our wrong .' 
Earth, with the rest. That Jove will lend us this our sovei 
eign long ; 

Let our grand-children, and not we 

His want or absence e^er see. 



Jvve. 



Your wish is blest, 
Jove knocks his chin against his breast,^ 
And firms it with the rest. 



Full C!w, Sing then his fame, through all the orbs , in eveu 
Proportions, rising still, from earth to heaven : 
And of the lasting of it leave to doubt. 
The power of time shall never put that out. 

This done, the xohole Scene shut, and the Masquers 
danced their last Dance, 

AND THUS IT ENDED. 

3 Mo8 Jovia, annueiido votis et tirmaiiili.'' cniinibus Apuj 
Homer. &c. 



1 



TIME VINDICATED 

TO HIMSELF AND TO HIS HONORS, 

IN THE I'RESENTATION AT COUKT ON TWELFTH-NIGHT, 1603. 



QUI 3E MIRANTUR, IN ILLOS 

TIKU3 HABE : N03 H^C N0VIMU3 ESSE NIHIL. 



The Court being seated, a Trumpet sounded, and 
Fame entered, followed by the Cuaious, the 
Eyed, the Eabed, and the Nosed. 

Fatne. Give ear, the worthy, hear what Fame 
proclaims. 

Ears. What, Avhat ? is't worth our ears ? 

Eyes. Or eyes ? 

Nose. Or noses ? [ous. 

For we are cvirious, Fame ; indeed, the Curi- 

Eyes. We come to spy. 

Ears. And hearken. 

Nose. And smell out. [inquisitors. 

Fame. More than you understand, my hot 

Nose. We cannot tell. 

Eyes. It may be. 

Ears. However, go you on, let us alone. 

Eyes. We may spy out that, which you never 
meant. 

Nose. And nose the thing j'ou scent not. 
First, whence come you ? 

Fame. I came from Saturn. 

Ears. Saturn ! what is he ? [server, 

Nose. Some Protestant, I warrant you, a time- 
As Fame herself is. 

Fame. You are near the right. 
Indeed, he's Time itself, and his name Chronos. 

Nose. How ! Saturn ! Chronos ? and the 
Time itself ! 
You are found : enough. A notable old pagan ! 

Ears. One of their gods, and eats up his own 
children. 

Nose. A fencer, and does travel with a scythe, 
Stead of a long sword. 

Eyes. Hath been oft call'd from it. 
To be their lord of Misrule. 

Ears. As Cincinnatus 
Was from the plough, to be dictator. 

Eyes, Yes. 
We need no interpreter : on, what of Time ? 

Fame. The Time hath sent me with my trump 
to summon 
All sorts of persons worthy, to the view 
Of some great spectacle he means to-night 
To exhibit, and with all solemnity. 

Nose. O, we shall have his Saturnalia. 

Eyes. His days of feast and liberty again. 

Ears. Where men might do, and talk all that 

Eyes Slaves of their lords. [they list. 

Nose. The servants of their masters. 

Ears. And subjects of their sovereign. 



Fame. Not so lavish. 

Ears. It was a brave time that ! 

Eyes. This will be better : 
I spy it coming, peace ! All the impostures, 
The iJrodigies, diseases, and distempers, 
TTie knaveries of the time, Ave shall see all now. 

Ears. And hear the passages, and several 
humors 
Of men, as they are sway'd by their affections : 
Some grumbling, and some mutining, some 

scoffing, 
Some pleased, some pining ; at all these we 
laughing. [it, 

Nose. I have it here, here, strong, the sweat of 
And the confusion, which I love — I nose it ; 
It tickles me. 

Eyes. My four eyes itch for it. 

Ears. And my ears tingle ; would it would 
come forth : 
This room will not receive it. 

Nose. That's the fear. 

Enter Chronomastix. 
Chro, What, what, my friends, will not this 

room receive ? 
Eyes. That which the Time is presently to 

shew us. 
Chro. The Time ! Lo, I, the man that hate 
the time. 
That is, that love it not ; and (though in rhyme 
I here do speak it) Avith this whip you see, 
Do lash the time, and am myself lash-free. 
Fame. Who's this ? 

Ears. 'Tis Chronomastix, the brave saiyi. 
Nose. The gentleman-like satyr, cares for 
nobody. 
His forehead tipt Avith bays, do you not know 
him ? 
Eyes. Yes, Fame must knoAV him, all the 

town admires him. 
Chro. -If you Avould see Time quake and 
shake, but name us. 
It is for that, Ave are both beloved and famous. 
Eyes. We know, sir : but the Time's noAV 

come about. 
Ears. And promiseth all liberty. 
Nose. Nay, license. 
Eyes. We shall do Avhat Ave list. 
Ears. Talk Avhat we list. 
Nose. And censure Avhom Ave list, and hoAV ato 
list. 

753 



'754 



TIME VINDICATED. 



Chro. Then I ■svill look on time, and love the 
same, [Fame ! 

And drop my whip : Avho's this ? my mistress, 
The lady Avhom I honor, and adore ! 
What luck had I not to see her before ! 
Pardon me, madam, more than most accurst, 
That did not spy your ladyship at first ; 
T' have given the stoop, and ta salute the skirts 
Of her, to whom all ladies else are flirts. 
It is for you, I revel so in rhyme, 
Dear mistress, not for hope I have, the Time 
Will grow the better by it : to serve Fame 
Is all my end, and get myself a name. 

Fame. Away, I know thee not, wretched im- 
postor, 
Creature of glory, mountebank of wit, 
Self-loving braggart. Fame doth sound no 

trumpet 
To such vain empty fools : 'tis Infamy 
Thou serv'st, and follow'st, scorn of all the 

Muses ! 
Go revel with thine ignorant admirers. 
Let worthy names alone. 

Chro. O, you, the Curious, 
Breathe you to see a passage so injurious, 
Done with despight, and carried with such 
tumor [rumor ? 

'Gainst me, that am so much the friend of 
I would say. Fame ? whose muse hath rid in 

rapture 
On a soft ambling verse, to every capture. 
From the strong giiard, to the weak child that 

reads me, 
And wonder both of him that loves or dreads mo ; 
"Who with the lash of my immortal pen 
Have scourg'd all sorts of vices, and of men. 
Am I rewarded thus ? have I, I say. 
From Envy's self torn praise and bays away, 
AVith which my glorious front, and word at 

large. 
Triumphs in print at my admirers' charge ? 
Ears. Rare ! how he talks in verse, just as he 

writes ! 
Chro. When have I walk'd the streets, but 
happy he 
That had the finger first to point at mo, [it. 

Prentice, or journeyman ! The shop doth know 
The unletter'd clerk, major and minoi poet ! 
The semjostcr hath sat still as I pass'd by. 
And dropt her needle ! fish-wives stay'd their 

cry ! 
The boy with buttons, and the basket -wench, 
To vent their wares into my works do tiench ! 
A piidding-wife that would despise the times. 
Hath utter'd frequent penn'orths, through my 

rhymes, 
And, with them, dived into the chambermaid, 
And she unto her lady hath convey'd [sions, 
I'he season'd morsels, who hath sent fee pen- 
To cherish, and to heighten my inventions. 
Well, Fame shall know it yet, I have my faction, 
And friends about me, though it please detrac- 
tion, 
To do me this affront. Come forth that love me, 
And now, or never, spight of Fame, approve me. 

Enter the WvAafor the Antimasque. 
Fame. How now ! what's here ! Is hellbr 'ke 
loose r 



Ei/es. You'll see 
That he has favorers. Fame, and great ones too ; 
That unctuous Bounty, is the boss of Billings- 
gate. 

Ears. Who feasts his muse with claret, Avine 
and oysters. 

Nose. Grows big Avith satyr. 

Ears. Goes as long as an elephant. 

Ei/es. She labors, and lies in of his inventions. 

A'ose. Has a male poem in her belly noAV, 
Big as a colt 

Ea)-s. That kicks at Time already. 

Ei/es. And is no sooner foal'd, but AA'ill neigh 
sulphur. 

Fame. The next. 

Ears. A quondam justice, that of late 
Hath been discaided out o' the pack of the peace, 
For some IcAvd levity he holds in capite ; 
But constantly loves him. In days of yore. 
He us'd to give the 'charge out of his poems ; 
He carries him about him in his pocket, 
As Philip's son did Homer, in a casket. 
And cries, O happi/ man ! to the Avrong party. 
Meaning the poet, AA'here he meant the subject. 

Fame. What are this pair ? 

Eyes, The ragged rascals ? 

Fayne. Yes. 

Eyes. Mere rogues ; — you'd think them 
rogues, but they are friends ; 
One is his printer in disguise, and keeiDS 
His press in a holloAV tree, Avhere to conceal him. 
He Avorks by gloAV-Avorm light, the moon's t»a 

open. 
The other zealous rag is the compositor, 
Who in an angle, Avhere the ants inhabit, 
(The emblems of his labors), will sit curl'd 
WHole days and nights, and Avork his eyes out 
for him. 

Nose. Strange arguments of love ! there is a 
schoolmaster 
Is turning all his Avorks too, into Latin, 
To pure satji'ic Latin ; makes his boys 
To learn him ; calls him the Times' Juvenal ; 
Hangs all his school Avith his sharp sentences ; 
And o'er the execution place hath painted 
Time Avhipt, for terror to the infantry. 

Eyes. This man of Avar i' the rear, he is both 
And champion to his muse. [trumpet 

Ears. For the whole city. 

Nose. Has him by rote, recites him at the 
tables. 
Where he doth govern ; swears him into name. 
Upon his Avord, and sword, for the sole youth 
Dares make profession of poetic truth, 
NoAV militant amongst us : to th' incredulous, 
That dagger is an article he uses. 
To rivet his respect into their pates, 
And make them faithful. Fame, you'll fii'.d you 
have Avrong'd him. 
Fame. What a confederacy of folly's here r 

They all dance hut Fame, and make the first Anti- 
masque, in lohich they adore, and carry forth 
Cheonoaiastix. 

After ichich, the Curious come up again to Fame. 

Eyes. NoAV, Fame, hoAv like you this f 
Ea^-s. This falls ui^on you 
For your neglect. 



TIME VINDICATED. 



r55 



Nose. He scorns j-ou, and defies you. [tion. 
He has got a Fame on's own, as well as a fac- 

Ei/es. And these Mill deify him, to despite you. 

Fame. I envy not the 'A:Tcdiviaic. 
Twill prove but deifj-ing of a pompion. 

Nose. Well, what is that the Time Avill now 
exhibit ? 

Ei/es. What gambols, what devices, what new 
sports ? 

Ears. You promised us, we should have any 
thing. 

Nose. That Time would give us all we could 
imagine. 

Fayne. You might imagine so, I never prom- 
ised it. 

Eyes. Pox ! ;then 'tis nothing. I had now a 
We might have talk'd o' the king. [fancy 

Ears. Or state. 

Nose. Or all the Avorld. 

Eyes. Censured the council ere they censure 

Ears. We do it in Paul's. [us. 

Nose. Yes, and in all the taverns. 

Fame. A comely license ! They that censure 
those 
They ought to reverence, meet they that old 

curse, 
To beg their bread, and feel eternal winter ! 
There's difference 'twixt liberty and license. 

Nose. Why if it be not that, let it be this then, 
(For since you grant us freedom, we will hold it) 
Let's have the giddy world turn'd the heels up- 
ward. 
And sing a rare black Sanctus, on his head, 
Of all things out of order. 

Eyes. No, the man 
In the moon dance a coranto, his bush 
At's back a-fire ; and his dog piping LacJirymce. 

Ears. Or let's have all the people in an ixproar. 
None knowing Avhy, or to what end ; and in 
The midst of all, start up an old mad woman 
Preaching of patience. 

Nose, No, no, I'd have this. 

Eijes. What? 

Fame. Anything. 

Nose. That could be monstrous — 
Enough, I mean. A Babel of wild humors. 

Ears. And all disputing of all things they know 
not. 

Eyes. And talking of all men they never heard 
of. [den. 

Ears. And altogetl«3r by the ears o' the sud- 

Eyes. And when the matter is at hottest, then 
A.11 fall asleep. 

Fame. Agree among yourselves, 
A.nd what it is you'd have, I'll answer you. 

Eyes. 0, that we shall never do. 

Ears. No, never agree. 

Noie. Not upon what.'' Something that is 
unlawful. 

Ears. Ay, or unreasonable. 

Eijes, Or impossible. 

Nose. Let it be uncivil enough, you hit us right. 

Ears. And a great noise. 

Eyes. To little or no purpose. 

Nose. And if there be some mischief, 'twill 
become it. 

Eijes. But see there be no cause, as you will 
answer it. 

Fame. These are mere monsters. 



Nose. Ay, all the better. 

Fame. You do abuse the Time. These are fit 
freedoms 
For lawless prentices, on a Shrovc-Tuesday, 
When they compel the Time to serve their" riot ; 
For drunken wakes, and strutting bear-baitings, 
That savor only of their own abuses. 

Eyes. Why, if not those, then something to 

make sport. 
Ears. We only hunt for novelty, not truth. 
Fame. I'll fit you, though the Time faintly 
permit it. 

The second Axtimasque of Tumbleiis, and Jug- 
glers, brought in by the Cat axd Fiddle, toho 
make sport with the CuEious, and drive them 
aioay. 

Fame. Why now they are kindly used like 

such spectators. 
That know not what they would have. Com.- 

monly* 
The Curious arc ill natured, and, like flies. 
Seek Time's corrupted parts to blow upon : 
But may the sound ones live with fame, and 

honor, 
Free from the molestation of these insects. 
Who being tied, Fame now pursues her errand. 

Loud music. 

To which the xohole Scene opens ; where Saturn sit- 
■ tiny with Venus is discovered above, and certain 

Votaries coming forth below, which are the 

Chorus. 

Fame. For you, great king, to whom the Time 

doth owe 
All his respects and reverence, behold 
How Saturn, urged at request of Love, 
Prepares the object to the place to-night. 
Within yond' darkness, Venus hath found out 
That Hecate, as she is queen of shades. 
Keeps certain glories of the time obscured, 
There for herself alone to gaze upon. 
As she did once the fair Endymion. 
These, Time hath promised at Love's suit tc 

free, 
As being fitter to adorn the Age, 
By you restored on earth, most like his own ; 
And fill this world of beauty here, your court ; 
To which his bounty, see, how men prepare 
To fit their votes below, and thronging come 
AVith longing passion to enjoy the effect ! 
Hark ! it is Love begins to Time. Expect. 

[iTfeMjft 
Vtn. Beside, tliat is done for Love, • 

It is a work, great Tiino, will prove 

Thy honor, as men's hopes above. 
Sat. If Love be pleased, so am I, 

For Time could never yet deny 

What Love did ask, if Love knew why. 
Vol. She knew, and hath exprest it now : 

And so doth every public vow 

That heard her why, and waits thy how 
Sat. You shall not long expect ; with ease 

The things come forth, are born to please: 

Look, have you seen such lights as these ? 

The ]\Iasquers are discovered, and that which 
obscured them vanisheth. 

1 Vot. These, these must sure some wonders be '. 
Cho. O, what a glory 'tis to see 

Men's wishes. Time, and Love agree. [jS -pause. 



'756 



TIME VINDICATED. 



Veil. 



Vol. 



Sat. 
Vot. 



Saturn and Venus pass aioay, and the Masuuees 
descend. 

Cho. What grief, or envy had it been, 

That these, and such had not been seen, 

But still obscured in shade ! 
Wlio are the glories of the Time, 
Of jouth, and feature too, the prime. 
And for the light were made. 

1 Vot. Their very number, how it takes ! 

2 Vot. Wliat harmony, their presence makes ! 
1 Vot. How they inflame the place ! 

Cho. Now they are nearer seen, and view'd. 
For whom could love have better sued, 
Or Time have done the grace ? 

'Here, to a loud Music, they march into tlieir figure, 
and dance their Entry, or first Dance. 

After lohich. 

The night could not these glories miss. 
Good Time, I hope, is ta'en with this. 
If Time were not, I'm sure Love is. 
Between us it shall be no strife : 
For now 'tis Love gives Time his life. 
Let Time then so with Love conspife. 

As straight be sent into the court, 
A little Cupid, arm'd with tire. 

Attended by a jocund Sport, 
To breed delight, and a deaire 

Of being delighted, in the nobler sort. 
The wish is crown'd, as soon as made. 
And Cupid conquers, ere he doth invade. 

His victories of lightest trouble prove ; 

For there is never labor where is Love. 

Then folloios the Main Dance ; 

Which done, Cupid, xoith the Sport comes for- 
loard. 

Cup. \io the Masquers.'] 

Take breath a while, young bloods, to bring 

Your forces up, whilst we go sing 

Fresh charges to the beauties here. 

Or, if they cliarge you, do not fear. 

Though they be better arm'd than you ; 

It is but standing tlie first view. 

And then they yield. 

Or quit the field. 

Nay, that tliey'll never do. 

They'll rather fall upon the place, 

Than suffer such disgrace. 

You are but men at best, they say. 

And they from those ne'er ran away. [Pause. 

Cup. [to the King.] 

You, sir, that are the lord of Time, 

Receive it not as any crime 

'Gainst majesty, that Love and Sport 

To-night have enter'd in your court. 
Sport. Sir, doubt him more of some surprise 

Upon yourself; He hath his eyes. 

You are the noblest object here. 

And 'tis for you alone I fear : 

For here are ladies, that would give 

A bravo reward, to make Love live 

Well all liis life, for such a drauglit ; 

And therefore, look to every shaft : 

Tlie wag'» a deacon in his craft. 



Sport 



Cup. 

Sport. 



[Pause. 



Cup. -Jo the Lords.] 

My lords, the honors of the crown. 

Put off your sourness, do not frown, 

Bid cares depart, and business hence : 

A little, for the Time, dispense. 
Sport. Trust notbing that the boy lets fall. 

My lords, he hath plots upon you all. 

A pensioner unto your wives. 

To keep you in uxorious gyves, 

And so your sense to fascinate. 

To make you quit all thought of state. 

His amorous questions to debate. 

But hear his logic, he will prove 

There is no business, but to be in love. 
Cup. The words of Sport, my lords, and coarse. 

Your ladies yet, will not think worse [Pause. 

Of Love for this : they shall command 
My bow, my quiver, and my hand. 



Sport. What, here to stand 
And kill the flies ? 

Alas, thy service they despise. 

One beauty here, hath in her eyes 

More shafts than from thy bow e'er flew, 
Or that poor quiver knew. 
These dames. 

They need not Love's, they've Nature's flames 
Cup. I see the Beauty that you so report. 
Sport. Cupid, yoU must not point in court, 

Where live so many of a sort. 

Of Harmony these learn'd their speech, 

The Graces did them fooling teach, 

And, at the old Idalian brawls. 

They danced your mother down. She calls. 
Cup. Arm, arm them all. 
Sport. Young bloods come on. 

And charge ; let every man take one. 
Cup. And try his fate. 
Spoi-t. These are fair wars ; 

And will be carried without scars. 
Cup. A joining, but of feet, and hands. 

Is all the Time, and Love commands. 
Sport. Or if you do their gloves oflT-strip, 

Or taste the nectar of the lip ; 

See, so you temper your desires. 

For kisses, that ye suck not fires. 

The Revels follow ; which ended, the Chorits 
appear again, and Diana descends to Hippol ■ 
ITUS, the whole scene being changed into a loood, 
out of lohich he comes, 

Cho. The courtly strife is done, it should appear. 
Between the youths, and beauties of the year: 
We hope that now these lights will know their sphere, 
And strive hereafter to shine ever here : 
Like brightest planets, still to move 
In the eye of Time, and orbs of Love 



Dia. 
Hip. 
Dia. 



Hip. 
Dia. 

Hip. 



Sat. 
Vot. 
Ven. 
Sat. 
Hip. 



Dia. 



Hip. 



Hippolitus, Hippolitus ! 

Diana ? 

She. 

Be ready you, or Ceplialus, 

To wait on me. 

We ever be. 

Your goddess liath been wrong'd to-night, 

By Love's report unto the Time. 

The injury, itself will right. 

Which only Fame hath made a crime, 

For Time is wise, 
And hath his ears as perfect as his eyes. 
Who's that descends ? Diana ? 
Yes. 

Belilce her troop she hath begun to miss. 
Let's meet, and question what her errand is. 
She will prevent thee, Saturn, not t' excuse 

Herself unto thee, rather to complain 
That thou and Venus both should so abuse 

The name of Dian, as to entertain 
A thought, that she had purpose to defraud 

The Time, of any glories that were his ; 
To do Time honor rather, and applaud 

His worth, hath been her study. 

And it is. 
I call'd these youths forth in their blood, 
and prime, 

Out of the honor that I bore their parts. 
To make them fitter so to serve the Time 

By labor, riding, and those ancient arts, 
That first enabled men unto the wars. 
And furnish'd heaven with so many stars 
As Perseus, Castor, Pollux, and the rest, 
Who were of hunters first, of men the best?; 
Whose shades do yet remain Avithin yond' 

groves, 
Themselves there sporting with their nobler 
loves. 



TIME VINDICATED. 



757 



Dta. And so may these do, if the Time give 

leave. 
Sat. Chaste Dian's purpose sxe do now con- 
ceive, 
And j'ield thereto. 
Ven. And so doth Love. 
Vot, All votes do in one circle move. 

Grand Cho. Turn hunters then, 

Again. 
Hunting, it is the noblest exercise, 
Makes men laborious, active, wise. 
Brings health, and doth the spirits delight, 

It helps tlie hearing, and the sight : 
It teachetli arts that never slip 

Tha memory, good horsemanship, 



Search, sharpness, courage, and defence. 
And chaseth all ill habits thence. 

Turn hunters then, 
Again, 
But not of men. 
Follow his ample 
And just example. 
That hates all chase of malice, and of blood : 
And studies only ways of good. 
To keep soft peace in breath. 
Man should not hunt mankind to death. 
But strike the enemies of man ; 

Kill vices if you can : 
They are your wildest beasts, 
And when they thickest fall, you make the gods true 
feasts. 



EPTUNE'S TRIUMPH 



RETURN OF ALBION; 



CELEBRATED IN A MASQUE AT THE COURT, ON THE TWELFTH-NIGHT, ]631. 



0MNI3 ET AD REDUCEM JAM LITAT ARA DEUM. — MART. 



His Majesty being set, and the loud music ceasing. 
All that is discovered of a scene, are two erected 
pillars, dedicated to Neptune, with this inscription 
upon the one, 

NEP. RED 

On the other, 

SEC. JOW 

The Poet entering on the stage, to disperse the ar- 
gument, is called to bg the IMaster-Cook. 

Cook. Do you hear, you creature of diligence 
and business ? Avhat is the affair, that you pluck 
for so, under your cloke ? 

Poet. Nothing, but what I color for, I assure 
you ; and may encounter with, I hope, if luck 
favor me, the gamesters' goddess. 

Cook. You are a votary of hers, it seems, by 
your language. What went you upon, may a 
man ask you ? 

Poet. Certainties, indeed, sir, and very good 
ones ; the representation of a masque ; you'll 
see't anon. 

Cook. Sir, this is my room, and region too, the 
Banquetting-house. And in matter of feast, the 
solemnity, nothing is to be presented here, but 
with my acquaintance and allowance to it. 

Poet. You are not his majesty's confectioner, 
are you ? 

* Cook. No, but one that has a good title to the 
room, his Master-cook. What arc you, sir ? 

Poet. The most unprofitable of his servants, I, 
sir, the Poet. A kind of a Christmas ingine : 
one that is used at least once a year, for a trifling 
instrument of wit, or so. 

Cook. Were you ever a cook ? 

Poet. A cook ! no, surely. 

Cook, Then you can be no good poet : for a 
good poet differs nothing at all from a master- 
cook. Either's art is the wisdom of the mind. 

Poet. As how, sir ? 

Cook, Expect. I am by my place, to know 
now to please the palates of the guests ; so you 
are to know the palates of the times ; study the 
several tastes, Avhat every nation, the Spaniard, 
the Dutch, the French, the Walloun, the Ne- 
apolitan, the Britain, the Sicilian, can expect 
from you. 



Poet, That were a heavj' and hard task, to 
satisfy Expectation, who is so severe an exac- 
tress of duties ; ever a tyrannous mistress, and 
most times a pressing enemy. 

Cook, She is a powerful great lady, sir, at aU 
times, and must be satisfied : so must her sister, 
madam Curibsity, who hath as dainty a palate as 
she ; and these will expect. 

Poet, But what if they expect more than they 
understand ? 

Cook. That's all one, master Poet, you are 
bound to satisfy them. For there is a palate of 
the understanding, as well as of the senses. The 
taste is taken with good relishes, the sight witL 
fair objects, the hearing with delicate sounds, the 
smelling with pure scents, the feeling with soft 
and plump bodies, but the understanding with 
all these ; for all which you must begin at the 
kitchen. There the art of poetry was learn'd, 
and found out, or nowhere ; and the same day 
with the art of Cookery. 

Poet. I should, have given it rather to the cel- 
lar, if my suffrage had been ask'd. 

Cook, O, you are for the oracle of the bottle, I 
see ; hogshead Trismegistus ; he is your Pegasus. 
Thence flows the spring of your muses, from 
that hoof. 

Seduced poet, I do say to thee 

A boiler, range, and dresser were the fountains 
Of all the. kno-\\-ledge in the universe. 
And that's the kitchen. What ! a master-cook ! 
Thou dost not know the man, nor canst thou 

know him. 
Till thou hast served some years ui that deep 

school, 
That's both the nurse and mother of the arts, 
And heard'st him read, interpret, and demon 

strate. 
A master-cook ! why, he's the man of men. 
For a professor ! he designs, he draws, 
He paints, he carves, he builds, he fortifies, 
Makes citadels of curious fowl and fish, 
Some he dry-ditches, some motes round mth 

broths, ■ [tards ; 

Mounts marrow-bones ; cuts fifty-angled cus- 
Rcars bulwark pies ; and, for his outer works, 
He raiseth ramparts of immortal crust ; 
And teacheth all the tactics at one dinner ; 

758 



NEPTUNE'S TRIUMPH. 



759 



What ranks, what files, to put the dishes in, 

The whole art military ! then he knows 

The influence of the stars upon his meats ; 

And all their seasons, tempers, qualities, 

And so to fit his relishes and sauces ! 

He has Nature in a pot, 'hove all the chemists, 

Or bare-breech'd brethren of the Rosy-cross ! 

He is an architect, an inginer, 

A soldier, a physician, a philosopher, 

A general mathematician ! 

Poet. It is granted. 

Cook. And that you may not doubt him for a 
Poet — 

Poet. This fury shews, if there were nothing 
And 'tis divine ! [else ; 

CooJc. Then, brother poet. 

Poet. Brother. 

Cook. I have a suit. 

Poet. What is it ? 

Cook. Your device. 

Poet. As you came in upon me, I was then 
Offering the argument, and this it is. 

Cook. Silence. 

Poet, [reads.] Tlio mighty Neptuno, miglity inliis styles, 
And large command of waters, and of isles ; 
Not as tlie " lord and sovereign of the seas," 
But " chief in the art of riding," late did please. 
To send his Albion forth, the most his own, 
Upon discovery, to tliemselves best known, 
Through Celtiberia; and, to assist his course. 
Gave him his powerful Manager of Horse, 
With divine Proteus, father of disguise. 
To wait upon them with his counsels wise, 
lu all extremes. His great commands being done. 
And he desirous to review his son, 
lie doth dispatch a floating isle, from hence. 
Unto the Hesperian shores, to waft him thenco • 
Where, what the arts were, us'd to make him stay. 
And how the Syrens woo'd him by the way, 
What monsters ho encounter'd on the coast, 
How near our general joy was to bo lost, 
In not our subject now; though all these make 
The present gladness greater, for their sake. 
But what the triumphs are, the feast, the sport. 
And proud solemnities of Neptune's court, 
Now he is safe, and Fame's not heard in vain. 
But we behold our happy pledge a"ain. 
That with him, loyal Hippius is reiurn'd, 
WI)o for it, under so much envy, burn'd 
With his own brightness, till her starv'd snakes saw 
What Neptune did impose, to him was law. 

Cook. But Vv'hy not this, till now ? 

Poet. It was not time, 

To mix this music with the vulgar's chifne. 

Stay, till the abortive, and extemporal din 

Of balladry, were understood a sin, 

Blinerva cried ; that, what tumultuous verse. 

Or prose could make, or steal, they might reliearse. 

And every songster had sung out liis tit ; 

Tiiat all the country, and the city wit. 

Of bells and bonfires, and good cheer was spent. 

And Neptune's guard had drunk all that they meant ; 

That all the tales and stories now were old 

Of the sea-monster Archy, or grown cold : 

The lluses then might venture, undeterr'd, 

For they love, then, to sing, when they are heard. 

Cook. I like it Avell, 'tis handsome ; and I 
have [them ? 

Something would fit this. How do you present 
In a fine island, say you ? 

Poet. Yes, a Delos: 
Such, as when fair Latona fell in travail. 
Great Neptune made emergent. 

Cook. I conceive you. [now, 

I would have had your isle brought floating in, 
III a brave broth, and of a sprightly green, 
Just to the color of the sea ; and then, 



Some twenty Syrens, singing in the kettle. 

With an Arion mounted on the back 

Of a grown conger, but in such a posture. 

As all the world should take him for a dolphin: 

O, 'twould have made such music ! Have you 

But a bare island ? [nothing 

Poet. Yes, wc have a tree too, 
Which we do call the tree of Harmony, 
And is the same with what we read the sun 
Brought forth in the Indian Musicana first, 
And thus it grows : The goodly bole being got 
To certain cubits height, from every side 
The boughs decline, which taking root afresh, 
Spring up new boles, and these spring new, and 
Till the whole tree become a porticus, [newer, 
Or arched arbor, able to receive 
A numerous troop, such as our Albion, 
And the companions of his journey are : 
And this they sit in. 

Cook. Your prime Masquers ? 

Poet. Yes. 

Cook. But Where's your Antimasque now, all 
I hearken after them. [this whilo \ 

Poet. Faith, we have none. 

Cook. None ! 

Poet. None, I assure j'ou, neither do I think 
them 
A worthy part of presentation. 
Being things so heterogene to all device. 
Mere by-works, and at best outlandish nothings. 

Cook. O, you are all the heaven awry, sir ! 
For blood of poetry, running in your veins, 
Make not yourself so ignorantly simple. 
Because, sir, you shall see I am a poet. 
No less than cook, and that I find you want 
A special service here, an antimasque, 
I'll fit you Avith a dish out of the kitchen. 
Such, as I think, will take the present palates, 
A metaphorical dish ! and do but mark 
How a good wit may jump with you. Are you 
ready, child ? , [made it.) 

(Had there been masque, or no masque, I had 
ChUd of the boiling-house ! 

Enter Boy. 

Boij. Here, father. 

Cook. Bring forth the pot. It is an olLi 
podrida. 
But I have- persons to present the meats. 

Poet. Persons ! 

Cook. Such as do relish nothing but di stato, 
But in another fashion than you dream of. 
Know all things the wrong way, talk of the 

affairs, 
The clouds, the cortincs, and the mysteries 
That are afoot, and from what hands they have 

them. 
The master of the elephant, or the camels : 
AVhat correspondencies are held ; the posts 
That go, and come, and know almost their 

minutes,. 
All but their business : therein, they are fishes; 
But have their garlic, as the proverb says. 
They are our Quest of Enquiry after news. 

Poet. Together with their learned authors ? 

Boi/. Yes, sir. 
And of the epiccene gender, hees, and ohees : 
Amphibion Archy is the chief. 

Cook. Good boy ! 



760 



NEPTUNE'S TRIUMPH. 



The child is learned too : note but the kitchen ! 
Have you put him into the pot for garlic r 

Boy. One in his coat shall stink as strong as 
And his friend Giblets with him. [he, sir, 

Cook. They are two, 
That gi^•^ a part of the seasoning. 

Poet. I conceive 
The way of your gallimaufry. 

Cook. You will like it, [gather. 

"When they come pouring out of the pot to- 

Boij. O, if the pot had been big enough ! 

Cook. What then, child ? 

Boy. I had put in the elephant, and one camel. 
At least, for beef. 

Cook. But whom have you for partridge r 

Boy. A brace of dwarfs, and delicate plump 
birds. 

Cook. And whom for mutton, and kid ? 

Boy. A fine laced mutton, 
Or two ; and either has her frisking husband : 
That reads her the Corranto, every week. 
Grave master Ambler, news-master of Paul's, 
Supplies your capon ; and grown captain Buz, 
His emissary, iinder-Avrites for turkey ; 
A gentleman of the Forest presents pheasant. 
And a plump poulterer's wife, in Grace's street, 
Plays hen with eggs in the belly, or a coney. 
Choose which you will. 

Cook. But Where's the bacon, Tom ? 

Boy. Hogrel the butcher, and the sow his 
Are both there. [wife, 

Cook. It is well ; go disli them out. 
Are they Avell boil'd ? 

Boy. Podrida ! 

Poet. What's that, rotten f 

Cook. O, that they must be. There's one 
main ingredient 
We have forgot, the artichoke. 

Boy. No, sir ; 
I have a fruiterer, with a cold red nose 
Like a blue fig, performs it. 

Cook. The fruit looks so. 
Good child, go pour them out, shew their con- 
coction, [on't. 
They must be rotten boil'd ; the broth's the best 
And that's the dance : the stage here is the 

charger. 
Aiid brother poet, though the serious part 
Be yours, yet, envy not the cook his art. 

Poet, Not I : nam lusus ipse Triumphus amat. 

Here the ANTniASauE is danced by the imsons de- 
scribed, coming out of the pot. 

Poet. Well, now, expect the scene itself : it 
opens ! 

The. island of Delos is discovered, the Masquers 
sitting in the several sieges. The heavens opening, 
and Apollo, with Mercury, some of the Muses, 
and the goddess Harjiony, make the music : the 
while the island moves forioard, Proteus sitting 
below, and Apollo sings. 

SONG. 

Spol Look fortli, tho sliepheid of the seas, 
And of tho ports that keep'st the keys, 

And to your Neptune tell, 
His Albion, prince of all his isles, 
For whom the sea and land so smiles. 

Is home returned well. 



Grand Cho. And he it thought no common cauie, 
That, to it, so much wonder draws, 

And all the heavens consent. 
With Harmony, to tune their notes. 
In answer to the public votes. 
That for it up were sent.' 

It was no envious stop-dame's rage, 
Or tyrant's malice of the age, 

That did employ him forth : 

But such a wisdom that would prove 

By sending him their hearts, and love. 

That else might fear his worth. 

By this time, the island hath joined itself with the 
shore: and Proteus, Portunus, and SahoH 
come forth, and go up singing to the state, whilt 
the Masquers take time to land. 

SONG 

Pro. Ay, now the pomp of Neptune's triumph shineo ! 
And all the glories of his great designs 
Are read, reflected, in his sons return ! 

For. How all the eyes, the looks, the hearts here bum 
At his arrival ! 

Sar. These are the true fires 
Are made of joys ! 

Pro. Of longing ' 

Por. 0{ desires ! 

Sar. Of hopes ! 

Pro. Of fears I 

Por. No intermitted blocks. 

Sar. But pure affections, and from odorous stocks ! 

Cho. 'Tis incense all, that flames. 

And these materials scarce have names I 

Pro. My king looks higher, as he scorn'd the wars 

Of winds, and with his trident touch'd the stars , 
There is no wrinkle in his brow, or frown, 
But as his cares he would in nectar drown, 
And all the silver-footed nymphs were Wrest 
To wait upon Iiim, to the Ocean's feast. 

Por. Or, here in rows upon the banks were set, 
And had their several hairs made into net 
To catch the youths in, as they come on shore. 

Sar. How, Galatea sighing ! O, no more. 
Banish your fears. 

For. And, Doris, diy your teaia 

Aleiox is come. 

Pro. And Haliclyon too, 

That kept his side, as he was charg'd to do, 
With wonder. 

Snr. And the Syrens have him not. 

Por. Though they no practice, nor no arts forgot. 

Pro. That might have won him, or by charm, or song. 

Por. Or laying forth their tresses ail along 
Upon the glassy waves. 

Por. Then diving. 

Pro. Then, 

Up with their heads, as they were mad of men. 

Sar. And there the highest-going billows crown. 
Until some lusty sea-god puli'd them down 

Cho. See, he is here I 

Pro. Great master of the main. 

Receive thy dear, and precious pawn again. 

Cho Saron, Portunus, Proteus bring him thus, 
Safe, as thy subjects' wishes gave him us : 
And of thy glorious triumph let it be 
No less a part, that thou tlieir loves dost see, 
Than that his sacred head's return'd to thee. 

This sung, the island goes hack, wJiiht the Upper 
Chorus takes if from them, and the Masquers pre' 
pare for their figure. 

Cho. Spring all the Graces of the age. 

And all the Loves of time : 
Bring all the pleasures of the stage. 

And relishes of rhyme : 
Add all the softnesses of courts. 

The looks, the laughters, and the sports : 
And mingle all their sweets and salts. 

That none may say, the Triumph halts. 

Here the Masquers daiice their Entry. 

]^^ich done, the first prospective of a maritime 
2mlace, oj- the liouse of Oceanus, is discovered^ 
with loud music. 



NEPTVNE'S TRIUMPH. 



<01 



And the other above is no more seen. 

Poet. Behold the palace of Oceanus ! 
Hail, reverend structure ! boast no more to us 
Thy being able all the gods to feast ; 
We've seen enough ; our Albion was thy guest. 

Then folloios the Main Dance. 

After tvhich, the second jyros^jeci of the sea is shoicn, 
to the former music. 

Poet. Now turn and view the wonders of the 

deep, [keep. 

Where Proteus' herds, and Neptune's ores do 

Where all is plough'd, yet still the pasture's 

green, 
The Avays are found, and yet no paths are seen. 

There Projeus, Poetunus, Sarox, (jo up to the 
Ladies with this Song. 

Fro. Come, noble nymphs, and do not hide 

The joys for wliich you so provide. 
Sar. If not to mingle with the men, 

VVliat do you here ? go home agen. 
For. Your dressings do confess, 

By what we see so curious parts 

Of Pallas' and Arachne's arts. 

That you could mean no loss. 
Pro. Why do you wear the silk-worm's toils, 

Or glory in the shell-fish' spoils, 

Or strive to shew the grains of ore, 

That you have gather'd on the shore, 
Whereof to make a stock 

To graft the greener emerald on. 

Or any better-water'd stone ? 
Har. Or ruby of the rock .' 

Pro. Why do you smell of amber-grise, 

Of which was formed Neptune's niece. 

The queen of Love ; unless you can. 

Like sea-born Venus, love a man .' 
Sar. Try, put yourselves unto't. 

Cho. Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet, 

Ambrosian hands, and silver feet, 
Do promise you will do't. 

The Revels follow. 

IVhich ended, the fleet is discovered, lohile the three 
cornets 2}lar/. 

Poet. 'Tis time, your eyes should be refresh'd 
at length 



AVith something new, a part of Neptune's 

strength, 
5ee yond' his fleet, ready to go or come, 
Or fetch the riches of the ocean home. 
So to secure him, both in peace and wars. 
Till not one ship alone, but all be stars. 

[--4 shout within. 

Re-enter tlie Goofi, folloiced by a member of S^iilors. 

Cook. I've another service for you, brothei 
Poet ; a dish of pickled sailors, fine salt sea- 
boys, shall relish like anchovies, or caveare, tc 
draw down a cup of nectar, in the skirts of a 
night. 

Sail, Come away, boys, the town is ours ; 
hey for Neptune, and our yoimg master ! 

Poet, He knows the compass, and the card, 
WHiile Castor sits on the main yard. 
And Pollux too, to help your hales ; 
And bright Leucothoe fills your sails : 
Arion sings, the dolphins swim. 
And all the way, to gaze on hhn. 

The Antimasque of Sailors. 

Then the last Song to the lohole Music, five lutes, 
three cornets, and ten voices. 

SONG. 

Pro. Although we wish the triumph still might last 
For such a prince, and his discovery past ; 
Yet now, great lord of waters, and of isles, 
Give Proteus leave to turn unto his wiles. 

For. And, whilst young Albion doth thy labors ease 
Dispatch Portunus to thy ports. 

Sar. And Saron to thy seas : 

To meet old Nereus, with his fifty girls, 
From aged Indus laden home with pearls, 
And Orient gums, to burn unto thy name. 

Grand Cho. And may thy subjects' hearts be all on flams 
WJiilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate, 
And 'mongst the winds, dost suffer no debate. 
But both at sea, and land, our powers increase. 
With health and all the golden gifts of peace. 

The last Dance. 

WITH WHICH THE WHOLE ENDED. 



PAN'S ANNIVERSAHY; 

OR, THE 

SHEPHERD'S HOLIDAY: 

AS IT WAS PRESENTED AT COURT, BEFORE KING JAMES, 1625. 

The Inventors — Inlgo Jones ; Ben Jonson . 



The SCENE, — Aucadia. 

The Court being seated, enter three Nymphs, 
strewing several sorts of flowers, followed by 
an old Shepherd, xcith a censer and perfumes. 

1 Nym. Thus, thus begin the j'early rites 

Arc due to Pan on these bright nights ; 
His morn now riseth, and invites 
To sports, to dances, and deUghts : 
All envious and profane, away, 
This is the shepherd's holyday. 

2 Nym. Strew, strew the glad and smiling 

groiind 
With every flower, yet not confound 
The primrose drop, the spring's own 

spouse. 
Bright day's eyes, and the lips of cows, 
The garden star, the quecu of !May, 
The rose, to crown the holyday. 

3 Nym. Drop, drop your violets, change your 

hues. 
Now red, now pale, as lovers use. 
And in your death go out as well. 
As when you lived unto the smell : 
That from j'our odor all may say, 
• This is the shepherd's holyday. 

S]ie2). Well done, my pretty ones, rain roses 
still. 
Until the last be dropt : then hence ; and fill 
Your fragrant prickles for a second shower. 
Bring corn-flag, tulips, and Adonis' flower. 
Fair ox-eye, goldly-locks, and columbine. 
Pinks, goulands, king-cups, and sweet sops-in- 

wine. 
Blue hare-bells, pagles, pansies, calaminth, 
Flower-gentle, and the fair-hair'd hyacinth, 
Bring rich carnations, flower-de-luces, lilies, 
The chequed, and purple-ringed daff'odillies, 
Bright crown imi^erial, kingspear, holyhocks. 
Sweet Venus-navel, and soft lady-smocks, 
Bring too some branches forth of Daphne's hair, 
And gladdest myrtle for these posts to Avear, 
With spiksnard weav'd, and marjoram between, 
\nd starr'd with yellow-golds, and meadows- 
queen, 
That when the altar, as it ought, is drest, 
■ More odor come not from the phoenix nest ; 



The breath thereof Panchaia may envy, 
The colors China, and the light the sky. 

Loud Music. 

The Scene opens, and the IVlAsauERS are discovered 
sifting about the Fountain of Light, with the 
Musicians, attired like the Priests of Fan, 
standing in the worh bsneath them. 

Enter a Fencer, flourishing. 

Fen, Room for an old trophy of time ; a son 
of the sword, a servant of Mars, the minion of 
the muses, and a master of fence ! One that 
hath shown his quarters, and played his prizes 
at all the games of Greece in his time ; as fen- 
cing, wrestling, leaping, dancing, what not ? and 
hath now usher'd hither, by the light of my 
long sword, certain bold boj-s of Bceotia, who 
are come to challenge the Arcadians at their 
OMm sports, call them forth on their own holy- 
day, and dance them down on their own green- 
swarth. 

She2). 'Tis boldly attempted, and must be a 
Boeotian enterprise, by the face of it, from all 
the parts of Greece else, especially at this time, 
when the best, and bravest spirits of Arcadia, 
called together by the excellent Areas, . arc 
yonder sitting about the Fountain of Light, in 
consultation of what honors they may do to the 
great Pan, by increase of anniversary rites, fitted 
to the music of his peace. 

Fen. Peace to thy Pan, and mum to thy music, 
swain ; there is a tinker of Thebes a coming, 
called Epam, with his kettle, will make all Ar- 
cadia ring of him. What are your sports for 
the pui'pose ? say, if singing, you shall be 
sung down ; if dancing, danced down. There 
i^no more to be done with you, but know what ; 
which it is ; and you are in smoke, gone, vapored, 
vanished, blown, and, as a man would say, in a 
word of two syllables, nothing. 

Shep. This is short, though not so sweet. Suie- 
Ij' the better part of the solemnity here will be 
dancing. 

Fen. Enough : they shall be met witli instantly 
in their own sphere, the sphere of their own ac- 
tivity, a dance. But by whom, expect : no Cynaa- 
theian, nor Sat)'rs ; but, as I said, boys of Bceotia, 
things of Thebes, (the town is ours, shepherd) 

762 



PAN'S ANNIVERSARY. 



76a 



mad merry Greeks, lads of life, that have no 
gall in us, but all air and sweetness. A tooth- 
drawer is our foreman, that if there be but a 
bitter tooth in the company, it may be called 
out at a twitch : he doth command any man's 
teeth o5at of his head upon the point of his 
poignard ; or tickles them forth with his riding 
rod : he draws teeth a horseback in full speed, 
yet he will dance a foot, he hath given his 
word : he is yeoman of the mouth to the whole 
brotherhood, and is charged to see their gums 
be clean, and their breath sweet, at a minute's 
warning. Then comes my learned Theban the 
tinker, I told you of, with his kettle drum, be- 
fore and after, a master of music, and a man of 
metal, he beats the march to the tune of Tickle- 
foot, Pam, Pam, Pam, brave Epam with a Non- 
das. That's the strain. 

Shep. A high one ! 

Fen. Which is followed by the trace, and 
tract of an excellent juggler, that can juggle 
with every joint about him, from head to heel. 
He can do tricks with his toes, wind silk, and 
thread pearl with them, as nimble a fine fellow of 
his feet, as his hands ; for there is a noble corn- 
cutter, his companion, hath so pared and fini- 
fied them. Indeed, he hath taken it into his 
care, to reform the feet of all, and fit all their 
footing to a form ! only one splay foot in the 
company, and he is a bellows-mender, allowed, 
who hath the looking to all of their lungs by 
patent, and by his place is to set that leg afore 
Still, and with his puffs, keeps them in breath, 
during pleasure : a tinder-box-man, to strike 
new fire into them at every turn, and where he 
spies any brave spark that is in danger to go 
out, ply him with a match presently. 

Shep. A most politic provision ! 

Fen. Nay, we have made our provisions be- 
yond example, I hope. For to these, there is 
annexed a clock-keeper, a grave person, as Time 
himself, who is to see that they all keep time 
to a nick, and move every elbow in order, every 
knee in compass. He is to wind them up, and 
draw them down, as he sees cause : then is 
there a subtle shrewd bearded sir, that hath been 
a politician, but is now a maker of mouse-traps, 
a great inginer yet : and he is to catch the ladies 
favors in the dance, with certain cringes he is to 
make ; and to bate their benevolence. Nor can 
we doubt of the success, for we have a prophet 
amongst us of that peremptory pate, a tailor or 
master-fashioner, that hath found it out in a 
painted cloth, or some old hanging, (for those 
are his library,) that we must conquer m such 
a time, and such a half time ; therefore bids us 
go on cross-legg'd, or however thread the need- 
les of our own happiness, go through stitch 
with all, unwind the clew of our cares ; he hath 
taken measure of our minds, and will fit our 
fortune to our footing. And to better assure 
us, at his own charge, brings his philosopher 
■with him, a great clerk, who, they say, can 
write, and it is shrewdly suspected but he can 
read too. And he is to take the whole dances 
from the foot by brachygraphy, and so make a 
memorial, if not a map of the business. Come 
"orth, lads, and do your own turns. 



TVie BceoTiANS enter for the Anti^asqve, ichick 
is Danced, 

After lohich, ■ 

Fen. How like you this, shepherd r was not 
this gear gotten on a holyday ? 

Shep. Faith, j'our folly may deserve pardon, 
because it hath delighted : but beware of pre- 
suming, or how you offer comparison with per- 
sons so near deities : Behold where they are 
that have now forgiven you, whom should you 
provoke again with the like, they will justly 
pimish that with anger, which they now dismiss 
with contempt. AAvay ! [They retire. 

To the Masquers. 

And come, you prime Arcadians forth, that 
taught 

By Pan the rites of true society, 
From his loud music all your manners wrought, 

And made your commonwealth a harmony. 
Commending so to all posterity 

Your innocence from that fair fount of light 
As still you sit without the injury 

Of any rudeness, folly can, or spite : 
Dance from the toj) of the Lycsean mountain, 

Down to this valley, and with nearer eye 
Enjoy, what long in that illumin'd fountain 

You did far off, but yet with wonder, spy. 

HYMN I. 

1 JV//?n. Of Pan wo sing, the best of singers, Pan, 

Tliat tiuight us swains how first to tune our lays, 
And on the pipe more airs than PHosbus can. 
Cho. Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his praise. 

2 JVi/m. Of Pan we sing, the best of leaders, Pan, 

That leads the Naiads and the Dryads forth ; 
And to their dances more than Hermes can. 
Cho. Hear, O you groves, and hills resound liis wortii, 

3 JVi/ra. Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan, 

Tliat drives the heart to seek unused ways. 
And in the chase more than Sylvanus can. 
Cho Hear, O you groves, a.-.d hills resound his praiso, 

2 JV(/7n. Of Pan we sing, the best of shepherds. Pan, 

That keeps our flocks and us, and both leads forth, 
To better pastures than great Pales can. 
Cho. Hear,'D you groves, and hills resound his worth 

And while his powers and praises thus we sing. 
The valleys let rebound, and all the rivers ring. 

The Masqueks descend, and dance their entail. 

HYMN II. 

Pan is our All, by him we breathe, we live, 

We move, we are ; 'tis ho our lambs doth rear, 
Our flocks doth bless, and from the store doth give 
The warm and finer fleeces tJiat we wear. 
He keeps away all heats and colds, 
Drives all diseases from our folds ; 
Makes every where the spring to dwell, 
The ewes to feed, their udders swell j 
But if he frown, the sheep, alas ! 
The shepherds wither, and the.grass. 
Cho. Strive, strive to please him then, by still increashij 
thus ; 
The rites are due to him, who doth all right for us 

THE MAIN DANCE 



HYMN ni. 

If yet, if yet. 
Pan's orgies you will further fit. 
See where the silver-footed fays do sit, 

Tlio nymphs of wood and water ; 

Each tree's and fountain's daughter '. 



764 



PAN'S ANNIVERSARY. 



Go take tlicm fiirth, it will be good 
To see them wave it like a wood, 
And others wind it like a flood ; 
In springs, 
And rings. 
Till the applause it brings, 

Wakes Echo from licr scat. 
The closes to repeat. 
Ech. ■ The closes to repeat. 

Echo the truest oracle on ground, 
Though notliing but a sound 
Ech. Though nothing but a sound. 

Beloved of Pan the valleys queen. 
Ech. The valleys queen. 

And often heard, though never seen. 
Ech. Though never seen. 

Here the revels. 

After tohich re-enter the Fencer. 

Fen. Room, room, there ; M'here are you, 
shepherd ? I am come again, with my second 
part of my bold bloods, the brave gamesters ; 
who assure you by me, that they perceive no 
such wonder in all is done here, but that they 
dare adventure another trial. They look for 
some sheepish devices here in Arcadia, not these, 
and therefore a haU ! a hall ! they demand. 

Shej}. Nay, then they 'are past pity, let them 
come, and not expect the anger of a deity to 
pursue them, but meet them. They have their 
punishment Avith their fact : they shall be sheep. 

Fen. O spare me, by the law of nations, I am 
but their ambassador. 

Shej}. You speak in time, sir. 

The TuEBANS enter for the 2 Antimasuue, ichich 
danced. 



Shep. Now let them return with their solid 
heads, and carry their stupidity into Bceotia, 
whence they brought it, with an emblem of 
themselves, and their country. This is too pura 
an air for so gross brains. [ They retire. 

To the Nymjihs. 
End you the rites, and so be eas'd 
Of these, and then great Pan is pleas'd. 

HYMN XV. 

Great Pan, the father of our peace and pleasure, 

Who giv'st us all this leisure. 
Hear what thy hallow'd troop of herdsmen pray. 

For this their holyday, 
And how their vows to thee they in Lycajum pay 

Cho. So may our ewes receive the mounting rams. 
And we bring thee the earliest of our lambs ; 
So may the first of all our fells be thine, 
And both the beestning of our goats and kine ; 
As thou our folds dost still secure. 
And keep'st our fountains sweet and pure ; 
Driv'st hence the wolf, the tod, the brock, 
Or other vermin from the flock ; 
That we, preserv'd by thee, and thou observ'd by us. 
May both live safe in shade of thy lov'd Manalus. 

Sltcp. Now each return imto his charge. 

And though to-day you've liv'd at largo 
And well your flocks have fed their fill. 
Yet do not trust your hirelings still. 
See yond' they go, and timely do 
The oiRce you have put them to ; 
But if you often give this leave. 
Your sheep and you they will deceive, 

THUS IT KNnED 



THE MASQUE OF OWLS, 
AT KENELWORTH; 

Presented by the Ghost of Captain Cox, mounted on his Hobbi/- horse, 1626, 



Enter Captain Cox, on his Hobby-horse. 

Room ! room ! for my horse -will wince, 
If he come within so many yards of a prince 
And though he have not on his wings, 
He will do strange things. 
He is the Pegasus that iises 
I'o wait on Warwick Muses ; 
And on gaudy-days he paces 
Before the Coventry Graces ; 
For to tell you true, and in rhyme, 
He was foal'd in queen Elizabeth's time, 
When the great earl of Lester 
In this castle did feast her. 
Now, I am not so stupid 
To think, you think me a Cupid, 
Or a Mercury that sit him ; 
Though these cocks here would fit him : 
But a spirit very civil, 
Neither poet's god, nor devil, 
An old Kenelworth fox. 
The ghost of captain Cox, 
For which I am the bolder, 
To wear a cock on each shoulder. 
This Captain Cox, by St. Mary, 
Was at BuUen with king Ha-ry ; 
And (if some do not vary) 

Had a goodly Ebrary, 
By which he was discerned 
To be one of the learned. 
To entertain the queen here, 
When last she was seen here. 
And for the town of Coventry 
To act to her sovereignty. 
But so his lot fell out, 
That serving then a-foot. 
And being a little man ; 
When the skirmish began 
'Twixt the Saxon and the Dane, 
(From thence the story was ta'cn) 
He was not so well seen 
As he would have been o' the queen. 
Though his sword were twice so long 
As ^y man's else in the throng ; 
And for his sake, the play 
Was call'd for the second day. 
But he made a vow 
(And he performs it now) 
That were he alive or dead. 
Hereafter it should never be said 
But captain Cox would serve on horse 
For better or for worse. 
If any prince came hither. 
And iiis horse should have a feather ; 



Nay such a prince it might be 
Perhaps he should have three. 
Now, sir, in your approach, 
The rumbling of your coach 
Awaking me, his ghost, 
I come to play your host ; 
And feast your eyes and ears, 
Neither with dogs nor bears, 
Though that have been a fit 
Of our main-shire wit, 
In times heretofore, 
But now, Ave have got a little more 

These then that we present 
With a most loyal intent. 
And, as the author saith, 
No ill meaning to the catholic faith, 
Are not so much beasts, as fowls. 
But a very nest of owls. 
And natural, so thrive I, 
I found them in the ivy, 
A thing, that though I blunder'd at. 
It may in time be w^onder'd at. 
If the place but affords 
Any store of lucky birds, 
As I make them to flush. 
Each ow'l out of his bush. 

Now, these owls, some saj', were men. 
And they may be so again. 
If once they endure the light 
Of your highness' sight : 
For bankrupts, we have known 
Rise to more than their own. 
With a little-little savor 
Of the prince's favor ; 
But as you like their tricks, 
I'll spring them, they arc but six. 

Hey, Owl first ! 
This bird is London-bred, 
As you may see by his horn'd head. 
And had like to have been ta'en 
At his shop in Ivy-lane, 
AVhere he sold by the penny 
Tobacco as good as any ; 
But whether it did provoke 
His conscience, he sold smoke ; 
Or some other toy he took, 
Towards his calling to look : 
He fled by moon-shine thence ; 
And broke for sixteen pence. 

Hey, Owl seconu! 
This too, the more is the pity, 
Is of the breed of the same city ; 

765 



766 



THE MASQUE OF OWLS. 



A true owl of London, 

That gives out he is undone, 

Being a cheesemonger, 

By trusting two of the younger 

Captains, for the hunger 

Of their half-starv'd number ; 

Whom since they have shipt away : 

And left him God to jxiy, 

With those ears for a badge 

Of their dealing with his Madge. 

Hey, Owl thiud ! 
A pure native bird 
This, and though his hue 
Be not Coventry blue. 
Yet is he undone 
By the thread he has spun ; 
For since the wise town 
Has let the sports down 
Of may-games and morris. 
For which he right sorry is ; 
Where their maids and their makes, 
At dancings and wakes, 
Had their napkins and posies, 
And the -wipers for their noses, 
And their smocks all-be-wrought 
With his thread which they bought 
It now lies on his hands, 
And having neither wit nor lands, 
Is ready to hang or choke him. 
In a skein of that that broke him. 

Hey, Oavl fourth ! 
Was once a bankrupt of worth ; 
And having run a shifting-race, 
At last by money, and grace, 
Got him a Serjeant's place. 
And to be one of chace. 
A full fortnight A^'as not spent, 
But out comes the parliament, 



Takes away the use of his mace. 

And left him in a worse than his first case. 

Hey, Owl fifth ! 
But here was a defeat, 
Never any so great. 
Of a Don, a Spanish reader, 
Who had thought to have been the leader, 
Had the match gone on, 
Of our ladies one by one, 
And triumph'd our whole nation, 
In his rodomant fashion : 
But now since the breach, 
He has not a scholar to teach. 

Hey, Owl sixth ! 
The bird bringer-up is a knight, 
But a passionate wight, 
Who, since the act against swearing, 
(The tale's worth your hearing) 
In this short time's groAvth 
Hath at twelve-pence an oath. 
For that, I take it, is the rate. 
Sworn himself out of his estate. 

The third Owl varied. 
A crop-ear'd scrivener, this, 
Who when he heard but the v.'his- 
per of monies to come down, 
Fright got him out of town 
With all the bills and bands 
Of other men's in his hands. 
And cried, who will, drive the trade,, 
Since such a law they had made : 
It was not he that broke, 
Two i' the hundred spoke. 
Nor car'd he for the curse. 
Ho could not hear much worse. 
He had his cars in his pm-se. 



THE FORTUNATE ISLES, 
AND THEIR UNION; 

Celebrated in a Masque designed for the Court, on the Ticelfth-night, 162fi. 

HIC CHOBE^, CAniUSliUE VIGENT. 



, His Majesty being set, 

Enter, running, Johphiel, an airy sjnrit, and (ac- 
cording to the Magi) the intelligence of Jupiter's 
spJiere : attired in light siUcs of several colon, 
\cith xcings of the same, a bright yellow hair, a 
chaplet of fouiors, blue silk stockings, and pumps, 
and gloves, loith a silver fan in his hand. 

Johp. Like a lightning from the skj-, 
Or an arrow shot by Love, 
Or a bird of his let fly ; 

' Be't a sparrow, or a dove : 
With that winged haste, come I, 
Loosed from the sphere of Jove, 
To wish good night 
To your delight. 

Enter Mekefool, a melanc/wlio student, in bare 
and loom clothes, shroioded under an obscure cloke, 
and the eves of an old hat. 

Mere, [fetching a deep sigh.] Oh, ho ! 

Johp. In Saturn's name, the father of my lord, 
What over-charged piece of melancholy 
Is this, breaks in between ray wishes thus, 
With bombing sighs ? 

Mere. No ! no intelligence ! 
Not yet ? and all my voavs now nine days old ! 
Blindness of fate ! puppies had seen by this 

time ; 
But I see nothing that I should, or would see ! 
What mean the brethren of the Rosy-cross, 
So to desert their votary ? 

Johp. O ; 'tis one 
Hath vow'd himself unto that airy order, 
And now is gaping for the fly they promised 

him. 
I'll mix a little with him for my sport. 

\Steiis aside. 

Mere. Have I both in my lodging and my diet, 
"Sly clothes, and every other solemn charge. 
Observed them, made the naked boards my bed, 
A faggot for my pillow, hungred sore ! , 

Johp. And thirsted after them ! 

Mere. To look gaunt, and lean ! 

Johp. Which will not be. 

Mere. Who's that ? — Yes, and outwatch'd, 
Yea, and outwalked any ghost alive 
*In solitary circle, worn my boots, 
Knees, arms, and elbows out ! 

Johp. Ran on the score ! [and for more 

Mere. That have I — who suggests that ? — 



Than I Avill speak of, to abate this flesh, 
And have not gain'd the sight — 

Johp. Nay, scarce the sense. 

Mere. Voice, thou art right — of any thing 
Wind in my stomach. [but a cold 

Johp. And a kind of wliimsie — 

3Iere. Here in my head, that puts mc to the 
staggers. 
Whether there be that brotherhood, or no. 

Johj}. Believe, fr^ man, they be ; and thou 

Me)-e. What shall I see ? [shalt sf^?.. 

Johp. Me. 

Mere. Thee ! where ? 

Johp. [conies forward. ] Here, if you 
Be master Merefool. 

Mere. Sir, our narrie is Merryfool, 
But by contraction Merefool. 

Johp. Then are you 
The wight I seek ; and, sir, my name is Johphie'^ 
Intelligence to the sphere of Jupiter, 
An airy jocular spirit, employ'd to you 
From father Outis ? 

More. Outis ! who is he ? 

Johp, Know ye not Outis ? then you know 
nobody : — 
The good old hermit, that was said to dwell 
Here in the forest without trees, that built 
The castle in the air, where all the brethren 
Rhodostaurotic live. It flies with wings. 
And runs on Avheels ; where Julian de Campia 
Holds out the brandish'd blade. 

Mere. Is't possible 
They think on me : 

Johp. Rise, be not lost in wonder. 
But hear me : and be faithful. All the brethren 
Have heard your vows, salute you, and expect 

you. 
By me, this next return. But the good father 
Has been content to die for you. 

Mere. For me ? 

Johp. For you. Last New-year's-day, which 
some give out. 
Because it was his birth-day, and began 
Tlie year of jubilee, he would rest upon it. 
Being his hundred live and twentieth year : 
But the truth is, havmg observ'd your genesis. 
He would not live, because he might leave all 
He had to you. 

Mere. Whft had he? 

Johp. Hac ! an office, 
Two, three, or four 

767 



763 



THE FOUTUNATE ISLES. 



Mere. Where ? 

Johp. In the upper region ; [customs, 

And that you'll find. The farm of the great 
Through all the ports of the air's intelligences ; 
Then constable of the castle Rosy-cross : 
"Which you must be, and keeper of the keys 
Of the whole Kabal, with the seals ; you shall be 
Principal secretary to the stars : 
Know all the signatures and combinations, 
The divine rods, and consecrated roots : 
What not ? Would you turn trees up like the 

wind, 
To shew your strength ? march over heads of 

armies, 
Or points of pikes, to shew your lightness ? force 
All doors of arts, with the petard of your wit ? 
Read at one view all books? speak all the 

languages 
Of several creatures ? master all the learnings 
Were, are, or shall be ? or, to shew your wealth. 
Open all treasures, hid by nature, from 
The rock of diamond, to the mine of sea-coal ? 
Sir, you shall do it. 

Mere. But how ? 

Johp. Why, by his skill. 
Of which he has left you the inheritance. 
Here in a pot ; this little gallipot [order, 

Of tincture, high rose tincfure. There's your 
You will have your collar sent you, ere't be 
long. 

Mere. I look'd, sir, for a halter, I was des- 
perate. 

Johp. Reach forth your hand. 

Mere. O, sir, a broken sleeve 
Keeps the arm back, as 'tis in the proverb. 

Johp. Nay, 
For that I do commend you ; you must be poor 
With all your wealth, and learning. When you 

have made 
Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter, 
Where you will Avalk invisible to mankind, 
Talk with all birds and beasts in their own lan- 
guage. 
When you have penetrated hills like air. 
Dived to the bottom of the sea like lead, 
And risse again like cork, walk'd in the fire. 
An 'twere a salamander, pass'd through all 
The winding orbs, like an Intelligence, 
Up to the emi^yreum, when you have made 
The world your gallery, can dispatch a business 
In some three minutes, with the antipodes. 
And in five more, negotiate the globe over ; 
You must be poor still. 

Mere. By my place I know it. 

Jolip. Where would you wish to be now, or 
what to see. 
Without the Fortunate Purse to bear your 

charges, 
Or Wishing Hat ? I wiU but touch your temples. 
The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip. 
The very tip o' your nose, with this coUyrium,, 
And you shall see in the air all the ideas, 
Sphits, and atoms, flies, that buz about 
This way, and that way, and are rather admi- 
Than any way intelligible. [rable, 

Mere. 0, come, tinct me, 
Tinct me ; I long ; save this great belly, I long ! 
But shall I only sec ? 

Johp. See, and command 



As they were all your varlets, or your foot-boys '.. 
But first you must declare, (your Greatness 

must, 
For that is now your style,) what you would see, 
Or whom. 

Mere. Is that my style ? my Greatness, then, 
Would see king Zoroastres. 

Johp. Why, j'ou shall ; 
Or any one beside. Think whom you please ; 
Y'our thousand, j'our ten thousand, to a million : 
All's one to me, if you could name a myriad. 
Mere. I have named him. 
Johp. You've reason. 
Mere. Ay, I have reason ; 
Because he's said to be the father of conjurors, 
And a cunning man in the stars. 
Johp. Ay, that's it troubles us 
A little for the present : for, at this time. 
He is confuting a French almanack. 
But he wiU straight have done, have you but 

patience ; 
Or think but any other in mean time. 
Any hard name. 

Mere. Then Hermes Trismegistus. 
Johp. O, rniauAyiaro? ! Avhy, you shall see 
him, 
A fine hard name. Or him, or Avhom you will, 
As I said to you afore. Or what do you think 
Of Howleglass, instead of him ? 

Mere. No, him 
I have a mind to. 

Johp. O, but Ulen-spiegle, 
Were such a name — but you shall have youi 

longing. 
What luck is this, he should be busy too ! 
He is weighing water but to fill three hour 

glasses. 
And mark the day in penn'orths like a cheese, 
And he has done. 'Tis strange you should 

name him 
Of all the rest ! there being JambUcus, 
Or Porphyry, or Proclus, any name 
That is not busy. 

Mere. Let me see Pythagoras. 
Johp. Good. 
Mere. Or Plate- 

Johp, Plato is framing some ideas, 
Are now bespoken, at a groat a-dozen, 
Three gross at least : and for Pj'thagoras, 
He has rashly run himself on an employmer.t, 
Of keeping asses from a field of beans ; 
And cannot be stav'd off. 
Mere. Then, Archimedes. 
Johp. Yes, Archimedes ! 
Mere. Ay, or iEsop. 
Johp. Nay, 
Hold your first man, a good man, Archimedes, 
And worthy to be seen ; but he is now 
Inventing a rare mouse-trap with owl's wings 
And a c*it's-foot, to catch the mice alone : 
And ^sop, he is filing a fox-tongue, 
For a new fable he has made of court : 
But you shall see them all, stay but your time, 
And ask in season ; things ask'd out of season 
A man denies himself. At such a time 
As Christmas, when disgujsing is on foot, 
To ask of the inventions, and the men. 
The wits and the ingines that move those 
orbs ! — 



THE FORTUNATE ISLES. 



7Gt> 



Methinks you should inquire nOAV after Skelton, 
Or master Skogan. 

Mere. Skogan ! what was he ? 

Johp. O, a fine gentleman, and master of arts. 
uf Henry the fourth's time, that made disgiiises 
Eor the king's sons, and writ in ballad-royal 
Daintily well. 

Mere. But wrote he like a gentleman ? 

Joh}}. In rhyme, fine tinkling rhyme, and 
flowing verse. 
With now and then some sense ! and he was 

paid for't. 
Regarded and rewarded ; which few poets 
Are now-a-days. 

Mere. And why ? 

,Jo7ip. 'Cause every dabbler ['see him. 

In rhyme i3 thought the same : — but you shall 
Hold up your. nose. 

\_A)ioints his eyes and temples. 

Mere. I had rather see a Brachman, 
Or a Gymnosophist yet. 

Johp. You shall sec him, sir, [Skelton, 

Is worth them both : and with him domine 
The worshipfLil poet laureat to king Harry, 
And Tltyre tii of those times. Advance, quick 

Skogan, 
And quicker Skelton, shew your crafty heads. 
Before this heir of arts, this lord of learning. 
This master of all knowledge in reversion ! 

Enter Skoqan and Skeltox, i)i like habits as they 

lived. 

Skog. Seemeth we are call'd of a moral intent, 

If the words that are spoken as well now be 

meant. 

Johp. That, master Skogan, I dare you ensure. 

Sko(j. Then, son, our acquaintance is like to 

endure. 
Mere. A pretty game ! like Crambo ; master 
Skogan, 
Give me thy hand : thou art very lean, methinks, 
Is't living by thy wits ? 

Skoy. If it had beeii tliat, 
My worshipful son, thou hadst ne'er been so fat. 
Johp. He tells you true, sir. Here's a gentle- 
man. 
My pair of crafty clerks, of that high caract, 
As hardly hath the age produced his like. 
Who not content with the w^it of his own times, 
Is curious to know yours, and what hath been. 
Mere. Or is, or shall be. 
Johp. Note liis latitude. 
Skel. O, vir amplissimus, 
Tit scholis dicimus, 
Et yenfilissiinus ! 
Johp. The (^e&tiow-issimus 
Is, should he ask a sight now, for his life ; 
I mean a person, he would have restored 
To memory of these times, for a play-fellow, 
Whether you Avould present him with an 
Or with an Howleglass ? [Hermes, 

Skel. An Howleglass 
To come to pass 
On his father's ass ; 
There never Avas, 
By day, nor night, 
A finer sight 
'\Vitli feathers upright 
In bis horned cap, 
49 



And crooked shape, 
iluch Uke an ape, 
With owl on fist. 
And glass at his AVi'ist. 
Skog. Except the four knaves entertain'd foi 
the guards [cards. 

Oi the kings and the queens that triumph ui the 
Johp. Ay, that were a sight and a half, I 
confess, 
To see 'em come skipping in, all at a mess ! 

Skel. With Elinor Rumminy, 

To make up the mumming ; 
That comely Gill, 
That dwelt on a hill^ 
But she is iiot grill : - 
Her face allboiosy, 
Droopy and droiusy, 
Scurvy, and lousy, 
Comely crinkled, 
Wondrously wrinkled, 
Like a roast jng's ear 
Bristled with hair. 

Skog. Or, what do vou say to Rufiian Fitz 

Ale ? 
Johp. An excellent sight, if he oe not too 
stale. 
But then we can mix him with modern Vapors, 
The child of tobacco, his pipes, and his papers. 
3Icre. You talk'd of Elinor Humming, I had 
rather 

See Ellen of Troy. 
Johp. Her you shall see 

But credit me. 

That ^Mary Ambree 

(Who liiarch'd so free 

To the siege of Gaiint, 

And death could not daunt, 

As the ballad doth vaunt,) 

Were a braver wight. 

And a better sight. 
Skel. Or Westminster Meg, 

With her long leg, 

As long as a crane ; 

And feet like a j)lane : 

With a pair of heels. 

As broad as two wheels ; 

To drive down the dew. 

As she goes to the stew : 

And turns home merry. 

By Lambeth ferry. 

Or j'ou may have come 

In, Thomas Thumb, 

In a pudding fat 

With doctor Rat. 
Johp. Ay, that ! that ! that ! 

AVe'U have 'eiA all. 

To fill the hall. 

The AvnniA.SQVE follows. 

Consisting of these twelve perso?is, Howleglass, 
the four Knaves, two Ruffians, (Fitz-Alb 
ctnd Vapok,) Elinos Rummino, Mae,y Am- 
BUEE, Long Meg of Westminster, Tom 
Thumb, and Doctor Rat. 

They Dance, and xcithdraxo. 

Mere. What, are they banish'd ! where is skip- 
ping Skelton ? 



770 



THE FORTUNATE ISLES. 



Or moral Sko^an ? I do like their shew, 

And would have thank'd them, being the first 

grace 
The company of the Rosy-cross hath done me. 
Johp. The company o' the Rosy-cross, you 
widgeon ! 
The company of [the] i^layers. Go, you are. 
And will be still your self, a Merefool, in : 
And take your pot of honey here, and hogs- 
grease. 
See who has gull'd you, and make one. 

[Exit Merefool. 
Great king, [pass'd. 

Your pardon, if desire to please have tres- 
This fool should have been sent to Anticyra, 
The isle of Elleborc, there to have purg'd, 
Not hoped a happy seat within your waters. — 
Hear now the message of the Fates and Jove, 
On whom these Fates depend, to you, as Nep- 
tune, 
The great commander of the seas and isles. 
That point of revolution being come, [join'd. 
When all the Fortunate Islands should be 
Macaria one, and thought a principal, 
That hitherto hath floated, as uncertain 
Where she should fix her blessings, is to-night 
Instructed to adhere to your Britannia : 
That where the happy spirits live, hereafter 
Might be no question made, by the most curious, 
Since the Macarii come to do you homage, 
And join their cradle to your continent. 

Here the scene ojyens, and the Masquers are dis- 
covered sitting in their several sieges. The air 
opens above, and Apollo, with Harmony, 
and the Spirits of Music sing, the while the 
Island moves forward, Proteus sitting below, 
and hearkening. 

SONG. 

Look forth, the shepherd of the seas, 
And of the ports that keep tlie keys. 

And to your Neptune tell, 
Macaria, prince of all the isles. 
Wherein there nothing grows but smiles, 

Doth here put in, to dwell. 
The winds are sweet and gently blow, 
But Zephyrus, no breath they know, 

The father of the flowers : 
By him tne virgin violets live, 
And every plant doth odors give. 

As new, as are the hours. 
Cho Then, think it not a common cause, 
That to it so much wonder draws. 

And all the heavens consent, 
With harmony to tune their notes, 
In answer to the public votes. 

That for it up were sent. 

By this time, the island having joined itself to 
the shore, Proteus, Portunus, and Saron 
come forth, and go up singing to the state, 
lohile the Masquers take time to rank them- 
selves. 

SONG. 

Pro. Ay, now the heights of N'eptune's honors shins, 
And all the glories of his greater style 
Are read, reflected in this happiest isle. 

For. How both the air, the soil, the scat combine 
To speak it blessed ! 

Sar. These are the true groves 

Where joys are born. 

fro. Where longings, 

Por. And where loves ! 

Sar. That live ! 

Pro That last ! 



Por. No intermitted wind 

Blows here, but what leaves flowers or fruit behind. 

Cho. 'Tis odor all that comes ! 

And every tree doth give his gums. 

Pro, There is no sickness, nor no old age known 

To man, nor any grief that lie dares own. 

There is no hunger here, nor envy of state, 

Nor least ambitiori in the magistrate. 

But all are even-hearted, open, free, 

And what one is, ar.other strives to be. 
Por. Here, all the day, they feast, tliey sport, and spring. 

Now dance the Graces' hay ; now Venus ring : 

To which the old musicians play and sing. 
Sar. There is Arion, tuning his bold iiarp. 

From fiat to sharp, 
Por. And light Anacreon, 

He still is one ! 
Pro. Stesichorus there, too, 

That Linus and old Orpheus doth outdo 

To wonder. 
Sar. And Amphion ! ho is there. 
Por. Nor is Apollo dainty to appear 

In such a quire, although the trees he thicS, 
Pro. He will look in, and see the airs be quick. 

And that the times be true. 
Por. Then, chanting. 

Pro. Then, 

Up with their notes, they raise the prince of men 
Sar. And sing the present prophesy that goes. 

Of joining the bright Lily and the Kose 

Cho. See ! all the flowers, 

Pro. That spring the banks along, 

Do move their heads unto that under song 

Cho. Saron, Portunus, Proteus, help to bring 
Our primrose in, the gloiy of the spring, 
And tell the daffodil, against that day, 
That we prepare new garlands fresh as May, 
And interweave the myrtle and the bay. 

This sung, the islatid goes back, whilst the Upper 
Chorus takes it from them, and the Masquers 
pre2Mre for their figure. 

Cho. Spring all the graces of the age, 

And all the loves of time ; 
Bring all the pleasures of the stage, 

And relishes of rhyme. 
Add all the softnesses of courts. 

The looks, the laughters, and the sports ; 
And mingle all their sweets, and salts, 

That none may say the triumph halts. 

The Masquers dance their Entry, or First Dance, 

Which done, the first prospective, a maritime 
jmlace, or the house of Oceanus, is discovered 
to loud music. 

The other above is no moj-e seen. 

Johp. Behold the palace of Oceanus ! 
Hail, reverend structure ! boast no more to us 
Thy being able all the gods to feast ; 
We saw enough ; when Albion was thy guest. 

Here the Measures. 

After which, the second prospective, a sea, is shotmt 
to the former music. 

Johp. Now turn, and view the wonders of the 

deep, [keep, 

Where Proteus herds, and Neptune's ores do 

Where all is plough' d, yet still the pasture's 

green ; 
New ways are found, and yet no paths are seen. 

Here Proteus, Portunus, Saron, go up to the 
Ladies with this Song. 

Pro. Come, noble nymphs, and do not hide 
The joys for which you so provide : 



THE FORTUNATE ISLES. 



m 



Sar. If not to mingle with the men, 

What do you here ? Go home agen. 
Por. Your dressings do confess, 

By what we see, so curious parts 
Of Pallas and Arachne's arts, 

That you could mean no less. 
Pro. Why do you wear the silk-worm's toils, 
Or glory in the shell-fish' spoils ; 
Or strive to sliew the grains of ore 
That you have gatlier'd on the shore. 

Whereof to make a stock 
To graft the greener emerald on. 
Or any better-water'd stone, 
Sar. Or ruby of tlie rock. 

Pro. Why do you smell of amber-grise. 

Of wliich was formed Neptune's niece. 
The queen of love ; unless you can. 
Like sea-born Venus, love a man ? 
Sar. Try, put yourselves unto't. 

Cho. Your looks, your smiles, and thoughts that meet, 
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet. 
Do promise you will do't. 

The Revels folloio. 

Which ended, the fleet is discovered, while the three 
cornets play. 

Johp. 'Tis time, your eyes should be refresh'd 
at length 



With something new, a part of Neptiuiaa 

strength, 
See yond', his fleet, ready to go or come, 
Or fetch the riches of the Ocean home, 
So to secure him, both in peace and wars 
Till not one ship alone, but all be stars. 

T7icn the last 

SONG. 

Pro. Although we wisli the glory still mighi last 
Of such a night, and for the causes past ; 
Yet now, great lord of waters, and of isles, 
Give Proteus leave to turn unto his wiles. 

Por. And whilst young Albion doth thy labors ease. 
Dispatch Portunus to the ports. 

Sar. And Saron to the seas, 

To meet old Nereus, with his fifty girls. 
From aged Indus laden home vvith pearls, 
And orient gums to burn unto thy name. 

Cho. And may thy subjects' hearts be all on flame, 
Whilst thou dost keep the earth in firm estate, 
And 'mongst the winds dost suffer no debate ; 
But both at sea, and land, our powers increase, 
With health, and all the golden gifts of peace 

After xohich they dmiced their last danc?^ 

AKD THtJS IT ENDED. 



LOVE'S TRIUMPH THROUGH CALLIPOLIS 

I'ERFORJIED IN A MASQlJE AT COURT, 1G30 

BY HIS MAJESTY, WITH THE LORDS AND GENTLEMEN ASSISTING. 

The Invetitors — Ben Jonson ; Inigo Jones. 

qUANDO MAOIS DIGN03 LICUIT SPECTARE TRIUMPH03? 

TO MAKE THE SrECTATORS UNDERSTANDERS. 



VV'hebeas, all Representations, especially those of this nature in court, public spectacles, either have been, or ought to 
be, the mirrors of man's life, whose ends, for the excellence of their exhibitors (as being the donatives of great princes to 
their people) ought always to cany a mixture of profit with them, no less than delight; we, the inventors, being com- 
manded from the King to think on something worthy of his majesty's putting in act, with a selected company of his lords 
and gentlemen, called to the assistance ; for the honor of his court, and the dignity of that heroic love, and regal respect 
born" by him to his unmatchable lady and spouse, the queen's majesty, after some debate of cogitation wth ourselves, 
resolved on this following argument. 



First, that a person, boni ominis, of a good 
character, as Eupheravis, sent clown from heaven 
to Callipolis, which is understood the city of 
Beauty or Goodness, should come in ; and, find- 
ing her majesty there enthroned, declare unto 
her, that Love, who was wont to be respected as 
a special deity in court, and tutelar god of the 
jilace, had of late received an advertisement, 
that in the suburbs, or skirts of Callipolis, 
were crept in certain sectaries, or depraved lov- 
ers, who neither knew the name, or nature of 
love rightly, yet boasted themselves his follow- 
ers, when they were fitter to be called his furies : 
their whole life being a continued vertigo, or 
rather a torture on the wheel of love, than any 
motion cither of order or measure. When sud- 
denly they leap forth below, a mistress leading 
them, and with antic gesticulation and action, 
after the manner of the old pantomiini, they 
dance over a distracted comedy of love, ex- 
pressing their confused affections, in the sccnical 
persons and habits of the four prime European 
nations. 

A glorious boasting lover. 

A whining ballading lover. 

An adventurous romance lover. 

A phantastic umbrageous lover. 

A bribing corrupt lover. 

A froward jealous lover. 

A sordid illiberal lover. 

A proud scornful lover. 

An angry quarrelling lover. 

A melancholic despairing lover. 

An envious unquiet lover. 

A sensual brute lover. 

All which, in varied intricate turns, and involved 
mazes, exprcsf, make the AxTDiAsauE : and con- 
dude the exit, in a circle 



Eui'HEMUS descends singing. 

Joy, joy to mortals, the rejoicing fires 
Of gladness smile in your dilated hearts I 

Whilst Love presents a world of chaste desires, 
Which may produce a harmony of parts I 

Lovo is the right affection of the mind, 

The noble appetite of what is best : 
Desire of union with the thing design'd. 

But in fruition of it cannot rest. 

The father Plenty is, the mother Want, 
Plenty the beauty which it wanteth draws ; 

Want yields itself; affording what is scant : 
So both atfections are the union's cause. 

But rest not here. For love hath larger scopes 
New joys, new pleasures, of as fresh a date 

As are his minutes : and in him no hopes 
Are pure, but those he can perpetuate. 

\^He goes up to the stain 

To you, that are by excellence a queen ! 

The top of beauty ! but of sucli' an air, 
As only by the mind's eye may be seen 

Your interwoven lines of good and fair ! 

Vouchsafe to grace love's triumph here to-night. 
Through all the streets of your Callipolis ; 

Which by the splendor of your rays made bright. 
The seat and region of all beauty Is. 

Love in perfection longeth to appear. 
But prays of favor he be not call'd on. 

Till all the suburbs and the skirts be clear 

Of perturbations, and th' infection gone. v 

Then will he flow forth, like a rich perfume 
Into your nostrils ! or some sweeter sound 

Of melting music, that shall not consume 
Within the ear, but run the mazes round. 

IIe7'e the Chorus toallv about with their censcra 

Cho. Mean time, we make lustration of the place. 

And, with our solemn fires and waters prove 
T' have frighted hence the weak diseased race 
Of those were tortured on the wheel of love 

The Glorious, Whining, the Adventurous fool 
Fantastic, Bribing, and the Jealous ass. 

The Sordid, Scornful, and the Angry mul&, 
The Melancholic, Dull, and Envious mass. 

772 



LOVE'S TRIUMPH THROUGH CALLIPOLIS. 



773 



Orand Cho. With all the rest, that in the sensual school 
Of lust, for their degree of brute maj' pass , 
All which are vapor'd hence. 
No loves, but slaves to sense ; 
Were cattle, and not men. 
Sound, sound, and treble all our joys agcn, 
Who had the power and virtue to remove 
yuch monsters from the labyrinth of love. 

The scene ojiens and discovers a prospect of the 
sea. The Tmumph isjirst seen afar off, and 
led in hj Amphiteite, the tcifo of Oceamts, 
with four sea gods attending her, Nereus, 

PeOTEUS, Gl.VUCUS, PALiEMOXJ 

The Triumph consisted of fifteen Lovers, and 
as many Ciqnds, icho rank themselves seven 
and seven on a side, with each a Cupid before 
^im, with a lighted torch, and the middle per- 
son (which is his Majestij J placed in the centre. 

Sinph. Here stay a while : tliis, tliis. 

The temple of all beauty is ! 

Here, perfect lovers, you must pay 

First fruits; and on these altars lay 

(The ladies breasts,) your ample vows, 

Such as love brings, and beauty best allows ! 
Oho. For love without his object soon is gone : 

Love must have answering love to look upon. 
Omph. To you, best judge then of perfection ! 
Etiph. The queen of wliat is wonder in the place ! 
/liiiph Pure object of lieroic love, alone ! 
F.uph. Tile centre of proportion ! — 
/Irnph. Sweetness ! 

Knph. Grace ! 

^mph. Deign to receive all lines of love in one. 
Kiipli. And by reflecting of them fill this space. 
Oho. Till it a circle of those glories prove. 

Fit to be sought in beauty, found by love. 
Scvd-cho. Where love is mutual, still 

All things in order move. 
Semi-c?w. The circle of the will 

Is the true sphere of love. 
0!w. Advance, you gentler Cupids, then, advance. 

And shew your just perfections in your dance. 

J7te Cupids dance their dance; and the ^Iasquers 
their Entry. 

Which done, Euclia, or a fair glory, apjiears in 
the heavens, singing an apjilaitsive Song, or 
Pcean of the whole, which she takes occasion to 
ingeminate in the second chorus, upon the sight 
of a ioor7c of Neptune's, being a hollow rock, 
filling part of the sea-prospect, whereon the 
Muses sit. 

HYMN. 

Rue. So love emergent out of chaos brought 
The world to liglit! 
And gently moving on the waters, wrought 
All form to sight ! 
Love's appetite 
Did beauty first excite : 
And left imprinted in the air 
Tliose signatures of good and fair, 

Cho. Which since have flow'd, flow'd forth upon the sense 
To wonder tirst, and then to excellence. 
By virtue of divine intelligence ! 



The Tngemination. 

And Neptune too. 
Shews what his waves can do : 
To call the Muses all to play. 
And sing the birth of Venus' day, 
Cho. Which from the sea flow'd forth upon the sense, 
To wonder first, and next to excellence. 
By virtue of divine intelligence ! 

Here folkno the Revels. 

Which ended, the scene changcth to a garden, and 
the heavens opening, there appear four nexo 
persons in form of a Constellation, sitting , 
or a neio Asterism, expecting Venus, whom 
they call uiion xvith this 

SONG. 

JupiTEB, JuNO, Genius, Hymen. 

Jap. Haste, daughter Venus, haste and come away, 
Jan. All powers that govern marriage, pray 

That you lend your light. 
Gen. Unto the constellation of this night. 
Hijm. Hymen. 
Jan. And Juno. 
Gen. And the Genius call. 
Jap. Your father Jupiter. 
Orand Cho. And all 

That bless or honor holy nuptial. 

Venus here appears in a cloud, and passing 
through the Constellation, descendeth to the 
earth, when presently the cloud vanisheth, and 
she is seen sitting in a throne. 

Veil Here, here I present am 

Both in my girdle, and my flame ; 
Wherein are woven all the powers 
The Graces gave me, or the Hours, 
My nurses once, with all the arts 
Of gaining, and of holding hearts : 
And these with I descend. 
But, to your influences, first commend 

The vow, I go to take 
On earth, for perfect love and beauty's sake. 

Ilcr song ended, and she rising up to go to the 
queen, the throne disap2)ears : in place of which, 
there shootcth «yj a jjalm-tree with an imperial 
crown on the top ; from the root lohereof lilies 
and roses twining together, and embracing the 
stem, flourish through the crown ; lohich she 
in the Song loith the Chorus describes. 

Grand Cho. Beauty and Love, whose story is mysterial 
In yonder palm-tree, and the crown imperial. 
Do from the Rose and Lily, so delicious, 
Promise a shade, shall ever be propitious 
To both the kingdoms. But to Britain's Gen/us 
The snaky rod, and serpents of Cyllenius 
Bring not more peace than these, who so tinited be 
By Love, as with it earth and heaveu delighted be. 
And who this king and queen would well historify. 
Need only speak their names ; these them will glorify : 
Mary and Charles, Charles with his Mary named are, 
And all the rest of loves or princes famed are. 

After this, they Dance their going out- 

A>D THU3 IT IKDED. 



CHLOEIDIA. 
RITES TO CHLORIS AND HER NYMPHS; 

PERSONATED IN A MASQUE AT COURT, 

13Y THE QUEEN'S MAJESTY, AND HER LADIES, AT SHROVE-TIDE, 1630. 

The Inventors — Ben Jonson ; Inigo Jones. 

UNIU9 TEIXUa ANTE COLOniS ERAT. 



The King and Queen's majesty having given their command for the invention of a new argument, with the whole 
cliange of tlie scene, wherein her majesty, with the like number of her ladies, purposed a presentation to the king ; it waa 
agreed, it should be the celebration of some rites done to the goddess Chloris, who, in a general council of the gods, waa 
proclaimed goddess of the flowers; according to that of Ovid, in the Fasti, 

Arbitrium tu Dea floris habe. 

And was to be stellified on earth, by an absolute decree from Jupiter, who would have the earth to be adorned with sturs, 
as well as the heaven. 
Upon this hinge the whole invention moved. 



The ornament which went about the scene, 
was composed of foliage, or leaves heighten'd 
with gold, and interwoven with all sorts of 
flowers, and naked children, i)la}-ing and climb- 
ing among the branches ; and in the midst a 
great garland of flowers, in which was written 
CHLORIDIA. 

The curtain being drawn up, the scene is dis- 
covered, consisting of pleasant hills, planted 
with young trees, and all the lower banks 
adorned with flowers. And from some hollow 
parts of those hills, fountains come gliding 
down ; which, in the far-ofl" landscape, seemed 
all to be converted to a river. 

Over all a serene sky, with transparent clouds, 
giving a great lustre to the Avholc work ; which 
did imitate the pleasant Spring. 

When the spectators had enough fed their 
eyes with the delights of the scene, in apart of the 
air, a bright cloud begins to break forth ; and in it 
is sitting a plump boy, in a changeable garment, 
richly adorned, representing the mild Zephykus. 
On the other side of the scene, in a purplish 
cloud, appcareth the Spring, a beautiful maid, 
her upper garment green, under it a white robe 
Avrought with flowers ; a garland on her head. 

Here Zephyrus begins his dialogue, calling 
her forth, and making narration of the gods' 
decree at large, which she obeys, jirctending it 
is come to earth already ; and there begun to 
be executed by the king's favor, Avho assists 
with all bounties, that may bo either urged as 
causes or reasons of the Spring. 

FIRST SONG. 

Zeyh. Come forth, come forth, the gentle Spring, 
And cari-y the glad news I bring, 
To earth, our common motlier : 
It is decreed by all the gods, 
That heaven of earth shall have no odds. 
But one shall love anotlier. 



Their glories they shall mutual make. 
Earth look on heaven, for lieaven's sake. 

Their honors shall be even : 
All emulation cease, and jars, 
Jove will have eartli to have lier stars 
And lights, no less than heaven. 
Spring. It is already done, in flowers 

As fresli and new as are the hours. 

By warmtli of yonder sun : 
But will be multiplied on us. 
If from tlie breath of Zephyrus 
Like favor we have won. 
Zqih. Give all to him : His is the dew. 

The heat, the humor. 
Spring. — All the true 

Beloved of the Spring ! 

Zrpli. The sun, the wind, the verdure ! 

Spring. — All 

Tliat wisest nature can call 

Of quick'ning any thing. 

At which Zephyrus jmsseth away through the 
air, and the Spring descendeth to the earth , 
and is received by the Naiades, or Napea;, 
who are the nymphs, fountains, and servants 
of the season. 

SECOND SONG. 
JSTa'ides. Fair maid, but are you come to dwell. 

And tarry with us here ? 
Spring. Fresh Fountains, I am come to tell 

A tale in yond' soft ear, 
Whereof the murmur will do well ; 

If you your parts will bear. 
Maides. Our purlings wait upon tlie Spring. 
Spring. Go up with me, then ; help to sing 

The story to the kmg. 

Ilei'e the Spring goes up, singing the argument, 
to the king, and the Naides follow with the. 
close. 

Spring. Cupid hath ta'cn offence of lato, 
At all the gods, that of the state. 

And in their council, he was so deserted, 

Not to be call'd unto their guild. 

But slightly pass'd by as a child, 
J^a'idcs. Wherein he thinks his honor was perverlciiL 

774 



CHLORIDIA. 



775 



Spring. And though his mother seek to season, 
And rectify his rage with reason, 
By shewing he lives yet under her command, 
Rebellious he doth disobey, 
And she hath forced his arms away, 

ya'ldes. To make him feel the justice of her hand. 

AVhereat the boy, in fury fell. 
With all his speed, is gone to hell, 
There to excite and stir up jealousy. 
To make a party 'gainst the gods. 
And set heaven, earth, and hell at odds, 
fiTaides. And raise a chaos of calamity. 

The SoNQ ended, the Nymphs fall into a datice, 
to their voices and instruments, and so return 
into the scene, 

THE ANTIMASQUE. 

A part of the under-ground opening, out of it enter 
a Dwarf post from hell, riding on a curtal, loith 
cloven feet, and two Ijacqueys : these Dajice, 
and make the first entry of the Antimasque. He 
alights and speaks. 

Dwarf Hold ray stirrup, my one lacquey ; 
and look to my curtal, the other ; walk him 
well, sirrah, while I expatiate myself here in 
the report of my office. Oh, the Furies ! how 
I am joyed with the title of it ! Postillion of 
hell ! yet no Mercury : but a mere cacodaemon, 
sent hither with a i^acket of news ! news ! 
never Avas hell so furnished of the commoditj^ 
of news ! Love hath been lately there, and so 
entcrtain'd by Pluto and Proserpine, and all 
the grandees of the place, as it is there perpet- 
ual holyday ; and a cessation of torment granted, 
and proclaimed for ever ! Half-famish'd Tanta- 
lus is fallen to his fruit, with that appetite, as it 
threatens to undo the whole company of cos- 
tard-mongers ; and has a river afore him, run- 
ning excellent wine. Ixion is loosed from his 
wheel, and turn'd dancer, does nothing but cut 
capreols, fetch friskals, and leads lavoltos with 
the Laniite ! Sisyphus has left rolling the stone, 
and is grown a master-bowler ; challenges all 
the prime gamesters, parsons in hell, and gives 
them odds ; upon Tityus's breast, that (for six 
of the nine acres) is counted the subtlest bowl- 
ing-ground in all Tartary. All the Furies are 
at a gainc call'd nine-pins, or keils, made of old 
usurers' bones, and their souls looking on with 
delight, and betting on the game ! Never was 
there such freedom of sport. Danaus' daugh- 
ters have broke their bottomless tubs, and made 
bonfires of them. All is turn'd triumijh there. 
Had hell-gates been kept with half that strict- 
ness, as the entry here has been to-night, Pluto 
would have had but a cold court, and Pros- 
erpine a thin presence, though both have a vast 
territory. We had such a stir to get in, I, and 
ipy curtal, and my two lacqueys, all ventured 
through the eye of a Spanish needle, we had 
never come in else, and that was by the favor of 
one of the guard who was a Vt^oman's tailor, and 
held ope the passage. — Cupid by commission 
hath carried Jealousy from hell. Disdain, Fear, 
and Dissinuilation, with other goblins, to trouble 
the gods. And I am sent after, post, to raise Tem- 
pest, Winds, Lightnings, Thunder, Rain, and 
Snow, for some new exploit they have against 
the earth, and the goddess Chloris, queen of the 
flowers, and mistre s of the Spring. For joy 



of which, I will return to myself, mount my 
bidet, in a dance ; and curvet upon my curtal. 

Here he mounts his curtal, and with his lacqueys, 
danceth forth as he came in, 

SECOND ENTRY. 

Cupid, Jealousy, Disdain, Fear, and Dissimula- 
tion dance together. 

THIRD ENTRY. 

The queen's dwarf, richly apparelled, as a 
prince of hell, attended bj^ six infernal spirits, 
he first danceth alone, and then the spirits, all 
expressing their joy for Cupid's coming among 
them. 

FOURTH ENTRY. 

Here the scene changeth into a horrid storm 
out of Avhich enters the nymph Tempest, with 
four Winds ; they dance. 

fifth entry. 
Lightnings, three in number, their habits glis- 
tering expressing that effect, in their motion. 

sixth entry. 
Thunder alone dancing the tunes to a noise, 
mixed, and imitating thunder. 

seventh entry. 
Rain, presented by five persons, all swollen, 
and clouded over, their hair flagging, as if they 
were wet, and in their hands bails full of sweet 
water, which, as they dance, sprinkle all the 
room. 

EIGHTH ENTRY'. 

Seven with rugged white heads and beards, to 
express Snow, with flakes on their garments, 
mixed with hail. These having danced, return 
into the stormy scene, whence they came. 

Here, by the providence of Juno, the Tem- 
pest on an instant ccaseth ; and the scene is 
changed into a delicious place, figuring the 
Bower of Chloris, wherein an arbor feigned of 
goldsmith's-work, the ornament of which was 
born up with termes of satyrs, beautified with 
festoons, garlands, and all sorts of fragrant 
flowers. Beyond all this, in the sky afar-off", ap- 
peared a rainbow : in the most eminent place of 
the Bower, sat the goddess Chloris, accompa- 
nied with fourteen nymphs, their apparel white, 
embroidered with silver, trimmed at the shoul- 
ders with great leaves of green, embroidered 
with gold, falling one under the other. And of 
the same work were their bases, their head-tires 
of flowers, mixed with silver and gold, with 
some sprigs of regrets among, and from the top 
of their dressing, a thin veil hanging down. 

All which beheld, the Nymphs, Rivers, and Foun- 
tains, with the Spring, suJig this rejoicing song. 

THIRD SONG. 

Grand Cho. Run out, all the floods, in joy, with your siivc 
feet, 

And haste to meet 

The cnamour'd Spring, 
For whom tlie warbling fountains sing; 

The story of the flowers. 

Preserved by the Hours ; 
At Juno's soft command, and Iris' showers ; 
Sent to quench jealousy, and all those powers 



776 



CHLORIDIA. 



Of Love's rebellious war: 

Whilst Chloris sits a shining star 

To crown, and grace our jolly song, made long, 

To the notes that we bring, to glad the Spring. 

Mliich ended, the Goddess and her Nymphs descend 
the degrees into the room, and dance the Entry 
of the Gkand Masque. 

After this, another Song hy the same 2^s>'sons as 
before. 

FOURTH SONG. 

Qrand Cho. Tell a truth, gay Spring, let us know 
What feet they were, that so 
Inipress'd the earth, and made such various flow- 
ers to grow. 

'Spring. She that led, a queen was at least, 

Or a goddess 'bove the rest : 
And all their graces in herself exprest. 

Qrand Cho. O, 'twere a fame to know lier name ; 
Whether she were the root ; 
Or they did take th' impression from her foot. 

The Masquers here dance their second Dance. 

Vt^ich done, the farther 2}ros2Kct of the scene 
changeth into air, with a low landscape, in part 
covered loith clouds : and in that instant, the 
heaven opening, Juno and Iris are seen; and 
above them many airy spirits, sitting in the cloxids. 

FIFTH SONG. 

Juno. Now Juno, and the air shall know. 

The truth of what is done below 

From our discolor'd bow. 

Iris, what news .' 
tris. The air is clear, your bow can tell, 

Chloris renown'd, Spight fled to hell, 

The business all is well. 

And Cupid sues. 
Juno. For pardon I Does he .' 
Iris. He sheds tears 

More than your birds have ej-es. 
Juno. The gods have ears : 

OfTences made against the deities 

Are soon forgot. — 
Iris. If who ofTonds be wise. 

Here, out of the earth ariseth a Hill, and on the 
top of it a globe, on which Fame is seen stand- 
ing loith her trumpet in her hand; and on the 
hill are seated four persons, presenting Poesy, 



History, Architecture, and Sculpture ;. 
who together toith the Nymphs, Floods, arid 
Fountains, jnake a full choir ; at ivhich Fame 
begins to mount, and moving her loings flieth, 
singing, up to heaven. 

Fame. Rise, golden Fame, and give thy name a birth. 
Cho. From great and generous actions done on earth. 
Fame. The life of Fame is action. 
Cho. Understood, 

That action must be virtuous, great, and good. 
Fame. Virtue itself by Fame is oft protected, 

And dies despised 

Cho. Where the Fame's neglected 

Fame. Wlio hath not heard of Cliloris, and her bower, 
Fair Iris' act, eraploy'd by Juno's power, 
To guard the Spring, and prosper every flower. 
Whom jealousy and hell thought to devour? 
Cho. Great actions oft obscured by time, may lie, 

Or envy 

Fame. But they last to memory. 

Poesy. We that sustain thee, learned Poesy, 

Hist. And I her sister, severe History, 

Archi. With Architecture, who will raise thee high, 

Sculp. And Sculpture, that can keep thee from to die. 

Cho. All help to lift thee to eternity. 

Juno. And Juno through the air doth make thy way. 

Iris. By her serenest messenger of day. 

Fame. Thus Fame ascends, by nil degrees to heaven. 

And leaves a light, here, brighter than the seven. 
Grand Cho. Let all applaud the sight. 

Air first, that gave the bright 

Reflections, day or night ! 

With these supports of Fame, 

That keep alive her name ! 

The beavties of the Spring. 

Founts, Rivers, every thing: 

From the height of all. 

To the waters fell. 

Resound and sing 
The honors of his Chloris, to the king. 

Chloris, the queen of flowers ; 

The sweetness of all showers ; 

The ornament of bovvers : 

Tlie top of paramours. 

F.i.ME being hidden in the clouds, the hill sinJiS, and 
the heaven closeth. 

The Masquers dance with the Lords. 

AND THUS IT EJinED 



AN EXPOSTULATION WITH INIGO JONES. 



Miuiter Surveyor, yoii that first began 

From thirty pounds in pipkins, to the man 

You are : from them leap'd forth an architect, 

Able to talk of Euclid, and correct 

Both him and Archimcde ; damn Archytas, 

The noblest inginer that ever was : 

Control Cteabius, overbearing us 

^^^ith mistook names, out of Yitruvius ; 

Drawn Aristotle on us, and thence shewn 

How much Architectonice is your own : 

Whether the building of the stage, or scene. 

Or making of the properties it mean, 

Visors, or antics ; or it comprehend 

Something your sur-ship doth not yet intend. 

By all your titles, and whole style at once, 

Of tireman, moixntebank, and justice Jones, 

I do salute you : are 5-ou fitted yet ? 

Will any of these express your place, or wit ? 

Or are you so ambitious 'bove your peers. 

You'd be an Assinigo by your ears ? 

Why much good do't you ; be what part you 

will, 
You'll be, as Langley said, "an Inigo still." 
What makes your wretchedness to bray so loud 
In town and court ? are you grown rich, and 

proud ? 
Your trappings will not change you, change your 

mind ; 
No velvet suit you wear will alter kind. 
A wooden dagger is a dagger of wood, 
Nor gold, nor ivory haft can make it good. 
What is the cause you pomp it so, I ask ? 
And all men echo, you have made a masque. 
I chime that too, and I have met with those 
That do cry up the machine, and the shows ; 
The majesty of Juno in the clouds. 
And peering forth of Iris in the shrouds ; 
The ascent of Lady Fame, which none could spy, 
Not they that sided her, dame Poetry, 
Dame History, dame Architecture too. 
And goody Sculpture, brought with much ado 
To hold her up : O shows, shows, mighty 

shows ! 
The eloquence of masques ! what need of prose, 
Or verse, or prose, t' express immortal you ? 
You arc the spectacles of state, tis true. 
Court-hieroglyphics, and all arts afford. 
In the mere perspective of an inch-board ; 
You ask no more than certain politic eyes, 
"Eyes, that can pierce into the mysteries 
Of many colors, read them, and reveal 
Mythology, there painted on slit deal. 
Or to make boards to speak ! there is a task ! 
Painting and carpentry are the soul of masque. 
Pack with your pedling poetry to the stage. 



This is the money-got mechanic age. 

To plant the music where no ear can reach. 

Attire the persons, as no thought can teach 

Sense, what they are ; which by a specious, fino 

Term of [youj architects, is call'd Design ; 

But in the practised truth, destruction is 

Of any art, beside what he calls his. 

Whither, O whither will this tireman grow ? 

His name is 2/;i]rojtotoc, we all know, 

The maker of the properties ; in sum, 

The scene, the engine ; but he now is come 

To be the music-master ; tabler too ; 

He is, or would be, the main Dominus Do- 

All of the work, and so shall still for Ben, 

Be Inigo, the whistle, and his men. 

He's warm on his feet, now he says ; and can 

Sv.'im without cork : why, thank the good quceu 

Anne. 
I am too fat to envy, he too lean 
To be worth envy ; henceforth I do mean 
To pity him, as smiling at his feet 
Of lantern-lorry, v/ith fuliginous heat 
AVhirling his whimsies, by a subtilty 
Suck'd from the veins of shop-philosophy. 
What would he do now, giving his mind that 

way, 
In presentation of some puppet play, 
Should but the king his justice-hood emi:)loy, 
In setting forth of such a solemn toy ? 
How wou'd he firk, like Adam Overdo, 
Up and about ; dive into cellars too, 
Disguised, and thence drag forth Enormity, 
Discover Yico, commit Absurdity: 
Under the moral, show he had a pate 
Moulded or strok'd up to survey a state ! 
O wise surveyor, wiser architect. 
But wisest Inigo ; who can reflect 
On the new priming of thy old sign-posts, 
Eeviving with fresh colors the pale ghosts 
Of thy dead standards ; or with mars^el see 
Thy twice conceived, thrice paid for imagery 5 
And not fall down before it, and confess 
Almighty Architecture, who no less 
A goddess is, than painted cloth, deal board, 
Vermillion, lake, or crimson can aiford 
Expression for ; with that unbounded line, 
Aim'd at in thy omnipotent design ! 
What poesy e'er was painted on a wall. 
That might compare with thee ? what story shall. 
Of all the worthies, hope t' outlast thy oato. 
So the materials be of Purbeck stone ? 
Live long the feasting-room ! and ere thou burn 
Again, thy architect to ashes turn ; 
Whom not ten fires, nor a parliament, can 
With all remonstrance, make an honest man. 

777 



778 



^ 



EPIGRAM ON INIGO JONES 



TO A FKIEXD. 

AN EPIGRAM OF INIGO JONES. 

Sir Inigo doth fear it, as I hear, 

And labors to seem Avorthy of this fear ; 

That I should write upon him some sharp verse, 

Able to eat into his bones, and pierce 

The marrow. Wretch ! I quit thee of thy pain, 

Thou'rt too ambitious, and dost fear in vain : 

The Lybian lion hunts no butterflies ; 

He makes the camel and dull ass his prize. 

If thou be so desirous to be read. 

Seek out some hungry painter, that, for bread. 

With rotten chalk or coal, upon the wall. 

Will well design thee to be view'd of all. 

That sit upon the common draught or strand ; 

Thy forehead is too narrow for my brand. 



TO INIGO MARQUIS WOULD-BE. 



A COROLLARY. 



But 'cause thou hcar'st the mighty king of Spain 
Hath made his Inigo marquis, wouldst thou fain 
Our Charles should make thee such? 'twill not 

become 
All kings to do the self-same deeds with some: 
Besides, his man may merit it, and be 
A noble honest soul : what's this to thee r 
He may have skill, and judgment to design 
Cities and temples, thou a cave for wine, 
Or ale ; he build a palace, thou the shop, 
With sliding windows, and false lights a-top : 
He draw a forum with quadrivial streets ; 
Thou paint a lane where Tom Thumb Jeffrey 

meets. 



He some Colossus, to bestride the seas, 
From the fam'd pillars of old Hercules : 
Thy canvas giant at some channel aims, 
Or Dowgate torrents falling into Tliames ; 
And stradling shews the boy's' brown paper fleet 
Yearly set out there, to sail down the street : 
Your works thus differing, much less so your 

style 
Content thee to be Pancridge earl the while. 
An earl of show ; for all thy Avorth is show : 
But when thou turn'st a real Inigo, 
Or canst of truth the least entrenchment pitch, 
We'll have thee styl'd the Marquis of I'owei 

ditch. 



LOVE'S WELCOME; 

THE KING'S ENTERTAINMENT AT WELBECK, 

IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE, 

A HOUSE OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE WILLIAM, EARL OF NEWCASTLE 

VISCOUNT MANSFIELD, BAHOK OF BOTLE AND BOLSOVER, ETC. 

At his going into Scotland, 1633. 



His Majesty being set at dinner^ 

Music : 

The Passions, Doubt and Love, ejitcr with the 
Affections, Joy, Delight, ^c. and sing this 

SONG. 

Do2tbt. What softer sounds are these salute the ear, 
From the large circle of tlie hemisphere, 
As if the centre of all sweets met here ! 

Love. It is the breath and soul of every thing, 
Put forth by eartli, by nature, and the spring. 
To speak the welcome, welcome of the king. 

Chorus of Affections. The joy of plants, the spirit of flow'rs, 
The smell and verdure of tlie bow'rs, 
The waters murmur, with the show'rs, 
Distilling on the new fresh hours ; 
The whistling winds and birds that sing 
The welcome of our great, good king : 
Welcome, O welcome, is the general voice. 
Wherein all creatures practise to rejoice. 

\_A pause. Jilusic again. 

Love. When was old Sherwood's head more quaintly 
curl'd.' 
Or look'd the earth more green upon the world .' 
Or nature's cradle more enchased and purl'd .' 
When did the air so smile, the wind so chime, 
As quiristers of season, and the prime.' 

Doubt. If what they do, be done in their due time. 

Cho. of Affections. lie makes the time for whom 'tis done, 
From whom tlie warmth, heat, life begun ; 
Into whose fostering arms do run 
All that have being from the sun. 
Such is tlie fount of light, the king, 
The heart that quickens every thing. 

And makes the creature's language all one voice, 

In welcome, welcome, welcome to rejoice ; 

Welcome is all our song, is all our sound. 

The treble part, the tenor, and the ground. 

After dimicr. 

The King and the Lords being come doicn, and ready 
to take horse, in the croiod lOere discovered itoo 
notorious joe^'sons, tohose names were Accidence 
and FiTZALE, nie7i of business, as by their cmi- 
ncnt dressing and habits did soon appear. 

One in a costly cassock of black buckram girt unto 
him, ichereon teas piainted party-per pale : 



On the one side, 
Noun, ^ 
Pronoun, f , ,■ 
Verb, >dcclmca 

Participle, ) 



On the other side. 
Adverb, ^ 

Conjunction, f . •• , 
Preposition, ( undcchncd. 
Interjection, ) 



With his hat, hatband, stocking, and sandaU suited, 
and marked A, B, C, S^c. 

The other in a taberd, or herald's coat, of azure, 
and gules quarterly changed, of buckram ; limned 
with yellow, instead of gold, and pasted over with 
old records of the two shires, and certain frag- 
ments of the forest, as a coat of antiqiiity and 
2oresident, willing to be seen, but hard to be road, 
and as loth to be understood, without the inter- 
preter who toore it : for the wrong end of the 
letters icere turned xipwa)-d, therefore teas a label 
fxed. To the curious prier, advertising : 

Look not so near, with hope to understand ; 
Out-cept, sir, you can read with the left-hand. 

Acci. By your fair leave, gentlemen of the 
court ; for leave is ever fair, being asked ; and 
granted, is as light, according to our English 
proverb. Leave is light. Which is the king, I 
pray you ? 

Fitz. Or rather the king's lieutenant r for we 
have nothing to say to the king, till we have 
spoken with my lord lieutenant. 

A^cci. Of Nottinghamshire. 

Fitz. And Derbyshire, for he is both. And 
we have business to both sides of him, from 
either of the counties. 

Acci. As far as his command stretches. 

Fits. Is this he ? 

Acci. This is no great man by his timber, as 
we say in the forest ; by his thewes he may. I'll 
venture a part of speech, two or three at him, 
to see how he is declined. — My lord, pleaseth 
yom- good lordship, I am a poor neighbor, here, 
of your honor's, in the country. 

Fitz. Master A. B. C. Accidence, my good 
lord, school-master of Mansfield, the painful 
instructor of our youth, in their country ele- 
ments, as ai^peareth by the sign of correction 
in his hat, with the trust of the town pen-and- 
inkhorn, committed to the surety of his girdle, 
from the whole corporation. 

Acci. This is the more remarkable man, my 
very good lord ; father Fitz- Ale, herald of Derby, 
light and lanthorn of both counties ; the learned 
antiquary of the north ; conserver of the records 
of either forest, as witnesseth the brief taberd 

779 



7S0 



LOVE'S AYELCOME AT WELBECK. 



or coat-armor he carries, being an indtistrioris 
collection of all the Avritten or reported ^vonders 
of the Peak. 

Saint Anne of Buxton's boiling -well, 
Or Elden, bottomless, like hell : 
Poole's Hole, or Satan's sumptuous Arse. 
I Surreverence) Avith the mine-men's farce. 
Such a light and metall'd dance 
Saw you never yet in France. 
And by lead-men for the nones. 
That turn round like grindlestones : 
Which they dig out fro' the dells. 
For their bairns' bread, "wives and sells : 
Whom the whetstone sharps to eat, 
And cry milstoncs are good meat, 
lie can fiy o'er hills and dales. 
And report you more odd tales 
Of our outlaw Robin Hood, 
That revell'd here in Sherwood, 
And more stories of him show, 
(Though he ne'er shot in his bow) 
Than men or believe, or know. 
Fltz Stint, stint your court. 
Grow to be short. 
Throw by j'our clatter, 
And handle the matter : 

We come with our peers, 
And crave your ears, 
To present a Avcdding, 
Intended a bedding. 

Of both the shires. 
Father Fitz-Ale 
Hath a daughter stale 
In Derby town, 
Known up and do^^'n 

For a great antiquity : 
And Pern she liiglit, 
A solemn wight 
As you should meet 
In any street. 

In that ubiquity. 
Her he hath brought. 
As having sought 
By many a draught 
Of ale and craft. 
With skill to graft 
In some old stock 
Of the yeoman block. 
And forest-blood 
Of old Shercwood. 
And he hath found 
Within the ground. 
At last no shrimp. 
Whereon to imp 
His jollv club, 
But a bold Stub 
O' the right wood, 
A champion good ; 

Who here in place 
Presents himself. 
Like doughty elf 

Of Greenwood chase. 

Here Stub the bridegroom presented himself, being 
apparelled in a yelloio canvas doublet, cut, a green 
jerkin and hose, like a ranger ; a Monmoxith cap, 
with a yelloxc feather, yelloio stockings and shoes ; 
for being to dance, he would not trouble himself 
with boots. 



Fit:: 



Fit. 



Stub of Stub-hall, 

Some do him call ; 

But most do say. 

He's Stub will stay 
To run his race, 

Not run away. 
Acci. At Quintain ho, 

In honor of this bridaltee, 

Hath challeng'd either wide counteej 

Come Cut and Long-tail : for there be 

Six bachelors as bold as he, 

Adjuting to his companee. 

And each one hath his livery. 

Six Hoods they are, and of the blood, 

Thev tell of ancient Robin Hood. 



Enter Red-Hood. 
Red-hood, the first that doth appear 
In stamel. 

Scarlet is too dear. 



Acci- 



Fitz. 
Acci. 



Fitz 



A cci. 



Fitz. 
Acci. 



Fitz. 



Acci. 



Acci. 



Fitz 



Enter Greex-Hood. 
Then Green-hood. 
He's in Kendal-green, 
As in the forest-color seen. 

Enter Blue-Hood. 
Next Blue-hood is, and in that hue 
Doth vaunt a heart as pure and true 
As is the sky ; give him his due. 
Of old England the yeoman blue. 

Enter Tawny-Hood. 
Then Tawny fra' the kirk that came. 
And cleped was the abbot's man. 

Enter Motley-Hood. 
With jNIotley-hood, the man of law. 

Enter Russet-Hood. 
And Russet-hood keeps all in awe. 
Bold bachelors they are, and large, 
And come in at the country charge ; 
Horse, bridles, saddles, stirrups, girts. 
All reckon'd o' the country skirts ! 
And all their courses, miss or hit, 
Intended are for the shire-wit, 
And so to be received. Their game 
Is country sfiort, and hath a name 
From the place that bears the cost, 
Else all the fat i' the fire were lost. 
Go, caj^tain Stub, lead on, and show 
What house you come on by the blow 
You give sir Quintain, and the cuff' 
You scape o' the sand-bag's counterbuff 
[Flourish, 
Stub's Course. 
O well run, yeoman Stub ! 
Thou hast knock' d it like a club, 

And made sir Quintain know. 
By this his race so good. 
He himself is also wood. 

As by his furious blow. [Flourish 

Red-Hood's Course. 
Bravely run. Red-hood, 

There was a shock 
To have buff''d out the blood 

From aught but a block. ' Flourish. 



LOVE'S WELCOME AT WELBECK. 



781 



Greex-Hood's Coup.se. 
Acci. Well run, Green-hood, got between, 
Under the sand-bag he was seen, 
Lowtmg low, like a forester green. 
Fitz. He knows his tackle, and his treen. 

\_Flowis7i. 
Blue-Hood's Course. 
Acci. Give the old England yeoman his duo, 
He has hit sir Quintain just in the qu — 
Though that be black, yet he is blue. 
It is a brave patch and a nevv' ! 

[F/ourish. 
Tawny-Hood's Course. 

Fiiz. Well run. Tawny, the abbot's churl, 
His jade gave him a jerk, 
As he ■would have his rider hurl 

His hood after the kirk. 
Brit he was wiser, and well beheft. 
For this is all that he hath left. 

[Flourish. 
Motley-Hood's Course. 
Fitz. Or the saddle turn'd round, or the girts 
brake : 
For low on the ground, yvoe for his sake ! 
The law is found. 
Acci. Had his pair of tongues not so much good 
To keep his head in his motley hood, 
[Safe from the ground ?] [Fiowish. 

Russet-Hood's Course. 

Fitz. Russet ran fast, though he be thrown, 

Acci. He lost no stirrup, for he had none. 

Fiiz. His horse it is the herald's weft. 

Acci. No, 'tis a mare, and hath a cleft. 

Fitz. She is country-borrow'd, and no vail, 

Acci. But's hood is forfeit to Fitz-Ale. 

Here Accidence did break them off, by calling them 
to the dance, and to the bride, xoho was drcst like 
an old May-lady, loith scarfs, and a great tcrought 
handkerchief, xoith red and blue, and other habili- 
ments : Six maids attending on her, attired xoith 
buckram bridelaces begilt., xohite sleeves, and 

' stammel petticoats, drest after the cleanliest coun- 
try guise ; among lohom mistress Alphabet, 
master Accidence's daughter, did bear a 2Jrime 
sivay. 

The two bride-squires, the cake-bearer, and the 
boicl-bearer, loere in tioo yelloio leather doublets, 
and russet hose, like two twin clowns i^rest out for 
that office, xoith livery hats and ribands. 

Acci. Come to the bride ; another fit 

Yet show, sirs, of your country wit. 
But of your best. Let all the steel 
Of back and brains fall to the heel ; 
And all the quicksilver in the mine 
Run in the foot-veins, and refine 
Your firk-hum jerk-hum to a dance. 
Shall fetch the fiddles out of France, 
To wonder at the horn-pipes here. 
Of Nottingham and Derbyshire. 
Fitz. With the phant'sies of hey-troll, 
Troll about the bridal bowl, 
And divide the broad bride cake, 
Round about the bride's-stake. 
Acci. With, Here is to the fruit of Pem, 
Fitz. Grafted upon Stub his stem, 



Acci. With the Peakish nicety, 
Fitz. And old Sherewood's vicety. 

The last of xohich xoords xcere set to a tune, a>ui 
sung to the bagpipe, and measure of their dance , 
the cloions and company of spectators drinking 
and eating the xchile. 

SONG. 

Let's sing about, and say, Hey troll, 
Tioll to me the bridal buwl. 
And divide the broad bride-cake. 
Round about the bride's-stake. 
With, Here is to the fruit of Pem, 
Grafted upon Stub his stem, 
With the Peakish nicety. 
And old Slierevvood's vicety. 
But well danced Pem upon record. 
Above thy yeoman, or May-lord. 

Here it xvas thoxtghf xiecessary they should be broken 
off, by the coming in of a Gentleman, an officer 
or servant of the lord lieutenant's, xolwse face had 
piut on, xoith his clothes, an equal authority for tha 
business, 

Gent. Give end unto your rudeness : know at 

length 
Whose time and patience you have iirg'd, the 

King's. 
Whom if you knew, and trul)', as you ought, 
'Twould strike a reverence in you, ev'n to 

blushing. 
That King whose love it is to be your parent ! 
Whose office and whose charge to be your 

pastor ! 
Whose single watch dcfendcth all j'our sleeps ! 
Whose labors are your rests ! -whose thoughtg 

and cares 
Breed your delights, whose business all your 

leisures ! 
And you to interrupt his serious hours 
With light, impertinent, unworthy objects, 
Sights for yourselves, and savoring your owii 

tastes! 
You are to blame. Know your disease, and 

cure it. 
Sports should not be obtruded on great mon- 

archs, 
But wait when they v.'ill call for them as ser- 
vants. 
And meanest of their servants, since theii 

price is 
At highest, to be styl'd, but of their pleasures ! 
— Our King is going now to a great work, 
Of highest love, affection, and example. 
To see his native country, and his cradle, [in 
And find those manners there, which he suck'd 
With nurse's milk, and parent's piety. 
O sister Scotland ! what hast thou deserved 
Of joyful England, giving us this king ! 
What union (if thou lik'st) hast thou not made, 
In knitting for Great Britain such a garland, 
And letting him to wear it, such a king 
As men would wish, that knew not how to hope 
His like, but seeing him ! a prince tliat's law 
Unto himself ; is good for goodness sake. 
And so becomes the rule unto his subjects ! 
That studies not to seem or to shew great, 
But be : not drest for others eyes and ears. 
With vizors and false rumors, but makes fame 
Wait on his actions, and thence speak his name 



782 



LOVE'S WELCOME AT WELBECK. 



O bless his goings-out, and comings-in, 
Thou mighty God of heaven ! lend him long 
Unto the nations, which yet scarcely know him, 
Yet are most happy by his government. 
Bless his fair bedmate, and their certain pledges, 
And never may he M'ant those nerves in fate ; 
For sure succession fortifies a state. 
Whilst he himself is mortal, let him feel 
Nothing about him mortal in his house ; 
Let him approve his young increasing Charles, 
A loyal son : and take him long to be 



An aid, before he be a successor. 

Late come that day that heaven will ask him 

from us ! 
Let our grand-children, and their issue, long 
Expect it, and not see it. Let us pray 
That fortune never know to exercise 
More power upon him, than as Charles his ser 

vant, 
And his Great Britain's slave ; ever to wait 
Bondwoman to the Genius of this state. 

THUS ir UNDED 



4 



LOVE'S WELCOME; 
THE KING AND QUEEN'S ENTERTAINMENT 

AT BOLSOVER, 

AT THE EARL OF NEWCASTLE'S, 

the SOihofJuli/, 1634. 



TFi( King and Queen being set at banquet, this Soxa 
loas sung by Two Tenors and a Bass. 

Full Cho. If Love be call'd a lifting of the sense 
To knowledge of that pure intelligence, 
Wherein the soul hath rest and residence, 

1 Ten. When were the senses in such order placed ? 

2 Ten. The Sight, the Hearing, Smelling, Touching, Taste, 

All at one banquet ? 
Ban. Would it ever last 1 

1 Ten. We wish the same ; who set it forth thus ? 
Bas. Love ! 

2 Ten. But to what end, or to what object ? 
Bas. Love ! 

1 Ten. Doth Love then feast itself? 
Bas. Love will feast Love. 

2 Ten. You make of Love a riddle, or a chain, 

A circle, a mere knot ; untie't again. 
Bus. Love is a circle, botli the first and last 

Of all our actions, and his knot's, too, fast. 

1 Ten. A true lovo knot will hardly be untied : 

And if it could, who would this pair divide.' 
Bas. God made them such, and Love. 

2 Ten. Who is a ring 

The likest to the year of any thing, 
2 Ten. And runs into itself. 
Bas. Then let us sing. 

And run into one sound. 
Cho. Let Welcome fill 

Our thoughts, hearts, voices, and that one word 
thrill 

Through all our language. Welcome, Welcome still. 

1 Ten. Could we put on the beauty of all creatures 

2 Ten. Sing in the air, and notes of nightingales, 

1 Ten. Exhale the sweets of earth, and all her features, 

2 Ten. And tell you, softer than in silk, these tales ; 
Bas. Welcome should season all for taste. 

Cho. And hence, 

At every real banquet to the sense. 
Welcome, true welcome, fill the compliments. 

After tlie Banquet, 
The King a?id Queen being retired, loere enter- 
tained with a Dance of Mechanics. 

Enter Coronal Viteuvius speaking to some xoithout. 
Vit. Come forth, boldly put forth, in youx 
holiday clothes, every mother's son of you. 
This is the king and queen's majestical holiday. 
My lord has it granted from them ; I had it 
granted from my lord ; and do give it itnto you 
gratis, that is, bona fide, with the faith of a sur- 
veyor, your coronel Vitruvius. Do you know 
what a surveyor is now ? I tell you, a supervisor. 
A hard word that ; but it may be softened, and 
brought in, to signify something. An overseer ! 
one that overseeth you. A busy man ! and j'et 
I must seem busier than I am, as the poet sings, 
but which of them I will not now trouble my- 
self to tell you. 

Erdcr^ Captain Smith, {or Vulcan,) loith three 
Cyclops. 

Captain Smith ! or hammer armed Vulcan ! 



with your three sledges, you are our music, j'ou 
come a little too tardy, but we remit that to 
your polt-foot, we know you are lame. Plant 
yourselves there, and beat your time out at the 
anvil. Time and Measure are the father and 
mother of music, you know, and your coronel 
Vitruvius knows a little. 

Enter Chesil the carver ; Maul the free-mason ; 
Squire Summer the carpenter; Tavybil his man. 

Chesil, our curious carver ! and master Maul 
our free-mason ; squire Summer our carpenter 
and Twybil liis man ; stand you four there, in 
the second rank, work upon that ground. 

Enter Deessek the plumber ; Quaebel the glazier ; 
Fret the p)laisterer ; Beater mortar-man. 

And you, Dresser the plumber ; Quarrel the 
glazier ; Fret the plaisterer ; and Beater the 
mortar-man : put all you on in the rear ; as 
finishers in true footing, with tune and measure. 
Measure is the soul of a dance, and tune the 
tickle-foot thereof. Use holiday legs, and have 
'em ; spring, leap, caper, and gingie : pumps 
and ribands shall be your reward, till the soles 
of j'our feet swell with the surfeit of your light 
and nimble motion. [Here they began to dance, 
Well done, my musical, arithmetical, geomet- 
rical gamesters ; or rather my true mathemat- 
ical boys ! it is carried in number, weight, and 
measure, as if the airs were all harmony, and 
the figures a well-timed proportion ! I cry still, 
deserve holidays and have 'em. I'll have a 
whole quarter of the year cut out for you in 
holidays, and laced with statute-tunes and 
dances, fitted to the activity of your tressels, to 
which you shall trust, lads, in the name of your 
Iniquo Vitruvius, Hey for the Hly, for, and the 
blended rose ! 

Here the Dance ended, and the I!.Iechanics retired. 



The King and Queen had a second banquet 
set down before them from the clouds by two 
Loves, Eros and Anteros : one as the king's, 
the other as the queen's, differenced by their 
garlands only ; his of white and red roses, the 
other of Elies interweaved, gold, silver, purple, 
&c. with a bough of palm in his hand cleft a 
little at the top ; they were both armed and 
winged ; with tjows and quivers, cassocks, 
breeches, buskins, gloves and perukes alike. 
They stood silent a while, wondering at one 

783 



78^ 



LOVE'S WELCOME AT i30LS0VER. 



1 



another, till at last the lesser of them began to 



[Snatches at the 2Mlm. 



Er. Another Cupid ! 

An. Yes, your second self, 
A son of Venus, and as mere an elf 
And wag as ycu. 

Er. Eros? 

A7U No, Anteros : 
Your brother Cupid, yet not sent to cross. 
Or spy into vour favors here at court. 

Er. What" then? 

An. To serve you, brother, and report 
Your graces from the qiieen's side to the king 
In Avhose name I salute you. 

Er. Break my wings 
I fear you will. 

A7i. be not jealous, brother ! 
What bough is this ? 

Er. A palm. 

An. Give't me. 

Er. Another 
You may have. 

Ail. I will this. 

Er. Divide it. 

[lie divides it, and gives Axteros a part. 

An. So, [know 

This was right brother-like ! the world will 
By this one act, both natures. You are Love, 
I Love, again. In these two spheres we move, 
Eros and Anteros. 

Er. We have cleft the bough, 
And struck a tally of our loves too now. 

An. I call to mind the Avisdoni of our mother 
Venus, who would have Cupid have a brother — 

Er. To look upon and thrive. Me seems I grew 
Three inches higher since I met with you, 
It Avas the counsel that the oracle gave 
Y'our nurses, the glad Graces, sent to crave 
Themis' advice. You do not know, quoth she, 
The nature of this infant. Love may be 
Brought forth thus little, live a while alone, 
But ne'er will j^rosper, if he have not one 
Sent after him to pl»y with, such another 
As you are, Anteros, our loving brother. 

An. Who Avould be always planted in your 
For love by love incrcasoth mutually. [eye ; 

Er. We either, looking on each other, thrive. 

An. Shoot up, grow galliard 

Er. Yes, and more alive ! [less. 

An. When one's away, it seems we both are 

Er. I was a dwarf, an urchin, I confess, 
Till you were present. 

An. But a bird of wing, 
Now fit to fly before a queen or king. 

Er. I have not one sick feather since you came. 
But tvirn'd a jollier Cupid, 

An. Than I am. [vide 

Er. I love my mother's brain, could thus pro- 
For both in court, and give us each our side, 
Where we might meet. 

An. Embrace. 

Er. Circle each other. 

An. Confer and whisper. 

Er. Brother with a brother. 

An. And by this sweet contention for the palm, 
Unite our appetites, and make them calm. 

Er. To Avill, and nill one thing. 

An. And so to move 
Atfection in our wills, as in our love. 



Er. It is the place, sure, breeds it, where we 
are. 

An. The king and queen's court, which ia 
And perfect. Tcircular, 

Er. The pure school that we live in," 
And is of purer love, a discipline. 

Enter Piiilalethes. 

No more of your poetry, pretty Cupids, lest 
presuming on your little wits, you profane the 
intention of your service. The place, I confess, 
wherein (by the i^rovidence of your mother 
Venus) you are now planted, is the divine school 
of Love : an academy or coiirt, where all the 
true lessons of Love are tlioroughly read and 
taught. The reasons, the proportions and har- 
mony, drawn forth in analytic tables, and made 
demonstrable to the senses. Which if you, 
brethren, should report, and swear to, would 
hardly get credit above a fable, here, in the edge 
of Derbyshire, the region of ale, bccau.se you 
relate in rhyme. O that rhyme is a shrewd 
disease, and makes all suspected it would per- 
suade. Leave it, pretty Cupids, leave it. Ilhyme 
Avill undo you, and hinder your growth and 
reputation in cotxrt, more than any thing beside, 
you have either mentioned or feared. If you 
dabble in poetry once, it is done of your being 
believed or understood here. No man will trust 
you in this verge, but conclude you for a mere 
case of canters, or a pair of wandering gipsies. 

Return to yourselves, little deities, and ad- 
mire the miracles you serve, this excellent king 
and his unparalleled queen, who are the canons, 
the decretals, and whole school- divinity of Love. 
Contemplate and study them. Here shall you 
read Hymen, having lighted two torches, either 
of which inflame mutually, but waste not. One 
love by the other's aspect increasing, and both 
in the right lines of aspiring. The Fates spin- 
ning them round and even threads, and of their 
whitest Avool, without brack or purl. Fortune 
and Time fettered at their feet with adamantine 
chains, their wings deplumed, for starting from 
them. All amiableness in the richest dress of 
delight and colors courting the season to tarry 
by them, and make the idea of their felicity 
perfect ; together with the love, knowledge, and 
duty of their subjects perpetual. So wisheth 
the glad and grateful client, seated here, the over- 
joyed master of the house ; and prayeth that 
the whole region about him could speak but his 
language". Which is, that first the people's love 
would let that people know their own happiness, 
and that knowledge could confirm their duties 
to an admiration of your sacred persons ; de- 
scended, one from the most peaceful, the other 
the most warlike, both your pious and just pro- 
genitors : from Avhom, as out of peace, came 
strength, and " out of the strong came sweet- 
ness ; " so in you joined by holy marriage, in 
the flower and ripeness of years, live the promise 
of a numerous succession to your sceptres, and 
a strength to secure yo~ur own islands, with theii 
own ocean, but more your own palm-branches 
the types of perpetual victory. To which, two 
words be added, a zealous Amen, and ever 
rounded Avith a crown of Welcome. Welcome, 
Avelcome ! 



EPIGRAMS 



BOOK I. 
TJ THS GREAT EXAMPLE OF HONOR AND VIRTUE, THE MOST NOBI^ 

WIILLAM EARL OF PEMBROKE, 

LORD CHAMBERLAIN, ETC. 

]\It Lord, — Wliile you cannot change your merit, I dare not change your title : it wns that made it, and not I. Under 
Whictl name, I here offer to your lordship the ripest of my studies, my Epigrams ; which, though they carry danger in the 
sound, do not tlierefore seek your shelter ; for, wlien 1 made tliem, I had notliing in ray conscience, to expressing of 
which I did need a cypher. But, if I be fallen into tho.se times, wherein, for the likeness of vice, and facts, every one 
thinks another's ill deeds objected to him ; and that in their ignorant and guilty mouths, the common voice is, for their 
security. Beware the Port! confessing therein so much love to their diseases, as they would rather make a party for them, 
than be either rid, or told of them ; I must expect, at your Lordship's hand, the protection of truth and liberty, while yoii 
are constant to your own goodness. In thanks whereof, I return you the honor of leading forth so many good and great 
names (as my verses mention on the better part) to their remembrance with posterity. Amongst whom, if I have praised 
unfortunately any one that doth not deserve ; or, if all answer not, in all numbers, the pictures I have made ot them : [ 
hope it will be forgiven me, that they are no ill pieces, though they be not like the persons. But I foresee a nearer fate to 
my book than this, that the vices therein will be owned before the virtues, (though there I so have avoided all particulars, 
as I have done names,) and some will be so ready to discredit me, as they will liave the impudence to belie themselves : 
for if I meant them not, it is so. Nor can I hope otherwise. For why should they remit any thing of their riot, their 
pride, their self-love, and other inherent graces, to consider truth or virtue, but, with the trade of the world, lend their 
long ears against men they love not; and liold their dear mountebank or jester in far better condition than all the study, 
or studiers of humanity ? For such, I would rather know them by their visards still, than they should publish their faces, 
at their peril, in my theatre, where Cato, if ho lived, might enter witliout scandal. 

Your Lordship's most faithful honorer, Ben Jonsom. 



I. — TO THE READER. 

Pray thoc, take care, that tak'st my book iia 

hand. 
To read it well ; that is, to understand, 

II. — TO MY BOOK. 

It will be look'd for, Book, when some but see 
Thy title, Epigrams, and named of me, 
Thou shouldst be bold, licentious, full of gall, 
Wormwood, and sulphur, sharp, and tooth' d 

Avithal ; 
Become a petulent thing, hurl ink, and Avit, 
As madmen stones ; not caring whom they hit. 
Deceive their malice, who could wish it so ; 
And by thj'- wiser temper, let men know 
Thou art not covetous of least self-fame, 
Made from the hazard of another's shame ; 
Much less, with lewd, profane, and beastly 

phrase, 
To catch the world's loose laughter, or vain gaze. 
He that departs with his own honesty 
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy. 

III. — TO MY BOOKSELLER. 

Thou that mak'st gain thy end, and wisely well, 
Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell, 
Use mine so too ; I give thee leave : but crave, 
For the luck's sake, it thus much favor have, 
To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought ; 
Not offer' d, as it made suit to be bought ; 
Nor have my title-leaf on posts or walls. 
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls 
For termers, or some clerklike serving-man, 
Who scarce can spell th' hard names ; whose 
knight less can, 

50 



If, without these vile arts, it will not sell, 
Send it to Buckler's-bury. there 'twill well. 

IV. —TO king JAMES. 

How, best of kings, dost thou a sceptre bear ! 
How, best of poets, dost thou laurel wear ! 
But two things rare the Fates had in their store, 
And gave thee both, to sliew they could no more. 
For such a poet, while thy days were green, 
Thou wert, as chief of them are said t' have 

been. 
And such a prince thou art, we daily see, 
As chief of those stiU promise they will be. 
Whom should my muse then fly to, but the best 
Of kings, for grace ; of poets, for my test ? 

v. — ON THE union. 

AVhen was there contract better driven b}' Fate, 
Or celebrated with more truth of state .'' 
The world the temple was, the priest a king, 
The sj)oused pair two realms, the sea the ring. 

VI. — TO ALCHEMISTS. 

If all you boast of your great art be iTue ; 
Sure, Avilling poverty lives most in you. 

VII. — ON THE NEW H0T-H0T;SE. 

Where lately harbor'd many a famous whore, 
A purging bill, now fix'd upon the door, 
Tells you it is a hot-house ; so it may, 
And still be a whore-house : they're synonyma. 

VIII. — ON A ROBBERY. 

RiDWAY robb'd Duncote of three hundred 

pound, [die ; 

Ridway was ta'en, arraign'd, condemn' d. to 

785. 



786 



EPIGRAMS. 



But, for this money, Avas a courtier found, 
Bc^'cl Ridways's pardon : Duncote now doth 
cry, 

Robb'd both of money, and the law's relief, 
" The courtier is become the greater thief." 

IX. — TO ALL TO whom; I WRITE. 

May none whose scatter'd names honor my book, 
Por strict degrees of rank or title look : 
'Tis 'gainst the manners of an epigram; 
And I a poet here, no herald am. 

X. — TO JIY LORD IGNORANT. 

Thou call'st me poet, as a term of shame ; 
Hut I have my revenge made, in thy name. 

XI. — ON SOIIETHING, THAT WALKS 
SOJIEWIIERE. 

xVt court I met it, in clothes brave enough. 
To be a courtier ; and looks grave enough. 
To seem a statesman : as I near it came. 
It made me a great face ; I ask'd the name. 
A Lord, it cried, buried in flesh, and blood. 
And such from whom let no man hope least 
For I will do none ; and as little ill, [good. 

For I will dare none : Good Lord, walk dead 
still. 

XII. — ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT. 

Shift, here in town, not meanest amongst 

squires, 
That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and 

White-friars, 
Keeps himself, with half a man, and defrays 
The charge of that state, with this charm, god 

pays. 
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinlis, arrays 
Himself : his whole revenue is, god pays. 
The quarter-day is come ; the hostess says, 
8he must have money : he returns, god pays. 
The tailor brings a suit home : he it says, 
Look's o'er the bill, likes it : and says, god pays. 
He steals to ordinaries ; there he plays 
At dice his borrow'd money : which, god pays. 
Then takes up fresh commodities, for days ; 
Signs to new bonds ; forfeits ; and cries, god 

pays. 
Tliat lost, he keeps his chamber, reads essays, 
Takes physic, tears the papers : stiU god pays. 
Or else by Avater goes, and so to plays ; 
Calls for "his stool, adorns the stage : god pays. 
To every cause he meets, this voice he brays : 
His only answer is to all, god pays. 
Not his poor cockatrice but he betrays 
Thus ; and for his letchery, scores, god pays. 
But see ! the old bawd hath serv'd him in his 

trim, 
Lent him a pocky whore. — She hath paid him. 

XIII. — TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC. 

When men a dangerous disease did 'scape. 
Of old, they gave a cock to yEsculape : 
Let me give too, that doubly am got free ; 
From my disease's danger, and from thee. 

XIV. — TO WILLIAM CAMDE3 

Camden ! most reverend head, to whom I owe 
All that I am in arts, all that I know ; [owes, 
(How nothing's that :) to whom my country 
The great renown, and name wherewith she 
goes ! [grave, 

lliim thee the asie sees not that thing more 



More high, more holy, that she more woulJ 

crave. 
Vr'hat name, -what skill, Avhat faith hast thou in 

things ! 
What sight in searchmg tiie most antique 

springs ! 
What weight, and what authority in thy speech ! 
Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst 

teach. 
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, 
Which conquers all, be once o'ercotne by thee. 
Many of thine, this better could, than I ; 
But for their powers, accept my i^iety. 

XV ON COURT-WORM. 

All men are worms ; but this no man. In silk 
'Twas brought to court first wrapt, and whito 

as milk ; 
Where, afterwards, it grew a butterfly. 
Which was a caterpillar : so 'twill die. 

XVI. — TO brainiiardy. 
Hardy, thy brain is valiant, 'tis confest. 
Thou more ; that with it every day dar'st jest 
Thy self into fresh brawls : when, call'd upon, 
Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, oi 

one. 
So in short time, thou art in arrearage grown 
Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight 

none ; 
Nor need'st thou : for those few, by oath releast. 
Make good what thou dar'st do in all the rest- 
Keep thy self there, and think thy valor right , 
He that dares damn himself, dares more than 

light. 

XVII. — TO THE LEARNED CRITIC. 

May others fear, fly, and traduce thj- name, 

As guilty men do magistrates ; glad I, 
That AA'ish my poems a legitimate fame. 

Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censura 
hie. 
And but a sprig of bays, given by thoe. 
Shall outlive garlands, stol'n from the chaste 
tree. 

XVIII. — TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER. 

To thee, my way in epigrams seems new, 
When both it is the old way, and the true. 
Thou say'st, that cannot be ; for thou hast seen 
Davis, and Weevcr, and the best have been. 
And mine come nothing like. I hope so :' Yet, 
As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get. 
If thou'dst but use thy faith, as thou didst then , 
When thou wert wont t' admire, not censure 

men. 
Prithee believe still, and not judge so fast. 
Thy faith is all the knowledge that thou hast. 

XIX. — ON SIR COD THE PERFUMED. 

That CoD can get no widow, yet a knight, 

I scent the caxise : he wooes with an ill sprite. 

XX. —TO THE SAME. 

The exponso in odors, is a most vain sin. 
Except thou could'st, sir Cod, Avcar them within. 

XXI —ON REFORMED GAMESTER. 

Lord, how is Gamesteu chang'd ! his hair close 

cut, 
His neck fenced round with ruff", his eyes half 

shut ! 



EPIGRAMS. 



787 



His clothes t^^■^ fashions off, and poor ! his sword 
Forbid his side, and nothing, but the word, 
Quick in his Hps ! Who hath this wonder 

wrought ? 
The late ta'en bastinado. So I thought. 
What several ways men to their calling have ! 
The body's stripes, I see, the soul may save. 

XXII. — ox MY FIRST DAUGHTER. 

Here lies, to each her parents ruth, 

Maky, the daughter of their youth ; 

Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due. 

It makes the father less to rue. 

At six months end she parted hence 

With safety of her innocence ; [bears, 

Whose soul heaven's Queen, whose name she 

In comfort of her mother's tears. 

Hath placed amongst her virgin-train : 

WHiere while that, severed, doth remain, 

This grave partakes the fleshly birth ; 

Which cover lightly, gentle earth ! 

XXIII. — TO JOHN DONNE. 

DoNNE, the delight of Phmbus and each Muse, 
WHio, to thy one, all other brains refuse ; 
Whoso every work, of thy most early wit, 
Came forth example, and remains so, yet : 
Longer a kno^ving than most wits do live. 
And which no' afl'ection praise enough can give ! 
To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life, 
W^hich might with half mankind maintain a 

strife ; 
All which I meant to praise, and yot I would ; 
But leave, because I cannot as I should ! 

XXIV. — TO THE PARLIAMENT. 

There's reason good, that you good laws should 

make : 
Men's manners ne'er were viler, for your sake. 

XXV. — ON SIR VOLUPTUOUS BEAST. 

While Beast instructs his fair and innocent wife, 
In the past pleasures of his sensual life. 
Telling the motions of each petticoat. 
And how his Ganymede mov'd, and how his goat, 
And now her hourly her own cucquean makes, 
In varied shapes, which for his lust she takes : 
What doth he else, but say. Leave to be chaste, 
Just wife, and to change me, make woman's 
haste ! 

XXVI. —ON THE SAME. 

Than his chaste wife though Be.vst now know no 

more. 
He 'adulters still : his thoughts lie with a whore. 

XXVII. — ON SIR JOHN ROE. 

In place of scutcheons that should deck thy herse, 

Take better ornaments, my tears and verse. 

If any sword could save from Fates', Roe's could; 

If any Muse outlive their spight, his can ; 
If any friends' tears could restore, his would ; 

If any pious life ere lifted man 
To heaven ; his hath : O happy state ! Avherein 
We, sad for him, may glory, and not sin. 

XXVIII.— ON DON SURLY. 

Don SuRLY', to aspire the glorious name 
Of a great maii, and to bo thought the same. 
Makes serious use of all great trade he knows, 
He speaks to men with a rhinocerote's nose. 
Which he thinks great ; and so reads verses too : 



And that is done, as he saw great men do. 
He has tympanies of business in his face, 
And can forgot men's names, with a great grace. 
He will both argue, and discourse in oaths. 
Both which are great : and laugh at ill-made 

clothes ; 
That's greater, yet : to cry his own up neat. 
He doth at meals, alone, his pheasant eat, 
Wliich is main greatness ; and at his still board 
He drinks to no man : that's, too, like a lord. 
He keeps another's wife, which is a spice 
Of solemn greatness ; and he dares, at dice, 
Blaspheme God greatly ; or some poor hind beat, 
That breathes in his clog's way : and this is great. 
Nay more, for greatness sake, he will be one 
May hear my epigrams, but like of none. 
SuRLY% use other arts, these only can 
Style thee a most great fool, but no great man. 

XXIX. — TO SIR ANNUAL TILTER. 

TiLTEii, the most may admire thee, though not I; 
And thou, right guiltless, may'st plead to it, 

Why ? 
For thy late sharp device. I say 'tis fit 
All brains, at times of triumph, should run wit : 
For then our water-conduits do run wine ; 
But that's put in, thou'lt say. Why, so. is thine. 

XXX. — TO PERSON GUILTY. 

Guilty-, be wise ; and though thou kuow'st the 

crimes 
Be thine, I tax, yet do not own my rhymes : 
'Twere madness in thee, to betray thy famo 
And person to the world, ere I thy name. 

XXXL — ON BANKS THE USURER. 

Banks feel no lameness of his knotty gout. 
His monies travel for him in and out. 
And though the soundest legs go every daj',- 
He toils to be at hell, as soon as they. 

XXXII. — ON SIR JOHN ROE. 

What two braA'C perils of the fjrivate sword 

Could not effect, nor all the Furies do, 
That self- divided Belgia did afford ; 

What not the envy of the seas reach' d to. 
The cold of Mosco, and fat Irish air, 

His often change of clime, though not of mind. 
All could not work ; at home, in his repair, 

Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. 
Which shews, wherever death doth please t' 

appear, 
Seas, s6renes, swords, shot, sickness, all are there. 

XXXIIl. — TO THE SAME. 

I'll not offend thee w:ith a vain tear more. 
Glad-mention' d Roe ; thou art but gone before, 
Whither the world must follow : and I, now, 
Breathe to expect my When, and make my How. 
Which if most gracious heaven grant like thinej 
Who wets my grave, can be no friend of mine. 

XX.XIV OF DEATH. 

He that fears death, or mourns it, in the just. 
Shews of the Resurrection little trust. 

XXXV — TO KING JAMES. 

Who would not be thy subject, James, t' obey 
A prince that rules by' example, more than sway 
W^hose manners draw, more than thy powers 

constrain. 
And in this short time of thy happiest reign, 



4 



l^s 



EPIGRAMS. 



Hast purg'd thy realms, as we have now no cause 
Ijeft us of fear, but first our crimes, then laws. 
Like aids 'gainst treasons who hath found before, 
And than in them, how could we know God 

more ? 
First thou preserved wert our king to be ; 
And since, the whole land was preserv'd for thee. 

XXXVI. — TO THE GHOST OF MARTIAL. 

Martial, thou gav'st far nobler epigrams 

To thy DoMiTiAN, than I can my James ; 

But in my royal subject I pass thee, 

Thou flatter'dst thine, mine cannot flatter'd be. 

XXXVII. — ON ClIEVERIL THE LAWYER. 

No cause, nor client fat, will Ciieveril leese. 
But as they come, on both sides he takes fees, 
And pleascth both : for while he melts his 

grease. 
For this ; that wins, for whom he holds his peace. 

XXXVIII. — TO PERSON GUILTY. 

Guilty, because I bade you late be wise. 
And to conceal your ulcers, did advise, [fore 
You laugh when you are touch' d, and long be- 
Any man else, you clap your hands and roar. 
And cr J', good ! (jood ! this quite perverts my 

sense. 
And lies so far from wit, 'tis impudence. 
Believe it, Guilty, if you lose your shame, 
I'll lose my modesty, and tell your name. 

XXXIX. — ON OLD COLT. 

For all night-sins, with others wives unknown, 
Colt now doth daily penance in his own. 

XL. — ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE 

M arble, weep, for thou dost cover 

A dead beauty underneath thee, 

II ich as nature could bequeath thee : 

G rant then, no rude hand remove her. 

A 11 the gazers on the skies 

R cad not in fair heaven's storj', 

E xpresser truth, or truer glory, 

T han they might in her bright eyes. 

R are as wonder was her Avit ; 

A nd, like nectar, ever flowing : 

T ill time, strong by her bestowing, 

C onquer'd hath both life and it ; 

L ife, whose grief was out of fashion 

I n these times. Few so have rued 

F ate in a brother. To conclude, 

F or wit, feature, and true passion, 

E arth, thou hast not such another. 

XLL— ON GIPSY. 

Gipsy, new bawd, is turn'd physician, 

And gets more gold than all the college can : 

Such her quaint practice is, so it allures. 

For what she gave, a whore ; a bawd, she cures. 

XLIL — ON GILES AND JOAN. 

Who says that Giles and Joan at discord be ? 
Th' observing neighbors no such mood can see. 
Indeed, poor Giles repents he married ever ; 
But that his Joan doth too. And Giles Avould 
By his free-will, be in Joan's company : [never. 
No more would Joan he should. Giles riseth 

early, 
And having got him out of doors is glad ; 
The like is Joan : but turning home is sad ; 



And so is Joan. Oftimes when Giles doth fi}id 
Harsh sights at home, Giles wishcth he were 

blind ; 
All this doth Joan : or that his long-yearn'd lifb" 
"Were quite out-spun ; the like Avish hath his wife. 
The childi-en that he keeps, Giles swears are none 
Of his getting ; and so swears his Joan. 
In all affections she concurreth still. 
If now, with man and wife, to will and nill 
The self-same things, a note of concord be : 
I know no couple better can agree ! 

XLIII. — TO ROBERT EARL OF SALISBURY. 

What need hast thou of me, or of my muse, 

Whose actions so themselves do celebrate .'' 
Which should thy country's love to speak refuse, 

Her foes enough would fame thee in their hate. 
Tofore, great men Avcre glad of poets ; now, 

I, not the worst, am covetous of thee : 
Yet dare not to my thought least hope allow 

Of adding to thy fame ; thine may to me. 
When in my book men read but Cecil's name, 

And what I write thereof find far, and free 
From servile flattery, common poets' shame, 

As thou stand'st clear of the necessity. 

XLIV. — ON CUUFFE, BANKS THE USURER'S 
KINSMAN. 

Chuffe, lately rich in name, in chattels, goods, 

And rich in issue to inherit all. 

Ere blacks were bought for his own funeral. 
Saw all his race approach the blacker floods : 

He meant they thither should make swift re- 
pair. 
When he made him executor, might be heir. 

XLV. — ON MY FIRST SON. 

Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy 
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy i 
Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, 
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. 
O, could I lose all father, now ! for why. 
Will man lament the state he should envy !" 
To have so soon 'scaped world's, and flesh's rage, 
And, if no other misery, yet age ! 
Rest in soft peace, and ask'd, say here doth lio 
Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry : 
For whose sake henceforth all his a'ows be such. 
As what he loves may never like too much. 

XL VI TO SIR LUCKLESS WOO-ALL. 

Is this the sir, who, some waste wife to win, 
A knight-hood bought, to go a wooing in ? 
'Tis Luckless, he that took ujj one on band 
To pay at's day of marriage. By my hand 
The knight-wright's cheated then ! he'll never 

pay: 
Yes, now he Avears his knighthood every day. 

XLVII. — TO THE SAME. 

Sir Luckless, troth, for luck's sake j^ass by one ; 
He that Avooes every Avidow, Avill get none. 

XLVIII. — ON MUNGRIL ESQUIRE. 

His bought arms Mung' not Hived ; for his first 

day 
Of bearing them in field, he threw 'em aAvay : 
And hath no honor lost, our duellists say. 

XLIX. — TO PLAYWRIGHT. 

Playaa'Bight me reads, and still my verses damns, 
He says I Avant the tongue of epigrams ; 



EPIGRAMS. 



iSd 



1 have no salt, no bawdry he doth mean ; 
For witty, in his langua^^e, is obscene. 
Playwright, I loath to have thy manners known 
In my chaste book ; I profess them in thine own. 

li. — TO SIR COD. 

Leave, Cod, tobacco-like, burnt gums to take. 
Or fumy clysters, thy moist lungs to bake : 
Arsenic would thee fit for society make. 

LI. — TO KING JAMES, 

Upon (he happy false rumor of his death, the tioo 
and ticeiitieth day of March, 1606. 

That we thy loss might know, and thou our 
love, [wing ; 

Great heaven did well to give ill fame free 
Which though it did but panic terror prove, 

And far beneath least pause of such a king ; 
Yet give thy jealous subjects leave to doubt, 

Who this thy scape from rumor gratulate, 
No less than if from peril ; and devout. 

Do beg thy care unto thy after-state. 
For we, that have our eyes stQl in our ears. 
Look not upon thy dangers, but our fears. 

LII. — TO CENSORIOUS COURTLING. 

CouRTLiNG, I rather thou should'st utterly 
Dispraise my work, than praise it frostily : 
When I am read, thou feign'st a weak applause. 
As if thou wert my friend, but lack'dst a cause. 
This but thy judgment fools : the other way 
Would both thy folly and thy spite betray. 

LIII. — TO OI.DEKD GATHERER. 

Long-gathering Oldend, I did fear thee wise, 
When having pill'd a book which no man buys, 
Thou wert content the author's name to lose ; 
But when, in place, thou didst the patron's 

choose, 
It was as if thou printed hadst an oath, 
To give the world assurance thou wert both ; 
And that, as puritans at baptism do. 
Thou art the father, and the witness too. 
For, but thyself, where, out of motley, 's he 
Could save that line to dedicate to thee ? 

LIV. — ON CHEVERIL. 

Cheveril cries out my verses libels are ; 
And threatens the Star-chamber, and the Bar. 
What are thy petulant pleadings, Cheveril, then. 
That quit'st the cause so oft, and rail'st at men ? 

LV.— TO FRANCIS BEAUMONT. 

How I do love thee, Beaujiont, and thy Muse, 
That unto me dost such religion use ! 
How I do fear myself, that am not worth 
The least indulgent thought thy pen drops 

forth ! 
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st ; 
And giving largely to me, more thou tak'st ! 
What fate is mine, that so itself bereaves ? 
What art is thine, that so thy friend deceives ? 
When even there, where most thou praisest me, 
For writing better, I must envy thee. 

Lvi. — ON poet-ape. 

Poor Poet ape, that worild be thought our 

chief. 

Whose works are e'en the frippery of wit, 

From brokage is become so bold a thief, 

As we, the robb'd, leave rage, and pity it. 



At first he made low shifts, would pick and 
glean. 
Buy the reversion of old plays ; now grown 
To a little wealth, and credit in the scene. 
He takes up all, makes each man's wit hia 
own : [crimes 

And, told of this, he slights it. Tut, such 

The sluggish gaping auditor devours ; 
He marks not whose 'twas first : and after- 
times 
May judge it to be his, as well as ours. 
Fool ! as if half eyes v^ill not know a fleece 
From locks of wool, or shreds from the whole 
piece? 

Lvii. — ON bawds and usurers. 
If, as their ends, their fruits were so, the same, 
Bawdry and Usury Avere one kind of game. 

LVIII. — TO GROOM IDIOT. 

Idiot, last night, I pray'd thee but forbear 
To read my verses ; now I must to hear : 
For offering with thy smiles my Avit to grace, 
Thy ignorance still laughs in the wrong place. 
And so my sharpness thou no less disjoints. 
Than thou didst late my sense, losing my points. 
So have I seen, at Christmas-sports, one lost, 
And hood-wink' d, for a man embrace a post. 

LIX. — ON SPIES. 

Spies, you are lights in state, but of base stuff, 
Wiro, when you've burnt yourselves down to the 

snuff. 
Stink, and are thrown away. End fair enough 

LX.— TO WILLIAM LORD MOUNTEASLE. 

Lo, what my country should have done (have 

An obelisk, or column to thy name, [raised 
Or, if she Avould but modestly have praised 

Thy fact, in brass or marble writ the same) 
I, that am glad of thy great chance, here do ! 

And proud, my works shall out-last common 
deeds. 
Durst think it great, and worthy wonder too. 

But thine, for which I do't, so much exceeds ! 
My country's parents I have many known ; 
But, saver of my country, thee alone. 

LXI. — TO FOOL, OR KNAVE. 

Thy praise or dispraise is to me alike ; 

One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike. 

LXII. — TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE. 

Fine madam Would-be, wherefore should yon 
That love to make so well, a child to bear ? [fear, 
Thew'orld reputes you barren : but I know 
Your pothecary, and his drug, says no. 
Is it the pain affrights ? that's soon forgot. 
Or your complexion's loss ? you have a pot, 
That can restore that. Will it hurt your fea- 
ture ? [creature. 
To malce amends, you are thought a wholesome 
What should the cause be ? oh, you live at 

court ; 
And there's both loss of time, and loss of sport. 
In a great belly : Write then on thy womb, 
" Of the not born, yet buried, here's the tomb.'' 

LXIII. — TO ROBERT EARL OF SALISBURX 

Who can consider thy right courses run, 
With what thy virtue on the times hath won 
And not thy fortune ? who can clearly sea 



790 



EPIGRAMS. 



The judgment of the king so shine in thee ; 
And that thou seek'st reward of thy each act, 
Not from the pubhc voice, but private fact ? 
Who can behold all envy so declined 
By constant suffering of thy equal mind ; 
And can to these be silent, Salisbuey, 
Without his, thine, and all time's injury? 
Curst be his Muse, that could lie dumb, or hid 
To so true worth, though thou thyself forbid. 

LxiT. — TO thi: same, upon the accession of 

THE TREASURERSIIIP TO HIM. 

Xot glad, like those that have new hopes, or 

suits, 
With thy new place, bring I these early fruits 
Of love, and, what the golden age did hold 
A treasure, art; contemn'd in the age of gold. 
Nor glad as those, that old dependents be. 
To see thy father's rites new laid on thee. 
Nor glad for fashion ; nor to shew a fit 
Of flattery to thy titles ; nor of wit. 
But I am glad to see that time survive, 
Where merit is not scpulcher'd alive ; 
Where good men's virtues them to honors 

bring, 
And not to dangers : when so wise a king 
Contends to have worth cnjoj', from his regard. 
As her own conscience, still, the same reward. 
These, noblest Cecil, labor'd in my thought, 
Wherein what wonder see thy name hath 

wrought ! 
That whilst I meant but thine to gratulate, 
I have sung the greater fortunes of our state. 

LXV. — TO MY MUSE. 

Away, and leave me, thou thing most abhorr'd, 
That hast betray'd me to a worthless lord ; 
Made me commit most fierce idolatry 
To a great image through thy luxury : 
Be thy next master's more unlucky muse, 
And, as thou'st mine, his hours and youth 
abuse, [wiU ; 

Get him the time's long grudge, the court's ill 
And reconcil'd, keep him suspected still. 
Make him lose all his friends ; and, which is 
Almost all ways to any better course. [worse. 
With me thou leav'st an happier muse than thee, 
And which thou brought'st me, welcome pov- 
erty : 
She shall instruct ray after-thoughts to write 
Things manly, and not smelling parasite. 
But I repent me : stay — Whoe'er is raised, 
For worth he has not, he is tax'd not praised. 

LXVI. — TO SIR HENRY CARY. 

That neither fame, nor love might wanting be 
To greatness, Cahy, I sing that and thee ; 
Whose house, if it no other honor had. 
In only thee, might be both great and glad : 
AVho, to upbraid the sloth of this our time. 
Durst valor make, almost, but not a crime. 
Which deed I know not, whether were more 
Or, thou more happy, it to justify [high, 

Against thy fortune ; when no foe, that day, 
Could conquer thee, but chance, who did be- 
tray. 
Love thy great loss, which a renown hath won, 
To live when Brocek not stands, nor lloor doth 
Love honors, which of best example be, [run : 
When they cost dearest, and are done most free. 



Though every fortitude deserves applause, 

It may be much, or little, in the cause. 

He'st valiant'st, that dares fight, and not foi 

pay; 

That virtuous is, when the reward's awa}'. 

LXVII.— TO THOMAS EARL OF SUFFOLK. 

Since men have left to do praiseworthy things, 
Most think all praises flatteries : but truth 

brings 
That sound and that authority with her name. 
As, to be raised by her, is only fame. 
Stand high, then, Howard, high in eyes of men, 
High in thy blood, thy place ; but highest then, 
AVhen, in men's wishes, so thy virtues wrought, 
As all thy honors were by them first sought : 
And thou design'd to be the same thou art. 
Before thou Avert it, in each good man's heart : 
Which, by no less confirmed, than thy king's 

choice, [voice. 

Proves that is God's, which was the people's 

LXVIII.— ON PLAYWRIGHT. 

Playwright convict of public wrongs to men, 
Takes private beatings, and begins again. 
Two kinds of valor he doth shew at once ; 
Active in 's brain, and passive in his bones. 

LXIX. — TO PERTINAX COB. 

Cob, thou nor soldier, thief, nor fencer art, 
Yet by thy weapon liv'st ! thou hast one good 
part. 

LXX. — TO WILLIAM ROE. 

When nature bids iis leave to live, 'tis late 
Tlien to begin, my Rok ! Ho makes a state 
In life, that can employ it ; and takes hold 
On the true causes, ere they grow to old. 
Delay is bad, doubt worse, depending worst ; 
Each best day of our life escajjes us, first : 
Then, since wc, more than many, these truths 

know ; 
Though life be short, let us not make it so. 

LXXI. — ON COURT PARROT. 

To pluck down mine. Poll sets up new Avits 

still ; 
Still 'tis his luck to praise me 'gainst his Avill. 

LXXII. — TO COURTLING. 

I grieve not, Courtling, thou art started up 
A chamber-critic, and doth dine, and sup 
At madam's table, Avhere thou mak'st all wit 
Go higb, or low, as thou Avilt value it. 
'Tis not thy judgment breeds thy prejudice, 
Tliy person only, Courtling, is tlie vice. 

LXXIII TO FINE GRAND. 

What is't. Fine Grand, makes thee my friend- 
Or take an Epigram so fearfully, [ship fly, 

As 'twere a challenge, or a borrower's letter ? 
The world must know your greatness is my 

debtor. 
Lnprimis, Grand, you owe me for a jest 
I lent you, on mere acquaintance, at a feaat. 
If em, a tale or two some fortnight after. 
That yet maintains you, and your house in 
Item, the Babylonian song you sing; [laughter, 
Item, a fair Greek poesy for a ring. 
With Avhich a learned madam you bely. 
Item, a charm surrounding fearfully 
Your 2^ci>'tie-per-2Mle picture, one half drawn 



EPIGRAMS. 



'791 



Tn solemn cypress, tli' other cobweb lawn. 
Item, a gulling imprese for you, at tilt. 
Ttejn, your mistress' anagram, in your hilt. 
Jton, your own, sew'd in your mistress' smock. 
Item, an epitaph on my lord's cock. 
In most vile verses, and cost me more pain, 
Than had I made 'em good, to fit your vein. 
Forty things more, dear Grand, which 3-ou 

know true, 
For which, or pay me quickly, or I'll pay you. 

r.XXIV. — TO TIIOJIAS LORD CHANCELIiOR EGERTOJf. 

Whilst thy weigh'd judgments, Egerto^t, I 

hear, 
And know thee tlion a judge, not of one year ; 
Whilst I behold thee live with purest hands ; 
Tliat no affection in thy voice commands ; 
That still thon'rt present to the better cause ; 
And no less ■\^•i30 than skilful in the laws ; 
Whilst thou art certain to thy words,once gone, 
As is thy conscience, which is always one : 
The Virgin, long since fled from earth, I see. 
To our times return'd, hath made her heaven 

in thee. 

LXXV. — ON LIPPE THE TEACHER. 

I cannot think there's that antipathy 
'Twixt puritans and players, as some cry ; 
Though LipPE, at Paul's, ran from his text away. 
To inveigh 'gainst plavs, vidiat did he then but 
play? 

LXXVI. — ON LUCY, COUKTESS OF EEDPORD. 

This morning, timely rapt with holy fire, 

I thought to form unto my zealous Muse, 
What kind of creature I could most desire. 

To honor, serve, and love ; as poets use. 
I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise. 

Of greatest blood, and yet more good than 
great ; 
I meant the daj'-star should not brighter rise, 

Nor lend like influence from his lucent scat. 
I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, 

Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride ; 
I meant each softest virtue there should meet, 

Fit in that softer bosom to reside. 
Only a learned, and a manly soul [ers, 

I purposed her ; that should, with even pow- 
Tho rock, the spindle, and the sheers control 

Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. 
Such when I meant to feign, and wish'd to see. 
My Muse bade, Bedford write, and that was 
she! 

LXXVII. — TO OXE THAT DESIRED JIE KOT TO NAME 
HIM. 

Be safe, nor fear thyself so good a fame, 
That, any way, my book shoiild speak thy name : 
For, it' thou shame, rank'd with my friends, to go, 
I'm more ashamed to have thee thought my foe. 

LXXVIII. — TO HORNET. 

Hornet, thou hast thy wife drest for the stall. 
To draw thee custom : but herself gets all. 

LXXIX. — TO ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF 

RUTLAND. 

That poets are far rarer births than kings, 
Your noblest father proved ; like whom, before, 

Or then, or since, about our Muses' springs. 
Came not that soul exhausted so their store. 

Hence was it, that the Destinies decreed 



(Save that most masculine issue of his brain^ 
No male unto him ; who could so exceed 

Nature, they thought, in aU that he would 
feign, 
At which, she happily displeased, made you : 

On whom, if he were living now, to look, 
He should those rare, and absolute numbers view, 

As he would burn, or better far his book. 

LXXX. — OF LIFE AND DEATH. 

The ports of death are sins ; of life, good deeds ; 
Through which our merit leads us to oiw meeds 
How wilful blind is ho, then, that Avould stray 
And hath it, in his powers, to make his \vay ! 
This world death's region is, frhe other life's ; 
And here, it should be one of our first strifes, 
So to front death, as men might judge us past it , 
For good men but see death, the wicked taste it 

LXXXt. — TO PROWLE, THE PLAGIARY. 

Forbear to tempt me, Prowle, I will not show 
A line unto thee, till the world it know ; 
Or that I've by two good sufficient men, 
To be the wealthy witness of my pen : [do. 

For all thou hear'st, thou swear' st thyself didst 
Thy wit lives by it, Prowle, and belly too. 
Which, if thou leave not soon, though I am loth, 
I must a libel make, and cozen both. 

LXXXII. — ON CASHIERED CAPTAIN SURLY. 

Suuly's old whore in her new silks doth swim : 
He east, yet keeps her well ! No ; she keeps him. 

LXXXIII. — TO A FRIEND. 

To put out the word, whore, thou dost me woo, 
Throughout my book. Troth, put out woman 
too. 

LXXXIV. — TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

Madam, I told you late, how I repented. 

I ask'd a lord a buck, and he denied me ; 
And, ere I could ask you, I was prevented : 

For your most noble offer had supplied me. 
Straig'nt went I home ; and there, most like a 
poet, 
I fancied to myself, what wine, what wit 
I would have spent ; how every muse should 
know it. 
And Phoebus' self should be at eating it. 
O, madam, if your grant did thus transfer me, 
]SIake it your gift ! See whither that Avill bear 
me. 

LXXXV TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE. 

GooDY'ERE, I am glad, and grateful to report, 
IMyself a ^^itnes3 of thy few days sport ; 
Where I both learn' d, why wise men hawking 

follow, 
And why that bird was sacred to Apollo : 
She doth instruct men by her gallant flight. 
That they to knowledge so should tower upright. 
And never stoop, but to strike ignorance ; 
Which if they miss, yet they should re-advance 
To former height, and there in circle tarry, 
TiU they be sure to make the fool their quarry. 
Now, in whose pleasures I have this discerned. 
What would his serious actions me have learned J 

LXXXVI.— TO THE SAME. 

When I would know thee, Goodyef.e, my 

thought looks 
Upon thy well-made choice of friends, and. 

books ; 



792 



EPIGRAMS. 



Then do I Jove thee, and behold thy ends 

In makinjj thy friends books, and thy books 

friends : 
Now I must give thy life and deed, the voice 
Attendinp: such a study, such a choice ; [move. 
Where, thougli't be love that to praise doth 
It was a knowledge that begat that love. 

LXXXVII.— ON CAPTAIN HAZARD, THE CHEATER. 

Touch'd with the sin of false play in his punk, 
Hazard a month forsAvore liis, and grew drunk, 
Each night, to drown his cares ; but when the 
gain [his brain. 

Of what she had v.Tought came in, and waked 
Upon the accompt, hers grew the quicker trade ; 
Since Avhcn he's sober again, and all play's made. 

LXXXVIII.— ON ENGLISH MONSIEUR. 

Would you believe, when you this Monsieur see. 
That his whole body should speak French, not 

he r [feather, 

That so much scarf of France, and hat, and 
And shoe, and tye, and garter, should come 

hither. 
And land on one whose face durst never be 
Toward the sea, further than half-way tree ? 
That ho, untravoU'd, should be French so much. 
As Frenchmen in his company should seem 

Dutch ! 
Or had his father, when he did him get, 
The French disease, with which he labors yet ? 
Or hung some Monsieur's picture on the wall, 
By which his dam conceived him, clothes and 

all? 
Or is it some French statue ? no : 't doth move, 
And stoop, and cringe. O then, it needs must 

prove 
The new French tailor's motion, monthly made, 
Daily to turn in Paul's, and help the trade. 

LXXXIX. — TO EDWARD ALLEN. 

If Rome so great, and in her Avisest age, 
Fear'd not to boast the glories of her stage. 
As skilful Roscius, and grave ^sop, men. 
Yet crown'd with honors, as with riches, then : 
Who had no less a trumpet of their name. 
Than Cicero, whose every breath was fame : 
How can so great example die in me. 
That, Allen, I should pause to publish thee ? 
Who both their graces in thyself hast more 
Out-stript, than they did all that wont before : 
And present worth in all dost so contract. 
As others speak, but only thou dost act. 
Wear this renown. 'Tis'just, that who did give 
So many poets life, by one should live. 

XC— ON MILL, JIY LADY'S WOMAN. 

When IMiLL first came to court, th' unprofiting 
Unworthy such a mistress, such a school, [fool^ 
Was dull, and long ere she would go to man : 
At last, ease, appetite, and example wan 
The nicer thing to taste her lady's page ; 
And, finding good security in his age^ 
Wen', on : and proving him still day bv dav, 
Uiscern'd no difi'erence of his years, or" play. 
Not though that hair grew brown, which once 

was amber, [chamber ; 

^X ^?:,p'°^^'^ yo^ith, was call'd to his lady's 
still Mill contmued : nay, his face growing 

worse, ° 

A-nd he removed *o gentleman of the horse, 



Mill was the same. Since, both his body ami 

face 
Blown up ; and he (too unwieldy for that place] 
Hath got the steward's chair ; lie will not tarry 
Longer a day, but with his Mill will marry : 
And it is hop'd, that she, Uke Milo, wuU 
First bearing him a calf, bear him a bull. 

XCI. — TO SIR HORACE VERE. 

Which of thy names I take, not only bears 
A Roman sound, but Roman virtue wears, 
Illustrious Vere, or Horace : fit to be 
Sung by a Horace, or a Muse as free ; 
"Wliich thou art to thyself: whose fame was won 
In the eye of Europe, where thy deeds were 

done. 
When on thy trumpet she did sound a blast, 
AVhose relish to eternity shall last. 
I leave thy acts, which should I prosecute 
Throughout, might flattery seem ; and to be 

mute 
To any one, were envy ; -which would live 
Against my grave, and time could not forgive. 
I speak thy other graces, not less shown, 
Nor less in practice ; but less mark'd, less kno-\\-n • 
Humanity, and piety, which are 
As noble in great chiefs, as they are rare ; 
And best become the valiant man to wear. 
Who more should seek men's reverence, than 
fear. 



Xcn. — THE NEW CRY. 

Ere cherries ripe ! and strawberries ! be gone ; 
Unto the cries op London I'll add one. 
Ripe statesmen, ripe ! they grow in everv street ; 
At six and twenty, ripe. "You shall them meet, 
And have them yield no savor, but of state. 
Ripe are their ruffs, their cuffs, their beards, 

their gait, 
And grave as ripe, like mellow as their faces. 
They know the states of Christendom, not the 
places; ■ [too, 

Yet they have seen the maps, and bought 'era 
And understand them, as most chapmen do. 
The councils, projects, practices they know, 
And what each prince doth for intelligence owe. 
And* unto whom ; they are the almanacks. 
For twelve years yet to come, what each state 
They carry in their pockets Tacitus, [lacks 

And the Gazetti, or Gallo-Bclgicus ; 
And talk reserv'd, lock'd up, and full of fear. 
Nay, ask you, how the day goes, in your ear ; 
Keep a Star-chamber sentence close twelve days, 
And whisper what a Proclamation says. 
They meet in sixes, and at every mart. 
Are sure to con the catalogue by heart ; 
Or every day, some one at Rimee's looks, 
Or Bill's and there he buys the names of oooks. 
They all get Porta, for the sundry ways 
To write in cipher, and the several keys, 
Toope the character; they've found the slight 
With juice of limons, onions, piss, to write ; 
To break up seals, and close them : and thej 

know, 
If^ the States make [not] peace, how it will go 
With England. All forbidden books they get, 
And of the powder-plot, they will talk yet : 
At naming the French king their heads they 

shake, 
And at the pope and Spain slight faces make : 



EPIGRAMS. 



793 



Or 'gainst the bishoi)s, for the brethren rail, 
Much like those brethren ; thinking to prevail 
With ignorance on us, as they have done 
On them : and therefore do not only shun 
Others more modest, but contemn us too, 
That know not so much state, wrong, as they do. 

XCni.— TO SIR JOHN EADCLIFFE. 

How like a column, IIadcliffe, left alone 
For the great mark of virtue, those being gone, 
Who did, alilvc with thee, thy house up-bear, 
Stand'st thou, to shew the times what j'ou all 
Two bravely in the battle fell and died, [were ? 
Upbraiding rebels' arms, and barbarous pride : 
And two that would have fall'n as great as they, 
The Belgic fever ravished away. 
Thou, that art all their valor, all their spirit, 
And thine own goodness to encrease thy merit, 
Than Avhose I do not know a whiter soul, 
Nor could I, had I seen all nature's roll, 
Thou yet remain'st, unhurt in peace or war, 
Though not unprov'd ; which shows thy fortunes 
Willing to expiate the fault in thee, [are 

Wherewith, against thy blood, they 'offenders 
be. 

XCIV — TO LUCY COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH 
MASTER DONNE'S SATIRES. 

Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are, 
Life of the Muses' day, their morning star ! 
If works, not authors, their own grace should 

look, 
"Wliose poems would not wish to be your book ? 
But these, desired bj' you, the maker's ends 
Crown with their own : Rare poems ask rare 

friends. 
Yet satires, since the most of mankind be 
Their unavoided subject, fewest see ; 
For noire e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense, 
But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence. 
They then, that living where the matter's bred. 
Dare for these poems yet both ask, and read, 
And like them too ; must needfully, though few. 
Be of the best, and 'mongst those best are j'ou, 
Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are 
The Muses' evening, as their morning star ! 

XCV.— TO SIR HENRY SAVILE. 

If, my religion safe, I durst embrace 

That stranger doctrine of P5'thagoras, 

I should believe the soul of Tacitus 

In thee, most weighty Savile lived to us : 

So hast thou render'd him in all his bounds, 

And all his numbers, both of sense and sounds. 

But when I read that special piece restored. 

Where Nero falls, and Galba is adored. 

To thine oAvn proper I ascribe then more, 

And gratulato the breach I griev'd before ; 

Which fate, it seems, caus'd in the history. 

Only to boast thy merit in supply. 

O, would'st thou add like hand to all the rest ! 

Or, better work ! v/ere thy glad country blest, 

To have her story woven in thy thread : 

Minerva's loom was never richer spread. 

For who can master those great parts like thee. 

That liv'st from hope, from fear, from faction 

fi-ee? 
riiou hast thy breast so clear of present crimes. 
Thou need'st not shrink at voice of after-times ; 
Wliose knowledge claimeth at the helm to stand ; 



But wisely thrusts not forth a forward hand, 
No more than Sallust in the Roman state : 
As then his cause, his glory emulate. 
Although to Avrite be lesser than to do, 
It is the next deed, and a great one too. 
We need a man that knows the several graces 
Of history, and how to apt their places ; 
Where brevity, where splendor, and where 

height. 
Where sweetness is required, and where weight , 
We need a man can speak of the intents. 
The councils, actions, orders, and events 
Of state, and censure them ; we need his pen 
Can write the things, the causes, and the men : 
But most we need his faith (and all have you,") 
That dares not write tilings false, nor hide things 

true. 

XCVI. — TO JOHN DONNE. 

Who shall doubt, Donne, where I a poet be, 
When I dare send my Epigrams to thee ? 
That so alone canst judge, so alone dost make : 
And in thy censures, evenly, dost take 
As free simplicity, to disavow, 
As thou hast best authority t' allow. 
Read all I send ; and if I find but one 
Mark'd by thy hand, and with the better stone, 
My title's seal'd. Those that for claps do write, 
Let pui'nees', porters', players' praise delight, 
And till they burst their backs, like asses, load : 
A man should seek great glory, and not broad. 

XCVII ON THE NEW MOTION. 

See you yond' motion ? not the old fa-ding. 
Nor captain Pod, nor yet the Eltham thing ; 
But one more rare, and in the case so new : 
His cloak with orient velvet quite lined through ; 
His rosy ties and garters so o'erblown. 
By his each glorious parcel to be known ! 
He wont was to encounter me aloud, 
Whcrc-e'er he met me, now he's dumb, or proud. 
Know you the cause ? he has neither land nor 

lease, 
Nor bawdy stock that travels for increase, 
Nor office in the town, nor place in court. 
Nor 'bout the bears, nor noise to make lords 

sport. 
He is no favorite's favorite, no dear trust 
Of any madam, hath need o' squires, and must. 
Nor did the king of Denmark him salute, 
When he was here ; nor hath he got a suit, 
Since he Avas gone, more than the one he wears, 
Nor are the queen's most honor' d maids by th' 

ears 
About his form. What then so swells each limb ? 
Only his clothes have over-leaven'd him. 

XCVIIl. — TO SIR THOMAS ROE. 

Thou hast begun well. Roe, Avhich stand well to, 
And I know nothing- more thou hast to do. 
He that is round Avithin himself, and straight, 
Need seek no other strength, no other height ; 
Fortune upon him breaks herself, if ill, 
And Avhat Avould hurt his virtue, makes it still. 
That thou at once then nobly niaj^'st defend 
With thine OAvn course the judgment of thy 

friend, 
Be ahvays to thy gather'd self the same ; 
And study conscience more than thou would'st 

fame. 



7U 



EPIGllAMS. 



Thoui^h both bo ijood. the Inttor yet is ^vorst, 
And cvor is ill got wltliout tlio iirst. 

XOIS. — TO THE SAME. 

That tho\i li!\st kept thy love, cncrcasM thy will, 
BetterM thy tiust to kntcvs ; that thy skill ; 
llast taiiiiht thyself worthy thy poiv to tread, 
And that to write thini;s worthy to be I'oad ; 
How imu'h ot" !:;reat exanii>lo wort thoti, KoK, 
[f time to facts, as unto men would owe ? 
Hut nuieh it now avails, what's done, of whom : 
The self-same deeds, as diversely they come, 
From jdace or fortune, are made his^h or low, 
A,nd e'en the praisor's juduinient sntfers so. 
Well, thoun'h thy name less than our great 

ones bo. 
Thy fact is more : let truth encourage thee. 

C. — ON riiAVWIlIOHT. 

I'L.vYWiuauT, by chance, hearing somo toys I'd 

writ, 
Cry'd to my face, they were th* elixir of wit : 
And I must now believe him ; for to-day, 
Five oF my jests, then stolen, past him a play. 

n. — INVlTlNa A FKIEND TO suprEn. 
To-night, grave sir, both my poor house and I 
Do cijually desire your company : 
Not that we think us wortliy such a guest, 
But that your worth will dignify our feast. 
With those that come ; whoso grace may make 

that seem 
Something, which else would hope for no esteem. 
Ic is the fair acco]itanco, sir, creates 
The entertainment perfect, not the catcs. 
Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate, 
An olive, capers, or some better sallad 
Ushering the mutton : with a short-legg'd hen. 
If wo can get her full of eg:;s, and tlien, 
Limons, and wine for sauce : to these, a coney 
Is not to bo despair'd of for our money ; 
And though fowl now bo scarce, yet there are 

clerks. 
The sky not falling, think we may have larks. 
I'll tell you of nmrc, and lie, so you Avill come : 
Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some 
May yet bo there ; and godwit if we can ; 
Knat, rail, and rutf too. Ilowsoe'er, my man 
Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus, 
liivy, or of some better book to us, [meat ; 

Of ■\v3\ich we'll speak our minds, amidst our 
And I'll profess no verses to repent : 
To this if ought appear, which I not know of. 
That will the jKistry, not my paper, show of. 
Digestive choose, and fruit there sure will .be ; 
Hut that \\luch n^ost dotli take my muse and me, 
Is a pui-c cup of ricli C'aivu-y wine, 
Which is the ^lormaid's now, but shall be ralnc : 
Of which had Horace or Anacreon tasted. 
Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted. 
Tobacco, nectar, or the Thc;-pian spring. 
Are all but Ijut Ivor's beer, to tiiis I sii-ig. 
Of this we will sup free, but inoderutely, 
And we will have no Pooly', or Parrot by ; 
Nor shall our cups make any guilty men'. 
But at our parting, wo will be, as when 
We innocently met. Xo simple word. 
That shall be iitter'd at our mirthful board, 
Shall nu\ko us sad next nuirning ; or affright 
The liberty, that we'll enjoy to-night. 



(11. — TO WILLIAM EAKL OF rKMHTlOKr. 

I do but name thee, Pemruokk, and I find 
It is an ei)igrani on all mankind ; 
Against the bad, but of, and to the good : 
])oth which are ask'd, to have theo understood. 
Nor could the age have miss'd thee, in this strife 
Of vice and virtue, wherein all great life 
Almost is exercised ; and scarce one knows, 
To which, yet, of the sides himself ho owes 
They follow virtue for reward to-day ; 
To-morrow vice, if she give better pay : 
And are so good, and bad, just at a price. 
As nothing else discerns the virtue' or vice. 
But thou, whose noblesse keeps one stature still, 
And one true ]iosturo, though besciged with ill 
Of what ambition, faction, pride can raise ; 
Whose life, even they that envy it, must praise ; 
That art so reverenced, as thy coining in, 
But in the view, doth interrupt tlu ir sin ; 
Thou must draw more : and they that hope to seo 
The commonwealth still safe, must study thee. 

cut. — TO MARY LADY WROTH. 

llow well, fair crown of your fair sex, might ho 
That but the twilight of your sprite did sec 
And noted for what llesh such souls wore iram'd. 
Know you to be a Sidney, though unnam'd ? 
And being nam'd, how little doth that name 
Need any nuiso's praise to give it fame ? 
Which is itself the imprese of the great, 
And glory of them all, but to repeat ! 
Forgive n;e then, if mine but say you arc 
A Sidney ; bxit in that extend as far 
As loudest praisers, who perhaps would find 
For every part a character assign'd : 
My praise is jilain, and wheresoo'er profost, 
Becomes none more than you, who need it; least, 

CIV. — TO SUSAN COUXTESS OF MONTQOMEUY. 

Were they that nam'd you prophets ? ditl they 

see, 
Even in the dew- of grace, what you would be ? 
Or did our times rec^uire it, to behold 
A new Sus.vNXA, equal to that old ? 
Or, because some scarce think that story true, 
To make those faithful did the Fates seiul you, 
And to your scene lent no less dignity 
Of birth, of match, of form, of chastity r 
Or, more than born for the comparison 
Of former age, or glory of our own. 
Were you advanced, past those times, to bo 
The light and mark luito imstority ? 
Judge they that can : hero I have raised to show, 
A picture, which the world for yours must know, 
And like it too : if they look ecuially : 
If not, 'tis lit for you, somo should envy. 

CV. — TO MAUY LAUY WROTH. 

Madam, had all autiq\uty been lost. 
All history seal'd up, and fables orost. 
That we had left iu\ nor by time, nor place. 
Least mer,tion of a Nymph, a Muse, a Grace; 
r>ut even their names were to be made anew, 
Who could not but create them all from j-oiir 
lie, that but saw you wear the wheateu hat, 
Would call you more than Ceres, if not that ; 
And drest in shepherd's tire, who would not say 
You were the bright (I'^none, Flora, or May? 
If dancing, all would cry, the Idalian queen 
Were leading forth the Graces on the green ; 



EPIGRAMS. 



795 



And armed to the chase, so bare her bow 
Diana' alone, so liit, and hunted so. [ask, 

There's none so dull, that for your style v.-ould 
That saw you put on Pallas' ])lumed cask ; 
Or, kecpinj^ your due state, tliat would not cry, 
There Juno sat, and yet no peacock by : 
So are you nature's index, and restore, 
In yourself, all treasure lost of the age before. 

CVI.— TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT. 

If men get name for some one virtue ; then, 
What man art tliou, that art so many men, 
All-virtnoiiH Ilcrbort ! on whose every part 
Truth mif^ht spend all her voice, fame all her 

art? 
Whether thy learning they would take, or wit. 
Or valor, or tliy judgment seasoning it, 
Thy standing upright to thyself, thy ends 
Like straiglit, thy piety to God, and friends : 
Their latter praise would still the greatest be. 
And yet tlicy, altogether, le.js than thee. 

CVJI. — TO CAPTAIN HUNGRY. 

Do what you come for, captain, with your news ; 

That's sit and eat : do not my cars abuse. 

I oft look on f;),lsc coin to know't from true ; 

Not that I love it more than I will you. 

I'ell the gross Dutch those grosser tales of yours, 

How great you were with their two emperors ; 

And yet are with tlicir princes : fdl them full 

Of your Moravian horse, Venetian bull. 

Tell them, what parts you've ta'en, whence run 

away, 
What states you've guU'd, and which yet keeps 

j-ou' in pay. 
Give them your services, and embassies 
In Ireland, Holland, Sweden ; pompous lies ! 
In Hungary and I'oland, Turky too; 
What at ligorne, Homo, Florence you did do : 
And, in some year, all these together hcap'd, 
For which there mu.it more sea and land be 

leap'd. 
If but to be believed you have the hap. 
Than can a Ilea at twice skip in the map, 
Give your young statesmen (that first make you 

drunlc. 
And then lye with you, closer than a punk, 
For news) your Yillcroys, and Silleries, 
lanins, your Nuncios, and your Tuilleries, 
Your Archdukes agents, and your Beringhams, 
That are your words of credit. Keep your 

names 
Of Ilannow, Shietcr-huisscn, Popenheim, 
Ilans-speigle, llotteinbcrg, and Uoutcrsheim, 
For your next meal ; this you are sure of. Why 
Will you part with them here unthriftily ? 
Nay, now you puiF, tusk, and draw up your chin. 
Twirl the poor chain you run a-feasting in. — 
Come, be not angry, you are IIuNaiiv ; eat : 
Do Avhat you come foi', captain ; there's your 

meat. 

CVIII. — TO TRUE SOLDIERS. 

Strengtli of my country, whilst I bring to view 
Such as are miscail'd cai)tains, and wrong you, 
And your high names ; I do desire that thence 
I3e nor put on you, nor you take offence. 
I swear by 3'our true friend, my muse, I love 
Your great profession, which I once did prove ; 
A.nd did not shame it with my actions then, 



No more than I dare now do with my pen. 
He that not trusts me, having vow'd thus much, 
I5ut's angry for the captain, still ; is such. 

CIX. — TO SIR HENRY NEVIL. 

Who now calls on thee, Nrvii., is a muse, 
That serves not fame, nor titles ; but doth cliuse 
Where virtue makes them both, and that's in 

thee : 
Where all is fair beside thy pedigree. 
Thou art not one seek'st miseries with hope, 
AVrestlest with dignities, or feign'st a scope 
Of service to the public, when the end 
Is private gain, which hath long guilt to friend. 
Thou rather striv'st the matter to possess. 
And elements of honor, than the dress ; 
To make thy lent life good against the fates : 
And first to know thine own state, then the 

state's ; 
To be tlie same in root thou art in height ; 
And that thy soul should give thy flesh hei 

weight. 
Go on, and doubt not what posterity, 
Now I have sung thee thus, shall judge of thee 
Tlie deeds unto thy name will prove new 

wombs. 
Whilst others toil for titles to their tombs. 

ex. —TO CLEMENT EDMONDS, ON HIS CffiSAR'o 
COMMENTARIES OBSERVED AND TRANSLATED. 

Not Cx'sar's deeds, nor all his honors won. 

In these west parts, nor, when that war was done, 

The name of Pompey for an enemy, 

C'ato's to boot ; Home, and her liberty, 

All yielding to his fortune, nor, the while 

To have engraved these acts with his own style. 

And that so strong and deep, as't might be 

thought 
He wrote with the same spirit that ho fought ; 
Nor that his work lived in the hand of foes, 
Unargued then, and yet hath fame from those ; 
Not all these, Edmonds, or what else put to, 
Can so speak Caesar, as thy labors do. 
For where his person lived scarce one just age, 
And that midst envy and parts ; then fell by 

rage : 
His deeds too dying, but in books, whose good 
How few have read ! how fewer understood ! 
Thy learned hand and true Promethean art. 
As by a new creation, part by part. 
In every counsel, stratagem, design. 
Action, or engine, worth a note of thine, 
To all future time not only doth restore 
His life, but makes, that he can die no more. 

CXI. — TO THE SAME, ON THE SAME. 

Who, Edmonds, reads thy book, and doth not see 
What the antique soldiers were, the modern be r 
Wherein thou shew'st, how much the later are 
IJeholding to this master of the war ; 
And that in action there is nothing nev/, 
More, than to vary what our elders knew ; 
Which all but ignorant captains will confess ; 
Nor to give Cicsar this, makes ours the less. 
Yet thou, perhaps, shalt meet some tongues will 

grutch. 
That to the world thou should'st reveal so much, 
And thence deprave thee and thy work : to 

those 
Caesar stands up, as from his urn late rose 



796 



EPIGRAMS. 



By thy great help ; and doth proclaim by mo, 
They "murder him again, that envy thee. 

CXII. — TO A WEAK GAMESTER IN POETRY. 

With thy small stock, why art thou venturing 

still, 
At this so subtle sport, and play'st so ill ? 
Think'st thou it is mere fortune, that can win, 
Or thy rank setting ? that thou dar'st put in 
Thy all, at all : and whatsoe'er I do, 
Art still at that, and think'st to blow me' up too ? 
I cannot for the stage a drama lay, 
Tragic or comic ; but thou writ'st the play. 
I leave thee there, and giving way, intend 
An epic poem ; thou hast the same end. 
I modestly quit that, and think to write, 
Next morn, an ode; thou mak'st a song ere 

night. 
I pass to elegies ; thou meet'st me there : 
To satires ; and thou dost jiursue me. Where, 
Wliere shall I scape thee ? in an epigram ? 
O, thou cry'st out, that is my proper game. 
Troth, if it be, I pity thy ill luck ; 
That both for wit and sense so oft dost pluck, 
And never r.rt encounter'd, I confess ; 
Nor scarce dost color for it, which is less. 
Prithee, yet save thy rest ; give o'er in time : 
There's no vexation that can make thee prime. 

CXni TO SIR THOMAS OVERBURY 

So Phoebus make me worthy of his ba)^s, 
As but to speak thee, Overbury, 's praise : 
So where thou liv'st, thou mak'st life under- 
stood, 
Where, what makes others great, dot'n keep thee 

good ! 
I think, the fate of court thy coming crav'd, 
That the wit there and manners might be sav'd : 
For since, what ignorance, what pride is fled ! 
And letters, and humanity in the stead I 
Rejjent thee not of tlij^ fair jirecedent, 
Could make such men, and such a place repent : 
Nor man any fear to lose of their degree. 
Who' in such ambition can but follow thee. 

CXIV. — TO MISTRESS PHILIP SIDNEY. 

I must believe some miracles still be. 
When Sidney's name I hear, or face I see : 
For Cupid, who at first took vain delight 
In mere out-forms, until he lost his sight. 
Hath changed his soul, and made his object 

you : 
■Wliere finding so much beauty met with virtue, 
He hath not only gain'd himself his eyes. 
But, in your love, made all his servants wise. 

CXV. — ON THE TOWN'S HONEST MAN. 

you wonder who this is, and why I name 
Him not aloud, that boasts so good a fame : 
Naming so many too ! but this is one, 
Suffers no name, but a description ; 
Being no vicious person, but the Vice 
About the town ; and known too, at that x^rice. 
A subtle thing that doth affections win 
By speaking well o' the company it's in. 
Talks loud and bawdy, has a gather'cl deal 
Of news and noise, to sow out a long meal. 
Can come from Tripoly, leap stools, and wink. 
Do all that 'longs to the anarchy of drink, 
E.xcept the duel : can sing songs and catches ; 
Give every one his dose of lYiirth : and watches 



Whose name's unwelcome to the present ear, 
And him it lays on ; — if he be not there. 
Tells of him all the tales itself then makes ; 
But if it shall be question' d, undertakes, 
It will deny all ; and forswear it too ; 
Not that it fears, but will not have to do 
With such a one : and therein keeps its word, 
'Twill see its sister naked, ere a sAvord. 
At every meal, Avhere it doth dine or sup, 
The cloth's no sooner gone, but it gets up, 
And shifting of its faces, doth play more 
Parts than the Italian could do with his door 
Acts Old Iniquit}% and in the fit 
Of miming, gets the opinion of a wit. 
Executes men in picture ; by defect 
From friendship, is its own fame's architect : 
An ingincr in slanders of all fashions. 
That, seeming praises, are yet accusations. 
Described it's thus : defined would you it have i 
Then, the town's honest man's her errant' st 
knave. 

CXVI. — TO SIR WILLIAM JEPHSON. 

Jepiison, thou man of men, to whose lov'd nam 
All gentry yet owe part of their best flame : 
So did thy virtue inform, thy wit sustain 
That age, when thou stood'st up the master 

brain : 
Thou wert the first mad'st merit know her 

strength. 
And those that lack'd it, to suspect at length, 
'Twas not entail'd on title : that some word 
Might be found out as good, and not " my lord : * 
That nature no such difference had imprest 
In men, but every bravest was the best ; 
That blood not minds, but minds did blood 

adorn ; 
And to live great was better than great born. 
These were thy knowing arts : which Avho doth 

now 
Virtuously practise, must at least allow 
Them in, if not from thee, or must commit 
A desperate soloecism in truth and wit. 

CXVII. — ON GROINE. 

Groine, come of age, his state sold out of hand 
For 's whore : Groine doth still occupy his land. 

CXVIII. — ON GUT. 

Gut eats all day and letchers all the night, 
So all his meat he tasteth over twice ; 

And striving so to double his delight. 

He makes himself a thorough-fare of vice. 

Thus, in his belly, can he change a sin, 

I;ust it comes out, that gluttony went in. 

CXIX.— TO SIR RALPH SHELTON. 

Not he that flies the court for want of clothes, 
At hunting rails, having no gift in oaths. 
Cries out 'gainst cocking, since he cannot bet, 
Shuns press — for two main causes, pox and 

debt. 
With me can merit more, than that good man, 
"\^^^ose dice not doing well, to a pulpit ran. — 
No, Shelton, give me thee, canst want all these, 
But dost it out of judgment, not disease ; 
Dar'st breathe in any air ; and with safe skill, 
Till thou canst find the best, choose the least ilL 
That to the vulgar canst thyself applj% 
Treading a better path, not contrary ; 
And in their error's maze thine own way know ,' 



EPIGRAMS. 



797 



Which is to live to conscience, not to show. 
He Ihat, but living half his age, dies svich, 
Malies the yhole longer than 'twas given him, 
much. 

CXX. — AN EPITAPJI O:^ SALATHIEL PAVY, A CHILD 
OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL. 

Weep with me, all ^-ovi that read 

This little story : 
And know, for whom a tear you shed 

Death's self is sorry. 
'Twas a child that so did thrive 

In grace and feature, 
As heaven and nature seem'd to strive 

Which own'd the creature. 
Years he number'd scarce thirteen 

When fates turn'd cruel, 
Yet three fiU'd zodiacs had he been 

The stage's jewel ; 
And did act, what now we moan, 

Old men so duly. 
As, sooth, the Parcce thought him one. 

He play'd so trul}\ 
So, by error to his fate 

Tlaey all consented ; 
But viewing him since, alas, too late ! 

They have repented ; 
And have sought, to give new birth, 

In baths to steep him ; 
But being so much too good for earth. 

Heaven vows to keep him. 

CXXI. — TO BENJAMIN RUUYERD. 

RuDYERD, as lesser dames to great ones use. 
My lighter comes to kiss thy learned muse ; 
Whose better studies while she emulates. 
She learns to know long difference of their 

states. 
Y'et is the office not to be despised. 
If only love should make the action prized ; 
Nor he for friendship can be thought imfit, 
That strives his manners should precede his wit. 

CXXII. — TO THE SAME. 

If I would wish for truth, and not for show, 

The aged Saturn's age and rites to know ; 

If I would strive to bring back times, and try 

The world's pure gold, and wise simplicity ; 

If I would virtue set as she was young. 

And hear her speak with one, and her first 

tongue ; 
If holiest friendship, naked to the toiich, 
I would restore, and keep it ever such ; 
I need no other arts, but study thee : 
Who prov'st all these were, and again may be. 

CXXIII. — TO THE SASLE. 

Writing thyself, or judging others writ, 
I know not which thou'st most, candor, or wit ; 
But both thou hast so, as who affects the state 
Of the best writer and judge, should emulate. 

CXXIV. — EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H. 

VVould'st thou hear what man can say 
In a little ? reader, stay. 

Underneath this stone doth lie 
As much beauty as could die : 
Which in life did harbor give 
To more virtue than doth live. 

If at all she had a fault. 
Leave it buried in this vault. 



One name Avas Elizabeth, 

The other let it sleep with death : 

Fitter, Avhere it died, to tell. 

Than that it lived at all. Farewell ! 

CXXV.— TO SIR WILLIAM UVEDALE. 

UvEDALE, thou piece of the first times, a man 
Made for Avhat nature could, or virtue can ; 
Both Avhose dimensions lost, the world migh* 
Restored in thy body, and thy mind ! '"fintl 

Who sees a soul in such a body set, 
Might love the treasure for the cabinet. 
But I, no child, no fool, respect the kind. 
The full, the flowing graces there enshrined ; 
Which, Avould the world not miscall't flattery, 
I could adore almost to idolatry ! 

CXXVI. — TO HIS LADY, THEN MISTRESS CART. 

Retired, Avith purpose your fair Avorth to praise, 
Mongst Hampton shades, and Phoebus' grove of 

bays, 
I pluck'd a branch ; the jealous god did froAvn, 
And bade me lay th' usurped laurel doAvn ; 
Said I Avrong'd him, and, Avhich Avas more, his 

love. 
I answer'd, Daphne nOAV no pain can prove 
Phoebus replied. Bold head, it is not sh^ 
Cart my love is. Daphne but my tree. 

CXXVII. — TO ESME LORD AUBIGNY. 

Is there a hope that man Avould thankful bC; 

If I should fail in gratitude to thee. 

To Avhom I am so bound, loved Aubigxy ? 

No, I do therefore call posterity 

Into the debt ; and reckon on her head. 

How full of Avant, hoAV sAvalloAv'd up, hoAV deaiJ 

I and this muse had been, if thou hadst not 

Lent timely succors, and ncAV life begot : 

So all rCAvard or name, that groAVS to me 

By her attempt, shall still be OAving thee. 

And than this same I knoAv no abler Avay 

To thank thy benefits : Avhich is, to pav 

CXXVIII TO WILLIAM ROE. 

Roe, and my joy to name, thou'rt noAV to go, 
Countries and climes, manners and men to knoAr, 
To extract and choose the best of all these knoAvn, 
And those to turn to blood, and make thine own. 
May winds as soft as breath of kissing friends, 
Attend thee hence; and there may all thy ends. 
As the beginnings here, proA'e purely SAveet, 
And perfect in a circle always meet ! 
So when Ave blest Avith thy return, shall see 
Thyself, Avith thy first thoughts brought home 

bj- thee ; 
We each to other may this A'oice inspire ; 
That is that good iEiieas, past through fire, 
Through seas, storms, tempests ; and, embark'd 

for hell, 
Came back untouch'd. This man hath travell'd 

Avell. 

CXXIX. — TO MIME. 

That not a pair of friends each other see. 
But the first question is. When one saAV thee ? 
That there's no journey set or thought upon. 
To Brentford, Hackney, Boaa", but thou mak'st 

one ; 
That scarce the toAvn designeth any feast 
To Avhich thou'rt not a Aveek bespoke a guest ; 
That still thou'rt made the supper's flag, the 

drum, 



798 



EPIGRAMS. 



The very call to make all others come : 
Think'st thou, JIime, this is great ? or that they 

strive 
Whose noise shall keep thy miming most alive, 
Whilst thou dost raise some player from the 

grave, 
Out-dance the babion, or out-boast the brave, 
Or, mounted on a stool, thy face doth hit 
On some new gesture, that's imputed wit ? 
O, run not proud of this. Yet take thy due. 
Thou dost out-zany Cokely, Pod ; nay, Gue : 
A.nd thine own Coryat too ; but, — would'st 

thou see, 
Men love thee not for this ; they laugh at thee. 

eXXX. — TO ALPIIONSO FERRABOSCO, ON HIS BOOK. 

To urge, my loved Alphoxso, that bold fame 
Of building towns, and making -wild beasts tame, 
Wliich music had ; or speak her own effects, 
That she removeth cares, sadness ejects, 
Dcclineth anger, persuades clemency. 
Doth sweeten mirth, and heighten piety, 
And is to a body, often, ill inclined. 
No less a sovereign cure, than to the mind ; 
T' allege, that greatest men were not asham'd. 
Of old, even by her practice to be fam_'d ; 
To say indeed, she were the soul of heaven, 
That the eighth sphere, no less than planets 

seven. 
Moved by her order, and the ninth more high. 
Including all, were thence call'd harmony ; 
I yet had utter'd nothing on thy part, 
When these were but the praises of the art : 
But Avhen I have said, the proofs of all these be 
Shed in thy songs ; 'tis true : but short of thee. 

CXXXI. — TO THE SAME. 

When we do give, Alphonso, to the light, 
A w'ork of ours, we part with our own right ; 
For then, all mouths will judge, and thek own 

way : 
The learn'd have no more privilege than the lay. 
And though wo could all men, all censures hear, 
We ought not give them taste we had an ear. 
For if the humorous world will talk at large. 
They should be fools, for me, at their own 

charge. 
Say this or that man they to thee prefer ; 
Even those for whom they do this, know they err : 
And would (being ask'd the truth) ashamed say. 
They were not to be nam'd on tlie same daj-. 
Then stand unto th}^self, nor seek without 
For fame, with breath soon kindled, soon blown 

out. 

CXXXII — TO MR. JOSHUA SILVESTER. 

If to admire were to commend, my praise 
Might then both thee, thy work and merit raise : 
But as it is, (the child of ignorance. 
And utter stranger to all air of France,) 
How can I speak of thy great pains, but err ? 
Since they can only judge, that can confer. 
Behold ! the reverend shade of Bartas stands 
Before my thought, and, in thy right, commands 
That to the world I jjublish for him, this ; 
Bartas doth wish thy English now were his. 
bo well in that are his inventions wrought. 
As his will now be the translation thought, 
Thine the original ; and France shall boast. 
No more those maiden glories she hath lost. 



CXXXIII. — ON THE FAMOUS VOYAGE. 

No more let Greece her bolder fables tell 
Of Hercules, or Theseus going to hell, 
Orpheus, Ulj^sscs ; or the Latin muse. 
With tales of Troy's just knight, our faith abuse 
We have a Siielton, and a Heydex got. 
Had power to act, what they to feign had not. 
All that they boast of Styx, of Acheron, 
Cocy tus, Phlegethon, ours have proved in one ; 
The filth, stench, noise : save only what was 

there 
Subtly distinguish'd, was confused here. 
Their wherry had no sail too ; ours had ne'er one . 
And in it, two miore horrid knaves than Charon. 
Arses Avere heard to croak instead of frogs ; 
And for one Cerberus, the Avhole coast Avas dogs. 
Furies there Avanted not ; each scold Avas ten, 
And for the cries of ghosts, women and men, 
Laden Avith plague-sores, and their sins, Avere 

heard, 
Lash'd by their consciences, to die affeard. 
Then let the former age Avith this content her, 
She brought the poets forth, but ours th' ad 

A^enter. 

THE VOYAGE ITSELF. 

I sing the brave adA'enture of tAvo AAaghts, 
And pity 'tis, I cannot call them knights : 
One Avas ; and he for braAvn and brain right abl^ 
To haA^e been stjdcd of king Arthur's table. 
The other Avas a squire, of fair degree ; 
But, in the action, greater man than he. 
Who gave, to take at his return from hell, 
His three for one. Now, lordlings, listen Aveli. 

It Avas the daj', Avhat time the powerful moon 
Makes the poor Bankside creature Avet its shoon, 
In its OAvn hall ; Avhen these, (in AA'orthy scorn 
Of those, that put out monies, on return 
From Venice, Paris, or some inland passage 
Of six times to and fro, without embassage. 
Or him that backAvard went to Berwic'K, or AA'hich 
Did dance the famous morris unto Norwich) 
At Bread-street's Mermaid having dined, and 

merry, 
Proposed to go to Ilolborn in a Avherry : 
A harder task, than either his to Bristo', [ho'. 
Or his to Antwerp. Therefore, once more, list 

A dock there is, that called is Avernus, 
Of some BridcAvell, and may, in time concern us 
All, that are readers : but, mcthinks, 'tis odd, 
That all this Avhile I have forgot some god. 
Or goddess to invoke, to stuff my A'crsc ; 
And Avith both bombast stylo and phrase, re- 
hearse 
The many perils of this port, and hoAv 
Sans help of Sibyl, or a golden bough. 
Or magic sacrifice, they past along ! — 
Alcides, be thou succoring to my song. 
Thou hast seen hell, some say, and knoAv st ali 

nooks there, 
Canst tell me best, hoAv eA^er Fury looks there, 
And art a god, if fame thee not abuses, 
Ahvaj'S at hand, to aid the merry muses. 
Great club-fist, though thy back and bones bo 

sore 
Still, Avith thy former labors ; yet, once more. 
Act a brave Avork, call it thy last adventry : 
But hold ray torch, Avhilo I describe the entry 



EPIGRAMS. 



799 



To this dire passage. Say, thou stop tliy nose ; 
'Tia but light pains : indeed, this dock's no rose. 

In the first jaws appear'd that ugly monster, 
\'eleped mud, which, when their oars did once 

stir, 
Belch'd forth an air as hot, as at the muster 
Of all your night-tubs, when the carts do cluster, 
Who shall discharge first his merd-urinous load : 
Thorough her womb they make their famous 

road, [men. 

Between two walls ; where, on one side, to scare 
Were seen your ugly centaurs, ye call carmen, 
Gorgonian scolds, and harpies : on the other 
Hung stench, diseases, and old filth, their mother, 
With famine, wants, and sorrows many a dozen. 
The least of which was to the plague a cousin. 
But they unfrighted pass, though many a privy 
Spake to them louder, than the ox in Livy ; 
And many a sink pour'd out her rage anenst 

'em. 
But stiU their valor and their virtue fenc'd 'em, 
And on they went, like Castor brave and Pollux, 
Ploughing the main. AVhen, see (the worst of 

all lucks) 
They met the second prodigy, would fear a 
Man, that had never heard of a Chimsera. 
One said, 'twas bold Briareus, or the beadle, 
Who hath the hundred hands when he doth 

meddle. 
The other thought it Hydra, or the rock 
Made of the trull that cut her father's lock : 
But coming near, they found it but a li'ter. 
So huge, it seem'd they could by no means quite 

her. [No, 

Back, cried their brace of Charons: they cried. 
No going back ; on still, you rogues, and row. 
How hight the place ? A voice was heard, 

Cocytus. [us. 

Row close then, slaves. Alas ! they will beshite 
No matter, stinkards, row. What croaliing sound 
Is this we hear ? of frogs ? No, guts wind-bound, 
Over your heads : well, row. At this a loud 
Crack did report itself, as if a cloud 
Had burst with storm, and down fell, ah excelsis, 
Poor Mercury, crying out on Paracelsus, 
And all his followers, that had so abused him ; 
And in so shitten sort, so long had used him : 
For (where he Avas the god of eloquence. 
And subtilty of metals) they dispense 
His spirits now in piUs, and eke in potions, 
Suppositories, cataplasms, and lotions. — 
But many moons there shall not wane, quoth he 
In the mean time, let them imprison me, 
But I will speak, and knowl shall be heard. 
Touching this cause, Avhere they will be afi'card 
To answer me : and sure, it was the intent 
Of the grave fart, late let in parliament, 
Had it been seconded, and not in fume 
Vanish'd away : as you must all presume 
Their Mercury did now. Bj"- this, the stem 
Of the hiilk touch'd, and, as by Polypheme 
The sly Ulysses stole in a sheep-skin. 
The welUgreased wherry now had got between. 
And bade her farewell sough unto the lurden : 
N'ever did bottom more betray her burden ; 
The meat-boat of bear's -college, Paris-garden, 
Stunk not so ill ; nor, when she kiss'd, Kato 

Arden. 



Yet one day in the year, for sweet 'tis voist, 
And that is when it is the Lord Mayor's foist. 

By this time had they reach'd the Stygian pool. 
By which the masters swear, when on the stool 
Of worship, they their nodding chins do hit 
Against their breasts. Here, several ghosts did 

flit 
About the shore, of farts but late departed, 
White, black, blue, green, and in mors forms 

outstarted, 
Than all those atomi ridiculous 
Whereof old Domocrite, and Hill Nicholas, 
One said, the other swore, the world consists. 
These be the cause of those thick frequent mists 
Arising in that place, through which, who goes, 
Must try the unused valor of a nose : [tainted, 
And that ours did. For, yet, no nare was 
Nor thumb, nor finger to the stop acquainted, 
But open, and unarm'd, encounter'd all : 
Whether it languishing stuck upon the wal' 
Or were precipitated down the jakes. 
And after, swam abroad in ample flakes. 
Or that it lay heap'd like an usurer's mass, 
All was to them the same, they were to pass, 
And so they did, from Styx to Acheron, 
The ever-boiling flood ; whose banks upon 
Your Fleet-lane Furies, and hot cooks do dwell, 
That with still-scalding steams, make the place 

hell. 
The sinks ran grease, and hair of meazled hogs, 
The heads, houghs, entrails, and the hides of 

dogs : 
For, to say truth, what scullion is so nasty. 
To put the skins and offal in a pasty ? 
Cats there lay divers had bcei.fiea'd and roasted. 
And after mouldy grown, again were toasted. 
Then selling not, a dish was ta'en to mince 'em, 
But still, it seem'd, the rankness did convince 

'em. [pewter. 

For, here they were thrown in with th' melted 
Y'et drown' d they not: they had five lives in 

future. 

But 'mongst these Tiberts, who do you think 

there was? 
Old Banks the juggler, our Pythagoras, 
Grave tutor to the learned horse ; both which. 
Being, beyond sea, burned for one witch. 
Their spirits transmigrated to a cat : 
And now, above the pool, a face right fat, 
With great gray eyes, it lifted up, and mew'd : 
Thrice did it spit ; thrice dived : at last it viev/'d 
Our brave hcroiis Avith a milder glare. 
And in a piteous tune, began. How dare 
Your dainty nostrils, in so hot a season. 
When every clerk eats artichokes and peason, 
Laxative lettuce, and such windy meat. 
Tempt such a passage ? When each privy's seat 
Is fiU'd with buttock, aiid the walls do sweat 
Urine and ^^laistors, when the noise doth beat 
Upon 3^our ears, of discords so unsweet, 
And outcries of the damned in the Fleet ? 
Cannot the Plague-bill keep you back, nor bells 
Of loud Sepulchre's, with their hourly knells, 
But you Avill visit grisly Pluto's hall ? 
Behold where Cerberus, rear'd on the wall 
Of Holborn-height (three Serjeants' heads) looks 

o'er, 



800 



EPIGRjUIS. 



And stays but till you come unto the door ! 

Tempt not his fury, Pluto is away : 

And madam Caesar, great Proserpina, 

Is now from home ; you lose your labors quite, 

Were vou Jove's sons, or had Alcides' might. 

They cry'd out, Puss. He told them he was 

Banks, 
That had so often shew'd them merry pranks. 
They laugh' d, at his laugh-worthy fate ; and 
The triple-head without a sop. At last, [past 
Calling for Rhsdamanthus, that dwelt by, 



A soap-boiler : and iEacus him nigh. 
Who kept an ale-house ; with my little Mino^i 
An ancient purblind fletcher, with a high nose ; 
They took them all to Avitness of their action : 
And so went bravely back without protraction. 

In memory of which most liquid deed, 
The city since hath raised a pyramid ; 
And I could wish for their eternized sakes, 
My Muse had plough'd with his, that 3un| 
Ajas- 



THE FOREST 



I. —WHY I WRITE NOT OF LOVE. 

Some act of liOVE's bound to rehearse, 
I thought to bind him in my verse : 
Which when he felt, Away, quoth he, 
Can poets hope to fetter me ? 
It is enough, they once did get 
Mars and my naother, in their net : 
I wear not these my wings in vain. 
With Avhich he fled me ; and again, 
Into my rhymes could ne'er be got 
By any art : then wonder not, 
That since, my numbers are so cold. 
When Love is fled, and I grow old. 

II. — TO PENSIIURST. 

Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show 
Of touch or marble ; nor canst boast a rovv^ 
Of polish' d pillars, or a roof of gold : 
Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told ; 
Or stair, or courts ; but stand'st an ancient pile, 
And those grudg'd at, art reverenced the while. 
Thou joj-'st in better marks, of soil, of air, 
Of wood, of water ; therein thou art fair. 
Thou hast thy Avalks for health, as well as sport : 
Thy mount, to which thy Dryads do resort. 
Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have 

made, [shade ; 

Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut 
That taller tree, which of a nut was set, 
At his great birth, where all the Muses met. 
There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names 
Of many a sylvan, taken with his flames ; 
And thence the ruddy satyrs oft provoke 
The ligher fauns, to reach thy lady's oak. 
Thy copse too, named of Gamage, thou hast 

there. 
That never fails to serve thee scason'd deei-. 
When thou wouldst feast or exercise thy friends. 
The lower land, that to the river bends. 
Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do 

feed ; 
The middle grounds thy mares and horses breed. 
Each bank doth yield thee conies ; and the tops 
Fertile of wood. Ashore and Sydnej-s copp's. 
To crown thy open table, doth provide 
The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side : 
The painted partridge lies in ev'ry field. 
And for thy mess is willing to be kill'd. 
And if the high-swoln Sledway fail thy dish. 
Thou hast thy ponds, that pay thee tribute fish, 
Fat aged carps that run into thy net, 
And'j)ikes, now weary their own kind to eat, 
As loth the second draught or cast to stay. 
Officiously at first themselves betray. 
Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land. 
Before the fisher, or into his hand. 
Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, 
Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. 
The early cherry, with the later plum, [come : 
Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth 
The blushing apricot, and woolly peach 
61 



ITang on thy walls, that every child may reaoli. 
And though thy walls be of the countrj"- stone. 
They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's 
groan ; [down ; 

There's none, that dwell about them, wish them 
But all come in, the farmer and the clown ; 
And no one empty-handed, to salute 
Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. 
Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, [make 
Some nuts, some apples ; some that think they 
The better cheeses, bring them ; or else send 
By their ripe daughters, whom they would com- 
mend 
This way to husbands ; and whose baskets bear 
An emblem of themselves in plum, or pear. 
But v,'hat can this (more than express their love) 
Add to thy free provisions, far above [flow 

The need of such ? vrhose liberal board doth 
With all that hospitality doth know ! 
Where comes no guest, but is allow' d to eat. 
Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat : 
Where the same beer and bread, and self-same 
That is his lordship's, shall be also mine, [wine. 
And I not fain to sit (as some this day, 
At great men's tables) and yet dine away. 
Here no man tells mj' cups ; nor standing by, 
A waiter, doth my gluttony envy : 
But gives me what I call, and lets me eat. 
He knows, below, he shall find plenty of meat ; 
Thy tables hoard not up for the next day. 
Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray 
For fire, or lights, or livery ; all is there ; 
As if thou then wert mine, or I reign' d here : 
There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. 
That found king James, when hunting late, this 
way, [fires 

With his brave son, the prince ; they saw thy 
Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires 
Of thy Penates had been set on fiamo. 
To entertain them ; or the country came, 
With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. 
What (great, I will not say, but) sudden chear 
Didst thou then make 'em ! and what praise was 

heap'd 
On thy good lady, then ! who therein reap'd 
The just reward of her high huswifry ; 
To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh. 
When she was far ; and not a room, but drest, 
As if it had expected such a guest ! 
These, Penshvirst, are thy praise, and yet not all.- 
Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. 
His children thy great lord may call his own ; 
A fortune, in this age, but rarely known. 
They are, and have been taught religion ; thence 
Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. 
Each morn, and even, they are taught to pray, 
With the whole household, and may, every day, 
Ilead in their virtuous parents' noble parts, 
The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. 
Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee 
With other edifices, when they see 

801 



802 



THE FOREST. 



Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, 
May say, their lords have built, but thy lord 
dwells. 

Ill _ TO SIR ROBERT WROTH. 

How blest art thou, canst love the country, 
WnoTir, 

^V^aether by choice, or fate, or both ! 
And though so near the city, and the court. 

Art ta'en with ncither's vice nor sport : 
That at groat times, art no ambitious guest 

Of sheriffs dinner, or mayor's feast. 
Xor com'st to view the better cloth of state. 

The richer hangingf?, or croAvn-plate ; 
Nor throng'st (when masquing is) to have a 
sight 

Of the short bravery of the night ; 
To view the jewels, stuffs, the pains, the wit 

There wasted, some not paid for yet ! 
But canst at home, in thy securer rest, 

Live, with unbought provision blest ; 
Free from proud porches, or the gilded roofs, 

'Mongst lowing herds, and solid hoofs : 
Along the curled woods, and painted meads. 

Through which a serpent river leads [his. 

To some cool courteous shade, which he calls 

And makes sleep softer than it is. 
Or if thou list the night in watch to break, 

A-bed canst hear the loud stag speak, 
In spring, oft roused for thy master's sport. 

Who for it makes thy house his court ; 
Or with tliy friends, the heart of all the year 

Divid'st, upon the lesser deer : 
la Autumn, at the partridge mak'st a flight. 

And giv'st thy gladder guests the sight ; 
And in the Avinter, hiint'st the flying hare, 

More for thy exercise, than fare ; 
While all that follow, their glad ears apph' 

To the full greatness of the cry : 
Or hawking at the river, or the bush, 

Or shooting at the greedy thrush. 
Thou dost with some delight the day out- wear. 

Although the coldest of the year ! 
The whilst the several seasons thou hast seen 

Of flowery fields, of cop'ces green. 
The mowed meadows, with the fleeced sheep. 

And feasts, that either shearers keep ; 
Tlie ripened ears, yet humble in their height, 

And furrows laden with their weight ; 
The apple-harvest, that doth longer last ; 

The hogs return'd home fat from mast ; 
The trees cut out in log, and those boughs 

A fire now, that lent a shade ! [made 

Thus Pan and Sylvan having had their rites, 

Comus puts in for new delights ; 
And fills thy open hall with mirth and cheer. 

As if in Saturn's reign it were ; 
Apollo's harp, and Hermes' lyre resound. 

Nor are the !Muses strangers found. 
The rout of rural folk come thronging in, 

(Their rudeness then is thought no sin) 
IThy noblest spouse affords them welcome grace ; 

And the great heroes of her race 
Sit mixt with loss of state, or reverence. 

Freedom doth with degree dispense. 
The jolly wassal walks the often round. 

And in their cups their cares are drown'd: 
They think not then, which side the cause shall 

I^or how to get the lawyer fees. [leese, 



Such and no other was that age of old, 

Which boasts t' have had the Iroad of gold. 
And such, since thou canst make thine owii 
content, 

Strive, Wroth, to live long innocent. 
Let others watch in guilty arms, and stand 

The fury of a rash command. 
Go enter breaches, meet the cannon's rage, 

That they may sleep with scars in age ; 
And shew their feathers shot, and colors torn, 

And brag that they were therefore born. 
Let this man sweat, and wrangle at the bar, 

For every price, in every jar, 
And change possessions oftner with his breath. 

Than either nioney, war, or death : 
Let him, than hardest sires, more disinherit, 

And each where boast it as his merit. 
To blow up orphans, widows, and their states ; 

And think his power doth equal fate's. 
Let that go heap a mass of wretched wealth, 

Purchased by rapine, worse than stealth. 
And broodiiig o'er it sit, Avith broadest eyes, 

Not doing good, scarce Avlien he dies. 
Let thousands more go flatter vice, and Avin, 

By being organs to great sin ; 
Get place and honor, and be glad to keep 

The secrets that shall break their sleep 
And so they ride in purple, eat in plate, 

Thoirgh poison, think it a great fate. 
But thou, my Wroth, if I can truth apply, 

Shalt neither that, nor this envy : [Avell, 

Thy peace is made ; and when man's state is 

'Tis better, if he there can dAvcll. [shelf : 

God Avisheth none should AA'reck on a strange 

To him man's dearer, than t' himself. 
And hoAA'soever Ave may think things SAveot, 

He always gives Avhat he knoAvs meet ; 
Which AA'ho can use is happy : Such be thou 

Thy morning's and thy evening's a'oav 
Be thanks to him, and earnest pray'r to find 

A body sound, Avith sounder mind ; 
To do thy country service, thj^ self right ; 

That neither Avant do thee affright. 
Nor death ; but Avhen thy latest sand is spent. 

Thou may'st think life a thing but lent. 

IV. — TO THE AVORLD. 

.1 Fareioell for a Gentleicoman, virtuous and nohle. 
False AA'orld, good-night ! since thou hast brought 

That hour upon my morn of age. 
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, 

My part is ended on thj' stage. 
Do not once hope that thou canst tempt 

A spirit so resolv'd to tread 
Upon thy throat, and liA'e exempt 

From all the nets that thou canst spread. 
I knoAv thy forms are studied arts, 

Thy subtle Avays be narroAV straits ; 
Thy courtesy but sudden starts. 

And Avliat thou call'st thy gifts are baits, 
I knoAV too, though thou strut and paint. 

Yet art thou both shrunk up, and old <. 
That only fools make thee a saint, 

And all thy good is to be sold. 
I knoAV thou Avhole are but a shop- 

Of toys and trifles, traps and snaras. 
To take tt.e Aveak, or make them stop : 

Yet art thou falser than thy Avarea, 



THE FOREST. 



SOS 



And knoAving this should I yet stay, 
Like such a« blow away their lives, 

A.nd never will redeem a day, 
Enamour 'd of their golden gyves ? 

Or having 'scaped shall I return. 
And thrust my neck into the noose, 

From whence so lately, I did burn, 
AVith all my powers, my self to loose ? 

What bird, or beast is known so dull. 
That fled his cage, or broke his chain, 

And tasting air and freedom, wuU 
Render his head in there again ? 

If these who have but sense, can shun 
The engines, that have them annoy'd ; 

Little for me had reason done, 
If I could not thy gins avoid. 

Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear 
As little, as I hope from thee : 

I know thou canst nor shew, nor bear 
More hatred, than thou hast to me. 

My tender, first, and simple years 
Thou didst abuse, and then betray ; 

Since stirr'dst wp jealousies and fears, 
When all the causes were away. 

Then in a soil hast planted me, 
W'here breathe the basest of thj^ fools , 

Where envious arts professed be, 

And pride and ignorance the schools : 

Where nothing is examin'd, weigh' d, 
But as 'tis rumor'd, so believed ; 

Where every freedom is betray' d, 
And every goodness tax'd or grieved. 

Btit what we're born for, we miist bear : 

Our frail condition it is such. 
That what to all may happen here, 

If't chance to me, I must not griitch. 

Else I mj' state should much mistake, 

To harbor a divided thought 
From all my kind ; that for my sa'ive, 

There should a miracle be wrought. 

No, I do know that I was born 

To age, misfortune, sickness, grief: 

But I will bear these with that scorn. 
As shall not need thy false relief. 

Nor for my peace will I go far, 

As wanderers do, that still do roam ; 

But make my strengths, such as they are, 
Hero in my bosom, and at home. 

v.— SOJJG.— TO CELIA. 

Come, my Celia, let us prove. 
While we may, the sports of love ; 
Time will not be ours for ever : 
He at length our good will seve-, 
Spend not then his gifts in vain. 
Suns that set, may rise again ; 
But if once we lose this light, 
'Tis with us perpetual night. 
Why should we defer our joys r 
Fame and rumor are but toys. 
Cannot we delude the eyes 
Of a few poor household spies ; 
Or his easier ears bugujle, 
So removed bv our wile r 



'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal, 
But the sweet theft to reveal : 
To be taken, to be seen. 
These have crimes accounted been. 

Vf. — TO THE SAME. 

Kiss me, sweet : the wary lover 

Can your favors keep, and cover. 

When the common courting jay 

All j^our bounties will betray. 

Kiss again : no creature comes. 

Kiss, and score up wealthy sums 

On my lips thus hardly sundred. 

While you breathe. First give a hundred, 

Tlien a thousand, then another 

Hundred, then unto the other 

Add a thousand, and so more ; 

Till you equal with the store. 

All the grass that Rumney yields. 

Or the sands in Chelsea fields, 

Or the drops in silver Thames, 

Or the stars that gild his streams. 

In the silent Summer-nights, 

When youths plj' their stolen delights ■ 

That the curious may not know 

How to tell 'em as they flow. 

And the envious, when they find 

What their number is, be pined. 

VII. — SONG. —THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN' 
SHADOWS. 

Follow a shadow, it still flies you. 

Seem to Hy it, it will pursue : 
So court a mistress, she denies you ; 

Let her alone, she will court you. 
Say are not women truly, then, 
Styl'd but the shadows of us men ■' 

At morn and even shades are longes , 
At noon they are or short, or none : 

So men at weakest, they are strongest, 
But grant us perfect, they're not knovni 

Say are not women truly, then, 

Stj'l'd but the shadows of us men ? 

VIII. — SONG, — TO SICKNESS. 

Why, Disease, dost thou molest 
Ladies, and of them the best ? 
Do not men enow of rights 
To thy altars, by their nights 
S^jent in surfeits ; and their days, 
And nights too, in worser ways ? 

Take heed. Sickness, what you do, 
I shall fear you'll surfeit too. 
Live not we, as all thy stalls, 
Spittles, pest-house, hospitals, 
Scarce will take our present store ? 
And this age Avill build no more. 

'Pray thee, feed contented then, 

Sickness, only on us men ; 

Or if it needs thy lust will taste 

Woman-kind ; devour the waste 

Livers, round about the town. 
But, forgive me, — with thy crown 
They maintain the truest trade, 
And have more diseases made. 

What should yet thy palate please ? 

Daintiness, and softer ease.. 

Sleeked limbs, and finest blood ? 

If thy leanness love such food, 



804 



THE FOREST. 



There are those, that for thy sake, 

Do enough ; and who Avoukl take 

Any pains : yea, think it price, 

To "become thy sacrifice. 

That distill, their husbands' land 

In decoctions ; and are mann'd 

With ten emp'rics, in their chamber, 

Lying for the spirit of amber. 

That for the oil of talc dare spend 

More than citizens dare lend 

Them, and all their officers. 

ITiat to make all pleasure theirs, 

Will by coach, and water go. 

Every stew in town to know ; 

Dare entail their loves on any. 

Bald or blind, or ne'er so many : 

And for thee at common game, 

Play away health, wealth, and fame. 
These, Disease, will thee deserve ; 
And will long, ere thou should'st starve, 
On their beds, most prostitute. 
Move it, as their humblest suit, 
In thy justice to molest 
None but them, and leave the rest. 

IX. — SONG. — TO CELIA. 

Drink to me, only with thine eyes. 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss bvit in the cup, 

And I'll not look for wine. 
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise. 

Doth ask a drink divine : 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee, 
As giving it a hope, that there 

It could not wither'd be. 
But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me : 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear. 

Not of itself, but thee. 

X. — PR^LUDIUM. 

And must I sing ? what subject shall I choose ? 
Or whose great name in poets' heaven use, 
For the more countenance to my active muse ? 

Hercules ? alas, his bones are yet sore, 
AVith his old earthly labors : t* exact more. 
Of his dull godhead, were sin. I'll implore 

Phoebus. No, tend thy cart still. Envious day 
Shall not give out that I have iwade thee stay. 
And founder'd thy hot team, to tune my lay. 

Nor will I beg of thee. Lord of the vine, 
To raise my spirits with thy conjuring wine. 
In the green circle of thy ivy twine. 

Pallas, nor thee I call on, mankind maid. 

That at thy birth, mad'st the poor smith afraid. 

Who with his axe, thy father's midwife plaid. 

Go, cramp dull Mars, light Venus, when he 

snorts, 
Or with thy tribade trine, invent new sports ; 
Thou nor thy looseness with my making sorts. 

Let the old boy, your son, ply his old task. 
Turn the stale prologue to some painted mask ; 
His absence in my verse, is all I ask. 



Hermes, the cheater, shall not mix with \i5, 
Though ho would steal his sisters'" Pegasua, 
And rifle him ; or pawn his pctasus. 

THE PHCENIX ANALYSED. (8) 

Nov/ after all, let no man 

Receive it for a fable, 

If a bird so amiable 
Do turn into a woman. 

Or, by our Turtle's augure, 

That nature's fairest creature 
Prove of his mistress' feature 

But a bare type and figure. 

Nor all the ladies of the Thespian lake, [make 
Though they were crush' d into one form, could 
A beauty of that merit, that should take. 

ODE evOov(TiaaTtK)'i. 
Splendor ! O more than mortal 
For other forms come short all. 
Of her ilhxstrious brightness 
As far as sin's from lightness. 

Her wit as quick and sprightful 
As fire, and more delightful 
Than the stolen sports of loA'er.=!, 
When night their meeting covers. 

Judgment, adorn'd with learning, 
Doth shine in her discerning. 
Clear as a naked vestal 
Closed in an orb of crj^stal. 

Her breath for sweet exceeding 
The Phoenix' place of breeding, 
But mix'd with sound, transcending 
All nature of commending. 

Alas then whither wade I 
In thought to praise this lady. 
When seeking her renowning 
My self am so near drowning .' 

Retire, and say her graces 
Are deeper than their faces. 
Yet she's not nice to show them. 
Nor takes she pride to know them. 

My muse up by commission ; no, I bring 

My own true fire : now my thought takes wing 

And now an Epode to deep ears I sing. 

XI. — EPODE. 

Not to know vice at all, and keep true state, 

Is virtue and not fate : 
Next to that virtue, is to know vice well. 

And her black spite expel. 
Which to effect (since no breast is so sure. 

Or safe, but she'll procure 
Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard 

Of thoughts to watch, and ward 
At the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, 

That no strange, or unkind 
Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy. 

Give knowledge instantly. 
To wakeful reason, our affections' king : 

Who, in th' examining. 
Will quickly taste the treason, and commit 

Close, the close cause of it. 
'Tis the securest policy we have, 

To make our sense our slave. 



THE FOREST. 



805 



But this true course is not embraced by many : 

By many ! scarce by any. 
For either our affections do rebel, 

Or else the sentinel, 
That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep ; 

Or some great thought doth keep 
Back the intelligence, and falsely swears, 

They are base, and idle fears 
Whereof the loyal conscience so complains, 

Thus, by these subtile trains, 
Do several passions invade the mind, 

And strike our reason blind, 
Of -which usurping rank, some have thought love 

The first ; as prone to move 
Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests, 

In our enflamed breasts : 
But this doth from the cloud of error grow. 

Which thus we over-blow. 
The thing they here call Love, is blind desire, 

Arm'd with bow, shafts, and fire ; 
Inconstant, like the sea, of whence 'tis born. 

Rough, swelling, like a storm : 
With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear, 

And boils, as if he were 
In a continual tempest. Now, true love 

No such effects doth prove ; 
That is an essence far more gentle, fine, 

Pure, perfect, nay divine ; 
It is a golden chain let down from heaven, 

Whose links are bright and even. 
That falls lilcc sleep on lovers, and combines 

The soft, and sweetest minds 
In equal knots : this bears no brands, nor darts, 

To murder different hearts, 
But in a calm, and god-like unity. 

Preserves community. 
0, who is he, that, in this peace, enjoys 

The elixir of all joj's r 
A fonn more fresh than are the Eden bowers, 

And lasting as her flowers : 
Richer than Time, and as time's virtue rare 

Sober, as saddest care ; 
A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance : 

Who, blest with such high chance 
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, 

Cast himself from the spire 
Of all his happiness ? But soft: I hear 

Some vicious fool draw near. 
That cries, wc dream, and swears there's no such 
thing. 

As this chaste love we sing. 
Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those 

Who, being at sea, suppose. 
Because thej^ move, the continent doth so. 

No, Vice, we let thee knoAv, 
Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings 

Turtles can chastly die ; [do file. 

And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear) 

We do not number here 
Such spirits as are only continent, 

Because lust's means are spent : 
Or those, who dovibt the comnion mouth of fame. 

And for their place and name. 
Cannot so safely sin : their chastity 

Is mere necessity. 
Nor mean we those, whom vovrs and conscience 

Have fill'd with abstinence : 
Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain. 

Makes a most blessed gain. 



He that for love of goodness hatcth ill, 

Is more crown- worthy still. 
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears ; 

His heart sins, though he fears. 
But we propose a person like our Dove, 

Graced with a Phoenix' love ; 
A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, 

Would make a day of night, 
And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys ; 

Whose odorous breath destroys 
All taste of bitterness, and makes the air 

As sweet as she is fair. 
A body so harmoniously composed, 

As if nature disclosed 
All her best symmetry in that one feature ! 

O, so divine a creature. 
Who could be false to ? chieflj', Avhen he knows 

How only she bestows 
The wealthy treasure of her love on him ; 

Making his fortune swim 
In the full flood of her admired perfection ' 

What savage, brute affection, 
Would not bo fearful to offend a dame 

Of this excelling frame ? 
Much more a noble, and right generous mind, 

To virtuous moods inclin'd. 
That knows the weight of guilt ; he will refrain 

From thoughts of such a strain, 
And to his sense object this sentence ever, 

" Man may securely sin, but safely 
never." 

Xir. — EPISTLE TO ELIZABETH COUNTESS OF 
RUTLAND. 

Madam, 
Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold, 
And almost every vice, almighty gold, 
That which, to boot with hell, is thought worth 

heaven, 
And for it, life, conscience, yea souls are given, 
Toils, by grave custom, up and down the court. 
To every squire, or groom, that will report 
Well or ill, only all the following year, 
Just to the weight their this day's presents bear ; 
While it makes huishers serviceable men, 
And some one apteth to be trusted then. 
Though never after ; whiles its gains the voice 
Of some grand peer, vrhose air doth make rejoice 
The fool that gave it ; who will want and weep, 
When his proud patron's favors are asleep ; 
While thus it birys groat grace, and hunts poor 

fame ; 
Runs between man and man ; 'tween dame and 

dame ; 
Solders crack' d friendship; makes love last a 

day ; 
Or perhaps less : whilst gold bears all this sway, 
I, that have none to send you, sand you verse. 
A present which, if elder writs rehearse 
The truth of times, was once of more esteem, 
Than this our gilt, nor golden age can deem, 
When gold was made no weapon to cut throats, 
Or put to flight Astrea, when her ingots 
Were yet unfound, and better placed in earth. 
Than here, to give pride fame, and peasants birth. 
But let this dross carry what price it will 
With noble ignorants, and let them still 
Turn upon scorned verse their quarter-face : 
With you, I know, my offering will find gran? 



soo 



THE FOREST. 



For what a sin 'gainst jonr great father's spirit, 
Were it to think, that you should not inherit 
His love unto the JNIuses, when his skill 
Almost you have, or may have when you ^\ill ! 
Wherein wise nature you a dowry gave, 
Worth an estate, trehle to that you have. 
Beauty I know is good, and blood is more ; 
Eiches thought most ; but, madnrn, think what 
store [trust, 

The world hath seen, which all these had m 
And now lie lost in their forgotten dust. 
It is the Muse alone, can raise to heaven. 
And at her strong arm's end, hold up, and even, 
The souls she loves. Those other glorious notes, 
Inscribed in touch or marble, or the coats 
Painted, or carv'd upon our great men's tombs. 
Or in their windows, do but prove the wombs 
That bred them, graves : when they Avere born 

they died, 
That had no muse to make their fame abide. 
How many equal with the Argive queen. 
Have beauty known, yet none so famous seen ! 
Achilles was not first, that valiant was. 
Or, in an army's head, that lock'd in brass 
Gave killing strokes. There were bravo men 
Ajax, or Idomen, or all the store [before 

That Homer brought to Troy ; yet none so live. 
Because they lack'd the sacred pen could give 
Like life unto them. Who hcav'd Hercules 
Unto the stars, or the Tindarides ? 
Who ijlaced Jason's Argo in the sky, 
Or set bright Ariadne's crown so high ? 
Who made a lamp of Berenice's hair, 
Or lifted Cassiopeia in her chair, 
But only poets, rapt with rage divine ? [shine. 
And such, or my hopes fail, shall make you 
You, and that other star, that purest light, 
Of all Lucina's train, Lucy the bright ; 
Than which a nobler heaven itself knows not ; 
Who, though she hath a better verser got. 
Or poet, in the court-account, than I, 
And who doth me, though I not him, envy, 
Yet for the timely favors she hath done. 
To my less sanguine muse, wherein she hath Avon 
My grateful soul, the subject of her powers, 
I have already used some ha^jpy hours, 
To her remembrance ; Avhich when time shall 

bring 
To curious light, to notes I then shall sing. 
Will prove old Orpheus' act no tale to be : 
For I shall move stocks, stones, no less than he. 
Then all that have but done my Muse least 

grace. 
Shall thronging come, and boast the happy 2)lace 
They hold in my strange poems, which, as yet, 
Had not their form touch' d by an English Avit. 
There, like a rich and golden pyramed. 
Borne up by statues, shall I rear your head 
Above j'our under-carved ornaments. 
And shew hoAV to the life my soiil presents 
Your form imprest there : not Avith tickling 

rhymes. 
Or common-places, filch' d, that take these times. 
But high and noble matter, such as -flics 
From brains entranced, and fill'd with extasios ; 
Iiloods, which the godlike Sidney oft did prove. 
And your brave friend and mine so well did love. 

Who, Avhcresoe'er he be 

The rest is lost. 



XIII.— EPISTLE TO KATHARINE LADY AUBIGMV 

'Tis grown almost a danger to speak true 
Of any good mind, now ; ther.. are so few. 
The bad, by number, are so fortified, 
As Avhat they have lost t' expect, they daru 

deride. 
So both the prais'd and praiscrs suffer ; yet, 
For others ill ought none their good forget. 
I therefore, Avho profess myself in love 
With every A'irtue, Avheresoe'er it moA-e, ' 

And howsoever ; as I am at feud [endued , 

With sin and vice, though Avith a throne 
And, in this name, am given out dangerous 
By arts, and practice of the A'icious, 
Such as suspect themselves, and think it fit. 
For their OAvn capital crimes, to indict my wit ; 
I that haA'e suifer'd this ; and though forsook 
Of fortune, have not alter'd yet my look. 
Or so myself abandon'd, as because 
Men are not just, or keep no holy Liavs 
Of nature and society, I should faint ; 
Or fear to draw true lines, 'cause others paint ; 
I, madam, am become your praiser ; Avhere, 
If it may stand Avith your soft blush, to hear 
Yourself but told unto yourself, and see 
In my character Avhat your features be, 
You Avill not from the paper slightly pass : 
No lady, but at some time loA'-es her glass. 
And this shall be no false one, but as much 
Romov'd, as you from need to have it such. 
Look then, and see your self — I Avill not say 
Your beauty, for you see that every day ; 
And so do many more : all which can call 
It perfect, jDroper, pure, and natural, 
Not taken up o' the doctors, but as well 
As I, can say and see it doth excel ; 
That asks but to be censured by the eyes : 
And in those outward forms, all fools arc Avise. 
Nor that your beauty Avanted not a dower, 
Do I reflect. Some alderman has power, 
Or cozening farmer of the customs, so 
To adA'ance his doubtful issue, and o'erflow 
A prince's fortune : these are gifts, of chance. 
And raise not virtue ; they may vice enhance. 
My mirror is more subtle, clear, refined. 
And takes and gives the beauties of the mind ; 
Though it reject not those of fortune : such 
As blood, and match. Wherein, how more thaii 
Are you engaged to your happy fiitc, [much 
For such a lot ! ■ that mixt you Avith a state 
Of so great title, birth, but A'irtue most, 
Without Avhich all the rest Avere sounds, or lost. 
'Tis only that can time and chance 'defeat : 
For he that once is good, is ever great. 
WherCAvith then, madam, can you better pay 
This blessing of your stars, than hj that Avaj' 
Of virtue, Avhich you tread ? AVhat if alone, 
Without companions ? 'tis safe to have none. 
In single paths dangers Avith ease are Avatch'd j 
Contagion in the press is soonest catch'd. 
This makes, that Aviscly you decline your life 
Far from the maze of custom, error, strife. 
And keep an even, and unalter'd gait ; 
Not looking bj', or back, like those that wait 
Times and occasions, to start forth, and seem. 
"Which though the turning Avorld may disesteon\ 
Because that studies spectacles and shows. 
And after A'aried, as fresh objects, goes, 



THE FOIIEST. 



807 



cfiddy ■with change, and therefore cannot see 
Right, the right -way ; yet must your comfort be 
Your conscience, and not wonder if none asks 
For truth's complexion, where they all wear 

masks. 
Let Avho will follow fashions and attires. 
Maintain their liegers fortli for foreign wires, 
^lelt down their husbands lands, to pour awaj' 
On the close groom and page, on new-year's 

day, 
And almost all days after, while they live ; 
They find it both so witty, and safe to give. 
Let them on powders, oils, and paintings spend. 
Till that no usurer, nor his bawds dare lend 
Them or their officers ; and no man know, 
Whether it be a face they wear or no. 
Let them waste body and state ; and after all. 
When tlieir own parasites laugh at their fall. 
May they have nothing left, whereof they can 
Boast, but how oft they have gone wrong to man. 
And call it their brave sin : for such there be 
That do sin only for the infamy ; 
And never think, how vice doth every hour 
Eat on her clients, and some one devour. 
You, madam, young have learn'd to shun these 

shelves, 
Whereon the most of mankind wreck themselves, 
And keeping a just course, have early put 
Into your harbor, and all passage shut 
'Gainst storms or pirates, that might charge your 

peace ; 
For which you worthy are the glad increase 
Of your blest womb, made fruitful from above 
To pay your lord the pledges of chaste love ; 
And raise a noble stem, to give the fame 
To Clifton's blood, that is denied their name. 
Grow, grow, fair tree ! and as thy branches 

shoot. 
Hear what the Muses sing above thy root, 
By me, their priest, if they can aught divine : 
Before the moons havefiU'd their triple trine, 
To crown the burden which you go withal. 
It shall a ripe and timely issue fall, 
T' expect the honors of great Aubigxy ; 
And greater rites, yet writ in mystery. 
But which the fates forbid me to reveal. 
Only thus much out of a ravish'd zeal 
Unto your name, and goodness of your life. 
They speak ; since you are truly that rare wife. 
Other great wives may blush at, when they see 
What your tried manners are, what theirs should 

be ; 
How you love one, and him 5'ou should, how still 
Y'ou are depending on his word and will ; 
Not fashion' d for the court, or strangers' eyes ; 
But to please him, who is the dearer prize 
Unto himself, by being so dear to you. 
This makes, that your affections still be ncAV, 
And that your souls conspire, as they were gone 
Each into other, and had now made one. 
Live that one still ! and as long years do pass, 
Madam, be bold to use this truest glass ; 
Wherein your form you still the same shall find ; 
Because nor it can change, nor such a mind. 

XIV. —ODE TO SIR WILLIAM SIDNEY ON HIS 
BIRTH-DAY. 

Now that the hearth is crown' d with smiling fire. 
And some do drink, and some do dance, 



Some ring. 
Some sing, 
And all do strive to advance 
The gladness higher ; 

Wherefore should I 
Stand silent by. 
Who not the least. 
Both love the cause, and authors of the feast ? 

Give mo my cuj), but from the Thespian well, 
That I may tell to Sidney what 
This day 
Doth say, 
And he mav think on that 
Which I do tell ; 

When all the noise 
Of these forced joys, 
Are fled and gone. 
And he with his best Genius left alone. 

This day says, then, the number of glad years 
Are justly summ'd, that make you man ; 
Y'our vow 
^lust now 
Strive all right ways it can, 
T' outstrip your j)eers ; 

Since he doth lack 
Of going back 
Little, whose will 
Doth urge him to run wrong, or to stand still. 

Nor can a little of the common store 
Of nobles' virtue, shew in you ; 
Y^our blood 
So good 
And great, must seek for new, 
And study more : 

Nor weary, rest 
On what's deceas't. 
For they, that swell 
With dust of ancestors, in graves but dwell. 

'Twill be exacted of your name, whose son. 
Whose nephew, whose grandchild you are ; 
And men 
Will then 
Say you have follow'd far. 
When well begun : 

Which must be now, 

They teach you how. 

And he that stays 

To live until to-morrow', hath lost tAVO days. 

So may you live in honor, as in name. 
If with this truth you be inspired ; 
So may 
This day 
Be more, and long desired ; 
And with the flame 

Of love be bright. 
As Avith the light 
Of bonfires ! then 
The birth- day shines, Avhen logs not burn, biTt 
men. 

XV. — TO HEAVEN. 

Good and great God ! can I not think of thee, 
But it must straight my melancholy be ? 
Is it interiDretod in me disease. 
That, laden v.'ith my sins, I seek for ease ? 
O be thou Avitness, that the reins dost knoAV 
And hearts of all, if I be sad for shoAV ; 



808 



TIiE FOREST. 



And judge me after : if I dare pretend 
To au"-ht but grace, or aim at other end. 
As thou art all, so be thou all to me, 
First, midst, and last, converted One, and Three ! 
My faith, my hope, my love ; and in this state. 
My judge, my witness, and my advocate. 
Where have I been this while exiled from thee, 
And whither rapt, now thou but stoop'st to me ? 
Dwell, dwell here still ! O, being every where, 
How can I doubt to find thee ever here ? 



I know my state, both full of shame and scom. 
Conceived in sin, and unto labor born, 
Standing with fear, and must with horror fall, 
And destined unto judgment, after all. 
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground. 
Upon my flesh t' inflict another wound : 
Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death. 
With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breath 
Of discontent ; or that these prayers be 
For weariness of life, not love of thoe. 



UNDERWOODS; 



CONSISTING OF DIVERS POEMS. 



■ CiNERi, Gloria seha tenit. — Mart. 



TO THE READER. 

With the same leave the ancients called that kind of body Sylva, or "YAr?, in which there were works of divers na- 
ture and matter congested ; as the multitude called Timber-Trees promiscuously growing, a Wood or Forest ; so I aui 
bold to entitule these lesser poems of later growth, by this of Underwood, out of the analogy they hold to the Foiest in 
my former book, and no otherwise. BErr JoNsor 



POEMS OF DEVOTION. 



THE SINNER'S SACRIFICE. 



I. — TO THE HOLY TRINITY. 
I. 

HOLY, blessed, glorious Trinity 
Of persons, still one God in Unity, 
the faithful man's believed mystery, 

Help, help to lift 
Myself up to thee, harrow'd, torn, and bruised, 
By sin and Satan ; and my flesh misused, 
As my heart lies in pieces, all confused, 

O take my gift. 



All -gracious God, the sinner's sacrifice, 

A broken heart, thou wert not Avont desijisc ; 

But 'bove the fat of rams, or bulls to prize. 

An offering meet. 
For thy acceptance : O, behold me right, 
And take compassion on my grievous plight ! 
What odor can be, than a heart contrite, 

To thco more sweet ? 



Eternal Father, God, who didst create 
This all of nothing, gav'st it form and fate. 
And brcath'st into it life and light, with state 

To worship thee. 
Eternal God the Son, who not deniedst 
To take our natvu-e ; becam'st man, and dicdst. 
To pay our debts, upon thj' cross, and criedst 

All's doxe ix jie. 



Eternal Spirit, God from both proceeding, 
Father and Son; .the Comforter, in breeding 
Pure thoughts in man : with fiery zeal them 
feeding 

For acts of grace. 
Increase those acts, O glorious Trinity 
Cf persons, still one God in Unitj^ ; 
1\]1 I attain the long'd-for mystery 

Of seeing your face, 



Beholding one in three, and three in one, 

A Trinity, to shine in Union ; 

The gladdest light dark man can think upon 5 

O grant it me' ! 
Father, and Son, and Holj' Ghost, you three* 
All co-eternal in j'our majesty. 
Distinct in persons, yet in unity. 

One God to sec. 



My Maker, Savior, and my Sanctifier ! 
To hear, to mediate, sweeten mj' desu-e 
"With grace, with love, with cherishing entira 

O, then how blest ! 
Among thy saints elected to abide. 
And with thy angels placed, side by side, 
But in thy presence, truly glorified 

Shall I there rest I 



II —AN IIYKN TO GOD THE PATIIER. 

Hear me, God ! 
A broken heart 
Is my best part : 

Use still thj^ rod, 
That I may prove 
Therein, thy love. 

If thou hadst not 
Been stern to me, 
But left me free, 

I had forgot 

Myself and thee. 

For, sin's so sweet, 
As minds ill bent 
Rarely repent, 

Until they meet 
Their punishment. 

809 



810 



UNDERWOODS. 



^^Hio more can crave 

Than tliou hast done ' 

That gav'st a Son 
To free a slave : 

First made of nought ; 

With all since bought. 

Sin, death, and hell 

His glorious name 

Quite overcame ; 
Yet I rebel. 

And slight the same. 

But, I'll come in, 

Before my loss, 

Me farther toss, 
As sure to win 

Under his cross. 

Ill, — AN IIVMN ON THE NATIVITY O]? M5f SAVIOR. 

I sing the birth Avas born to-night, 
The author both of life and light ; 

The an^-els so did sound it. 



And like the ravish'd shepherds said, 
AVho saw the light, and were afraid. 

Yet search'd, and true they found it 

The Son of God, the Eternal King, 
That did us all salvation bring, 

And freed the soul from danger ; 
He whom the v\rhole world could not take, 
The Word, which heaven and earth did make, 

Was now laid in a manger. 

The Father's wisdom will'd it so. 
The Son's obedience knew no No, 

Both wills were in one stature ; 
And as that wisdom had decreed, 
The Word was now made Flesh indeed, 

And took on him our nature. 

What comfort by him do we win, 
Who made himself the price of sin, 

To make us heirs of glory ! 
To sec this Babe, all innocence 
A martyr born in our defence ; 

Can man forget this story ? 



A CELEBRATION OF CIIARIS; 

IN TEN LYRIC PIKCES. 



I. — HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVIN&. 

Let it not your wonder move. 
Less your laughter, that I love. 
Though I now write fifty years, 
I have had, and have my peers ; 
Poets, though divine, are men : 
Some have loved as old again. 
And it is not always face. 
Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace ; 
Or the feature, or the youth : 
But the language, and the truth. 
With the ardor, and the passion, 
Gives the lover weight and fashion. 
If you then will read the story. 
First, prepare you to be sorry. 
That you never knew till now. 
Either whom to love, or how : 
But be glad, as soon Avith me. 
When you know that this is she, 
Of Avhose beauty it Avas sung. 
She shall make the old man young, 
Keep the middle age at stay. 
And let nothing high decay ; 
Till she be the reason, Avhy, 
All the Avorld for love may die. 

II. — IIOAV HE SAW HER. 

I beheld her on a day, 
When her look out-fiourish'd May : 
And her dressing did out-braA'e 
All the pride the fields then have : 
Far I Avas from being stupid. 
For I ran and call'd on Cupid ; — 
Love, if thou Avilt ever see 
!Mark of glory, come Avith me ; 
Where's thy quiA'cr ? bend thy boAV ; 
Here's a shaft, — thou art too sIoav ! 
And, Avithal, I did untie 
Every cloud about his eye ; 



But he had not gain'd his sight 

Sooner than he lost his might. 

Or his courage ; for aAvay 

Straight he ran, and durst not stay, 

Letting boAV and arrow fall ; 

Not for any threat, or call, 

Could be brought once back to look. 

I fool-hardy, there up took 

Both the arrow he had quit, 

And the boAV, Avith thought to hit 

This my object ; but she threw 

Such a lightning, as I drew, 

At my face, that took my sight. 

And my motion from mo quite ; 

So that there I stood a stone, 

Mock'd of all, and call'd of one,- 

(Which Avith grief and Avrath I heard,) 

Cupid's statue Avith a beard ; 

Or else one that play'd his ape. 

In a Hercules his shape. 

III. — AA'HAT HE SUFFERED. 

After many scorns like these, 
Which the prouder beauties please ; 
She content Avas to restore 
Eyes and limbs to hurt me more. 
And Avould, on conditions, be 
Ileconciled to Love and me. 
First, that I must kneeling yield 
Both the bow and shaft I hold 
Unto her ; Avhich Love might take 
At her hand, Avith oaths, to make 
SIo the scope of his next draft, 
Aimed, Avith that self-same shaft. 
He no sooner heard the law, 
But the arroAV home did draAV, 
And, to gain her by his art, 
Left it sticking in my heart ; 



UNDERWOODS. 



811 



Which Mlien she beheld to bleed, 

She repented of the deed, 

A.nd ^^•ould fain have chang'd the fate, 

Cut the pity comes too late. 

Loscr-likc, now, all my -wreak 

Is, that I have leave to speak ; 

And in either prose, or song, 

To revenge me with my tongue ; 

Which how dexterously I do, 

Hear, and make example too. 

IV. — HER TRIUMPH. 

Bee Die chariot at hand hero of Love, 

WLerein my' Lady rideth ! 
Eacn that draws is a swan or a dove. 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As she goes, all hearts do duty 

Unto her beauty ; 
And eviamour'd, do wish, so they might 

But enjoy such a sight. 
That they still were to run by her side, 
Tlirough swords, through seas, Avhither she 
would ride. 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 
All that Love's world compriseth ! 

Do but look on her hair, it is bright 
As Love's star Avhen it riseth ! 

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 

Than words that soothe her : 

And from her arched brows, such a grace 

Sheds itself through the fiice, 

As alone there triumphs to the life 

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow. 
Before rude hands have touch'd it ? 
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow 

Before the soil hath smutch'd it ? 
Have you felt the wool of the bever ? 

Or swan's down ever ? 
Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar ? 

Or the nard in the fire ? 
Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
so Avhite ! O so soft ! O so SAveet is she ! 

v. — HIS DISCOURSE WITH CUPID 

Noblest Charts, you that are 
Both my fortune and my star, 
And do govern more my blood, 
Than the various moon the flood. 
Hear, what late discourse of you, 
Love and I have had ; and true. 
Mongst my Pluses finding me. 
Where he chanced yoiir name to see 
Set, and to this softer strain ; 
Sure, said he, if I have brain, 
This, here sung, can be no other, 
By description, but my mother ! 
So hath Homer praised her hair ; 
■ So Anacreon drawn the air 
Of her face, and made to rise 
Just about her sparkling eyes. 
Both her brows bent like my bow. 
By her looks I do her know, 
Which you call my shafts. And see ! 
Such my mother's blushes be. 
As the bath your verse discloses 
L'. her checks, of milk and roses ; 
Such as oft I wanton in : 
And, above her even chin, 



Have you placed the bank of kisses, 

Where, you say, men gather blisses, 

rtipeu'd with a breath more sweet, 

Than when flowers and west- winds meet 

Nay, her white and polish'd neck. 

With the lace that doth it deck. 

Is my mother's : hearts of slain 

Lovers, made into a chain ! 

And between each rising breast. 

Lies the valley call'd my nest, 

Where I sit and proyne my wings 

After flight ; and put new stings 

To my shafts : her very name 

With my mother's is the same. 

I confess all, I replied. 

And the glass hangs by her side. 

And the girdle 'bout her waist, 

All is Venus, save unchaste. 

But alas, thou seest the least 

Of her good, Avho is the best 

Of her sex : but couldst thou, Love, 

Call to mind the forms that strove 

For the apple, and those three 

Make in one, the same were she. 

For this beauty yet cloth hide 

Something more than thou hast spied, 

Outward grace weak love beguiles : 

She is Venus when she smiles ; 

But she's Juno, when she Avalks, 

And Minerva when she talks. 

VI. — CLAnlING A SECOND KISS BY 
DESERT. 

Charis, guess, and do not miss. 
Since I drcAV a morning kiss 
From your lips, and suck'd an air 
Thence, as sweet as you are fair, 
What my Muse and I haA'e done : 

Whether we have lost or Avon, 
If by us the odds Avere laid. 
That the bride, alloAv'd a maid, 
Look'd not half so fresh and fair, 
With the advantage of her hair. 
And her jcAvels to the view 
Of the assembly, as did you ! 

Or that did you sit or walk. 
You Avere more the eye and talk 
Of the court, to-day, than all 
Else that glister'd in Whitehall ; 
So, as those that had your sight, 
Wish'd the bride Avere chang'd to-niglitj 
And did think such rites Avei-e due 
To no other Grace but you ! 

Or, if you did move to-night 
In the dances, Avith what spite 
Of your peers you Avere beheld. 
That at every motion savcU'cI 
So to see a lady tread, 
As might all the Graces lead. 
And Avas Avorthj-, being so seen, 
To be envied of the queen. 

Or if you Avould yet have staid, 
Whether any Avould upbraid 
To himself his loss of time ; 
Or haA'e charg'd his sight of crime, 
To haA'o left all sight for you. 
Guess of these Avhich is the true ; 
And, if such a verse as this, 
Slay not claim another kiss. 



812 



UNDERWOODS. 



VII. — BEaOINa ANOTHER, ON COLOR OF MENDING 
THE FORMER. 

For Love's sake, kiss me once again, 
I long, and should not beg in vain, 
Here's none to spj^ or see ; 

Why do you doubt or stay ? 
I'll taste as lightly as the bee. 
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.' 

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone, 
Can he that loves ask less than one ? 
Nay, you may err in this. 

And all your bounty wrong : 
This could be call'd but half a kiss ; 
\Vhat we're but once to do, w^e should do long. 

I will but mend the last, and tell 
"Where, how, it would have relish' d well ; 
Join lip to lip, and try : 

Each suck the other's breath, 
And whilst our tongues perplexed lie, 
Let who will think us dead, or wish our death. 

VIII. — URGING IIER OF A PROMISE. 

Charis one day in discourse 
Had of Love, and of his force. 
Lightly promis'd she would tell 
What a man she could love well : 
And that promise set on fire 
All that heard her with desire. 
With the rest, I long expected 
When the work would be eftected ; 
But we find that cold delay, 
And excuse spun every day, 
As, until she tell her one. 
We all fear, she loveth none. 
Therefore, Charis, you must do't, 
For I Avill so urge you to't. 
You shall neither eat nor sleep, 
No, nor forth your window peep, 
With your emissary eye. 
To fetch in the forms go by, 
And pronounce, which band or lace 
Better fits him than his face : 
Nay, I will not let you sit 
'Fore your idol glass a whit, 
To say over every purl 
There ; or to reform a curl ; 
Or with secretary Cis 
To consult, if fucus this 
Be as good, as was the last : — 
All your sweet of life is past, 
ilake account, unless j'ou can. 
And that quickly, speak your Man. 

IX. — HER MAN DESCRIBED BY HER OWN DICTA- 
MEN. 

Of your trouble, Bex, to ease me, 
I will tell what Man would please mo. 
I would have him, if I could. 
Noble ; or of greater blood ; 
Titles, I confess, do take me. 
And a woman God did make ; 



French to boot, at least in fashion, 
And his manners of that nation. 

Young I'd have him too, and fair, 
Yet a man ; with crisped hair. 
Cast in thousand snares and rings, 
For love's fingers, and his wings : 
Chestnut color, or more slack, 
Gold, upon a ground of black. 
Ycnus and Minerva's eyes. 
For he must look wanton-wise. 

Eyebrows bent, like Cupid's boAV, 
Front, an ample field of snow ; 
Even nose and cheek withal, 
Smooth as is the billiard-ball : 
Chin as woolly as the peach ; 
And his lip should kissing teach, 
Till he chorish'd too much beard, 
And made Love or me afeard. 

He should have a hand as soft 
As the down, and shcAv it oft ; 
Skin as smooth as any rush. 
And so thin to see a blush 
Rising through it, ere it came ; 
All his blood should be a flame, 
Quickly fired, as in beginners 
In love's school, and yet no sinners 

'Twere too long to speak of all ; 
What we harmony do call. 
In a bodj', should be there. 
Well he should his clothes, too, wear. 
Yet no tailor help to make him ; 
Drest, 5-0U still for man should take hiiu 
And not think he'd eat a stake, 
Or were set up in a brake. 

Valiant he should be as fire. 
Shewing danger more than ire. 
Bounteous as the clouds to earth, 
And as honest as his birth ; 
All his actions to be such. 
As to do no thing too much : 
Nor o'er-praise, nor j'et condemn, 
Nor out- value, nor contemn ; 
Nor do wrongs, nor wrongs receive, 
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave ; 
And from baseness to be free. 
As he durst love truth and me. 

Such a man, with every part, 
I could give my very heart ; 
But of one if short he came, 
I can rest me where I am. 

— ANOTHER LADY'S EXCEPTION, PRESENT A 
THE HEARING. 

For his mind I do not care. 
That's a toy that I could spare 
Let his title be but great. 
His clothes rich, and band sit neat, 
Himself young, and face be good, 
All I wish is understood. 
What you please, you parts may call, 
"i'is one good part I'd lie withal. 



UNDERWOODS. 



813 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



I. — TiIE MUSICAL STRIFE. — A PASTOEAL 
DIALOGUE. 

She. Como, with our voices let us war, 
And cliallcnge all the spheres, 
Till each of us be niade a star, 
And all tlie world turn ears. 

He. At such a call, what beast or fowl, 
Of reason emiity is ? 
Wliat tree or stone doth want a soul. 
What man but must lose his ? 

She. Mix then your notes, that we may prove 
To stay the running floods ; 
To make the mountain quarries move. 
And call the walking woods. 

B; . "What need of me ? do you but sing, 
Sleep, and the grave will wake : 
No tunes are sweet, nor words have sting, 
But what those Ups do make. 

f^Jic. They say, the angels mark each deed, 
And exercise below ; 
And out of inward pleasure feed 
On what they viewing know. ' 

He. O sing not you then, lest the best 
Of angels should be driven 
To fall again, at such a feast. 
Mistaking eartli for heaven. 

2hc. Nay, rather both our souls be strain'd 
To meet their high desire ; 
So they in state of grace retain'd, 
JMay wish us of their quire. 

II.— A SONG. 

O do not wanton with those eyes. 

Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
Nor cast them down, but let them rise, 

Lest shame destroy their being. 

') bo not angry with those fires. 
For tlien their threats will kill me ; 

Nor look too kind on my desires, 
For then my hopes will spill me. 

do not steep them in thy tears, 

For so will sorrow slay me ; 
Nor spread them as distract with fears ; 

Mine own enough betray me. 

III. — IN THE PERSON OF WOMANKIND. — A SONG 
APOLOGETIC. 

Men, if you love us, play no more 

The fools or tyrants with your friends. 
To make us still sing o'er and o'er. 
Our own false praises, for your ends : 
"We have both wits and fancies too. 
And if we must, let's sing of you. 

Nor do we doubt, but that we can. 

If we would search with care and pain, , 
Find some one good, in some one man ; 
So going thorough all your strain. 
We shall at last, of parcels make 
One good enough for a song's sake. 



And as a cunning painter takes 
In any curious piece you see. 
More i^lcasure while the thing he makes. 
Than Avhen 'tis made ; why, so will we. 
And having pleas'd our art, we'll try 
To make a new, and hang that by. 

IV. — ANOTHER, IN DEFENCE OF THElti 
INCONSTANCY. 

Hang up those dull and envious fools 

That talk abroad of woman's change, 
We were not bred to sit on stools. 
Our proper virtue is to range : 
Take that away, j-ou take our lives. 
We are no women then, but wives. 

Such as in valor would excel. 

Do change, though men, and often fight, 
Which we in love must do as well. 
If ever we will love aright : 

The frequent varying of the deed. 
Is that which doth perfection breed. 

Nor is't inconstancy to change 

For what is better, or to make. 
By searching, what before was strange, 
Familiar, for the use's sake : 

The good from bad is not descried, 
But as 'tis often vext and tried. 

And this profession of a store 

In love, doth not alone help forth 
Our pleasure ; but preserves us more 
From being forsaken, than doth Avorth : 
For were the Avorthiest woman curst 
To love one man, he'd leave her first. 

V. — A NYMPH'S PASSION. 

I love, and he loves me again. 

Yet dare I not tell who ; 
For if the nymphs shoirld know my swainj 
I fear they'd love him too ; 
Yet if he be not known. 
The pleasure is as good as none. 
For that's a narrow joy is but our own. 

I'll tell, that if they be not glad. 

They yet may envy me ; 
But then if I grov,^ jealous mad. 
And of them pitied be. 

It were a plague 'bovc scorn • 

And yet it cannot be forborn. 

Unless my heart would, as my thought, be tom< 

He is, if they can find him, fair. 

And fresh and fragrant too. 
As summer's sky, or pnj-ged air. 
And looks as lilies do 

That are this morning blown ; 
Yet, yet I doubt he is not known, 
And fear much more, that more of him be shown 

But he hath eyes so round, and bright, 

As make away my doubt, 
Where Love may all his torches light 

Though hate har. put the.'a out ; 



8U 



TJNIiERWOODS, 



But then, t' increase my fears, 
"What nymph soe'er his voice but huars, 
Will he my rival, though she have but ears. 

I'll tell no more, and j'et I love, 

And he loves me ; yet no 
One unbecoming thought doth move 
From cither heart, I know ; 
But so exempt from blame, 
As it ■would be to each a fame, 
[f love or fear Avould let me tell his name. 

VI. — THE HOUR-GLASS 

Consider this small dust, here, in the glass, 

By atoms mov'd : 
Could you believe, that this the body was 

Of one that lov'd ; 
And in his mistress' flame, playing like a' fiy, 
AVas turn'd to cinders by her eye : 
Yes ; and in death, as life unblest, 

To have't exprcst, 
Ev'n ashes of lovers find no rest. 

VII. — MY PICTURE, LEFT IN SCOTLAND. 

I now think, Love is rather deaf than blind. 
For else it could not be, 

That she, 
Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, 
And cast my suit behind : 
I'm sure my language to her was as sweet, 
And every close did meet 
In sentence of as subtle feet, 
As hath the youngest he, 

That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. 

! but my conscious fears, 
That fly my thoughts between. 

Tell me that she hath seen 
]My hundreds of gray hairs. 
Told seven and forty years. 
Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace 
My mountain belly, and my rocky face, 
And all these, through her eyes, have stopt 
her ears. 

VIII. — AGAINST JEALOUSY. 

Wretched and foolish jealousy, 
How cam'st thou thus to enter me ? 
I ne'er was of thy kind ; 
Nor have I yet the narrow mind 
To vent that poor desire, 
That others should not warm them at my flre : 

I wish the sun should shine 
On all men's fruits and flowers, as well as mine. 

But under the disguise of love. 
Thou say'st, thou only cam'st to prove 
What my affections were. 
Think'st thou that love is help'd by fear? 
Go get thee quickly forth. 
Love's sickness, and his noted want of worth. 

Seek doubting men to release, 
1 ne'er Avill owe my health to a disease. 

IX. — THE DREAM. 

Or scorn, or pitj"-, on me take, 

1 must the true relation make, 
I am undone to-night : 

Love in a subtle dream disguised, 

Hath both my heart and me surprised, 



W'hom never yd he durst attempt awake; 
Kor will he tell me for whose sake 
He did me the delight, 
Or spighi, ; 
Put leaves me to inquire. 
In all my Avild desire, 
Of SiCep ?.gai;i, who was hie aid. 
And Sleep so guilty and afraid, 
As since he dares not come within my sight. 

JC — AN EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET 

I have my piety too, which, could 

It -vent itself but as it would, 

Would say as much as both have done 

Before mo here, the friend and son : 

For I both lost a friend and father, 

Of him whose bo'^es this grave doth gather, 

Dear Vincent Corbet, who so long 

Had wrestled with diseases strong. 

That though they did possess each limb, 

Yet he broke them, ere they could him. 

With the just canon of his life, 

A life that knev/ nor noise, nor strife ; 

But was, by swectning so his will. 

All order and disposure still. 

His mind. as pure, and neatly kept, 
As were his nurseries, and swept 
So of uncleanness, or offence. 
That never came ill odor thence ! 
And add his actions unto these, 
They were as specious as his trees. 
'Tis true, he .could not reprehend — 
His very manners taught t' amend, 
They were so even, grave and holy | 
No stubbornness so stiff, nor folly 
To license ever was so light. 
As twice to trespass in his sight : 
His looks would so correct it, when 
It chid the vice, yet not the men. 
INIuch from him, I profess I won, 
And more, and more, I should have done, 
But that I imderstood him scant, 
Now I conceive him by my want ; 
And pray who shall my sorrows read, 
That the}' for me their tears will shed ; 
For truly, since he left to be, 
I feel, I'm rather dead than he ! 

Reader, whose life and name did e'er become 
An Epitaph, deserv'd a Tomb : 

Nor wants it here through i^enury or sloth, 
Who makes the one, so it be first, makes both. 

XI. — ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. 
TO THE READER. 

This figure that thou here seest put, 
It was for gentle Siiakspeare cutj 
Wherein the graver had a strife 
With nature, to out-do the life : 
O could ho but have drawn his wit 
As well in brass, as he has hit 
His face ; the print would then surpass 
All that was ever writ in brass : 
But since he cannot, reader, look 
Not on his picture, but his book. 

XII. — TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER 

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND WHAT UE 

HATH LEFT US. 

To draw no envy, Siiakspeare, on thy name, 
Am I thus ample to thy book ?nd fame ; 



UNDERWOODS, 



815 



While I confess thy writings 'to be such, 
As neither man, nor Muse, can praise too much, 
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways 
Were not the imths I meant unto thy praise ; 
For silliest ignorance on these may light. 
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; 
Or blind affection, which cloth ne'er advance 
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; 
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, 
And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. 
These arj, as some infamous bawd, or whore. 
Should praisj a matron ; what could hurt her 

more ? 
But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, 
Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. 
I therefore will begin : Soul of the age ! 
The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage ! 
My Shakspeake, rise ! I will not lodge thee by 
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
A little further off, to make thee room : 
Thou art a monunient Avithout a tomlj, 
^ And art ahve still, while thy book doth live. 
And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, 
I mean with great, but disproportion'd Muses : 
For if I thought my judgment were of years, 
I should conimit thee surely with thy peers, 
And tell how far thou didst our Lilj' outshine, 
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow's mighty line. 
And though thou hadst small Latin and less 

Greek, 
From thence to honor thee, I will not seek 
For names : but call forth thund'ring Eschylus, 
Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 
To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, 
And shake a stage : or when thy socks were on, 
Leave thee alone for the comparison 
Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome 
Sent fort'a, or since did from their ashes come. 
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 
He was not of an age, but for all time ! 
And all the Muses still were in their prime, 
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! 
Nature herself was proud of his designs, 
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines ! 
Which were so richly spun, and Avoven so fit. 
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
Neat Terence, wittj' Plautus, now not x:)lease ; 
But antiquated and deserted lie, 
As they were not of Nature's family. 
Yet must I not give nature all ; thy art. 
My gentle Shakspcare, must enjoy a part. 
For though the poet's matter nature be, 
His art doth give the fashion : and, that he 
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, 
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
Ui)on the Muses' anvil ; turn the same. 
And hhnself with it, that he thinks to frame ; 
Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn ; 
For a good poet's made, as well as born, [face 
And such Avert thou ! Look how the father's 
LiA-es in his issue, even so the race 
Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly 

shines 
bi hia well torned, and true filed lines ; 



In each of AA-hich he seems to shako a lance, 
As brandish'd at the ej'cs of ignorance. 
Sweet SAvan of Avon ! Avhat a sight it Avere 
To see thee in our Avater yet appear. 
And make those flights upon the banks of 

Thames 
That so did take Eliza, and our James ! 
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 
Advanced, and made a constellation there ! 
Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and Avith rage, 
Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, 
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd 

like night, 
And despairs day, but for thy volume's light, 

XIII. — ON THE IIONOREU POEMS OF HIS 

HONORED FRIEND, 

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, BARONET. 

This book Avill live ; it hath a Genius ; this 
Above his reader, or his praiscr, is. [expense 
Hence, then, profane ! here needs no Avorcia 
In buhvarks, rav'lins, ramparts for defence : 
Such as the creeping common pioners use, 
When they do SAVcat to fortify a Muse. 
Though I confess it Beau.aiont's book to be\ 
Tlie bound, and frontier of our poetry ; 
And doth deserve all muniments of praise. 
That art, or ingine, on the strength can raise ; 
Yet, AA'ho dares offer a redoubt to rear, 
To cut a dike, or stick a stake up, here. 
Before this Avork * where envv hath not cast 
A trench against it, nor a batt'ry piac't ? 
iStaj^ till she make her vain approaches ; then. 
If maimed she come off, 'tis not of men. 
Tills fort of so impregnable access ; 
But higher poAver, as spight could not make less, 
Nor flattery ; but, secur'd by the author's name, 
Defies Avhat's cross to piety, or good fame : 
And like a halloAved temple, free from taint 
Of ethnicisme, makes his Muse a saint. 

XIV. — TO MR. JOHN FLETCHER, UPON HIS 
FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. 

The Avise, and many-headed bench, that sits 
Upon the life and tlcath of plays and Avits, 
(Compos'd of gamester, captain, knight, knight's 

man. 
Lady or pucelle, that Avears mask or fan. 
Velvet, or taffata cap, rank'd in the dark 
With the shop's foreman, or some such bravo 

spark 
That may judge for his sixpence) had, before 
They saAV it half, damn'd thy whole play, and 

more : 
Their motives Avere, since it had not to do 
With vices, Avhich they look'd for, and came to 
I, that am glad thy innocence Avas thy guilt, 
And Avish that all the Muses' blood Avere spilt 
In such a martyrdom, to vex their eyes. 
Do croAvn thy murder'dpoem : Avhich shall risg 
A glorified Avork to time, Avhen fire. 
Or moths shall eat Avhat all these fools admire. 

XV. -EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. 

Underneath this sable horse 
Lies the subject of all verse, 
Sidney's sister, Peaibroke's mother ; 
Death ! ere thou hast slain another, 
Learn'd and fair, and good as she. 
Time shall throAV a dart at thee. 



816 



UNDERWOODS. 



XVI. — A VISION ON THE MUSES OF HIS FRIEND 
MICHAEL DRAYTON. 

It hath been qucstion'd, Michael, if I be 
A friend at all ; or, if at all, to thee : 
Because, who make the question, have not seen 
Those ambling visits pass in verse, between 
Thy Muse and mine, as they expect : 'tis true, 
You have not writ to me, nor I to you. 
And though I now begin, 'tis not to rub 
Hanch against hanch, or raise a rhyming club 
About the town ; this reckoning I will pay, 
Without conferring symbols ; this' my day. 
It was no dream ! I was awake, and saw. 
Lend me thy voice, O Fame, that I may draw 
Wonder to truth, and have my vision huii'd 
Hot from thy trumpet round about the world. 
I saw a beauty, from the sea to rise. 
That all earth look'd on, and that earth all eyes ! 
It cast a beam, as when the cheerful sun 
Is fair got up, and day some hours begun ; 
And fiU'd an orb as circular as heaven : 
The orb was cut forth into regions seven, 
And those so sweet, and Avell-proportion'cl parts. 
As it had been the circle of the arts : 
When, by thy bright Idea standing by, 
I found it pure and perfect poesy. [three. 

There road I, straight, thy learned Legends 
Heard the soft airs, between our swains and 

thee, 
Which made me think the old Theocritus 
Or rural Yirgil come to pipe to us. 
But then thy Epistolar Heroic Soxgs, 
Their loves, their quarrels, jealousies and 

wrongs, 
Did all so strike me, as I cried, who can 
With us be call'd the Naso, but this man ? 
And looking up, I saw Minerva's fowl. 
Perch' d over head, the wise Athenian Owl : 
I thought thee then our Orpheus, that wouldst 
Like him, to make the air one volary. [try, 

And I had styled thee Orpheus, but before 
My lips cou'cl form the voice, I heard that roar, 
And rouze, the marching of a mighty force. 
Drums against drums, the neighing of the 

horse, 
The fights, the cries, and wond'ring at the jars, 
I saw and read it was the Bae.ons' Wars. 
O how in those dost thou instruct these times, 
That rebels' actions are but valiant crimes ; 
And carried, thougli vi^ith shout and noise, 

confess 
A wild, and an irnauthorized wickedness ! 
Say'st thou so, Lucan ? but thou scorn' st to stay 
Under one title : thou hast made thy way 
And flight about the isle, well near, by this 
In thy admired Periegesis, 
Or universal circumduction 
Of all that read thy Poly-Oleiox. 
That read it ! that are ravish'd ; such was I, 
With every song, I swear, and s6 would die ; 
But that I hear again thy drum to beat 
A better cause, and strike the bravest heat 
That ever yet did fire the English blood. 
Our right in Franco, if rightly understood. 
There thou art Homer ; pray thee, use the style 
Thou hast dcserv'd, and let me read the while 
Thy catalogue of ships, exceeding his, 
Thy list of aids and force, for so it is : 
The poet's act ; and for hLs country's sake, 



Brave are the musters that the muse will make. 
And when he ships them, where to use theil 

arms, 
How do his trumpets breathe ! what loud 

alarms ! 
Look hoAv we read the Spartans were inflam'd 
With bold Tyrtajus' verse ; when thou art nam'dj 
So shall our English youth tirge on, and cry 
An Agincourt ! an Agincourt ! or die. 
This book, it is a catechism to fight, 
And will be bought of every lord and knight 
That can but read ; who cannot, may in prose 
Get broken pieces, and fight well by those. 
The miseries of Margaret the queen, 
Of tender eyes will more be wept than seen. 
I feel it by mine own, that overflow 
And stop my sight in every line I go. 
But then, refreshed by thy Fairy Court, 
I look on Cynthia, and Syrexa's sj^ort. 
As on two flow'ry carpets that did rise, 
And with their grassy green restored mine eyes 
Yet give me leave to wonder at the birth 
Of thy strange Moon-calf, both thy strain of 

mirth, 
And gossip-got acquaintance, as to us 
Thou hadst brought Lapland, or old Cobalus. 
Empusa, Lamia, or some monster more. 
Than Afric knew, or the full Grecian store. 
I gratulate it to thee, and thy ends, 
To all thy virtuous and well-chosen friends ; 
Onlj' my loss is, that I am not there, 
And till I worthy am to wish I were, 
I call the v/orld that envies me, to see 
If I can be a friend, and friend to thee. 

XVII. — EPITAPH ox MICHAEL DRAYTON. 

Do, iDious marble, let thy readers know 

What they, and what their children owe 

To Drayton's name ; whose sacred dust 

We recommend unto thy trust. 

Protect his memory, and preserve his story, 

Bcmain a lasting monument of his glory. — 

And when thy ruins sliall disclaim 

To be the treasurer of his name ; 

His name, that cannot die, shall be 

An everlasting monument to thee, 

XVIII. — TO my truly BELOVED FRIEND, MASTER 
BROV/NE : ON HIS PASTORALS 

Some men, of books or friends not speaking 
right, [spight. 

May hurt them more with praise, than foes with 
But I have seen thy work, and I know thee : 
And, if thou list thyself, Avhat thou canst be. 
For, though but early in these paths thou tread, 
I find thee write most worthy to be read. 
It must be thine own judgment, yet, that sendiJ 
This thy Avork forth ; that judgment mine com- 
mends. 
And, Avhere the most read books, on authors 

fames. 
Or, like our money-brokers, take up names 
On credit, and are cozcn'd ; see, that thou 
By offering not more sureties, than enow. 
Hold thine own worth unbroke ; Avhich is so 

good 
Upon the Exchange of Letters, as I wou'd 
More of our Avriters Avould like thee, not swell 
With the hoAV much they set forth, but the how 
well. 



UNDERWOODS. 



817 



XIX. — TO HIS MUCH AND WOUTlIir.Y ESTEEMED 
FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. 

Who takes thy volume to his vh-tuous hand, 
Must be intondecl still to understand : 
Who bluntly doth but look uj^on the same, 
IMay ask, what author "would conceal his name ? 
Who reads may rove, and call the passage dark, 
Yet may as blind men sometimes hit the mark. 
Who reads, who roves, who hopes to understand, 
Slay take thy volume to his virtuous hand : 
V»' ho cannot read, but only doth desire 
f o understand, he may at length admire. 

XX.— TO MY WORTHV AND HONORED FRIEND, 
MASTER GEORGE CHAPMAN. 

Whose work, could this be. Chapman, to refine 
Old Ilesiod's ore, and give it thus ! but thine. 
Who hadst before wrought in rich Homer's 
mine. 

What treasure hast thou brought us ! and what 

store 
Still, still, dost thou arrive with at our shore, 
To make thy honor, and our wealth the more ! 
If all the vulgar tongues that speak this day 
Were ask'd of thy discoveries ; they must say, 
To the Greek coast thine only knew the way. 

Such passage hast thou found, such returns 
As nOAV of all men, it is call'd thy trade, [mad(>, 
And who make thither else, rob, or invade. 

XXI. — TO MY CHOSEN FRIEND, 

THE LEARNED TRANSLATOR OF LUCAN, 

THOMAS MAY, ESQUIRE. 

When^ Rome, I read thee in thy mighty pair, 

And see both climbing up the slippery stair 

Of Fortune's wheel, by Lucan driv'n about, 

And the world in it, I begin to doubt, 

At every line some pin thereof should slack 

At least, if not the general engine crack. 

But when again I view the parts so pays'd. 

And those in number so, and measure rais'd, 

As neither Pompey's popularitj-, 

Ci-T'sar's ambition, Cato's liberty, 

Calm Brutus' tenor start, but all along 

Keep due proportion in the ample song, 

It makes me, ravish'd with just wonder, cry 

What Muse, or rather God of harmony 

Taught Lucan these true modes ! replies my 

sense, 
What gods but those of arts and eloquence ? 
Phoebus, and Hermes ? they whose tongue, or 

pen. 
Are still th' interpreters 'twixt gods and men ! 
But who hath them interpreted, and brought 
Lucan's whole frame unto us, and so wrought, 
As not the smallest joint, or gentlest word 
In the great mass, or machine there is stirr'd ? 
The self-same Genius ! so the work will say : 
The sun translated, or the son of ]\Iay. 

XXII. — TO MY DEAR SON, AND RIGHT LEARNED 
FRIEND, MASTER JOSEPH RUTTEK. 

You look, my Joseph, I should something say 
Unto the world, in praise of your first play : 
And truly, so I would, could I be heard. 
You know, I never was of truth afcard. 
And less ashamed ; not when 1 told the crowd 
How well I lov'd truth : I was scarce allow'd 
By those deep-grounded, understanding men. 
That sit to censure Plays, yet know not wheu, 



Or Avhy to like ; they found, it all was new, 
And newer than could please them, because true. 
Such men I met withal, and so have you. 
Now, for mine own part, and it is but due, 
(You have deserv'd it from me) I have read, 
And weigh'd j'our play : untwisted ev'ry thread, 
And know the woof and warp thereof; can tell 
AVhere it runs round, and even ; where so well, 
So soft, and smooth it handles, the whole piece 
As it were spun by nature oft' the fleece : 
This is my censure. Now there is a new 
Office of wit, a mint, and (this is true) 
Cried up of late : whereto there must be first 
A master-worker call'd, th' old standard burst 
Of wit, and a new made ; a warden then, 
And a comptroller, two most rigid men 
For order, and for governing the pix, 
A say-master hath studied all the tricks 
Of fineness, and alloy : follow his hint. 
You have all the mysteries of wit's new mint, 
The valuations, mixtures, and the same 
Concluded from a caract to a dram. 

XXIir. — EPIGRAM. — IN AUTIIOREM.l 

Thou, that wouldst find the habit of true passion, 

And see a mind attired in perfect strains ; 
Not wearing moods, as gallants do a fashion. 

In these pied times, only to shew their trains, 
Look here on Breton's work, the master print, 

Where such perfections to the life do rise ; 
If they seem wry to such as look asquint. 

The fault's not in the object, but their eyes. 
For, as one coming M'ith a lateral view, 

Unto a cunning piece Avrought perspective, 
Wants faculty to make a censure true ; 

So with this author's readers Avill it thrive ; 
AVhich being eyed directly, I divine. 
His proof their praisc'U incite, as in this line. 

XXIV. — TO THE WORTHY AUTHOR, ON TEE 
1IUSBAND.2 

It fits not only him that makes a book 
To see his work be good ; but that he look 
Who are his test, and what their judgment is, 
Lest a false praise do make their dotage his. 
I do not feel that ever yet I had 
The art of uttering wares, if they were bad. ; 
Or skill of making matches in ray life : 
And therefore I commend unto the IfT/'c', 
That went before — a Husband. She, I'll sweai; 
Was worthy of a good one, and this, here, 
I know for such, as (if my word will M'eigh) 
She need not blush upon the marriage day. 

XXV. — TO THE AUTHOR.3 

In .picture, they which truly understand, 
Require (besides the likeness of the thing) 
Light posture, heightening, shadow, coloring, 

All which are j^arts eoramend the cunning hand ; 

And all your book, when it is throughly scann'd, 

1 In Authorem.'] This eiiisiam is printed before a poem of 
that indefiitigiible writer, Niclioias lireton, railed '■'■ Melan- 
cholike Humors, in verges of diverse natures." 160!). 

2 The poem to wiiich tliese lines are prefixed, is one of 
tlie numerous effusions to which that popular production 
7'he Wife of Sir Thomas Overhury, gave rise. The title- 
of the work is " The Husband : a poem expressed in a 
complete man." 1G14, 8vo. 

3 'J'his sonnet stands before a poem, bv Thomas Wriji!!*, 
called " Ttie Passions of the ftlinil in general, iMW, anfl 
lii20," 4to 



818 



UNDERWOODS. 



Will well confess ; presenting, limiting 

Each subtlest passion, with her source, and 
spring, 
So bold, as shows your art you can command. 
But now your work is done, if they that view 

The several figures, languish in suspense. 
To I'udge which passion's false, and which is true, 

Eetween the doubtful sway of reason and sense ; 
'Tis not your fault if they shall sense prefer, 
Being told their Reason cannot, Sense may err. 

XXVI. — TO THE AUTHOR.l 

Truth is the trial of itself, 
And needs no other touch ; 

And purer than the purest gold, 
Refine it ne'er so much. 

It is the life and light of love, 

The sun that ever shineth, 
And spirit of that special grace, 

That faith and love delineth. 

It is the warrant of the word, 
That yields a scent so sweet. 

As gives a power to faith to tread 
All falsehood imdor feet. 

It is the sword that doth divide 
The marrow from the bone, 

And in effect of heavenly love 
Doth shew the Holy One. 

This, blessed Warre, thy blessed book 
Unto the world doth prove : 

A worthy work, and worthy well 
Of the most worthy love. 

XXVII. —TO EDWARD FILMER, ON HIS MUSICAL 
WORK, DEDICATED TO THE QUEEN. 

What charming peals are these. 
That, while they bind the senses, do so please r 

They are the marriage-rites 
Of two, the choicest pair of man's delights, 

Music and Poesy ; 
French air, and English verse, here wedded lie. 

Who did this knot compose. 
Again hath brought the lily to the rose ; 

And, with their chained dance. 
Re-celebrates the joyful match with Franco. 

They are a school to w-in 
The fair French daughter to learn English in ; 

■ And, graced with her song, 
To make the language sweet upon her tongue. 

XXVIII. —TO RICHARD EROME, ON HIS COMEEV 
OF THE NORTHERN LASS. 

I had you for a servant once, Dick Brome, 

And you perform'd a servant's faithful ii^a m ; 
Now 5-ou are got into a nearer room 

Of fellowship, professing my old arts. 
And you do do them well, with good ajiplause, 

^Vliich you have justly gained from the stage, 
By observation of those comic laws 

Which I, your master, first did teach the age. 
You learnt it well, and for it sorv'd j'our time, 

A prenticeship, which few do now a days : 
Now each court hobbj^-horse Avill wince in rhj'ine. 

Both learned, and unlearned, all write plays. 



1 Taken from the complimentary versos prefixefl to The 
rQUcheUms of Truth, l-2mo. Lond, 1C30, by T. AVarre. 



It was not so of old : men took up trades 
That knew the crafts they had been bred in 
right ; 

An honest bilboe-smith would make good blades, 
And the physician teach men spew and 

The cobler kept him to his awl ; Ijut nov/, 

He'll be a poet, scarce can guide a plough. 

XXIX. — A SPEECH AT A TILTIHG. 

Two noble knights, whom true desire, and ze£l, 
Hath arm'd at all points, charge me humbly 

kneel- 
To thee, O king of men, their noblest parts 
To tender thus, their lives, their love.% their 

hearts. 
The elder of these two rich hopes increase. 
Presents a royal altar of fair peace ; 
And, as an everlasting sacrifice, 
His life, his love, his honor which ne'er dies, 
He fi-eely brings, and on this altar lays 
As true oblations. His brother's emblem says, 
Except your gracious eye, as through a glass. 
Made perspective, behold him, ho must pass 
Still that same little point he was ; but when 
Your royal eye, which still creates new men, 
Shall look, and on him, so, — then art 's a liar 
If, from a little spark, he rise not fire. 

XXX. — AN EPISTLE TO SIR EDWARD SACKVILE, 
NOW EARL OF DORSET. 

If, Sackville, all that have the power to do 

G ,-eat and good turns, as well could time them 

too, [have then 

Ji.nd kncvi' tlieir how, and where ; we should 
Less list of proud, hard, or ungrateful men. 
For benefits are ow'd with the same mind 
As they are done, and such returns they find : 
Y'ou then, whose will not only, but desire 
To succor my necessities, took fire, 
Not at my prayers, but your sense ; which laid 
The way to meet what others would upbraid, 
And in the act did so my blush prevent, 
As I did feci it done, as soon as meant ; 
You cannot doubt, but I who freely know 
This good from you, as freely vv'ill it owe ; 
And though my fortune humble me, to take 
The smallest courtesies with thanks, I make 
Y'et choice from whom I talce them ; and would 

shame 
To have such do me good, I durst not name. 
They are the noblest benefits, and sink 
Deepest, in man, of which, when he doth think, 
The memory delights him more, from whom 
Thac what he hath rcceiv'd. Gifts stink from 

some. 
They are s'^ long a coming, and so hard ; 
Where any deed is forced, the grace is marr'd. 

Can I owe thanks for courtesies received 
Against his Avill that docs them ? that hath 

weaved 
Excuses or delays ? or done them scant, 
That they have more opprest me than my Avant ! 
Or if he did it not •^o succor me, 
But by mere chance ? for interest ? or to free 
Himself of farther trouble, or the weight 
Of pressure, like one taken in a strait ? 
All this corrupts the thanks : less hath he won, 
That puts it in his debt-book ere't be done ; 
Or that doth sound a trumpet, and doth call 



UNDERWOODS. 



819 



His grooms to witness : or else lets it fall 
In that proud manner, as a good so gain'd, 
Must make mo sad for what I have obtain'd. 
No ! gifts and thanks should have one cheerful 
face, 
So each that's done, and ta'en, becomes a brace. 
Mo, neither gives, nor does, that doth delay 
A benefit, or that doth throw't away ; 
No more than he doth thank, that will receive 
Nought but in corners, and is loath to leave 
Least air, or print, flies it : such men would 
Run from tlic conscience of it, if they could. 
As I have seen some infants of the sword 
Well known, and practised borrowers on their 

word. 

Give thanks by stealth, and whispering in the 

ear, [swear ; 

For what they straight would to the world for- 

And speaking worst of those, from whom they 

went 
But then fist-fUl'd, to put me off the scent. 
Novv', d — n me, sir, if you shall not command 
l*.Iy sword, ('tis but a poor sword, understand,) 
As faj.- as any poor sword in the land ; 
Then turning unto him is next at hand. 
Damns whom he damn'd too, is the veriest gull 
Has feathers, and will serve a man to jiull. 

Are they not worthy to be answer'd so, 
That to such natures let their full hands flow. 
And seek no wants to succor ; but enquire, 
liike money-brokers, after names, and hire 
Their bounties forth, to him that last was made. 
Or stands to be in commission o' the blade ? 
Still, still the liunters of false fame apply [cry, 
Their thoughts and means to making loud the 
But one is bitten by the dog he fed, 
And hurt, seeks cure, the surgeon bids take 

bread, 
And sponge-like with it dry up the blood quite. 
Then give it to the hound that did him bite : 
Pardon, says he, that were a way to see 
All the town curs take each their snatch at me. 
O, is it so ? knows he so much, and v/ill 
Feed those at whom the table points at still ? 
I not deny it, but to help the need 
Of an5', is a great and generous deed ; 
Yea, of the ingrateful ; and he forth must tell 
Many a pound, and i^icco, will place one well. 
But these men ever want : their verj' trade 
Is borrowing ; that but stopt, they do invade 
All as their prize, turn pirates here at land. 
Have their Bermudas, and their Streights i' the 

Strand : 
Man out their boats to the Temple, and not'shift 
Now, but command ; nako tribute what was gift ; 
And it is paid them with a trembling zeal. 
And superstition, I dare scarce reveal, 
If it were clear ; but being so in cloud 
Carried andAvrapt, I only am allow'd 
Jtly wonderj why the taking a clown's purse, 
Or robbing the poor market-folks, should nurse 
Such a religious horror in the breasts 
Of our town-gallantry ! or why there rests 
Such worship due to kicking of a punk, 
Or swaggering with the watch, or drawer drunk ; 
Or feats of darkness acted in mid-sun, 
And told of with more license than they're done ; 
Sure there is mystery in it I not know. 
That men such reverence to such actions show, 



And almost deify the authors ! make 

Loud sacrifice of drink, for their health's sake : 

Rear suppers in their names, and spend whole 

nights 
Unto their praise in certain swearing rites ! 
Cannot a man be lockoned in the state 
Of valor, but at this idolatrous rate r 
I thought that fortitude had been a mean 
'Twixt fear and rashness ; not a lust obscene, 
Or appetite of offending, but a skill, 
Or science of discerning good and ill. 
And you, sir, know it well, to whom I write. 
That with these mixtures we put out her light ; 
Her ends are honesty, and public good : 
And where they want, she is not understood. 
No more are these of iis ; let them, then go, 
I have the list of mine own faults to know, 
Look to, and cure : he's not a man hath none, 
But like to bo, that every day mends one. 
And feels it ; else he tarries Ijy the beast. 
Can I discern how shadows are decreast. 
Or grown, by height or lowness of the sun. 
And can I less of substance r when I run, 
Ride, sail, am coach' d, know I how far I have 

gone ; 
And my mind's motion not ? or have I none ? 
No ! he must feel and know, that will advance. 
Men have been great, but never good by chance, 
Or on the sudden. It were strange that he 
Who was this morning such a one, should be 
Sydney ere night ! or that did go to bed, 
Corvat, should rise the most sufficient head 
Of Christendom ; and neither of these know, 
Were the rack offer'd them, how they came so I 
'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad 
Profit in aught; each day some little add, 
In time 'twill be a heap : this is not true 
Alone in money, but in manners too. 
Yet we must more than move still, or go on, 
Wc must accomplish : 'tis the last key-stone 
That makes the arch ; the rest that there A\erc 

put 
Arc nothing till that comes to bind and shut. 
Then stands it a triumphal mark ; then men 
Observe the strength, the height, the why, and 

when 
It was erected : and still walking under. 
Meet some new matter to look up and wonder'! 
Such notes are virtuous men ! they live as fast 
As they are high ; are rooted, and will last. 
They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes, 
As if they would belie their stature ; those 
Are dwarft of honor, and have neither weight 
Nor fashion ; if they chance aspire to height, 
'Tis like light canes, that first rise big and bravo. 
Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces ; have 
But few and fair divisions : but being got 
Aloft, grow less and straighten'd ; full of knot, 
And last, go out in nothing ! you that see 
Their diiference, cannot choose which you AviL 

be. 
You know (without my flattering you) too much 
For me to be your indice. Keen you such. 
That I may love your person, as I do. 
Without your gift, though I can rate that too, 
By thanking thus the courtesy to life. 
Which you will buiy ; but therein, the strife 
Mav grow so great to be example, when, 
As "their true rule or lesson, either men, 



820 



UNDERWOODS. 



Donors or donees, to tlioir practice shall 
Find vou to reckon nothing, mc owe all. 

XXXI. — AN EPISTLE TO MASTER JOHN SELDEN. 

I know to -whom I write ; here I am sure, 
Thouj^h I be short, I cannot be obscure : 
Less shall I for the art or dressing care, 
Truth and the Graces best when naked are. 
Your book, my Seldex, I have read ; and much 
Was trusted, that you thought my judgment such 
To ask it : though, in most of works, it be 
A penance where a man may not be free. 
Rather than office ; when it doth, or may 
Chance, that the friend's affection pi-oves allay 
Unto the censure. Your's all need doth fly 
Of this so vicious humanity ; 
Than which, there is not unto study a more 
Pernicious enemy. AVe sec before 
A many' of books, even good judgments woiind 
Themselves, though favoring that is there not 

found ; 
But I to your's far otherwise shall do, 
Not fly the crime, but the suspicion too : 
Though I confess (as every muse hath err'd. 
And mine not least) I have too oft preferr'd 
Men past their terms, and prais'd some names 

too much ; 
But 'twas with purpose to have made them such. 
Since, being deceived, I turn a sharper eye 
Upon myself, and ask to whom, and why, 
And what I write ? and vex it many days 
Before men get a verse, much less a praise ; 
So that my reader is assured, I now 
Mean what I speak, and still will keep that vow. 
Stand forth my object, then. Y'ou that have 

been 
Ever at home, yet have all countries seen ; 
And lilvO a compass, keeping one foot still 
Upon your centre, do your circle fill 
Of general knowledge ; watch'd men, manners 

too, [ours do ! 

Heard what times past have said, seen what 
Which grace shall I make love to first ? your 

skill. 
Or faith in things ? or is't your wealth and will 
T' inform and teach? or your unwearied pain 
Of gathering ? bounty in pouring out again ? 
AVhat fables have you vcx'd, ^v•hat truth re- 
deem' d, 
Antiquities search'd, opinions disesteem'd. 
Impostures branded, and autliorities urg'd ! 
What blots and errors have you watch'd and 

purg'd 
Records and authors of ! how rectified 
Times, manners, customs ' innovations spied ! 
Sought out the fountains, sovirces, creeks, paths, 

ways. 
And noted the beginnings and decays ! 
Where is that nominal mark, or real rite. 
Form, act, or ensign, that hath 'scaped your 

sight ? 
How are traditions there examin'd ! how 
Conjectures retriev'd ! and a story now 
And then of times (besides the bare conduct 
Of what it tells us) weav'd in to instruct ! 
I wonder'd at the richness, but am lost, 
To see the workmanship so' exceed the cost ! 
To mark the excellent seasoning of your style, 
And raanlv elocution ! not one while 



With horror rough, then rioting v.-ith wit ; 
But to the subject still the colors fit. 
In sharpness of all search, wisdom of choice, 
Newness of sense, aiitiquity of voice ! 

I yield, I yield. The matter of your praise 
Flows in upon me, and I cannot raise 
A bank against it : nothing but the round 
Large clasp of Nature such a wit can bound. 
IMonarch in letters ! 'mongst the Titles shown 
Of others honors, thus enjoy thy own. 
I first salute thee so ; and gratulate 
With that thy style, thy keeping of thy state ; 
In offering this thy work to no great name. 
That would, perhaps, have praised and thank'd 

the same, 
But nought beyond. He, thou hast given it to. 
Thy learned chamber-fellow, knows to do 
It true respects : he will not only love, 
Embrace and cherish ; but he can approve 
And estimate thy pains, as having wrought 
In the same mines of knowledge ; and thence 
Humanity enough to be a friend, [brought 

And strength to be a champion, and defend 
Thy gift 'gainst envy. O how I do count* 
Among my comings in, and see it mount. 
The gain of two such friendships ! Hey ward and 
Selden ; two names that so much understand ! 
On whom I could take up, and ne'er abuse 
The credit that would furnish a tenth Muse ! 
But here's no time nor place my wealth to tell, 
You both are modest. So am I. Farewell. 

XXXII. — AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, (MASTER. 
COLBy,) TO PERSUADE IILM TO THE WARS. 

Wake, friend, from forth thy lethargy ! the drum 

Beats brave and loud in Europe, and bids come 

All that dare rouse : or are not loth to quit 

Their vicious ease, and be o'erwhelm'd with it. 

It is a call to keep the spirits alive 

That gasp for action, and would yet revive 

Man's buried honor, in his sleepy life : 

Quickning dead nature to her noblest strife. 

All other acts of vv-orldlings are but toil 

In dreams, begun in hojie, and end in spoil. 

Look on the ambitious man, and see him nurse 

His unjust hopes with praises begg'd, or, worse, 

Bought flatteries, the issue of his purse. 

Till he become both their and his own curse ! 

Look on the false and cunning man, that loves 

No person, nor is loved : Avhat ways he proves 

To gain upon his belly ; and at last 

Crush'd in the snaky brakes that he had past .' 

See the grave, sour, and supercilious sir, 

In outward face, but inward, light as fur, 

Or feathers, lay his fortune out to show, 

Till envy wound or maim it at a blow ! [man 

See him that's call'd, and thought the happiest 

Honor'd at once, and envied (if it can 

Be honor is so mix'd) bj- such as would 

For all their spite, be like him, if they could ; 

No part or corner man can look upon, 

But there are objects bid him to be gone 

As far as he can fly, or follow day, 

Rather than here so bogg'd in vices stay. 

The whole world here Icaven'd with raadnesn 

swells ; 
And being a thing blown out of nought, rebels 
Against his Maker, high alone with weeds, 
And impious rankness of all sects and seeds : 



UNDERWOODS. 



821 



Not to be clicck'd or frighted now with fate, 
But more licentious made and desperate ! 
Our deUcacies are grown capital, 
And even our sports are dangers ! what we call 
Friendship, is now mask'd hatred ! justice Hed, 
And shamefac'dness together ! all laws dead 
That kept man living ! pleasures only sought ! 
Honor and honesty, as poor things thought 
As they are made ! pride and stiif clownage 
mix'd [fix'd 

To make up greatness ! and man's whole good 
In bravery, or gluttony, or coin, 
All which he makes the servants of the groin ! 
Thither it flows : how much did Stallion spend 
To have his court-bred filly there commend 
His lace and starch ; and fall upon her back 
In admiration, stretch'd upon the rack 
Of lust, to his rich suit, and title. Lord ? 
Ay, that's a charm and half ! she must afford 
That all respect, she must lie down ; nay, more, 
'Tis there civility to be a whore : 
lie's one of blood and fashion ! and with these 
The bravery makes she can no honor Icese : 
To do't with cloth, or stuffs, lust's name might 

merit, 
With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit. 

O these so ignorant monsters, light, as proud ! 
Who can behold their manners, and not cloud- 
Like, on them lighten ? If that nature could 
Not make a verse, anger or laughter would. 
To see them aye discoursing with their glass, 
How they may make some one that day an ass. 
Planting their purls and curls, spread forth like 
And every dressing for a pit-fall set [net,. 

To .catch the flesh in, and to pound a 

Be at their visits, see them squeamish, sick. 
Ready to cast at one whose band sits ill. 
And then leap mad on a neat picardill. 
As if a brize were gotten in their tail ; 
And firk, and jerk, and for the coachman rail. 
And jealous each of other, yet think long 
To be abroad chanting some bawdy song, 
And laugh, and measure thighs, then squeak, 

spring, itch, 
Do all the tricks of a salt lady bitch ! 
For t'other pound of sweetmeats, he shall feel 
That pays, or what he will : the dame is steel. 
For these with her young company she'll enter, 
Where Pitts, or Wright, or Modet would not 

venture ; 
And comes by these degrees the style t' inherit 
Of woman of fashion, and a lady of spirit. 
Nor is the title question'd with our proud. 
Great, brave, and fashion'd folk, these are al- 
io w'd ; 
Adulteries now are not so hid, or strange. 
They're grown commodity upon Exchange : 
He that will follow but another's wife. 
Is loved, though he let out his own for life ; 
The husband now's call'd churlish, or a poor 
Nature, that will not let his wife be a whore ; 
Or use all arts, or haunt all companies 
That may corrupt her, even in his eyes. 
The brother trades a sister, and the friend 
Lives to the lord, but to the lady's end. 
Less mtist not be thought on than mistress ; or 
If it be thought, kill'd like her embrions ; for 
Whom no great mistress hath as yet infam'd 
i. fellow of coarse letchery, is nam'd, 



The servant of the serving-woman, in scorn, 
Ne'er came to taste the plenteous marriage-horn. 
Thus they do talk. And are these objects flt 
For man to spend his money on ? his w'it ? 
His time? health? soul? Will he for these go 

throw 
Those thousands on his back, shall after blow 
His body to the Counters, or the Fleet ? 
Is it for these that Fine-man meets the street 
Coach'd, or on foot-cloth, thrice chang'd everj' 

day. 
To teach each suit he has, the ready way 
From Hyde-park to the stage, where at the last 
His dear and borrow'd bravery he must cast ? 
When not his oombs, his curling-irons, his glass, 
Sweet bags, sweet powders, nor sweet Avords 

will pass 
For less security. O heavens ! for these 
Is it that man pulls on himself disease. 
Surfeit, and quarrel ? drinks the t'other health ? 
Or by damnation voids it, or by stealth ? 

What iury of late is crept into our feasts ? 
What honor given to the drunkenest guests ? 
What reputation to bear one glass more. 
When oft the bearer is born out of door ? 
This hath our ill-irs'd freedom, and soft peace 
Brought on us, and Avill every hour increase. 
Our vices do not tarry in a place. 
But being in motion still, or rather in race, 
'Tilt one upon another, and now bear 
This way, noAV that, as if their number were 
More than themselves, or than our lives could 

take, 
But both fell prest under the load they make. 

I'll bid thee look no more, but flee, flee, friend. 
This precipice, and rocks that have no end. 
Or side, but threatens ruin. The whole day 
Is not enough, now, but the nights to play : 
And whilst our states, strength, body, and mind 

we waste, 
Go make ourselves the usurers at a cast. 
He that no more for age, cramps, palsies can 
Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man 
To take the box up for him ; and pursues 
The dice with glassen eyes, to the glad views 
Of what he throws : like letchers grown content 
To be beholders, Avhen their powers are spent. 

Can we not leave this worm ? or will we not ? 
Is that the truer excuse ? or have we got 
In this, and like, an itch of vanity, 
That scratching now's our best felicity ? 
Well, let it go. Yet this is better, then 
To lose the forms and dignities of men, 
To flatter my good lord, and cry his bowl 
Runs sweetly, as it had his lordship's soul : 
Although, perhaps it has, what's that to mo. 
That may stand by, and hold my peace ? will ho, 
When I am hoarse with praising his each cast, 
Give me but that again, that I must Avaste 
In sugar candied, or in butter'd beer, * 
For the recovery of my voice ? No, there 
Pardon his lordship ; flatt'ry's grown so cheap 
With him, for he is followed with that heap. 
That watch and catch, at what they may ' ap- 
plaud. 
As a poor single flatterer, without bawd 
Is nothing, such scarce meat and drink he'll 

give ; 
But he that's both, and slave to both, shall live 



822 



UNDERWOODS. 



And be belov d, while the whores last. times ! 
Friend, fly from hence, and let these kindled 

rhymes [spies, 

Light thee from hell on earth ; where flatterers, 
Informers, masters both of arts and lies ; 
Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers, that let blood 
The life, and fame-veins, yet not understood 
Of the poor sufferers ; where the envious, proud, 
Ambitious, factious, superstitious, loud 
Boasters, and perjur'd, with the infinite more 
Prevaricators swarm : of which the store 
(Because they're every where amongst mankind 
Spread through the world) is easier far to find. 
Than once to number, or bring forth to hand, 
Though thou wcrt jNIuster-master of the land. 

Go, quit them all ! And take along with thee. 
Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be, 
That thine be just and honest, that thy deeds 
Not wound thy conscience, when thy body 

bleeds ; fnlo^'y' 

That thou dost all things more for truth than 
And never but for doing wrong be sorry ; 
Tliat by com.manding first thyself, thou mak'st 
Thy person fit for any charge thou tak'st : 
That fortune never make thee to complain. 
But what she gives, thou dar'st give her again ; 
That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, 
Thou shrink or start not ; but be always one ; 
That thou think nothing great but what is good ; 
And from that thought strive to be understood. 
So, 'live or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame 
Still precious with the odor of thy name. 
And last, blaspheme not ; we did never hear 
Man thought the valianter, 'cause he durst 

swear ; 
No more, than we should think a lord had had 
More honor in him, 'cause we've known him 

mad : 
These take, and now go seek thy peace in war, 
Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star. 

XXXIII. — AN EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY. 

Reader, stay, 

And if I liad no more to say. 

But hero doth lie, till the last day, 

All that is left of Philip Gray, 

It might thy patience richly pay : 
For if such men as he could die, 
What surety of life have thou and I ? 

XXXIV.— EPISTLE TO A FRIEND 

They are not, sir, worst owers that do pay 
Debts when they can : good men may break 

their day, 
And yet the noble nature never grudge ; 
'Tis then a crime, when the usurer is judge, 
And he is not in friendship : nothing there 
Is done for gain ; if't be, 'tis not sincere. 
Nor should I at this time protested be. 
But that some greater names have broke with 

me. 
And their words too, where I but break my 

band ; 
I add that but, because I understand 
That as the lesser breach : for he that takes 
Simply my band, his trust in me forsakes, 
And looks unto the forfeit. If you be 
Now so much friend, as you Avould trust in me, 
Venture a longer time, and willingly ; 
All is not barren land doth fallow lie ; 



Some grounds are made the richer for the rest ; 
And I will bring a crojo, if not the best. 

XXXV. —AN ELEGY. 

Can beauty, that did prompt me fii'st to write. 
Now threaton, with those means she did invite 
Did her perfections call me on to gaze, [am^aze ! 
Then like, then love ; and now would thoy 
Or was she gracious afar off, but near 
A terror ? or is all this but niy fear ? 
That as the water makes things, put in't strait, 
Crooked appear ; so that doth my conceit : 
I can help that with boldness ; and Love swarc. 
And Fortune once, t' assist the spirits that dare. 
But which shall lead me on ? both these are 
blind. [find. 

Such guides men use not, who their way woiild 
Except the way be error to those ends ; 
And then the best arc still the blindest friends. 
Oh how a lover may mistake ! to think 
Or Love, or Fortune blind, when they but wink 
To see men fear ; or else for truth and state, 
Because they would free justice imitate, 
Vail their own eyes, and would impartially 
Be brought by us to meet our destiny. 
If it be thus ; come Love, and Fortune go, 
I'll lead A'ou on ; or if my fate will so. 
That I must send one first, my choice assigns 
Love to my heart, and Fortune to my lines. 

XXXVI AN ELEGY. 

By those bright eyes, at whose immortal fires 

Love lights his torches to inflame desires ; 

By that fair 'stand, your forehead, whence he 

bends 
Ilis double bow, and round his arrows sends ; 
By that tall grove, your hair, whose globif- ring.= 
lie flying curls, and crispeth with his wings ; 
By those pure baths your either check discloses, 
Where he doth steep himself in milk and roses ; 
And lastly, by your lips, the bank of kisses, 
Where men at once may plant and gather blisses : 
Tell mo, my lov'd friend, do you love or no r 
So well as I may tell in verse, 'tis so .'' [none. 
You blush, but do not : — friends are cithei 
Though they may number bodies, or but one. 
I'll therefore ask no more, but bid you love, 
And so that either example prove 
Unto the other ; and live patterns, how- 
Others, in time, may love as we do now. 
Slip no occasion ; as time stands not still, 
I know no boaiity, nor no yorith that will. 
To use the present, then, is not abuse. 
You have a husband is the just excuse 
Of all that can be done him ; such a one 
As would make shift to make himself alone 
That which Ave can ; who both in you, his wifft.. 
His issue, and all circumstance of life, 
As in his place, because he would not vary, 
Is constant to be extraordinary. 

XXXVII. — A SATIRICAL SHRUB. 

A woman's friendship ! God, whom I trust ia 

Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin. 

Amongst my many other, that I may 

No more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say 

At fifty j-ears, almost, to A'alue it, 

That ne'er Avas known to last aboA-e a fit! 

Or have the least of good, but Avhat it must 

Put on for fashion, and take up on trust. 



UNDERWOODS. 



823 



Knew I all this afore ? had I percciv'd, 

That their whole life was -wickedness, though 

■weav'd 
Of many colors ; outward, fresh from spots, 
But thoir whole inside full of ends, and knots ? 
Knew I that all their dialogues and discourse 
Were such as I will now relate, or worse ? 



Knew I this woman ? yes, and you do see. 
How penitent I am, or I should be. 
Do not you ask to know her, she is worse 
Than all ingrelients made into one curse, 
And that pour'd out upon mankind, can bo : 
Thir.k but the sin of all her sex, 'tis she ! 
I could forgive her being proud ! a whore ! 
Pcrjur'd and painted ! if she were no more — 
But she is such, as she might yet forestall 
The devil, and be the damning of us all. 

XXXVIII. — A LITTLE SHRUB GROWING BY. 

Ask not to know this man. If fame should speak 
His name in any metal, it would break. 
Two letters were enough the plague to tear 
Out of his grave, and poison every er.r. 
A parcel of Court-dirt, a heap, and mass 
Of all vice huii'd together, there he was, 
Proud, false, and treacherous, vindictive, all 
That thought can add, unthankful, the lay-stall 
Of putrid flesh alive ! of blood the sink ! 
And so I leave to stir him, lest he stink. 

XXXIX. — AN ELEGY. 

Though beauty be the mark of praise, 
And yours of whom I sing, be such. 
As not the world can praise too much, 

Yet 'tis your virtue now I raise. 

A virtue, like allay, so gone [move, 

Throughout your form ; as though that 
And draw, and conquer all men's love. 

This subjects you to love of one. 

Wherein j'ou triumph yet ; because 
'Tis of yourself, and that you use 
The noblest freedom, not to choose 

Against or faith, or honor's laws. 

But who could less expect from you, 
In whom alone Love lives agen ? 
By whom he is restor'd to men ; 

And kept, and bred, and' brought up true ? 

His falling temples you have rear'd, 
The wither'd garlands ta'en away ; 
His altars kept from the decay 

That envy wish'd, and nature fear'd : 

And on them biirn so chaste a flame, 
With so much loyalty's expense, 
As Love t' acquit such excellence. 

Is gone himself into your name. 

And j'ou are he ; the deity 

To whom all lovers are design'd, 
That would their better objects find ; 

Anaong which foithful troop am I. 

Who, as an offering at your shrine. 
Have sung this hymn, and here entreat 
One spark of your diviner heat 

To light upon a love of mine. 



Which, if it kindle not, but scant 
Appear, and that to shortest view, 
Yet give me leave t' adore in you 

What I, in her, am grieved to want. 

XL. — AN ELEGY. 

Fair friend, 'tis true, your beauties move 

My heart to a respect ; 
Too little to be paid with love, 

Too great for your neglect. 

I neither love, nor yet am free, 

For though the flame I find 
Be not intense in the degree, 

'Tis of the purest kind. 

It little wants of love but pain ; 

Your beauty takes my sense, 
And lest you should that price disdain. 

My thoughts too feel the influence. 

'Tis not a passion's first access 

Readj' to multiply ; 
But like love's calmest state it is 

Possest with victory. 

It is like love to truth reduc'd. 

All the false values gone. 
Which were created, and induc'd 

By fond imagination. 

'Tis either fancy or 'tis fate, 

To love you more than I : 
I love you at your beauty's rate, 

Less were an injury. 

Like unstampt gold, I weigh each grace, 

So that you may collect 
Th' intrinsic value of your face. 

Safely from my respect. 

And this respect would merit love, 

Were not so fair a sight 
Payment enough ; for who dares move 

Reward for his delight? 

XLI AN ODE. — TO HIMSELF 

Where dost Thou careless lie 

Buried in ease and sloth ? 
Knowledge, that sleejjs, doth die ; 
And this security, 

It is the common moth, 
That eats on wits and arts, and [so] destroys 
them both : 

Are all the Aonian springs 

Dried up ? lies Thespia Avaste ? 

Doth Clarius' harp want strings. 

That not a nymph now sings ; 
Or droop they as disgrac'd. 

To see their seats and bowers by chattering 
pies defac'd ? 

If hence thy silence be, 

As 'tis too just a cause ; 
Let this thought quicken thee : 
Minds that are great and free 

Should not on fortune pause, 
'Tis crown enough to virtue stilj, her ovsn 
applause. 

What though the greedy fry 
Be taken with false baits 
Of worded balladry, 



S2i 



UNDERWOODS. 



And think it poesy ? 

They die with their conceits, 
And only piteous scom upon their folly 
waits. 

Tlicn take in hand thy lyre, 

Strike in thj' proper strain, 
With Japhefs line, aspire 
Sol's chariot for new fire, 

To give the world again : 
Who aided him, will thee, the issue of 
Jove's brain. 

And since our daintj- age 

Cannot indure reproof. 
Make not thyself a page. 

To that strumpet the stage, 
But sing high and aloof, 
Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull 
ass's hoof. 

XLII. — THE MIND OF THE FKONTISPIECE 
TO A BOOK. 

From death and dark oblivion (near the same) 

The mistress of man's life, grave History, 
Raising the world to good and evil fame, 

Doth vindicate it to cternitj*. 
Wise Providence would so : that nor the good 

Might be defrauded, nor the great secured, 
Hrttboth might know their ways were understood, 

When vice alike in time with virtue dured : 
Which niiVRCs that, lighted by the beamy hand 
Of Truth, that scarchcth the most hidden 

springs. 
And guided by Experience, whose straight wand 

Doth mete, whoso line doth sound the depth 
of things ; 
She cheerfully supporteth what she rears, 

Assisted by no strcngtlis but are her own. 
Some note of Avliich each varied pillar bears, 

By which, as projier titles, she is known 
Time's witness, herald of Antiquity, 
The light of Truth, and life of Memory. 

XLIII. — AN ODE TO JAMES EARL OF DESMOND. 

Where art thou, Genius ? I should iise 

Thy present aid : arise Invention, 
Vv'ake, and put on the wings of Pindar's Muse, 
To tower with my intention 
High as his mind, tliat doth advance 
Her upright head, above the reach of chance, 
Or the times envy. 
Cynthius, I apply 
My bolder numbers to thy golden lyre : 

O then inspire 
Thy priest in this strange rapture ! heat my brain 

With Delphic fire. 
Then I may sing my thoughts in some unvulgar 
strain. 

Rich beam of honor, shed your light 
On these dark rhymes, that my affection 
May shine, through every chink, to every sight, 
Graced by your reflection ! 
Then shall my verses, like strong charms, 
Break the knit circle of her stony arms, 
That holds your spirit, 
And keeps your merit 
r<ock'd in her cold embraces, from the view 
Of eyes more true. 



Who would with judgment search, searching 

conclude. 

As prov'dinyou. 
True noblesse. Palm groAvs straight, ihougii 

handled ne'er so rude. 

Nor think yourself unfoitunate; 

If subject to the jealous errors 
Of politic pretext, that wries a state, 

Sink not beneath these terrors : 

But whisper, O glad innocence, 
Where only a man's birth is his offence ; 

Or the disfavor 

Of such as savor 
Nothing, but practise upon honor's thrall 

O virtue's fall ! 
Wlion her dead essence, like the anatomy 

In Surgeons' hall. 
Is but a statist's theme to read phlolx)tomy. 

Let Brontes, and black Steropes, 
Sweat at the forge, their hammers beating ; 
Pyracmon's hour will come to give them case, 

Though but while the metal's heating . 

And, after all the ^Etnean ire. 
Gold, that is perfect, will outlive the fire. 

For fury wasteth, 

As patience lasteth. 
No armor to the mind ! he is shot-free 

From injury, 
That is not hurt ; not he, that is not hit ; 

So fools, we see, [wit. 

Oft 'scape an imputation, more thjrougli luck than 

But to yourself, most loyal lord, 
(Whose heart in that bright sphere flames 
clearest. 
Though many gems be in your bosom stor'd. 
Unknown which is the dearest,) 
If I auspiciously divine, 
As my hope tells, that our fair Phcsbe's shine. 
Shall light those places 
With lusti'ous graces, [hand. 

Where darkness, Avith her gloomy scepter'd 
Doth now command ; 

then, my best-best lov'd let me importune, 

That you will stand. 
As far from all revolt, as you are now fraca 
fortune. 

XLIV. —AN ODi;. 

Iligh-spiritcd friend, 

1 send nor balms, nor corsive to your wound 

Your faith hath fotmci 
A gentler, and more agile hand, to tend 
The cure of that vi'hieh is but corporal. 
And doubtful days, Avhich Avere nam'd critical. 

Have made their fairest flight, 

And noAV are out of sight. 
Yet doth some Avholcsome physic for the mind., 

Wrapt in this paper lie. 
Which in the taking if you misapply, 

Yon arc unkind. 

Your covetous hand, 
Hap»py in that fair honor it hath gain'd, 

Must now be rein'd. 
True valor doth her oaa'u renoAvn command 
In one full action : nor haA-e you noAV mc re 
To do, than be a husband of that store. 



UNDERWOODS, 



Think but how dear you bought 
This same which you have caught, 
Puch thoughts will make you more in love -with 
truth: 
'Tis wisdom, and that high, 
For men to use their fortune reverently, 

Even in youth. 



Helen, did Homer never sec 
Thy beauties, yet could write of thcc ? 
Did Sappho, on her seven-tongued lute, 
So speak, as yet it is not mute, 
Of Phaon's form ? or doth the boy. 
In whom Anacreon once did joy. 
Lie drawn to life in his soft verse. 
As he whom Maro did rehearse ? 
"Was Lesbia sung by learned Catullus, 
Or Delia's graces by Tibullus ? 
Doth Cynthia, in Propertius' song, 
Shine more than she the stars among ? 
Is Horace his each love so high 
Rapt from the earth, as not to die ; 
"With bright Lycoris, Gallus' choice, 
AVhose fame hath an eternal voice ? 
Or hath Corinna, by the name 
Her Ovid gave her, dimm'd the fame 
Of Caesar's daughter, and the line 
"Which all the world then styled divine ? 
Hath Petrarch since his Laura raised 
Equal with her r or Ronsart praised 
His new Cassandra 'hove the old, 
Which all the fate of Troy foretold ? 
Hath our great Sidney, Stella set 
Yv'here never star shone brighter yet ? 
Or Constable's ambrosiac muse 
IMade Dian not his notes refuse ? 
Have all these done — and yet I miss 
The swan so relish'd Pancharis — 
And shall not I my Celia bring, 
Where men may see whom I do sing ? 
Though I, in working of my song. 
Come short of all this learned throng, 
Yet sure my tunes will be the best, 
So much my subject drowns the rest. 

XLVI. — A SONNET, TO THE NOBLE LADY, THE 
LADY MARY WKOTH. 

I that have been a lover, and could shew it, 
Though not in these, in rhymes not wholly 

dumb, 
Since I exscribe your sonnets, am become 

A better lover, and much better poet. 

Nor is my Muse or I asham'd to owe it 

To those true numerous graces, whereof some 
But charm the senses, others overcome 

Both brains and hearts ; and mine now best do 
know it : 

Per in your verse all Cupid's armory. 

His flames, his shafts, his quiver, and his bow. 
His very eyes are yours to overthrow. 

But then his mother's sweets you so apply. 
Her joys, her smiles, her loves, as readers take 
For "V^enus' ccston every line you make. 

XLVII A FIT OF RHYME AGAINST RHY3IE. 

Rhyme, the rack of finest wits, 
That expresseth but by fits 
True conceit, 



Spoiling senses of their treasure. 
Cozening judgment with a measure, 

I5ut false weight ; 
Wresting words from their true calling ; 
Propping verse for fear of falling 

To the ground ; 
Jointing syllables, drowning letters. 
Fastening vowels, as with fetters 

They were bound ! 
Soon as lazy thou wert known, 
All good poetry hence was flown, 

And art banish' d : 
For a thousand years togetlier, 
All Parnassus' green did wither, 

And wit vanish' d ! 
Pegasus did fly away. 
At the wells no Muse did stay, 

But bewailed. 
So to see the fountain dry. 
And Apollo's music die, 

All light failed ! 
Starveling rhymes did fill the stage, 
Not a poet in an age 

Worthy crowning. 
Not a work deserving bays. 
Nor a line deserving praise, 

Pallas frowning : 
Greek was free from rhyme's infection, 
Happy Greek, by this protection, 

Was not spoiled. 
Whilst the Latin, queen of tongues. 
Is not yet free from rhyme's wrongs. 

But rests foiled. 
Scarce the hill again doth flourish. 
Scarce the world a wit doth nourish. 

To restore 
Phcebus to his crown again ; 
And the Muses to their brain ; 

As before. 
Vulgar languages that want 
Words, and sweetness, and be scant 

Of true measure. 
Tyrant rhyme hath so abused, 
That they long since have refused 

Other ccsurc. 
He that first invented thee. 
May his joints tormented be, 

Cramp'd for ever ; 
Still may syllabes jar with time, 
Still may reason war with rhyme. 

Resting never ! 
May his sense when it woidd meet 
The cold tumor in his feet, 

Grow unsounder ; 
And his title be long fool. 
That in rearing such a school 

"\Vas the founder ! 

XLVIII. — AN EPIGRAM ON AVILLIAM LORD 

BURLEIGH, LORD HIGH TREASURER. 

OF ENGLAND. 

If thou v/ouldst know the virtues of mankind 
Read here in one, Avliat thou in all canst find, 
And go no further : let this circle be 
Thy universe, though his epitome. 
Cecil, the grave, the wise, the great, the good, 
What is there more that can ennoble blood ? 
The orphan's pillar, the true subject's shield. 
The poor's full store-house, and just servant 
field. 



826 



UNDERWOODS. 



The only faithful watchman for the realm, 
That in all tempests never quit the helm, 
But stood unshaken in his deeds and name. 
And labor' d in the work ; not with the fame : 
That &till was good for goodness' sake, nor 

thought 
Upon reward, till the reward him sought. 
Whose offices and honors did surprise, 
Rather than meet him : and before his eyes 
Clos'd to their peace, he saw his branches shoot, 
And in the noblest families took root. 
Of all the land : Who now at such a rate, 
Of divine blessing, would not serve a state ? 

XLIX. — AN EPIGRAM TO THOMAS LORD ELESMEEE, 
THE LAST TERM HE SAT CHANCELLOR. 

So, justest lord, may all your judgments be 
Laws ; and no change o'er come to one decree : 
So may the king proclaim your conscience is 
Law to his law ; and think your enemies his : 
So, from all sickness, may you rise to health, 
The care and wish still of the public wealth : 
So may the gentler muses, and good fame, 
Still fly about the odor of your name ; 
As, ■^^ith the safety' and honor of the laws. 
You favor truth, and me, in this man's cause ! 

L.— ANOTHER TO THE SAME. 

The j udge his favor timely then extends. 
When a good cause is destitute of friends. 
Without the pomp of counsel ; or more aid, 
Than to make falseliood blush, and fraud afraid : 
When those good few, that her defenders be. 
Are there for charity, and not for fee. 
Such shall you hear to-day, and find great foes 
Both arm'd with wealth and slander to oppose. 
Who thus long safe, would gain upon the times 
A right by the prosperity of their crimes ; 
Who, though their guilt and perjury they know, 
Thinic, yea, and boast, that they have done it so. 
As, though the court pursues them on the scent, 
They Avill come off, and 'scape the punishment. 
When this appears, just lord, to your sharp sight. 
He docs you wrong, that craves you to do right. 

Ll. — AN EPIGRAM TO THE COUNSELLOR THAT 
PLEADED, AND CARRIED THE CAUSE 

That I hereafter do not think the bar. 
The seat made of a more than civil war. 
Or the great hall at Westminster, tlie field 
Where mutual frauds arc fought, and no side 

yield. 
That henceforth I believe nor books, nor men. 
Who 'gainst the law weave calumnies, my Benn ; 
But when I read or hear the names so rife. 
Of hirelings, wranglers, stitchers-to of strife, 
Ilook-handed harpies, gowned vultures, put 
Upon the reverend pleaders ; do now shut 
All mouths that dare entitle them, from hence, 
To the wolf's study, or dog's eloquence; 
Thou art my cause : whose manners since I knew, 
Have made me to conceive a lawyer new. 
So dost thou study matter, men, and times, 
Mak'st it religion to grow rich by crimes ; 
Dar'st not abuse thy wisdom in the laws. 
Or skill to carry out an evil cause : 
But first dost vex, and search it ! if not sound. 
Thou prov'st the gentler ways to cleanse the 

wound, 



And make the scar fair ; if that will not be, 
Thou hast the brave scorn to put back the fee 
But in a business that Avill bide the touch, 
What use, what strength of reason, and how 

much 
Of books, of precedents hast thou at hand ! 
As if the general store thou didst command 
Of argument, still drawing forth the best. 
And n©t being borrow'd by thee, but possest. 
So com'st thou like a chief into the court 
Arm'd at all pieces, as to keep a fort 
Against a multitude ; and, with thy style 
So brightly In-andish'd, wound'st, dcfend'st I 

the while 
Thy adversaries fall, as not a word 
They had, but were a reed unto thy sword. 
Then com'st thou off with victory and palm, 
Thy hearer's nectar, and thy client's balm. 
The court's just honor, and thy judge's love. 
And (which doth all achievements get above) 
Thy sincere practice breeds not thee a fame 
Alone, but all thy rank a reverend name. 

LII. — AN EPIGRAM TO THE SMALL-POX. 

Envious and foul Disease, could there not be 
One beauty in an ago, and free from thee ? 
What did she worth thy spite ? were there not 

store 
Of those that set by their false faces more 
Than this did by her true ? she never soiight 
Quarrel Avith nature, or in balance brought 
Art her false servant ; nor, for sir Hugh Plat, 
Was drawn to practise other hue than that 
Her own blood gave her : she ne'er had, nor hath 
Any belief in madam Bawdbee's bath. 
Or Turner's oil of talc : nor ever got 
Spanish receipt to make her teeth to rot. 
What was the cause then ? thought'st thou, in 
Of beaiit)', so to nullify a face, [disgrace 

That heaven should make no more ; or sliould 

amiss 
Make all hereafter, hadst thou ruin'd this ? 
Ay, that thy aim was ; but her fate prevail'd : 
And, scorn'd, thou'st shown thy malice, but hast 

fail'd. 

LIII. — AN EPITAPH. 

What beauty would have lovely styled, 
What manners pretty, nature mild. 
What Avonder perfect all Avere filed 
Upon record, in this blest child. 
And till the coming of the soul 
To fetch the flesh, Ave keep the roll. 

LIA". — A SONG. 
LOVEK. 

Come, let xis here enjoy the shade, 
For love in shadoAv best is made. 
Though Envy oft his shadoAv bo, 
None brooks the sun-light Avorse than lie. 

MISTKESS. 

Whore love doth shine, there needs no suii. 
All lights into his one do run ; 
Without Avhich all the Avorld Avere dark ; 
Yet he himself is but a spark. 

AKBITER. 

A spark to set Avhole Avorld a-fire, 
Who, more they burn, they more desire, 
And have their being, their Avaste to see ; 
And Avaste still, that they still might be. 



UNDERWOODS. 



827 



caoRrs. 
Such are his powers, Avhom time hath styled, 
Now swift, now slow, now taine, now Avild ; 
Now hot, now cold, now fierce, now mild ; 
Tlie eldest god, yet still a child. 

LV. — AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. 

Sir, I am thankful, first to heaven for you ; 
Next to yourself, for making your love true : 
Then to your love and gift. And all's but due. 

You have unto my store added a book, 
On which with profit I shall never look, 
liut must confess from whom that gift I took. 

Not like your country nciglibors that commit 
llicir vice of loving for a Christmas-fit ; 
Which is indeed but friendship of the spit : 

Eut, as a friend, which name yourself receive. 
And which you (being the worthier) gave me 

leave 
In letters, that mix spirits, thus to Aveave. 

Which, how most sacred I will ever kee^D, 
So may the fruitful vine my temples steep. 
And fame wake for me when I yield to sleep ! 

Though you sometimes proclaimme too severe, 
Kigid, and harsh, which is a drug austere 
In friendship, I confess : but, dear friend, here. 

Little know they, that profess amit)'. 
And seek to scant her comely liberty. 
How much they lame her in her property. 

And less they know, who being free to use 
That friendship which no chance but love did 

choose. 
Will unto license that fair leave abuse. 

It is an act of tyranny, not love. 
In practis'd friendship wholly to reprove, 
As flattery, with friends' humors stUl to move. 

From each of which I labor to be free. 
Yet if with cither's vice I tainted be. 
Forgive it, as my frailty, and not mo. 

For no man lives so out of passion's sway. 
But shall sometimes be tempted to obey 
Her furj', yet no friendship to betray. 

LVI. — AN ELEGY. 

'Tis true, I'm broke ! vows, oaths, and all I had 

Of credit lost. And I am now run mad ; 

Or do upon myself some desperate ill : 

This sadness makes no approaches, but to kill. 

It is a darkness hath block'd uj) my sense, 

And drives it in to eat on my ofi'cnce, 

Or there to starve it. Help, O you that may 

Alone lend succors, and this fury stay. 

Ofi'ended mistress, you are yet so fair. 

As light breaks from you that aff'rights despair, 

And fills my powers with persuading joy. 

That; you should be too noble to dcstro}'. 

There may some face or nienace of a storm 

Look forth, but cannot last in such a form. 

If there be nothing worthy you can see 

Of graces, or your mercy here in me. 

Spare your own goodness yet ; and be not great 

In will and power, only to defeat. 

God and the good, know to forgive and save ; 

''he ignorant and fools no pity have. 



I will not stand to justify my fault. 

Or lay th' excuse upon the vintner's vault. 

Or in confessing of the crime be nice, 

Or go about to countenance the vice. 

By naming in what company 'twas in. 

As I would urge authority for sin ; 

No, I will stand arraign'd and cast, to be 

The subject of your grace in pardoning me. 

And (styled your mercy's creature) will livfl 

more. 
Your honor now, than your disgrace before. 

Think it was frailty, mistress, think me man, 
Think that yourself, like heaven, forgive me can 
Where weakness doth offend, and virtue grieve. 
There greatness takes a glory to relieve. 
Think that I once was yours, or may bo now ; 
Nothing is vile, that is a part of you. 
Error and folly in me may have crost 
Your just commands ; yet those, not I, bo lost. 
I am regenerate now, become the child 
Of your compassion ; parents should be mild : 
There is no father that for one demerit. 
Or two, or three, a son Avill disinherit ; 
That is the last of punishments is meant ; 
No man inflicts that pain, till hope be spent : 
An ill-afiected limb, whatc'er it ail. 
We cut not off", till all cures else do fail ; [gone, 
And then with pause ; for sever' d once, that's 
Would live his glory, that could keep it on. 
Do not despair my mending ; to distrust 
Before you prove a medicine, is unjust : 
You may so place me, and in such an air. 
As not alone the cure, but scar be fair. 
That is, if still your favors you apply. 
And not the bounties you have done, deny. 
Could you demand the gifts you gave again ! 
Why was't ? did e'er the clouds ask l)ack their 

rain ? 
The sim his heat and light ? the air his dew ? 
Or winds the spirit by which the flower so grew ? 
That were to wither all, and make a grave 
Of that wise nature would a cradle have. 
Her order is to cherish and preserve ; 
Consumption's, nature to destroy and sterve. 
But to exact again what once is given. 
Is nature's mere obliquity ; as heaven 
Should ask the blood and spirits he hath infus'd 
In man, because man hath the flesh abus'd. 

O may your wisdom take example hence, 
God lightens not at man's each frail offence : 
He pardons slips, goes by a world of ills. 
And then his thunder frights more than it kills. 
He cannot angry be, but all must quake ; 
It shakes e'en him that all things else dotb 

shake, 
And how more fair and lovely looks the world 
In a calm sky, than when the heaven is huii'd 
About in clouds, and wrapt in raging weather, 
As all with storm and tempest ran together ! 

imitate that sweet serenity 
That makes us live, not that Mhich calls to die, 
In dark and sullen morns do we not say, 
This looketh like an execution-day ? 
And with the vulgar doth it not obtain 
The name of cruel weather, storm and rain ? 
Be not affected Avith these marks too much 
Of cruelty, lest they do make you such ; 
But view the mildness of your Maker's state. 
As I the penitent's here emulate. 



828 



UNDERWOODS. 



He, -ft'heu he sees a sorrow, such as this. 

Straight jnits off all his anger, and doth kiss 

The contrite soul, who hath no thought to -win 

Upon the hope to have another sin 

For"-iven him : and in that line stand I, 

Rather than once displease you more, to die, 

To suffer tortures, scorn, and infamy, 

\Vhat fools, and all their parasites can apply ; 

The wit of ale, and genius of the malt 

Can pump for, or a libel without salt 

Produce ; though threat'ning with a coal or 

chalk. 
On every -wall, and sung where- e'er I walk. 
I number these, as being of the chore 
Of contumely, and urge a good man more 
Than sword, or lire, or what is of the race 
To carry noble danger in the face : 
There is not any punishment or pain, 
A man should tly from, as he would disdain. 
Then, mistress, here, here let your rigor end. 
And let your mercy make me asham'd t' offend ; 
I will no more abuse my vows to you, ^ 

Than I will study falsehood, to be true. 

O that you could but by dissection see 
How much you are the better part of me ; 
How all my iibres by your spirit do move. 
And that there is no life in mc, but love ! 
You would be then most confident, that though 
Public affairs command me now to go 
Out of your eyes, and be awhile away ; 
Absence or distance shall not breed decay. 
Your form shines here, here, fixed in my heart : 
I may dilate myself, but not depart. 
Others by common stars their courses run. 
When I see you, then I do see my sun : 
Till then, 'tis all but darkness that I have ; 
Rather than -want your light, I wish a grave. 

LVII. — AN ELEGY. 

To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true. 
Was it ray fate to prove it full in you ? 
Thought I but one had breath'd the purer air. 
And must she needs be false, because she's fair ? 
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth, 
Or your perfection, not to study truth ? 
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes. 
Or those it hath wink at your perjuries ? 
Are vows so cheap with women? or the matter 
Whereof they are made, that they are wiit in 

water, [breath. 

And blown away with wind ? or doth their 
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death ? 
Who could have thought so many accents sweet 
Tuned to our words, so many sighs should meet 
Blown from our hearts, so many oaths and tears 
Sprinkled among, all sweeter by our fears. 
And the divine impression of stol'n kisses. 
That seal'd the rest, could now prove empty 

blisses ? 
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break? 
Or must we read yo\i quite from M'hat you speak. 
And find the truth out the wrong way ? or must 
He first desire you false, would wish you just ? 
O, I profane ! though most of women be 
The common monster, thought shall except thee, 
My dearest love, though froward jealousy 
With circumstance might iirge the contrary. 
Sooner I'll think the sun would cease to cheer 
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear ; 



Sooner that rivers would run back, or Tliamcs 
With ribs of ice in June would bind his streams ; 
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endurcB, 
Would change her course, before you alter yours. 

But, O, that treacherous breast ! to whom 
weak you 
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue, 
Having his falsehood found too late ! 'twas he 
That made me cast you guilty, and you me ; 
Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simp e 

word 
We spake, unto the cunning of a third ! 
Curst may he be, that so our love hath slain, 
And wander wretched on the earth, as Cain ; 
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity ! 
In plaguing him, let misery be witty. 
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye, 
Till he be noisome as his infamy ; 
May he without remorse deny God thrice. 
And not be trusted more on his soul's price ; 
And after all self-torment, when he dies, 
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes, 
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue. 
That utter'd all, be to some raven flung ; 
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast 
To the king's dogs, than any other beast I 

Now I have curst, let us our love revive ; 
In me the flame was never more alive. 
I could begin again to court and praise. 
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days 
Of my life's lease ; like painters that do take 
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they 

make. 
I could renew those times when first I saw 
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law 
To like what you liked, and at masques or plays, 
Commend the self-same actors the same ways ; 
Ask how you did, and often with intent 
Of being officious, grow impertinent ; 
AH which were such soft pastimes, as in theso 
Love was as subtly catch' d as a disease. 
But, being got, it is, a treasure sweet. 
Which to defend, is harder than to get ; 
And ought not be profaned on either part. 
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art 

LVin. — AN ELEGY. 

That love's a bitter sweet, I ne'er conceive, 
Till the sour minute comes of taking leave. 
And then I taste it : but as men drink up 
In haste the bottom of a med'cined cup. 
And take some sirup after ; so do I, 
To put all relish from my memory 
Of parting, drown it, in the hope to meet 
Shortly again, and make our absence sweet. 
This makes mo, mistress, that sometimes by 

stealth. 
Under another name, I take your health. 
And turn the ceremonies of those nights 
I give, or owe my friends, unto your rites ; 
But ever without blazon, or least shade 
Of vows so sacred, and in silence made : 
For though love thrive, and may grow up witli 

cheer. 
And free society, he's born elsewhere. 
And must be bred, so to conceal his birth,' 
As neither Vv'ine do rack it out, or mirth. 
Yet should the lover still he airy' and light. 
In all his actions, rarifled to sprite : 



UNDERWOODS. 



829 



Not like a Midas, shut up in himself, 
And turning all he toucheth into pelf, 
Keep in rcscrv'd in his dark-lantern face, 
As if that excellent dulness were love's grace : 

No, mistress, no, the open, merry, man 
Moves like, a sprightly river, and yet can 
Keep secret in his channels Avhat he breeds, 
'Bove all your standing waters, choak'd vath 

Avecds. 
They look at best like cream-bowls, and you soon 
Shall find their depth ; they are sounded with a 

spoon. 
They may say grace, and for Love's chaplains 

pass. 
But the grave lover ever was an ass ; 
Is fix'd upon one leg, and dares not come 
Out with the other, for he's still at home : 
Like the dull wearied crane, that, come on land, 
Doth while he keeps his watch, betray his 

stand ; 
Where he that knows will like a lapwing fly 
Far from the nest, and so himself belie 
To others, as he v.-ill deserve the trust 
Due to that one that doth believe him just. 
And such your servant is, who vows to keep 
The jewel of yoTir name, as close as sleep 
Can lock the sense up, or the heart a thought, 
And never bo by time or folly brought, 
Weakness of brain, or any charm of wine, 
Tlie sin of boast,, or other countermine, 
t'ladc to blow up love's secrets, to discover 
That article may not become your lover : 
Which in assurance to your breast I tell. 
If I had writ no word, but. Dear, farewell ! 

LIX. — AN ELEGY. 

Since you must go, and I must bid farewell, 
Hear, mistress, your departing servant tell 
What it is like : and do not think they can 
Be idle words, though of a parting man. 
It is as if a night should shade noon-day. 
Or that the sun was here, but forced away ; 
And we were left under that hemisphere, 
Wliere we must feel it dark for half a year. 
Wliat fate is this, to change men's clays and 

hours. 
To shift their seasons, and destroy their powers ! 
Alas ! I have lost my heat, my blood, my prime, 
Winter is come a quarter ere his time. 
My health will leave me ; and when you depart. 
How shall I do, sweet mistress, for my heart ? 
You would restore it ! no ; that's worth a fear. 
As if it were not Avorthy to be there : 
O keep it still ; for it had rather bo 
Your sacrifice, than here remain Avith me. 
And so I spare it : coine Avhat can become 
Of me, I'll softly tread unto my tomb ; 
Or, like a ghost, Avalk silent amongst men, 
Till I may see both it and you agcn. 

LX. — A?r ELEGY. 

Let me bo AA-hat I am. : as Virgil cold. 
As Horace fat, or as Anacreon old ; 
No poet's A'erses yet did ever move. 
Whose readers did not think he Avas in loA'e. 
Who shall forbid me then in rhyme to be 
As light, and active as the youngest he 
Tliat from the ]Muses fountains doth endorse 
His lines, and hourly sits the poet's horse r 



Put on my ivy gaidand, let me see 
Who froAvns, Avho jealous is, Avho taxeth me. 
Fathers and husbands, I do claim a right 
In all that is call'd lovelj' ; take my sight, 
Sooner than my affection from the fair. 
No face, no hand, proportion, line or air 
Of beauty, but the muse hath interest in : 
There is not Avorn that lace, purl, knot, or piii. 
But is the poet's matter; and ho must. 
When ho is furious, loA-e, although not lust. 
Be then content, your daughters and your AviA'es, 
If they be fair and AA'orth it, have their lives 
^Made longer by our praises ; or, if not. 
Wish you had foul ones, and deformed got. 
Curst in their cradles, or there chang'd by elves, 
So to be sure you do enjoy, yourselves. 
Yet keep those up in sackcloth too, or leather. 
For silk avIU draw some sneaking songster thith- 
It is a rhyming age, and verses swarm [er. 

At every stall ; the city cap's a charm. 

But I Avho live, and have liA'ed twenty year, 
Where I may handle silk as free, and near. 
As any mercer, or the Avhale-bone man. 
That quilts those bodies I haA'e leave to span ; 
Have eaten Avith the beauties, and the Avits, 
And braveries of court, and felt their fits 
Of love and hate ; and came so nigh to know 
Wliethcr their faces Avere their own or no : 
It is not likely I should noAv look doAvn 
Upon a A-elvet petticoat, or a gOAvn, [on, 

Whose like I have knoAvn the tailor's AA"ife put 
To do her husband's rites in, ere 'tAverc'gone 
Home to the customer : his letchery 
Being the best clothes still to prc-occupy. 
Put a coach-mare in tissue, must I horse 
Her presently ? or leap thy Avife, of force, 
When by thy sordid bounty she hath on 
A gOAvn of Avhat Avas the comparison ? 
So I might doat upon thy chairs and stools. 
That arc like cloth'd : must I be of those fools 
Of race accounted, that no i^assion have, 
But Avhen thy Avife, as thouconcciv'st, isbraA'o ? 
Then ope thy Avardrobe, think me that pool 

groom 
That, from the footman, Avhcn he Avas become 
An officer there, did make most solemn love 
To every petticoat he brush'd, and glove 
He did lay up ; and Avould adore the shoe 
Or slipper Avas left off, and kiss it too ; 
Court CA'cry hanging gOAvn, and after that 
Lift up some one, and do — I tell not Avhat. 
Thou didst tell m.e, and Avert o'erjoyed to peep 
In at a hole, and see those actions creep 
From the poor Avretch, AA'hich though he plaid in 

prose. 
He Avould have done in verse, with anj' of those 
Wrung on the Avithers by Lord Love's despite, 
Had he the faculty to read and write ! 

Such songsters there are store of ; Avitness he 
That chanc'd the lace, laid on a smock, to see, 
And straightway spent a sonnet ; Avith that 

other 
That, in pure madrigal, unto his mother 
Commended the French hood and scarlet gOAvn 
The lady may'ress pass'd in through the toAvn, 
Unto the Spittle sermon. O Avhat strange 
Variety of silks Avere on the Exchange ! 
Or in Moor-fields, this other night, sings one ! 
Another ansAvers, 'las ! those silks are none, 



830 



UNDERWOODS. 



In smiling 1 envoy, as he would cloride 

Any comparison had with his Chcapside ; 

And vouches both the pageant and the day, 

When not the shops, but windows do display 

The stuffs, the velvets, plushes, fringes, lace, 

And all the original riots of the place. 

Let the poor fools enjoy their follies, love 

A goat in velvet ; or some block could move 

Under that cover, an old midwife's hat ! 

Or a close-stool so cased ; or any fat 

Bawd, in a velvet scabbard ! I env_y 

None of their pleasures ; nor will I ask thee why 

Thou art jealous of thy wife's or daughter's 

case ; 
More than of cither's manners, wit, or face ! 

LXI.— AN EXECRATION UPON VULCAN. 

And why to me this ? thou lame Lord of Fire ! 
What had I done that might call on thine ire ? 
Or urge thy greedy flames thus to devour 
So many my years' labors in an hour ? 
I ne'er attempted aught against thy life; 
Nor made least line of love to thy loose wife ; 
Or in remembrance of thy affront and scorn. 
With clowns and trcidesmen, kept thee clos'din 

horn. 

'Twas Jupiter that hurl'd thee headlong down, 
And Mars that gave thee a lantern for a crown. 
Was it because thou wort of old denied, 
By Jove, to have Minerva for thy bride : 
That since, thou tak'st all envious care and pain 
To ruin every issue of the brain ? 

Had I v>Tote treason here, or heresy. 
Imposture, witchcraft, charms, or blasphemy ; 
I had dcserv'd then thy consuming looks, 
Perhaps to have been burned with my books. 
But, on thy malice, tell me. Didst thou spy 
Any least loose or scurril paper lie 
Conceal' d, or kept there, that was fit to be. 
By thy own vote, a sacrince to thee ? 
Did I there wound the honor of the crown. 
Or tax the glory of the church, or gown ? 
Itch to defame the state, or brand the timies, 
And myself most, in lewd self-boasting rhymes ? 
If none of these, then why this fire ? Or find 
A cause before, or leave me one behind. 

Had I compiled from Amadis de Gaul, 
The Esplandians, Arthurs, Palmerins, and all 
The learned library of Don Quixpte, 
And so some goodlier monster had begot : 
Or spun out riddles, or weav'd fifty tomes 
Of Logographes, or curious Palindromes, 
Or pump'd for those hard trifles. Anagrams, 
Or Eteostics, or your Hner flams 
Of eggs, and halberds, cradles, and a herse, 
A pair of scissars, and a comb in verse ; 
Acrostichs, and telestichs on jump names, 
Thou then hadst had some color for thy flames, 
On such my serious follies : but, thou'lt say 
There were some pieces of as base allay, 
Ana as false stamp there ; parcels of a play, 
Fitter to see the fire-light, than the day ; 
Adulterate monies, such as would not go : — 
Thou shouldst have staid, till pubuc Fame said 
She is the judge, thou executioner : [so ; 

Or, if thou needs would'st trench upon her 

power. 
Thou might'st have yet enjoy'd thy cruelty 
With some more thrift, and more variety ; 



Thou might'st have had me perish piece by 

piece. 
To light tobacco, or save roasted geese. 
Singe capons, or crisp pigs, dropping their eyes ; 
Condemn' d me to the ovens with the pics ; 
And so have kept me d3'ing a whole age. 
Not ravish'd all hence in a minute's rage. — 
But that's a mark whereof thy rites do boast, 
To make consumption ever where thou go'st. 

Had I foreknown of this thy least desire 
To have held a triumph, or a feast of fire, 
Especially in paper ; that that steam 
Had tickled thy large nostrils ; many a ream, 
To redeem mine, I had scut in : Enough ! 
Thou shouldst have cried, and all been proper 

stuff. 
The Talmud and the Alcoran had come, 
With pieces of the Legend ; the whole sum 
Of errant knighthood, with the dames and 

dwarfs ; 
The charmed boats, and the inchanted wharfs, 
The Tristrams, Lancelots, Turpins, and the 

Peers, 
All the mad Rolands, and sweet Olivers ; 
To ^Merlin's marvels, and his Cabal's loss, 
With the chimera of the Rosie-cross, 
Their seals, their characters, hermetic rings. 
Their jem of riches, and bright stone that brings 
Invisibility, and strength, and tongues ; 
The art of kindling the true coal by Lungs ; 
With Nicholas' Pasquils, Meddle with your 

match. 
And the strong lines that do the times so catch ; 
Or captain Pamphlet's horse and foot, that sally 
Upon the Exchange still, out of Pope's-hcad 

alley ; 
The weekly courants, with Paul's seal ; and all 
The admired discourses of the prophet Ball. 

These, hadst thou pleas'd cither to dine or sup, 
Had made a meal for Vulcan to lick up. 
But, in my desk, what was there to accite 
So ravenous and vast an appetite ? 
I dare not say a body, but some parts 
There Avere of search, and mastery in the arts. 
All the old Venusinc, in poetry. 
And lighted by the Stagerite, could spy. 
Was there made English ; with a gramunar too, 
To teach sonie that their nurses could not do, 
The purity of Language ; and, among 
The rest, my journey into Scotland sung, 
With all the adventures : three books, not afraid 
To speak the fate of the Sicilian maid, 
To our own ladies ; and in story there 
Of our fifth Henrj', eight of his nine year ; 
Wherein was oil, beside the succors spent, 
Which noble Carew, Cotton, Seldcn lent : 
And twice twelve years stored up humanity, 
With humble gleanings in divinity ; 
After the fathers, and those wiser guides. 
Whom faction had not drawn to study sides. 

IIow in these ruins, Vulcan, dost thou lurk, 
All soot and embers ! odious as thy work ! 
I now begin to doubt if ever Grace, 
Or goddess, could be patient of thy face. 
Thou woo Minerva ! or to wit aspire ! 
'Cause thou canst halt Avith us in arts and fire I 
Son of the Wind ! for so thy mother, gor,e 
With lust, conceiv'd thee ; father thou hadst 

none. 



"UNDERWOODS. 



831 



When thou wert born, and that thou look'dst at 

best, 
She durst not kiss, but flung thee from her bi-east; 
And so did Jove, who ne'er meant thee his cup. 
No marie the clowns of Lemnos took thee up ! 
For none but smiths would have made thee a god. 
Some alchemist there may be 3-et, or odd 
'Squire of the squibs, against the pageant-day, 
May to thy name a Vulcanale say ; 
And for it lose his eyes -with gun-powder. 
As th' other may his brains with quicksilver. — 
"Well fare the wise men yet, on the Eank- 
side. 
My friends, the watermen ! they could provide 
Against thy fury, when to serve their needs, 
They made a Vulcan of a sheaf of reeds. 
Whom they durst handle in their holyday coats, 
And safely trust to dress, not burn theu" boats. 
But, O those reeds ! thy mere disdain of them. 
Made thee beget that cruel stratagem. 
Which some are pleased to style but thy mad 

prank, 
Against the Globe, the glory of the Bank : 
Which, though it were the fort of the whole 

parish, 
Flank'd with a ditch, and forc'd out of a marish, 
I fivw Avith two poor chambers taken in, 
Ajul razed ; ere thought could urge this might 

have been ! 
Sec the World's ruins ! nothing but the piles 
Left, and wit since to cover it with tiles. 
The brethren they straight nosed it out for 

news, 
'Twas verily some relict of the stews ; 
Ajid this a sparkle of that fire let loose, 
That was raked up in the Winchcstrian goose, 
Bred on the Bank in time of Popery, 
When Yenus there maintain'd the mystery. 
But others fell, with that conceit, by the ears, 
And cried it was a threatening to the bears. 
And that accursed ground, the Paris-garden : 
Nay, sigh'd a sister, Venus' nun, Kate Ardcn, 
Kindled the fire ! — but then, did one return, 
No fool would his own harvest spoil or burn ! — 
If that were so, thou rather Avouldst advance 
The place that was thy wife's inheritance. 

no, cried all. Fortune, for being a whore, 
Scap'd not his justice any jot the more : 
He burnt that idol of the llevels too. 
Nay, let Whitehall with revels have to do, 
Though but in dances, it shall know his power ; 
There v/as a judgment shewn too in an hour. 
He is right Vulcan still ! he did not spare 
Troy, though it was so much his Venus' care. 
Fool, wilt thou let that in example come ? 

Did not she save from thence to build a Home ? 
And what hast thou done in these petty spites, 
More than advanced the houses and their rites ? 

1 Avill not argue thee, from those, of guilt, 
For they were burnt but to be better built : 
'Tis true, that in thy Avish they were destroy'd. 
Which thou hast only vented, not enjoy'd. 

So wouldst thou've run upon the rolls by 

stealth, 
And didst invade part of the common- wealth, 
In those records, which, were all chronicles gone, 
Would bo remember'd by Six Clerks to one. 
But say all six, good men, what answer ye ? 
Lies there no writ out of the Chancery 



Against this Vulcan ? no injunction. 
No order, no decree ? — though we be gone 
At common law ; methinks, in his despite, 
A court of equity should do us right. 
But to confine him to the brcAvhouses, 
The glass-house, dye-fats, and their furnaces ; 
To live in sea-coal, and go forth in smoke ; 
Or, lest that vapor might the city choak. 
Condemn him to the brick-kilns, or some hill- 
Foot, (out in Sussex,) to an iron mill ; 
Or in small faggots have him blaze about 
Vile taverns, and the drunkards piss him out ; 
Or in the Bellman's lanthorn, like a spy, 
Burn to a snuff, and then stink out and die : 
I could invent a sentence, yet Avere Avorse ; 
But I'll conclude all in a ciA'il curse. 
Pox on j'our flamcship, Vulcan ! if it be 
To all as fatal as't hath been to me, 
And to Paul's steeple ; Avhich Avns unto us 
'Bove all your fire-works had at Ephesus, 
Or Alexandria ! and though a divine 
Loss, remains as yet unrepair'd as mine. 

Would you had kept your forgo at iEtna still ! 
And there made SAVords, bills, glaves, and arms 

your fill : 
Maintain'd the trade at Bilboa, or elseAAdiere, 
Struck in at Milan Avith the cutlers there ; 
Or staid but Avhere the friar and you fii'st met, 
Who from the devil's arse did guns beget ; 
Or fixt in the Low Countries, Avhere you might 
On both sides do your mischief AA'ith delight : 
BloAV up and ruin, mine and countermine, 
Make your petards and grenades, all j^our fine 
Engines of murder, and enjoy the praise 
Of massacring mankind so many Avays ! 
We ask your absence here, avc all love peace. 
And pray the fruits thereof and the encrcase , 
So doth the king, and most of the king's men 
That have good places : therefore once agen, 
Po.x on thee, Vulcan ! thy Pandora's pox 
And all the ills that flcAV out of her box 
Light on thee ! or, if those plagues Avill not do. 
Thy AA'ife's po.x on thee, and Bess Broughton's 
too! 

LXII.— A SPEECH, ACCOKDING TO IIOIIACE. 

Whjr yet, my noble hearts, they cannot saj', 
But Ave haA'e powder still for the king's day, 
And ordnance too : so much as from the ToAver, 
T' haA'e Avak'd, if sleeping, Spain's ambassador, 
Old iEsop Gundomar : the French can tell, 
For they did sec it the last tilting Avell, 
That Ave haA'e trumpets, armor, and great horse, 
Lances and men, and some a breaking force. 
They saAv too store of feathers, and more may. 
If they stay here but till St. George's day. 
All ensigns of a Avar are not yet dead. 
Nor marks of Avealth so from a nation fled, 
But they may see gold chains and i^earl Avorn 

then. 
Lent by the London dames to the Lords' men : 
Withal, the dirty pains those citizens take, 
To see the pride at Court, their Avives do make ; 
And the return those thankful courtiers yield. 
To have their husbands draAvn forth to the field, 
And coming home to tell Avhat acts Avere done 
Under the auspice of young SAvinnerton. 
What a strong fort old Pimlico had been ! 
HoAV it held out ! how, last, 'tAvas taken in ! — 



822 



UNDERWOODS. 



"Well, I sav, tlirive, thrive, brave Artillery-yard, 

Thou seed-plot of the war ! that hast not spared 

Powder or paper to bring up the youth 

Of I.ondon, in the military truth, 

These ton years day ; as all may swear that look 

But on thy practice, and the posture book. 

He that but saw thy curious captain's drill, 
Would think no more of Flushing or the Brill, 
But ftive thera over to the common ear, 
For that unnecessary charge they were. 
Well did thy crafty clerk and knight. Sir Hugh, 
Supplant bold Panton, and brought thereto view 
Translated ^-Elian's tactics to be read. 
And the Greek discipline, with the modern, 

shed 
So in that ground, as soon it grew to be 
The city-question, Avhether Tilly or he 
Were now the greater captain ? for they saw 
The Berghen siege, and taking in Bredau, 
So acted to the life, as IMaurico might. 
And Spinola have blushed at the sight. 

O happy art ! and wise epitome 
Of bearing arms I most civil soldiery ! 
Thou canst draw forth thy forces, and fight dry 
The battles of thy aldermanity ; 
Without the hazard of a drop of blood ; 
More than the surfeits in thee that day stood. 
Go on, increas'd in virtue and in fame, 
And keep the glory of the English name 
Up among nations. In the stead of bold 
Beauchamps and Nevills, Cliffords, Audleys old, 
Insert thy Hodges, and those newer men, 
As Stiles, Dike, Ditchficld, Millar, Crips, and 

Fen: 
That keep the war, though now't be grown 

more tame. 
Alive yet in the noise, and still the same. 
And could, if our great men v.-ould let their sons 
Come to their schools, shew them the use of 

guns ; 
And there instruct the noble English heirs 
In politic and military affairs. 
But he that should persuade to have this done 
For education of our lordlings, soon 
Should he [not] hear of billow, wind, and storm 
From the tcmjjtestiious grandlings, who'll in- 
form 
Us, in our bearing, that are thus and thus, 
Born, bred, allied ? what's he dare tutor us ? 
Are we by book- worms to be aw'd ? must we 
Live by their scale, that dare do nothing free ? 
Why are we rich or great, except to show 
All license in our lives ? what need we know 
More than to praise a dog, or horse ? or speak 
The hawking language r or our day to break 
With citizens ? let clowns and tradesmen breed 
Their sons to study arts, the laws, the creed : 
We will believe like men of our own rank, 
In so much land a year, or such a bank. 
That turns us 6o much monies, at which rate 
Our ancestors imposed on prince and state. 
Let poor nobilitj' bo virtuous : v."e, 
Descended in a rope of titles, be 
From Guy, or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom 
The herald will : our blood is now become 
Past any need of virtue. Let them care, 
That in the cradle of their gentry are, 
To serve the state by councils and by arms : 
Wc neithex love the troubles nor the harms. 



What love 3'ou then r your whore ; what study ? 

gait. 
Carriage and dressing. There is up of late 

The Academy, where the gallants meet 

What ! to make legs ? yes, and to smell most 

sweet ; 
All that they do at plays. O but first here 
They learn and study ; and then practise there. 
But why are all these irons in the fire, 
Of several makings ? Helps, helps, to attire 
His lordship ; that is for his band, his hair 
This, and that box his beauty to repair ; 
This other for his eye-brows : hence, away, 
I may no longer on these pictures stay. 
These carcases of honor ; tailors' blocks 
Cover'd with tissue, whose prosperity mocks 
The fate of things ; w'nilst tatter'd virtue holds 
Her broken arms up to their empty moulds ! 

LXIII. — AN EPISTLE TO MASTER ARTHUR SQUIB- 

What I am not, and what I fain would be. 

Whilst I inform myself, I would teach thee. 

My gentle Arthur, that it might be said 

One lesson we have both learu'd, and well read. 

I neither am, nor art thou one of those 

That hearkens to a jack's pulse, when it goes ; 

Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet, 

"Was issue of the tavern or the spit : 

Much less a name Avould we bring up. or nurse. 

That could but claim a kindred from the jiurse. 

Those are poor ties dejicnd on those false ends, 

'Tis virtue alone, or nothing, that knits friends. 

And as Avithin your office you do take 

No piece of money, but you know, or make 

Inquiry of the worth ; so must we do. 

First Aveigh a friend, then touch and try him too : 

For there are many slips and counterfeits. 

Deceit is fruitful : J>Ien have masks and nets ; 

But these with Avearing Avill themselves unfold, 

They cannot last. No lie grew ever old. 

Turn him, and see his threads ; look if he be 

Friend to himself that would be friend to thee. 

For that is first required, a man be his OAvn : 

But he that's too much that, is friend of none 

Then rest, and a friend's value understand. 

It is a richer purchase than of land. 

LXIV. — AN EPIGRAM ON SIR EDWARD COKE, WHEN 
HE AVAS LORD CHIEF JUSTICE OF ENGLAND. 

He that should search all glories of the gOAvn, 
And steps of all raised servants of the croAvn, 
He could not find than thc-e, of all that store. 
Whom fortune aided less, or A'irtue more. 
Such, Coke, were thy beginnings, Avhen thy good 
In others evil best Avas und.n-stood : [aid, 

When, being the stranger's help, the poor man's 
Thy just defences made th' oppressor afraid. 
Such was thy process, Avhen integrity, 
And skill in thee now -grcAV authority, 
That clients strove in question of the laAA'S, 
More for thy patronage, than for their cause, 
And that thy strong and manly eloquence 
Stood up thy nation's fame, her crown's defence ; 
And now such is thy stand, Avhile thou dost deal 
Desired justice to the public weal. 
Like Solan's self, explat'st the knotty laAvs 
With endless labors, Avhilst thy learning draAv.s 
No less of praise, than readers, in all kinds 
Of Avorthiest knowledge, that can take men'e 
minds. 



UNDERWOODS. 



833 



Such is thy all, that, as I sung before, 
None Fortune aided less, or virtue more. 
Or if chance must to each man that doth rise, 
Needs lend an aid, to thine she had her eyes. 

LXV. — AN EPISTLE, ANSWERINS TO ONE THAT 
ASKED TO BE SEALED OF THE TRIBE OF BEN. 

Men that are safe and sure in all they do, 
Care not what trials they are put unto : 
They meet the fire, the test, as martyrs would, 
And though opinion stamp them not, are gold. 
I could say more of such, but that I fly 
To speak myself out too ambitiously. 
And shewing so weak an act to vulgar eyes. 
Put conscience and my right to compromise. 
Let those that merely "talk, and never think, 
That live in the wild anarchy of drink, 
Subject to quarrel only ; or else such 
As make it their proficiency, how jnuch 
They've glutted in, and letcher'd oiit that week, 
That never yet did friend or friendship seek, 
But for a sealing : let these men protest. 
Or th' other on their borders, that will jest 
On all souls that are absent ; even the dead, 
Like flies or worms, which man's corrupt parts 
That to spealc well, think it above all sin, [fed : 
Of any company but that they are in, 
Call'd every night to supper in these fits. 
And are received for the Covey of Wits ; 
That censure all the town, and all the aff'airs. 
And know whose ignorance is more than theirs : 
Let these men have their ways, and take their 

times 
To vent their libels, and to issue rhymes, 
I have no portion in them, nor their deal 
Of news they get, to strew out the long meal ; 
I study other friendships, and more one. 
Than these can ever be, or else wish none. 

^\^lat is't to me, whether the French design 
J>e, or be not, to get the Yaltelinc ? 
Or the States' ships sent forth be like to meet 
Some hopes of Spain in their West Indian fleet ? 
Whether the dispensation yet be sent. 
Or that the match from Spain was ever meant ? 
I wish all well, and pray high heaven conspire 
My prince's safety, and my king's desire ; 
But if for honor we must draw the sword, 
And force back that which will not be restor'd, 
I have a body yet that spirit draws. 
To live, or fall a carcase, in the cause. 
So far Avithout enquiry what the States, 
Brunsficld, and Mansiield, do this year, my fates 
Shall carry me at call ; and I'll be well, 
Though I do neither hear these news, nor tell 
Of Spain or France ; or were not prick'd down 
Of the late mystery of reception ; [one 

Although ray fame to his not under-hears. 
That guides the motions, and directs the bears. 
Eut that's a blow, by Avhich in time I may 
Lose all my credit with my Christmas clay. 
And animated porcelaine of the court ; 
Ay, and for this neglect, the coarser sort 
Of earthen jars there, may molest me too : 
Well, with mi^E own frail pitcher, what to do 
I have decreed ; keep it from waves and press, 
Lest it be jus',] Ed, crack'd, made nought, or less. 
Live to that point I will, for which I am man, 
And dwell as in my centre, as I can, 
Still looking to, and ever loving heaven ; 
With reverence using all the gifts thence given : 

53 



'Mongst which, if I have any friendships sent. 
Such as are square, well-tagg'd, and permanent, 
Not built with canvas, paper, and false lights, 
As arc the glorious scenes at the great sights : 
And that there be no fevery heats nor colds. 
Oily expansions, or shrunk dirty folds. 
But all so clear, and led by reason's flame. 
As but to stumble in her sight were shame ; 
Those I will honor, love, embrace, and serve, 
And free it from all question to preserve. 
So short you read my character, and theirs 
I woiild call mine, to Avhich not many stairs 
Arc ask'd to climb. First give me faith, who 
ilyself a little ; I will take you so, [know 

As you have writ yourself: now stand, and then, 
Sir, you are Sealed of the Tribe of Bex. 

LXVI. — THE DEDICATION OF THE KING'S NEW 
CELLAR TO BACCHUS. 

Acccssit fervor capiti, numerusque luceniia. 

Since, Bacchus, thou art father 
Of M'ines, to thee the rather 
We dedicate this Cellar, 
AVhere now thou art made dweller. 
And seal thee thy commission: 
But 'tis with a condition. 
That thou remain here taster 
Of all to the great master ; 
And look unto their faces, 
Their qualites and races. 
That both their odor take him, 
And relish merry make him. 

For, Bacchus, thou art frctir 
Of cares, and overseOr 
Of feast and merry meeting, 
And still begin'st tho greeting : 
See then thou dost attend him, 
Lytcus, and defend him. 
By all the arts of gladness. 
From any thought like sadness. 
So may'st thou still be younger 
Than Phccbus, and much stronger, 
To give mankind their cases. 
And cure the world's diseases. 

So may the Muses follow 
Thee still, and leave Apollo, 
And think thy stream more quicker 
Than Hippocrcnc's liquor : 
And thou make many a poet. 
Before his brain do know it ! 
So may there never quarrel 
Have issue from the barrel, 
But Yenus and the Graces 
Pursue thee in all places, 
And not a song be other 
Than Cupid and his mother I 

That Avhen kmg James above hero 
Shall feast it, thou may'st love there 
The causes and the guests too. 
And have thy tales and jests too. 
Thy circuits and thy rounds free. 
As shall the feast's fair grounds be. 
Be it he holds communion 
In great St. George's union ; 
Or gratulates the passage 
Of some well wrought embassage. 
Whereby he may knit sure up 
The wished peace of Europe : 



834 



UNDERWOODS. 



Or else a health advances, 
To put his coxirt in dances, 
And set us all on skipping, 
When -with his royal shipping, 
The narrow seas arc shady. 
And Charles brings home the lady. 

LXVII. — A>f EPICrRAM ON THE COURT PUCELLE. 

Does the Court Pucelle then so censure me, 
And thinks I dare not her r let the world see. 
"Wliat though her chamber be the very pit. 
Where fight the prime cocks of the game, for 

wit ; 
And that as any are struck, her breath creates 
New in their stead, out of the candidates ! 
What though with tribade lust she force a muse, 
And in an epico^ne fury can write news 
Equal with that M^hich for the best news goes, 
As airy, light, and as like wit as those ! 
What though she talk, and can at once with 

them 
Make state, religion, bawdrj', all a theme ; 
And as lip-thirsty, in each Avord's expense, 
Doth labor with the phrase more than the sense ! 
What though she ride two mile on holydays 
To church, as others do to feasts and plays, 
To she\\* tlieir tires, to view, and to be view'd ! 
What though she be with velvet gowns endued. 
And spangled petticoats brought forth to th' eye, 
As new rewards of her old secrecy ! 
What though she hath won on trust , as man 3^ do. 
And that her truster fears her ! must I too ? 
I never stood for any place : mj' wit 
Thinks itself nought, though she should value it. 
I am no statesman, and much less divine ; 
For bawd'ry, 'tis her language, and not mine. 
Farthest I am from the idolatry 
To stuffs and laces ; those my man can buy. 
And trust her I would least, that hath forswore 
In contract twice ; what can she perjure more ? 
Indeed her dressing some man might delight. 
Her face there's none can like by candle-light : 
Not he, that should the body have, for case 
To his poor instrument, now out of grace. 
Shall I advise thee, Pucelle ? steal away 
From court, while yet thy fame hath some small 

clay ; 
The wits will leave you if they once perceive 
You cling to lords ; and lords, if them you leave 
For sermoneers ; of which now one, now other. 
They say you weekly invite with fits o' th' 

mother. 
And practise for a miracle ; take heed, 
This age will lend no faith to Barrel's deed ; 
Or if it would, the court is the worst place, 
Eoth for the mothers, and the babes of grace ; 
For there the wicked in the chair of scorn. 
Will call't a bastard, when a prophet's born. 

LXVIII. — AN EPIGRAM, TO THE IIOJfORED 
COUNTESS OF * * *. 

The wisdom, madam, of your private life. 
Wherewith this while you live a widow'd wife. 
And the right ways you take unto the right, 
To conquer rumor, and triumph on spite ; 
Not only shunning by your act to do 
Aught that is ill, but the suspicion too. 
Is of so brave example, as he were 
No friend to virtue, could be silent here ; 



The rather when the vices of the time 
Are grown so fruitful, and false pleasures climb. 
By all oblique degrees, that killing height 
From whence thcj' fall, cast down with their 

own weight. 
And though, all praise bring nothing to yoiu 

name, 
Who (herein studying conscience, and not fame) 
Are in yourself rewarded ; yet 'twill be 
A cheerful Avork to all good eyes, to see 
Among the daily ruins that fall foul 
Of state, of fame, of body, and of soul, 
So great a virtue stand upright to view. 
As makes Penelope's old fable true. 
Whilst your Ulysses hath ta'en leave to go, 
Countries and climes, manners and men to know. 
Only 3'our time you better entertain. 
Than the great Homer's wit for her could feign ; 
For you admit no company but good. 
And when you want those friends, or near in 

blood. 
Or your allies, you make your books your friends, 
And study them unto the noblest ends. 
Searching for knowledge, and to keep your mind 
The same it was inspired, rich and refined. 

These graces, Avhen the rest of ladies view, 
Not boasted in your life, but jDractis'd true. 
As they are hard for them to make their own. 
So are they profitable to be known : 
For when they find so many meet in one. 
It Avill be shame for them, if they have none. 

LXIX. — ON LORD BACON'S BIRTH-DAY. 

Hail, happy Genius of this ancient pile ! 
How comes it all things so about thee smile ? 
The fire, the wine, the men ! and in the midst 
Thou stand'st as if some mj^stery thou didst ! 
Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day 
For whose returns, and many, all these pray ; 
And so do I. This is the sixtieth year. 
Since Bacon, and thy lord Avas born, and here; 
Son to the graA'e Avisc Keeper of the Seal, 
Fame and foundation of the English Aveal. 
What then his father Avas, that since is he, 
NoAv Avith a title more to the degree ; 
England's high Chancellor : the destin'd heir, 
In his soft cradle, to his father's chair : 
Whose even thread the fates spin round and full, 
Out of their choicest and their Avhitest avooI. 
'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be known. 
For 'twere a narrow gladness, kept thine own. 
Give me a dcep-crown'd bowl, that I may sing. 
In raising him, the Avisdom of my king. 

LXX. — THE POET TO THE PAINTER. 
,AN ANSAVER. 

Why, though I seem of a prodigious Avaist, 
I am not so voluminous and vast. 
But there are lines, AvhereAvith I might be'eni" 
brac'd. 

'Tis true, as my Avomb swells, so my back stoops. 
And the Avhole lump groAvs round, deforird, 

and droops ; 
But yet the Tun at Heidelberg had hoops. 

You Avere not tied by any painter's laAV 
To square ray circle, I confess, but draAV 
My superficies : that Avas all you saw. 



UNDERWOODS. 



835 



Which if in compass of no art it came 

To be described by a monogram, 

With one groat blot you had form'd me as I am. 

But whilst you curious ■were to have it bo 
An archetype, for all the -world to see, 
You made it a brave piece, but not like me. 

O, had I now your manner, mastery, might, 
YovLV power of handling, shadow, air, and 

spright, 
How I would draw, and take hold and delight ! 

But you are he can paint, I can but write : 
A poet hath no more but black and white, 
Ne knows he flattering colors, or false light. 

Yet when of friendship I would draw the face, 
A letter'd mind, and a large heart would place 
To all posterity ; I will write Buklase. 

LXXI. — AN EPIGRAM TO WILLIAM EARL 
OF NEWCASTLE. 

When first, my lord, I saw you back your horse. 
Provoke his metal, and command his force 
To all the uses of the field and race, 
Methought I road the ancient art of Thrace, 
And saw a centaur, past those tales of Greece, 
So seem'd your horse and you both of a piece ! 
You shew'd like Perseus upon Pegasus, 
Or Castor mounted on his Cyllarus ; 
Or what Ave hear our home-boi-n legend tell. 
Of bold sir Bevis, and his Arundel; 
Nay, so your scat his beauties did endorse. 
As I began to wish myself a horse : 
And surely, had I but your stable seen 
Before, I think my wish absolv'd had been. 
For never saw I yet the Muses dwell. 
Nor any of their household half so well. 
So well ! as when I saw the floor and room, 
I look'd for Hercules to be the greom ; 
And cried. Away with the Caesarian bread ! 
At these immortal mangers Virgil fed. 

LXXII.— EPISTLE TO MASTER ARTHUa SQUIB. 

1 am to dine, friend, where I must be weigh'd 

For a just wager, and that wager paid 

H I do lose it ; and, without a tale, 

A merchant's wife is regent of the scale. 

Who when she heard the match, concluded 

straight. 
An ill commodity ! it must make good weight. 
So that, upon the point, my coi'poral fear 
Is, she will play dame justice too severe ; 
And hold me to it close ; to stand upright 
AVithin the balance, and not want a mite ; 
But rather with advantage to be found 
Full twenty stone, of which I lack two pound ; 
That's six in silver : now within the socket 
Stinketh my credit, if, into the pocket 
It do not come : one piece I have in store, 
Lend me, dear Arthur, for a week, five more. 
And you shall make me good in weight and 

fashion, 
And then, to be return'd ; or protestation 

To go out after : till when take this letter 

For your security. I can no better. 

LXXIII TO MASTER JOHN BURGES. 

Would God, my Burges, I could think 
Thoughts worthy of thy gift, this ink, 



Then would I promise here to give 
Verse that should thee and me outlive. 
But since the wine hath steep'd my brain, 
I only can the paper stain ; 
Yet with a dye that fears no moth, 
But scarlet-like, out-lasts the cloth. 

LXXIV. — EPISTLE TO MY LADY COVELL. 

You won not verses, madam, you won me, 
When you would play so nobly, and so free, 
A book to a few lines ! but it was fit 
You won them too, your odds did merit it. 
So have you gain'd a Servant and a Muse : 
The first of which I fear you will refuse, 
And you may justly ; being a tardy, cold, 
Unprofitable chattel, fat and old. 
Laden with belly, and doth hardly approach 
His friends, but to break chairs, or crack a 

coach. 
His weight is twenty stone within two pound ; 
And that's made up, as doth the purse abound 
Marr3% the Muse is one can tread the air. 
And stroke the water, nimble, chaste and fair • 
Sleep in a virgin's bosom without fear. 
Run all the rounds in a soft lady's ear. 
Widow or wife, with6ut the jealousy 
Of either suitor, or a servant by. 
Such, if her manners like you, I do send : 
And can for other graces her commend. 
To make you merry on the dressing-stool 
A mornings, and at afternoons to fool ■ 
Away ill company, and help in rhyme 
Your Joan to pass her melancholy time. 
B)' tliis, although you fancy not the man. 
Accept his muse ; and tell, I know you can, 
How many verses, madam, are your due ! 
I can lose none in tendering these to you. 
I gain in having leave to keep my day. 
And should grow rich, had I much more to pay 

LXXV. — TO MASTER JOHN BUR&ES. 

Father John Burges, 

Necessity urges 

My woeful cry 

To sir Robert Pie : 

And that he will venture 

To send my debenture. 

Tell him his Ben 

Knew the time, when 

He loved the Muses ; 

Though now he refuses. 

To take apprehension 

Of a year's pension. 

And more is behind : 

Put him in mind 

Christmas is near ; 

And neither good cheer. 

Mirth, fooling, nor wit. 

Nor any least fit 

Of gambol or sport 

Will come at the court ; 

If there be no money, 

No plover or coney 

Will come to the table. 

Or wine to enable 

The muse, or the poet, 

The parish will know it. 
Nor any quick warming-pan help him to bed ; 
If the 'Chequer be emptj^, so will be his head. 



836 



UNDERWOODS. 



LXXVI. — EPI&KAM TO MY BOOKSELLER. 

Thou, friend, vilt hear all censures ; unto thee 
All mouths are open, and all stomachs free : 
Be thou my book's intelligencer, note 
What each man says of it, and of what coat 
His judgment is ; if he be wise, and praise, 
Thank him ; if other, he can give no bays. 
If his wit reach no higher, but to spring 
Thy wife a fit of laughter ; a cramp-ring 
will be reward enough ; to wear like those. 
That hang their richest jewels in their nose : 
Like a rung bear or swine ; grunting out wit 

As if that part lay for a most fit ! 

If they go on, and that thou lov'st a-life [wife. 
Their perfumed judgments, let them kiss thy 

LXXVII. — A!V EPITAPH ON HENRY LORD 
LA-WARE. 

If, Passenger, thou canst but read. 

Stay, drop a tear for him that's dead : 

Henry, the brave young lord La-avake, 

Minerva's and the Muses' care ! 

What could their care do 'gainst the spite 

Of a disease, that lov'd no light 

Of honor, nor no air of good ; 

But crept like darkness through his blood, 

Off'ended with the dazzling flame 

Of virtue, got above his name ? 

No noble furniture of parts. 

No love of action and high arts : 

No aim at glory, or in war, 

Ambition to become a star, 

Could stop the malice of this ill. 

That spread his body o'er to kill : 

And only his great soul envied. 

Because it durst have noblior died. 

LXXVIII.— AN epigram TO THE LORD-KEEPER. 

That you have seen the pride, beheld the sport, 
And all the games of fortune, play'd at Court, 
View'd there the market, read the wretched rate. 
At which there are would sell the prince and 
That scarce you hear a public voice alive, [state : 
But whisper'd counsels, and those only thrive ; 
Yet arc got off" thence, with clear mind and hands 
To lift to heaven, who is't not understands 
Your happiness, and doth not speak you blest. 
To sec you set apart thus from the rest, 
T' obtain of God what all the land should ask ? 
A nation's sin got pardon'd ! 'twere a task 
Pit for a bishop's knees ! O bow them oft, 
My lord, till felt grief make our stone hearts soft. 
And we do weep to water for our sin. — 
He, that in such a flood as we are in. 
Of riot and consumption, knows the way, 
To teach the people how to fast and pray, 
And do their penance to avert the rod. 
He ia the Man, and favorite, of God. 

LXXIX. — AN EPIGRAM TO KING CHARLES, FOR AN 
HUNDRED POUNDS HE SENT ME IN MY SICKNESS. 
MDCXXIX. 

Great Chaeles, among the holy gifts of grace, 

Annexed to thy person and thy place, 

'Tis not enough (thy piety is such) 

To cure the call'd kinfs-eoil with thy touch ; 

But thou wilt yet a kinglier mastery try, 

To cure the poet's evil, poverty : 

And in these cures dost so thyself enlarge, 

As thou dost cure our evil at thy charge. 



Nay, and in this, thou show'st to value more 
One poet, than of other folks ten score. 
O piety, so to weigh the poor's estates ! 
O bounty, so to difference the rates ! 
What can the poet wish his king may do, 
But that he cure the people's evil too ? 

LXXX. — TO KING CHARLES AND QUEEN MARY, FOIl 
THE LOSS OF THEIR FIRST-BORN. — AN EPIGRAM 
CONSOLATORY. MDCXXIX. 

Who dares deny, that all first-fruits are due 
To God, denies the Godhead to be true : [store, 
Who doubts those fruits God can with gain re- 
Doth by his doubt distrust his promise more. 
He can, he will, and with large interest, pay 
What, at his liking, he will take away. 
Then, royal Charles and Mary, do not gruteh 
That the Almighty's will to you is such : 
But thank his greatness and his goodness too ; 
And think all still the best that he will do. 
That thought shall make, he will this loss supply 
With a long, large, and blest posterity : 
For God, whose essence is so infinite, 
Cannot but heap that grace he will requite. 

LXXXI. — AN EPIGRAM TO OUR GREAT AND GOOIl 
KING CHARLES, ON HIS ANNIVERSARY DAY. — 
MDCXXIX. 

How happy were the subject if he knew, 
Most pious king, but his own good in you ! 
How many times. Live long, Charles ! would 

he say. 
If he but Avcigh'd the blessings of this day, 
And as it turns our joyful year about. 
For safety of such majesty cry out ? 
Indeed, when had Great Britain greater cause 
Than now, to love the sovereign and the laws , 
When you that reign are her example grown, 
And what are bounds to her, you make your own ? 
When 5'ou assiduous practice doth secure 
That faith whii;h she professeth to be pure ? 
When all your life's a precedent of days, 
And murmur cannot quarrel at your ways ? 
How is she barren grown of love, or broke, 
That nothing can her gratitude provoke ! 
O times ! O manners ! surfeit bred of case. 
The truly epidemical disease ! 
'Tis not alone the merchant, but the clown. 
Is bankrupt turn'd ; the cassock, cloke and gown. 
Are lost upon accoiint, and none will know. 
How much to heaven" for thee, great Charles, 

they owe ! 

LXXXII. — AN EPIGRAM ON THE PRINCE'S 
BIRTH. MDCXXX. 

And art thou born, bravo babe ? blest be thy birth, 
That SO hath crown'd our hopes, our spring, and 

earth. 
The bed of the chaste Lily and the Rose ! 
What month than May was fitter to disclose 
This prince of flow'rs ? Soon shoot thou up and 

grow 
The same that thou art promised, but be slow, 
And long in changing. Let our nephews see 
Thee quickly come the garden's eye to bo. 
And still to stand so. Haste now, envious moon, 
And interpose thyself, (care not how soon) 
And threat the great eclipse ; two hours but run, 
Sol will re-shine ; if not, Charles hath a son. 

Non dlaplicuisse meretur 

Fcstinat Ccvsar qui placiiisse tibi. 



UNDERWOODS. 



837 



LXXXIII. — A\ EPIGRAM TO THE QUEEN, THEN 
LYINO IN. MDCXXX. 

Hail, Mary, full of grace ! it once was said, 
And by an angel, to the blossed'st maid, 
The Mother of our Lord : "vvhy may not I, 
Without profaneness, as a poet cry. 
Hail, !Mab.y, full of honors ! to my queen, 
The mother af our prince ? when was there seen, 
Except the joy that the first Mary brought. 
Whereby the safety of mankind was wrought. 
So general a gladness to an isle, 
To make the hearts of a whole nation smile, 
As in this prince ? let it be lawful, so 
To compare small Avitli great, as still we owe 
Glory to God. Then, hail to Mary ! spring 
Of so much safety to the realm and king ! 

IXXXIV. — AN ODE OR SONG BY ALL THE MUSES, 
IN CELEBRATION OF HER MAJESTY'S EIRTH-DAY 
MDCXXX. 

1. Clio. Up, public joy, remember 

This sixteenth of November, 
Some brave uncommon way : 

And though the parish-steeple 

Be silent to the people 
Ring thou it holy-daj'. 

2. Mel. What though the thrifty Tower, 

And guns there spare to pour 
Their noises forth in thunder : 

As feaiful to awake 

This city, or to shake 

Their guarded gates asunder ? 

3o Thai. Yet let our trumpets sound. 

And cleave both air and ground 

With beating of our drums : 
Let every lyre be strung. 
Harp, lute, theorbo sprung, 
With touch of learned thumbs 

4. Eut. That when the quire is full, 

The harmony may pull 

The angels from their spheres : 

And each intelligence 

May wish itself a sense, 
Whilst it the ditty hears. 

5. Terp. Behold the royal IMary, 

The daughter of great Harry ! 

And sister to just Lewis ! 
Comes in the pomp and glory 
Of all her brother's story, 

And of her father's prowess ! 

6. Erat. She shows so far above 

The feigned queen of love. 

This sea girt isle upon : 
As here no Venus were : 
But that she reigning here, 
Had put the ceston on ! 

7. Call, See, see our active king, 

Hath taken twice the ring. 
Upon his pointed lance : 



Whilst all the ravish'<l rout 
Do mingle in a shout, 

Hey for the flower of France ! 

8. Ui-a. This day the court doth measure 

Her joy in state and pleasure ; 

And with a reverend fear, 
The revels and the play. 
Sum ^^p this crowned day, 

Her two and twentieth year- 

9. Poll/. Sweet, happy IMary, all 

The people her do call. 

And this the womb divine ! 
So fruitful, and so fair. 
Hath brought the land an heir, 
And Charles a Caroline ! 

LXXXV. — AN EPIGRAM TO THE HOUSEHOLD 
MDCXXX. 

What can the cause be, when the king hatli given 
His poet sack, the Household will not puy ? 

Are they so scanted in their store ? or driven 
For want of knowing the poet, to say him nay. 

Well, they should know him, would the king 
but grant 

His poet leave to sing his Household true ; 
He'd frame such ditties of their store and want. 

Would make the very Green-cloth to look blue; 

And rather wish in their expense of sack, 
So the allowance from the king to use, 

As the old bard slxiuld no canary lack ; 

'Twere better spare a butt, than spill his muse. 

For in the genius of a poet's verse, 

The king's fame lives. Go now, deny his tierce ! 

LXXXVI. — AN EPIGRAM TO A FRIEND, AND SON. 

Son, and my friend, I had not call'd you so 
To me : or been the same to j'ou, if show, 
Profit, or chance had made us : but I know. 
What, by that name, we each to other owe. 
Freedom and truth ; with love from those begot : 
AVise-crafts, on which the flatterer ventures not. 
His is more safe commodity or none : 
Nor dares he come in the comparison. 
But as the wretched painter, who so ill 
Painted a dog, that now his subtler skill 
Was, t' have a boy stand with a club, and fright 
All live dogs from the lane, and his shop's sight, 
Till he had sold his piece, drawn so unlike : 
So doth the flatterer with fair cunning strike 
At a friend's freedom, proves all circling means 
To keep him off; and howsoe'er he gleans 
Some of his forms, he lets him not come near 
AVhere he Avould fix, for the distinction's fear ; 
For as at distance few have faculty 
To judge ; so all men coming near, can spy; 
Though now of flattery, as of picture, are 
More subtle works, and finer pieces far, 
Than knew the former ages ; yet to life 
All is but web and painting ; be the strife 
Never so great to got them : and the ends, 
Rather to boast rich hangings, than rare friends 



838 



UNDERWOODS. 



A PINDARIC ODE 

TO TUE IMMORTAL MEMORY AND FlilENDSniP OF THAT NOBLE PATH, 

SIR LUCIUS GARY, AND SIR II. IMORISON. 



•A PINDARIC ODE ON THE DEATH CF 
SIR H. MOIIISON. ' 



TFTK STROrllK, OR TUR.V 

lirave infant of Saguntum, clear 
Thy comini^ forth in that groat year, 
When the prodigious Hannibal did crown 
His rage, with razing your immortal town. 
Thou looking then about. 
Ere thou wcrt half got out, 
Wise child, didst hastily return. 
And mad'st thy mother's womb thine urn. 
IIow summ'd a circle didst thou leave mankind 
Of deejicst lore, could we the centre find ! 

THE ANTISTROntK, OR COUNTER-TURX. 

Did wiser nature draw thee back, 

From out th' horror of that .sack ; 
Where shanie, faith, honor, and regard of right, 
Lay trampled on ? the deeds of death and night, 
Urged, hurried forth, and hurl'd 
Upon th' affrighted world ; 

Fire, famine, and fell fury met, 

And all on utmost ruin set : 
As, could they but life's miseries foresee. 
No doubt all infants would return like thee. 

THE urODE, on stand. 
For what is life, if mcasur'd by the space, 

Not by the act ? 
Or masked man, if valued by his face. 
Above his fact ? 
Hero's one outliv'd his 25cers, 
And told fortli fourscore years : 
He vexed time, and busied the whole state ; 
Troubled both foes and friends ; 
lUit ever to no ends : 
What did this stirrer but die late ? 
How well at twenty had ho fallen or stood ! 
For three of his forcscore he did no good. 



TIIK STROPHE, OR TURN. 

He entcr'd well by virtuous parts, 
Got up, and thriv'd with honest arts ; 
He purchased friends, and fame, and honors 

then, 
And had his noble name advanc'd Avith men : 
liut Tvcary of that flight. 
Ho stoop'd in all men's sight 
To sordid flatteries, acts of strife, 
And sunk in that dead sea of life. 
So deep, as he did then death's waters sup. 
But that the cork of title buoy'd him up. 

THE ANTISTROPIIE, or. COUNTER-TURX. 

Alas ! but MoRisox fell young : 
He never fell, — thou fall'st, my tongue. 
He stood a soldier to the last right end, 
A perfect patriot and a noble friend ; 



llut most, a virtuous son. 
All offices were done 
By him, so ample, full, and round, 
In weight, in measure, number, sound. 
As, though his age imiicrfcct might appear, 
His life Avas of humanity the sphere. 

THE ErODE, OB STAND. 

Go now, and tell our days summ'd up with fears 

And make them years ; 
Produce thy mass of miseries on the stage, 
To SAvell thine ago : 
Repeat of things a throng, 
To shew thou hast been long. 
Not liv'd ; for life doth her great actions spell 
By what Avas done and A\'rought 
In season, and so brought 
To light : her measures arc, hoAv Avell 
Each syllabe answcr'd, and Avas form'd, hoAV fair 
These make the lines of life, and that's her air 



THE STROPHE, OR TURN. 

It is not growing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make men bettor be , 
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
To Ml a log at last, dry, bald, and sear : 
A lily of a daj'. 
Is fairer far, in ^lay, 
Although it fall and die that night ; 
It Avas the plant and floAvcr of light. 
In small proportions Ave just beauties see ; 
And in short measures, life may perfect be. 

THE ANTISTROPHE, OR COUNTER-TURN. 

Call, noble Lucius, then for Avine, 

And let thy looks Avith gladness shine : 
Accept this Gai'land, plant it on thy head. 
And think, nay knoAv, thy Mouison's not dead. 
He leap'd the present ago, 
Posscst Avith holy rage, 

To see that bright eternal day ; 

Of which Ave priests and poets say 
Such truths, as Ave e.xpect for happy men : 
And there, lie liA'es Avith memory, and Ben. 

THE EPODE, OR STAND. 

Joxsox, Avho sung this of him, ere he Avent, 

Himself, to rest. 
Or taste a part of that full joy he meant 
To haA'e cxprcst. 

In this bright asterisni ! 

AVhcre it Avcrc friendship's schism. 
Were not his Lucius long Avith us to tarry, 
To separate tlicse twi- 
Lights, the Dioscuri ; 
And keep the one half from his Harry. 
But fate doth so alternate the design. 
Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must 
shine. — 



UNDERWOODS. 



839 



THE STnOIMIE, OR TOSIT. 

And shine as you exalted are ; 
Two names of friendship, but one star : 
Of hearts the union, and those not by chance 
Made, or indenture, or leased out t' advance 
The profits for a time. 
No pleasui'cs vain did chime, 
Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts, 
Orgies of drink, or feign'd protests : 
But simple love of greatness and of good : 
That knits brave minds and manners, more than 
blood. 

THE ANTI9Ti:0I"inC, OR COUNTER-TURX. 

This made you hrst to know the why 

You liked, theu after, to apjily 
That liking ; and api)roach so one the t'other, 
Till either grew a portion of the other : 



Each styled by his end, 

'J'he copy of his friend. 

You liv'd to 1)0 the great sir-names. 

And titles, l)y which all made claims 

Unto the Virtue : nothing perfect done, 

Jkit as a CAitvr or a Mokison. 

Till! El'ODK, OR STAND. 

And such a force the fair example had. 

As they that saw 
The good, and durst not practise it, were glad 
That such a law 
Was left yet to mankind ; 
Where they might read and lind 
Friendshi]), indeed, was written not in words; 
And with tlio heart, not pen. 
Of two so early men 
Whose lines her rolls were, and records : 
Who, ere the first down bloomed on the chin, 
Had sow'd these fruits, and got the harvest in 



LXXXVIII. — AN KPIGRAM TO WILI.JAM EARL OF 
NEWCASTLE, ON HIS FENCING. 

They talk of Fencing, and the use of arms, 
The art of urging and avoiding harms. 
The noble science, and the mastering skill 
Of making just ap])roaches how to kill; 
To hit in angles, and to clash with time ; 
As all defence or offence were a chime ! 
I hate such measured, give me mettled, fire, 
That trembles in the blaze, but then mount? 

higher ! 
A quick and dazzling motion ; Avhcn a pair 
Of bodies meet like rarilied air ! 
Their weapons darted with that flame and force, 
As they out-did the lightning in the course ; 
This were a spectacle, a sight to draw 
AVonder to valor ! No, it is the law 
Of daring not to do a wrong ; tis true 
Valor to slight it, being done to you. 
To know the heads of danger where 'tis fit 
To bend, to Incak, provoke, or suffer it ; 
All tliis, my lord, is valor : this is yours. 
And was your father's, all your ancestors ! 
Who durst live great 'mongst all the colds and 

heats 
Of human life ; as all the frosts and sweats 
Of fortune, when or death appear'd, or bands : 
And valiant were, with or without their hands. 

lxxxix. — to the right honorable the lord 
higir treasurer of england, an epistle 
mendicant. mdcxxxi. 

My Lord, 
Poor wretched states, prcst by extremities, 
Are fain to seek for succors and supplies 
Of princes' aids, or good men's charities. 
Disease the enemy, and his inginoors. 
Want, with the rest of his conccal'd compeers. 
Have east a trench about me, now five years, 
And made those strong ajiproachcs by false 
brays, [close ways. 

Redoubts, half-moons, horn-works, and such 
The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days ; 
But lies block'd up, and straiten'd, narrow'd in, 
Fix'd to the bed and boards, unlike to win 
Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been ; 



Unless some saving honor of the crown. 
Dare think it, to relieve, no less renown, 
A bed-rid wit, than a besieged town. 

XC — TO THE KING ON HIS EIRTH-DAV, NOV. 10, 
MDCXXXII. AN EPIGRAM ANNIVERSARY. 

This is king Charles his day. Speak it, thou 
Tower, 
Unto the ships, and they from tier to tier, 
Discharge it 'bout the island in an hour. 

As loud as thunder, and as swift as fire. 
Let Ireland meet it out at sea, half-way, 

llepeating all Great Britain's joy and morCj 
Adding her own glad accents to this day, 

liikc Echo jilaying from the other shore. 
What drums or trumpets, or great ordnance can, 

The poetry of steeples, with the bells, 
Three kingdoms' mirth, in light and afSry man, 
Made lighter with the wine. All noises else. 
At bonfires, rockets, fire-works, with the shouts 
That cry that gladness which their hearts 
would pray, 
Had they but grace of thinking, at these routs, 
On the often coming of this holy day : 
And ever close the burden of the song. 
Still to have such a Charles, but this Charlea 
long. 
The wish is great ; but where the prince is such. 
What prayers, people, can you think too much ! 

xci. 

ON THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VIRTUOUS 

LORD WESTON, 

LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND, 

Upo7i the day he was made Earl of Porlland, t'eb. 
17, 1G32. 

TO TIIK K.VVIOU.S. 

Look up, thou seed of envy, and still bring 
Thy faint and narrow eyes to read the king 
In his great actions : view whom his large hand 
Ilath raised to be the Tout unto his land ! 
Weston ! that waking man, that eye of state ! 
Who seldom sleeps ! whom Ijad men only hate ! 
Why do I irritate or stir up tliee, [sec ! 

Thou sluggish spawn, that canst, but wilt not 



840 



UNDERWOODS. 



Feed on thvself for spight, and shew thy kind : 
To virtue and true worth be ever blind. 
Dream thon couldst hurt it, but before thou 
wake [ache. 

To eifcct it, feel thou'st made thine own heart 

XCII. — TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HIEROME, 
LORD WESTON, 



Such pleasure as the teeming earth 
Doth take in easy nature's birth, 

When she puts forth the life of every tiling 
And in a dew of sweetest rain, 
She lies deliver'd Avithout pain. 

Of the prime beauty of the year, the Spring 

The rivers in their shores do run. 
The clouds rack clear before the sun. 

The rudest winds obey the calmest air ; 
Rare plants from every bank do rise. 
And every plant the sense surprise, 

Because the order of the whole is fair ! 



The very verdure of her nest, 
Wherein she sits so richly drest, 

As all the wealth of season there was spread, 
Doth shew the Graces and the Hours 
Have multiplied their arts and powers. 

In making soft her aromatic bed. 

Such joys, such sweets, doth your return 
Rring all your friends, fair lord, that burn 

With love, to hear your modesty relate, 
The business of j'our blooming wit. 
With all the fruit shall follow it. 

Both to the honor of the king and state. 

O how will then our court bo pleas' d, 

To see great Charles of travail eas'd, 
When he beholds a graft of his own hand 

Shoot up an olive, fruitful, fair. 

To be a shadow to his heir, 
And both a strength and beauty to his land I 



EPITHALAMION ; OR, A SONG; 

'^ekbmtinj the ^upliah of that nolle gentleman, Mr. Hierome Weston, Son and Heir of the Lord 
Weston, Lo)-d High Treasurer of England, tvith the Ladij Frances Stetoart, Daughter of Esme, 
Dulce of Lenox, deceased, and Sister of the surviving Duke of ike same name. 

Hark how the bells upon the waters play 

Their sister-tunes from Thames his either sid?. 
As they had learn'd new changes for the day. 
And all did ring the approaches of the bride ; 
The lady Fkances drest 

Above the rest 
Of all the maidens fair ; 
In graceful ornament of garland, gems, and hair 

Sec how she paceth forth in virgin-white, 

Like what she is, the daughter of a duke, 
And sister ; darting forth a dazzling light 
On all that come her simplesse to rebuke ! 
Her tresses trim her back. 

As she did lack 
Nought of a maiden queen. 
With modesty so crown'd, and adoration seen. 

Stay, thou -wilt see what rites the virgins do, 
The choicest virgin-troop of all the land ! 
Porting the ensigns of united two, [hand : 

Both crowns and kingdoms in their either 
Whose majesties appear, 

To make more clear 
Tliis feast, than can the day, 
Although that thou, O sun, at our entreaty stay I 

See how with roses, and with lilies shine, 

Lilies and roses, flowers of cither sex, [thine. 
The bright bride's paths, embellish'd more than 
With light of love this pair doth intertex ! 
Stay, see the virgins sow. 

Where she shall go. 
The emblems of their way. — 
0, now thou smil'st, fair sun, and shiu'st, as 
thou would' st stay ! 

With Avhat full hands, and in how plenteous 

showers, [tread. 

Have they bedew'd the earth, where she doth 



XCIII.— EPITHALAMION. 

rhongh thou hast past thy summer-standing, 
stay [ligl^t ; 

Awhile with us, bright sun, and help our 
Thou canst not meet more glory on the way. 
Between the tropics, to arrest thy sight, 
Than thou shalt see to-day : 

We v/oo thee stay ; 
And see what can be seen, 
The bounty of a king, and beauty of his queen. 

See the procession ! Avhat a holy day, 

Bearing the promise of some better fate, 
Hath filled, Avith caroches, all the way, 

From Greenwich hither to Rowhampton gate ! 
When look'd the year, at best, 

So like a feast ; 
Or were affairs in tunc, [June ? 

By all the spheres consent, so in the heart of 

What beauty of beauties, and bright youths at 
charge 
Of summers liveries, and gladding green. 
Do boast their loves and braveries so at large, 
As they came all to sec, and to be seen ! 
When look'd the earth so hue, 

Or so did shine. 
In all her bloom and flower, 
To welcome homo a pair, and deck the nuptial 
bower ? 

It is the kindly season of the time, [forth. 

The month of youth, which calls all creatures 
To do their offices in nature's chime, 
And celebrate, perfection at the worth, 
Marriage, the end of life, 

That holy strife. 
And the allowed war, [are. 

Througli which not only we, but all our species 



UNDERWOODS. 



841 



As if her airy steps did spring the flowers, 
And all the ground were garden where she led ! 
See, at another door, 
On the same floor, 
The bridegroom meets the bride 
With all the pomp of youth, and all our court 
beside ! 

Our court, and all the grandees ! now, sun, look. 

And looking with thy best inquiry, tell, 
In all thy age of journals thou hast took, 

Saw'st thou that pair became these rites so 
Save the preceding two ? [well, 

Who, in all they do, 
Search, sun, and thou wilt find [kind. 

They are the exampled pair, and mirror of their 

Force from the Phosnix, then, no rarity 

Of sex, to rob the creature ; but from man. 
The king of creatures, take his parity [can 

With angels, muse, to speak these : nothing 
Illustrate these, but they 

Themselves to-day. 
Who the whole act express ; 
All else, we see beside, are shadows, and go less. 

It is their grace and favor that makes seen. 

And wonder'd at the bounties of this day ; 
All is a story of the king and queen : 
And Avhat of dignity and honor may 
Be duly done to those 

Whom they have chose, 
And set the mark upon, 
To give a greater name and title to ! their own ! 

Weston, their treasure, as their treasurer, 

That mine of wisdom, and of counsels deep. 
Great say-master of state, who cannot err. 
But doth his caract, and just standard keep, 
In all the prov'd assays, 

And legal ways 
Of trials, to work down [crown. 

Men's loves unto the laws, and laws to love the 

And this well mov'd the judgment of the king 

To pay with honors to his noble son 
To-day, the father's service ; who could bring 
Him up, to do the same himself had done : 
That far all-seeing eye 

Could soon espy 
What kind of waiving man 
He had so highly set ; and in what Barbican. 

Stand there ; for when a noble nature's rais'd. 
It brings friends joy, foes grief, posteritj' 
fame ; [prais'd, 

In him the' times, no less than prince, are 
And by his rise, in active men, his jiame 
Doth emulation stir ; 
To the dull a spur 
It is, to the envious meant [ment. 

A mere upbraiding grief, and torturing punish- 

See now the chapel opens, where the king 

And bisho]:) stay to consummate the rites ; 
The holy prelate prays, then takes the ring. 
Asks first, who gives her ? — I, Charles — 
One in the other's hand, [then he plights 

Whilst they both stand 
Hearing their charge, and then 
The solemn choir cries, Joy ! and. they return. 
Amen ! 



O happy bands ! and thou more happy place, 

AVhich to this use wert built and consecrate 
To have thy God to bless, thy king to grace. 
And this their chosen bishop celebrate, 
And knit the nuptial knot, 

Wliich time shall not. 
Or canlcer'd jealousy. 
With all corroding arts, be able to untie ! 

The chapel empties, and thou mayst be gone 
Now, sun, and post away the rest of day ; 
These two, now holy church hath made them 
one. 
Do long to make themselves so' another way 
There is a feast behind, 

To them of kind. 
Which their glad parents taught 
One to the other, long ere these to light were 
brought. 

Haste, haste, officious sun, and send them nigh 
Some hours before it should, that these may 
know 
All that their fathers and their mothers might 
Of nuptial sweets, at such a season, owe. 
To propagate their names. 

And keep their fames 
Alive, which else would die ; 
For fame keeps virtue up, and it posterity. 

The ignoble never lived, they were awhile 
Like swine or other cattle here on earth : 
Their names are not recorded on the file 

Of life, that fall so ; Christians know their 
Alone, and such a race, [birtb 

We pray may grace. 
Your fruitful sjjreading vine. 
But dare not ask our wish in language Feseen- 
nine. 

Yet, as we may, we will, — with chaste desires, 

The holy perfumes of the marriage-bed, 
Be kept alive, those sweet and sacred fires 
Of love between you and your lovely-Lead ! 
That when you both are old. 

You find no cold 
There ; but renewed, say, 
After the last child born. This is our wedding- 
day. 

Till you behold a race to fill your hall, 

A Richard, and a Hierome, by their names 
Upon a Thomas, or a Francis call ; 

A Kate, a Frank, to honor their grand-damesj 
And 'tween their grandsircs' thighs. 

Like pretty spies. 
Peep forth a gem ; to see 
How each one plays his part, of the large 
fjedigree ! 

And never may there want one of the stem, 

To be a watchful servant for this state ; 
But like an arm of eminence 'mongst them, 
Extend a reaching virtue early and late ! 
Whilst the main tree still found 

Upright and sound. 
By this sun's noonsted's made 
So great ; his body now alone projects the 
shade. 

They both are slipp'd to bed ; shut fast the door, 
An d let him freely gather love's first-fruits. 



842 



UNDERWOODS. 



He's master of the office ; yet no more 

Exacts than she is pleased to pay : no suits 
Strifes, murmurs, or delay, 

Will last till day ; 
Night and the sheets will show 
The longing couple all that elder lovers know. 

XCIV. — THE HUMBT.r: PETITION OF POOR BEN; TO 
THE BEST OF MONARCHS. MASTERS, MEN, KING- 
CHARLES. 

Doth most humbly show it, 

To your majesty, your poet : 

That whereas your royal father, 
James the blessed, pleas' d the rather. 
Of his special grace to letters. 
To make all the Muses debtors 
To his bounty ; by extension 
Of a free poetic pension, 
A large hundred marks annuity. 
To be given me in gratuity 
For done service, and to come : 

And that this so accepted sum. 
Or dispens'd in books or bread, 
(For with both the muse was fed) 
Hath drawn on me from the times, 
All the env}- of the rhymes, 
And the ratling pit-pat noise 
Of the less poetic boys, 
AVhcn their pot-guns aim to hit. 
With their pellets of small wit. 
Part of me they judg'd decay' d ; 
But we last out still unlay' d. 

Please your majesty to make 
Of your grace, for goodness sake. 
Those your father's marks, your pounds ; 
Let their spite, which now abounds, 
Then go on, and do its worst ; 
This would all their envy burst : 
And so warm the poet's tongue, 
You'd read a snake in his next song. 

XCV. — TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE LORD 
TREASURER OF ENGLAND. AN EPIGRAM. 

If to my mind, great lord, I had a state, 
I would present you now with curious plate 
Of Noremberg or Turky ; hang your rooms. 
Not with the Arras, but the Persian looms : 
I would, if price or prayer could them get, 
Send in what or Romano, Tintoret, 
Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo, 
Have left in fame to equal, or out-go 
The old Greek hands in picture, or in stone. 

This I would do, could I think Weston one 
Catch'd with these arts, wherein the judge is wise 
As far as sense, and only by the eyes. 
But you, I knovi', my lord, and know you can 
Discern between a statue and a man ; 
Can do the things that statues do deserve. 
And act the business which they paint or carve. 
What yoii have studied, are the arts of life ; 
To compose men and manners ; stint the strife 
Of murmuring subjects ; make the nations 
know [owe : 

What worlds of blessings to good kings they 
And mightiest monarchs feel what large increase 
Of sweets and safeties they possess by peace. 
These I look up at with a reverent eye. 
And strike religion in the standers-by ; 
Which, though I cannot, as an architect, 



In glorious piles or pyramids erect 
Unto your honor ; I can tune in song 
Aloud ; and, haply, it may last as long. 

XCVI AN EPIGRAM TO MY MUSE, THE LADY DIOUT 

ON HER HUSBAND, SIR KENELM DIGBY. 

Though, happv muse, ihow know my Diqbt 

well. 
Yet read him in these lines : he doth excel 
In honor, courtesy, and all the parts 
Court can call hers, or man could call his aiia. 
He's prudent, valiant, just and temperate : 
In him all virtue is beheld in state ; 
And he is built like some imperial room 
For that to dwell in, and be still at home. 
His breast is a brave palace, a broad street, 
Where all heroic ample thoughts do meet : 
Where nature such a large survey hath ta'en. 
As other souls, to his, dwelt in a lane : 
Witness his action done at Scandcroon, 
Upon his birth-day, the eleventh of June; 
When the apostle Barnaby the bright 
Unto our year doth give the longest light. 
In sign the subject, and the song will live, 
AVhich I have vowed posterity to give. 
Go, Muse, in, and salute him. Say he be 
Busy, or frown at first, when he sees thee, 
He will clear up his forehead ; think thou 

bring'st 
Good omen to him in the note thou sing'st : 
For he doth love my verses, and will look 
Upon them next to Spenser's noble book. 
And i^raiso them too. O what a fame 'twill be, 
What reputation to my lines and me, 
When he shall read them at the Treasurer's 

board, 
The knowing Western, and that learned lord 
Allows them ! then, what copies shall be had. 
What transcripts begg'd ! how cried up, and 

how glad 
Wilt thou be. Muse, when this shall them befall ! 
Being sent to one, they will be read of all. 

XCVII — A NEW YEAR'S GIFT, SUNG TO KINO 
CHARLES, MDCXXXV. 



New years expect new gifts : sister, your harp, 
Lute, lyre, theorbo, all are call'd to-day ; 

Your change of notes, the flat, the mean, the 
sharp, 
To shew the rites, and usher forth the way 

Of the new year, in a new silken warp. 

To fit the softness of your year's-gift ; when 
AVe sing the best of monarchs, masters, men ; 

For had we here said less, we had sung nothing 
then. 

CllOnUS OF KTMl'113 AXD SUETIIERDS. 

Rector Cho. To-day old Janus opens the new 
year, 
And shuts the old : Haste, haste, all loyal 
swains. 
That know the times and seasons when t' appear, 

And offer your just service on these plains ; 
Best kings expect first fruits of your glad gains. 

1 Shejo. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds. 

2 Shc'p. To him we owe all profits of our ground? 

3 She}). Our milk. 

•1 Shep. Our fells. 



UNDERWOODS. 



843 



5 Shei). Our fleeces. 

6 Shep. And first lambs. 

7 Shep. Our teeming ewes. 

8 Shep. And lusty mounting rams. 

9 Shep. See where ho walks, with Mira by his 

side. 
Cho. Sound, sound his praises loud, and with 
his hers divide. 

Of Pax we sing, the best of hunters. Pan, 
That drives the hart to seek unused 
ways, 
Shop. And in the chase, more than Sylvanus 

can ; 
Cho. Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound 
his praise. 

Of brightest Mir.\. do we raise our song. 
Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring ; 
Nym. "Who walks on earth, as May still went 

along, 
Cho. Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing. 

Of Pan we sing, the chief of leaders. Pan, 
Cho. of Shep. That leads our flocks and us, and 
calls both forth 
To better pastures than great Pales can : 
Hear, O ye groves, and, hills, resound 
his worth. 

Of brightest Mira is our song ; the grace 
Cho. of Nymph. Of all that nature yet to life 
did bring ; 
And were she lost, could best suj^ply her 
place : 
Rivers and valleys, echo what we sing. 

1 Shep. Where'er they tread the enamour'd 

ground. 
The fairest flowers are always found : 

2 Shep. As if the beauties of the year 

Still waited on them where they were. 

1 Shep. He is the father of our peace ; 

2 Sliep, She to the crown hath brought increase. 
1 Shep. We know no other power than his ; 

Pan only our great shepherd is, 
Cho, Our great, our good. Where one's so 
drest 
In truth of colors, both are best. 

Red Cho. Haste, haste you hither, all you gen- 
tler swains, 
That have a flock or herd upon these jDlains : 
This is the great preserver of our bounds. 
To whom you owe all duties of your grounds ; 
Your milks, your fells, your fleeces, and first 

lambs, 
Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting rams. 
Whose praises let's report unto the woods. 
That they may take it echo'd by the floods. 
Cho. 'Tis he, 'tis he ; in singing he, 

And hunting. Pan, exceedeth thee : 
He gives all plenty and increase, 
He is the author of our peace. 

Cho. Where- e'er he goes, upon the 

ground 
The better grass and flowers are found. 
To sweeter pastures lead he can. 
Than ever Pales could, or Pan : 
He drives diseases from our folds. 
The thief from spoil his presence holds : 



Ttect 



Pan knows no other j^ower than his. 
This only the great shepherd is. 
Cho. 'Tis he,' tis he ; &c. 

XCVIII. — ON THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY. 

Rouse up thyself, my gentle Muse, 

Though now our green conceits be gray, 
And yet once more do not refuse 

To take thy Phrygian harp, and play 
In honor of this cheerful day : 

Long may they both contend to prove, 
That best of crowns is such a love. 

Make first a song of joy and love, 
AVhich chastly flames in royal eyes. 

Then tune it to the spheres above. 
When the benignest stars do rise. 
And sweet conjuncticiis grace the skies. 
Long may, &c. 

To this let all good hearts resound, 
Whilst diadems invest his head ; 

Long may he live, whose life doth bound 
More than his laws, and better led 
By high example, than by dread. 
Long may, &c. 

Long may he round about him see 

His roses and his lilies blown : 
Long may his only dear and he 
Joy in ideas of their own. 
And kingdom's hopes so timely sown. 
Long may thej' both contend to prove, 
That best of crowns in such a love. 

XCIX. — TO MY LORO THE KINS, ON THE CHRSa 
TENING HIS SECOND SON JAMES. 

That thou art lov'd of God, this work is done. 
Great king, thy having of a second son : 
And by thy blessing may thy people see 
How much they are belov'd of God in thee. 
Would they would undei-stand it ! princes are 
Great aids to empire, as they are great care 
To pious parents, who would have their blood 
Should take first seisin of the public good, 
As hath thy James ; cleans'd from original dros% 
This clay, by baptism, and his Si^.'ior s cross. 
Grow up, sweet babe, as blessed in thy name. 
As in renewing thy good grandsire's fame • 
Methought Great Britain in her sea, beioie 
Sate safe enough, but now secured more. 
At land she triumphs in the triple shade. 
Her rose and lily intertwined, have made. 
Oceano secura meo, securior umbris. 

C. — AN ELEGY ON THE LADY JANE PAWLET. 
MARCHIONESS OF WINTON. 

What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew. 

Hails me so solemnly to yonder yew. 

And beckoning woos me, from the fatal tree 

To pluck a garland for herself or me ? 

I do obey you, beauty ! for in death 

You seem a fair one. O that you had broatfi 

To give your shade a name ! Stay, stay, I feel 

A horror in me, all my blood is steel ; 

Stiff, stark ! my joints 'gainst one another 

knock ! 
Whose daughter ? — Ha ! great savage of the 

Rock. 
He's good as great. I am almost a stone, 
And ere I can ask more of her, she's gone ! — 



644 



"UNDERWOODS. 



Alas, I am all marble ! write the rest 

Thou would'st have written, Fame, iipon my 

breast : 
It s a large fair table, and a true. 
And the disposure Avill be something new. 
When I, Avho would the poet have become. 
At least may bear the inscription to her tomb. 
She was the" lady Jane, and marchionisse 
Of Winchester ; the heralds can tell this. 
Earl Rivers' grand-child — 'serve not forms, 

good Fame, 
Sound thou her virtues, give her soul a name. 
Had I a thousand mouths, as .many tongues. 
And voice to raise them from my "brazen lungs, 
I durst not aim at that ; the dotes were such 
Thereof, no notion can express how much 
Their caract was : I or my trump must break. 
But rather I, should I of that part speak ; 
It is too near of kin to heaven, the soul. 
To be described ! Fame's fingers are too foul 
To touch these mj'steries : we may admire 
The heat and splendor, but not handle fire. 
What she did here, by great example, well, 
T' inlive posterity, her Fame may tell ; 
And calling Truth to witness, make that good 
From the inherent graces in her blood ! 
Else who doth praise a person by a new 
But a feign'd Ycay, doth rob it of the true. 
Her sweetness, softness, her fair courtesy, 
Her wary guards, her wise shnplicity. 
Were like a ring of Virtues 'bout her set. 
And Piety the centre where all met. 
A reverend state she had, an awful eye, 
A dazzling, j'et inviting, majesty : 
What Nature, Fortune, Institution, Fact 
Could sum to a perfection, was her act ! 
How did she leave the world, with Avhat con- 
Just as she in it lived, and so exempt [tempt ! 
From all affection ! when they urg'd the cure 
Of her disease, how did her soul assure 
Her sufferings, as the body had been away ! 
And to the torturers, her doctors, say. 
Stick on your cupping-glasses, fear not, put 
Your hottest caustics to, burn, lance, or cut : 
'Tis but a body which vou can torment, 
And I into the world all soul was sent. 



Then coriiforted her lord, and blest her son, 
Cheer' d her fair sisters in her race to run. 
With gladness tcmpcr'd her sad parents' tears, 
Made her friends joys to get above their fears, 
And in her last act taught the standers-by 
With admiration and applause to die ! 

Let angels sing her glories, who did call 
Her spirit home to her original ; 
Who saw the way was made it, and were sent 
To carry and conduct the compliment 
'Twixt death and life, where her mortality 
Became her birth-day to eternity ! 
And now through circumfused light she looks, 
On Nature's secret there, as her own books : 
Speaks heaven's language, and discourseth free 
To every order, every hierarchy ! 
Beholds her Maker, and in him doth see 
What the beginnings of all beauties be ; 
And all beatitiides that thence do flow : 
Which they that have the crown are sure to 

know ! 
Go now, her happy parents, and be sad, 
If you not understand what child you had. 
If you dare grudge at heaven, and repent 
T' have paid again a blessing was but lent, 
And trusted so, as it deposited lay 
At_i")leasure, to be call'd for every day ! 
If 'you can envy your own daughter's bliss, 
And wish her state less happy than it is ; 
If you can cast about your either eye. 
And see all dead here, or about to die ! 
The stars, that are the jewels of the night, 
And day, deceasing, with the prince of light, 
The sun, great kings, and mightiest kingdom? 

fall ; _ [al. 

Whole nations, nay, mankind ! the world, with 
That ever had beginning there, t' have end ! 
With what injustice should one soul protend 
T' escape this common known necessity ? 
When we were all born, we began to die ; 
And, but for that contention, and brave strife 
The Christian hath t' enjoy the future life. 
He were the wretched'st of the race of men : 
But as he soars at that, he bruiscth then 
The serpent's head ; gets above death and sin. 
And, sure of heaven, rides trlumplxing in 



UNDERWOODS. 



845 



E U P H E M E ; 

OR THE FAIR FAME LEFT TO POSTERITY OF THAT TRULY NOBLE LADY 

THE LADY VENETIA DIGBY, 

r-AIE TVIFE OF SIR KENELM DIQDV, KXIOUT, A OEKTLEMAN ABSOLUTE IS ALL KUMDEHS. 

Consisting of these Ten Pieces : 



THE DEDICATION OF HER CRADLE, 
THE SONG OF HER DESCENT, 
THE PICTURE OF HER BODY, 
THE PICTURE OF HER MIND, 
HER BEING CHOSEN A MUSE 
HER FAIR OFFICES, 



HER HAPPY MATCH, 
HER HOPEFUL ISSUE, 

UER AnoeEiisis, or, relation to 

THE SAINTS, 
HER INSCRIPTION, OR CROWNING. 



Vioain amare Volupias, defiinctam TleUgio. — Stat. 



CI. — EUPHEME: OR THE FAIR FAME LEFT TO 
POSTERITY OF THAT TRULY NOBLE LADY, THE 
LADY VENETIA DIGBY, &C. 

I. 
THE DEDICATIOir OF IIEK CRADLE. 

Fair Fame, -who art ordain'd to croAvn 
Witli ever-green and great renown, 
Their heads that Envy would hold down 
With her, in shade 

Of death and darkness ; and deprive 
Their names of being kept alive. 
By Thee and Conscience, both Avho thrive 
By the just trade 

Of goodness still : vouchsafe to take 
This cradle, and for goodness sake, 
A dedicated ensign make 

Thereof to Time ; 

That all i^osterity, as we. 

Who read Avhat the Crepundia be, 

May something by that twilight sec 

'Bove rattling rhyme. 

For. though that rattles, timbrels, toys, 
Take little infants with their noise, 
As properest gifts to girls and boys. 

Of light expense ; 

Their corals, whistles, and prime coats, 
Their painted masks, their paper boats, 
With sails of silk, as the first notes 

Surprise their sense. 

Yet hero are no such trifles brought, 
Ko cobweb cawls, no surcoats wrought 
With gold, or clasps, which might be bought 
On every stall : 

But here's a song of her descent ; 
And call to the high parliament 
Of Heaven ; wheie Seraphim take tent 
Of ordering all. 

This utter' d by an ancient bard, 

Who claims, of reverence, to be heard, 

As coming with his harp prepar'd 

To chant her 'gree. 



Is sung : as als' her getting up, 
By Jacob's ladder, to the top 
Of that eternal port, kept ope 

For such as she. 



TIIE SOXO OF HER DESCE5T. 

I sing the just and uncontroU'd descent 

Of dame Yenetia Dighy, styled the fair ; 
For mind and body the most excellent 

That ever nature, or the later air. 
Gave two such houses as Northumberland 

And Stanley, to the which she was co-heir. 
Speak it, you bold Penates, you that stand 

At either stem, and know the veins of good 
E.un from j'our roots ; tell, testify the grand 

Meeting of Graces, that so swell'd the flood 
Of virtues in her, as, in short, she grew 

The wonder of her sex, and of your blood. 
And tell thou, Alde-lcgh, none can tell more 
true 'name 

Thy niece's line, than thou that gav'st thy 
Into the kindred, whence thy Adam drew 

Meschines honor, with the Cestrian fame 
Of the first Lupus, to the family 

By Ranulph 

The rest of this sonrj is lost. 



THE nCTURE OF IIEE BODY. 

Sitting, and ready to be drawn, 

What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, 
Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, 
Where every limb takes like a face ? 

Send these suspected helps to aid 
Some form defective, or decay'd ; 
This beauty, without falsehood fail". 
Needs nought to clothe, it but the air. 

Yet something to the painter's view, 
Were fitly interposed ; so new : 
He shall, if he can understand. 
Work by my fancy, with his hand. 

Draw first a cloud, all save her neck. 
And, out of that, make day to break; 



84 G 



UNDERWOODS. 



Till like her face it do appear, 

And men may think all light rose there. 

Then let the beams of that disperse 
The cloud, and shew the universe ; 
lint at such distance, as the eye 
May rather yet adore, than spy. 

The heaven design'd, draw next a spring, 
With all that youth, or it can bring : 
Four rivers branching forth like seas, 
And Paradise confining these. 

last, draw the circles of this globe, 
And let there be a starry robe 
Of constellations 'bout her hurl'd ; 
And thou hast painted Beauty's Avorld. 

But, painter, see thou do not sell 
A cop}^ of this piece ; noi tell 
Whose 'tis : but if it favor find, 
Next sitting we will draw her mind. 



THE nCTURE OF HER MIXD. 

Painter, you're come, but may be gone, 
Now I have better thought thereon. 
This work I can perform alone : 
And give you reasons more than one. 

Not that your art I do refuse ; 
•But here I may no colors use. 
Beside, your hand will never hit, 
To draw a thing that cannot sit. 

You could make shift to paint an eye. 
An eagle towering in the sky, 
The sun, a sea, or soundless pit ; 
But these are like a mind, not it. 

No, to express this mind to sense. 
Would ask a heaven's intelligence ; 
Since nothing can report that ilame. 
But what's of kin to whence it came. 

Sweet Mind, then speak yourself, and say. 
As you go on, by what brave way 
Our sense you do with knowledge fill, 
And j'et remain our wonder still. 

I call you. Muse, noAV make it true : 
Henceforth may every line be you ; 
That all may say, that see the frame, 
This is no picture, but the same. 

A mind so pure, so perfect fine. 
As 'tis not radiant, but divine ; 
And so disdaining any trier, 
'Tis got where it can try the fire. 

There, high exalted in the sphere, 
As it another nature were. 
It moveth all ; and makes a flight 
As circular as infinite. 

Whose notions when it will express 
In speech, it is with that excess 
Of grace, and music to the ear, 
As what it spoke, it planted there. 

The voice so sweet, the words so fair. 
As some soft chime had stroked the air ; 
And though the sound were parted thence. 
Still left an echo in the sense. 



But that a mind so rapt, so high. 
So swift, so pure, should yet apply 
Itself to us, and come so nigh 
Earth's grossness ; there's the how ani why, 

Is it because it sees us dull, 

And sunk in clay here, it would pull 
Us forth, by some celestial sleight, 
Up to her own sublimed height ? 

Or hath she here, upon the ground, 
Some Paradise or palace found, 
In all the bounds of Beautj% fit 
For her t' inhabit ? There is it. 

Thrice happy house, that hast receipt 
For this so lofty form, so streight. 
So polish'd, perfect, round and even, 
As it slid moulded off from heaven. 

Not swelling like the ocean proud. 
But stooping gently, as a cloud. 
As smooth as oil pour'd forth, and calm 
As showers, and sweet as drops of balm. 

Smooth, soft, and sweet, in all a flood. 
Where it may run to any good : 
And where it staj'^s, it there becomes 
A nest of odorous spice and gums. 

In action, winged as the wind ; 
In rest, like spirits left behind 
Upon a bank, or field of flowers. 
Begotten by the wind and showers. 

In thee, fair mansion, let it rest. 

Yet know, with what thou art possest. 

Thou, entertaining in thy breast 

But such a mind, mak'st God thy guest. 

[^-1 lohole quaternion in the midst of this poem is 
lost, containing entirely the three next pieces 
of it, and all of the fourth (ivhich in the order 
of the ichole is the eighth) excepting tlie very 
end: lohich at the top of the next qicaternion 
goeth on thusJ] 

VIII.— (A FHAGMEXT.) 

— But for you, growing gentlemen, the happy 
branches of two so illustrious houses as these, 
wherefrom your honored mother is in both 
lines descended ; let me leave jou this last 
lagacy of counsel ; which, so soon as you ar- 
rive at years of mature understanding, oper 
you, sir, that are the eldest, and read it to your 
brethren, for it will concern you all alike. 
Vowed by a faithful servant and client of your 
family, with his latest breath expiring it. 

Ben Jonsox. 

TO KEXELM, JOHN, GEORGE. 

Boast not these titles of your ancestors. 
Brave youths, they're their possessions, none of 

yours : [names. 

When your own virtues equall'd have their 
'Twill be but fair to lean upon their fames ; 
For they are strong supporters : but, till then, 
The greatest are buf growing gentlemen. 
It is a wretched thing to trust to reeds ; 
AVhich all men do, that urge not their own 
Up to their ancestors; the river's side [deeds 
By which you're planted shews your fruit shall 

bide. 



UNDERWOODS. 



84*7 



Hang all 5'our rooms with one large pedigree : 
'Tis virtue alone is true nobility : 
Which virtue from your father, ripe, Avill fall ; 
Study illustrious him, and you have all. 



2LEGV ON MY MUSE, THE TRULY HOXOEED LADY THE LADY 
TENETIA DIOBY; WUO LIVING, GAVE ME LEAVE TO CALL 
HEK SO, BEING HEK AIIOGEJISIS OK, P.ELATIOX TO THE 
SAINTS. 

Seni quiclera tanto struitur medicina dolore. 

'Twere time that I dy'd too, now she is dead, 
SVho was my !Muse, and life of all I said ; 
The spuit that I wrote with, and conceiv'd : 
All that was good, or great with me, she Avcav'd, 
And set it forth ; the rest were cobwebs fine, 
Spun out in name of some of the old Nine, 
To hang a window, or make dark the room, 
Till swept away, they were cancell'd with a 

broom ! 
Nothing that could remain, or yet can stir 
A sorrow in me, fit to wait to her ! 

! had I seen, her laid out a fair corse, 

By death, on earth, I should have had remorse 
On Nature for her ; who did let her lie. 
And saw that portion of herself to die. 
Sleepy or stupid Nature, couldst thou part 
With such a rarity, and not rouze Art, 
. With all her aids, to save her from the seize 
Of vulture Death, and those relentless cleis ? 
Thou Vi-ouldst have lost the Phoenix, had the kind 
Been trusted to thee ; not to itself assign'd. 
Look on thy sloth, and give thj'self undone, 
(For so thou art with me) now she is gone : 
My wounded mind cannot sustain this stroke. 
It rages, runs, flies, stands, and would provoke 
The world to ruin with it ; in her fall, 

1 sum up mine own breaking, and wish all. 
Thou hast no more blows, Fate, to drive at one ; 
What's left a poet, when his Muse is gone ? 
Sure I am dead, and know it not ! I feel 
Nothing I do : but like a heavy wheel, 

Am turned with another's powers : my passion 
Wliirls me about, and, to blaspheme in fashion, 
I murmur against God, for having ta'en 
Her blessed soul hence, forth this valley vain 
Of tears, and dungeon of calamity ! 
I envy it the angels' amity. 
The joy of saints, the crown for which it lives, 
The glory and gain of rest, which the place 
Dare I profane so irreligious be, [gives ! 

To greet or grieve her soft euthanasy ! 
So sweetly taken to the court of bliss. 
As spirits had stolen her spirit in a kiss. 
From off her pillow and deluded bed ; 
And left her lovely body unthought dead ; 
Indeed she is not dead ! but laid to sleep 
In earth, till the last trump awake the sheep 
And goats together, whither they must come 
To hear their Judge, and his eternal doom ; 
To have that final retribution. 
Expected with the flesh's restitution. 
For, as there are three natures, schoolmen call 
One corporal only, th' other spiritual. 
Like single ; so there is a third commixt. 
Of body and spirit together, placed betwixt 
Those other two; which must be judged or 

crown' d : 
This, as it guilty is, or guiltless found, 



Must come to take a sentence, by the sense 

Of that great evidence, the Conscience, 

Who will be there, against that day prepared, 

T' accuse or quit all parties to be heard ! 

O day of joy, and surety to the just. 

Who in that feast of resurrection trust ! 

Tliat great eternal holy day of rest 

To body and soul, Avhere love is all the guest ! 

And the whole banquet is full sight of God, 

Of joy the circle, and sole period ! 

All other gladness with the thought is barr'd ; 

Hope hath her end, and Faith hath her reward ! 

This being thus, why should my tongue or pen 
Presume to intcrpel that fulness, when 
Nothing can more adorn it than the seat 
That she is in, or make it more complete ? 
Better be dumb than superstitious : 
Who violates the Godhead, is most vicious 
Against the nature he would worship. He 
Will honor' d be in all simplicity. 
Have all his actions wonder' d at, and view'd 
With silence and amazement ; not witli rude, 
Dull and jn-ofane, weak and imperfect eyes, 
Have busy search made in his mj'steries ! 
He knows what work he hath done, to call this 
Out of her noble body to this feast : [guest, 
And give her place according to her blood 
Amongst her peers, those princes of all good ! 
Saints, Martyrs, Prophets, with those Hierar- 
Angels, Arch-angels, Principalities, [chies. 

The Dominations, Virtues, and the Powers, 
The Thrones, the Cherubs, and Seraphic bowers. 
That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb 
A new song to his praise, and great I am : 
And she doth knoAv, out of the shade of death, 
What 'tis to enjoy an everlasting breath ! 
To have her captived spirit freed from flesh. 
And on her innocence, a garment fresh 
And white as that put on : and in her hand 
With boughs of palm, a crowned victrice stand, 

And will you, worthy son, sir, knowing this. 
Put black and mourning on ? and say you rtls, 
A wife, a friend, a ladj', or a love ; 
Whom her Picdeemer honor'd hath above 
Her fellows, with the oil of gladness, bright 
In heaven's empire, and with a robe of light ? 
Thither you hope to come ; and there to find 
That pure, that precious, and exalted mind 
You once enjoy'd : a short space severs ye. 
Compared unto that long eternity, 
That shall rejoin ye. Was she, then, so dear. 
When she departed ? you will meet her there, 
Much more desired, and dearer than before. 
By all the wealth of blessings, and the store 
Accumulated on her, by the Lord 
Of life and light, the son of God, the Word ! 

There all the happy souls that ever were, 
Shall meet with gladness in one theatre ; 
And each shall know there one another's face 
By beatific virtue of the place. 
There shall the brother with the sister walk. 
And sons and daughters with their parents 

talk; 
But all of God ; they still shall have to say. 
But make him All in All, their' Theme, that day ; 
That happy day that never shall see night ! 
Where he will be all beauty to the sight ; 
Wine or delicious fruits unto the taste ; 
A music in the ears will ever last ; 



1 



848 



UNDERWOODS. 



Unto the scent, a spiccry or balm; 

And to the touch, a flower like soft as palm. 

He will all glory, all perfection be, 

God in the Union, and the Trinity ! 

That holy, great, and glorious mystery, 

Will there revealed be in majesty ! 

By light and comfort of spiritual grace ! 

The vision of our Savior face to face 

In his humanity ! to hear him i^reacli 

The iirice of our redemption, and to teach 

Through his inherent righteousness, in death, 

The safety of our souls, and forfeit breath ! 

AVhat fulness of beatitude is here ! 
What love with mercy mixed doth appear. 
To style us friends, who were by nature foes ! 
Adopt us heirs by grace, who were of those 
Had lost ourselves, and prodigally spent 
Our native portions, and possessed rent ! 
Yet have all debts forgiven lis, and advance 
By' imputed right to an inheritance 
In his eternal kingdom, where we sit 
Equal with angels, and co-heirs of it. 
Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive 
He that shall be our supreme judge, shall leave 
Himself so nninform'd of his elect. 
Who knows the hearts of all, and can dissect 
The smallest fibre of our flesh ; he can 
Find all our atoms from a point t' a span : 
Our closest creeks and corners, and can trace 
Each line, as it were graphic, in the face. 
And best he knew her noble character, 
For 'twas himself who form'd and gave it her. 
And to that form lent two such veins of blood, 
As nature could not more increase the flood 
Of title in her ! all nobility 
But pride, that schism of incivility. 
She had, and it became her ! she was fit 
T' have known no envy, but by suff'ring it ! 
She had a mind as calm as she was fair ; 
Not tost or troubled with light lady-air. 
But kept an even gait, as some straight tree 
Mov'd by the wind, so comely moved she. 
And by the awful manage of her eye, 
She svt^ay'd all bus'ness in the family. 
To one she said, do this, he did it ; so 
To another, move, he went ; to a third, go. 
He ran ; and all did strive Avith diligence 
T' obey, and serve her sweet commandements. 

She was in one a many parts of life ; 
A tender mother, a discreeter wife, 
A solemn mistress, and so good a friend, 
So charitable to religious end 
In all her petite actions, so devote. 
As her whole life was now become one note 
Of piety and private holiness. 
She spent more time in tears herself to dress 
For her devotions, and tirose sad essays 
Of sorrow, than all pomp of gaudy days ; 



And came forth ever cheered with the rod 

Of divine comfort, when she had talk'd with 

God. 
Her broken sighs did never miss whole sense 
Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence : 
For prayer is the incense most perfumes 
The holy altars, when it least presumes. 
And hers were all humility ! they beat 
The door of grace, and found the mercy-seat. 
In frequent speaking by the pious psalms 
Her solemn hours she .spent, or giving alms, i 
Or doing other deeds of charity. 
To clothe the naked, feed the hungry. She 
Would sit in an infirmary whole days 
Poring, as on a map, to find the ways 
To that eternal rest, where now she hath place 
By sure election and predestin'd grace ! 
She saw lier Savior, by an early light, 
Incarnate in the manger, shining bright 
On all the world ! she saw him on the cross 
Suff'ring and dying to redeem our loss : 
She saw him rise triumphing over death, 
To justify and quicken us in breath ; 
She saw him too in glory to ascend 
For his designed v/ork tlao perfect end 
Of raising, judging and rewarding all 
The kind of man, on whom his doom should 

fall ! 
All this by faith she saw, and fram'd a plea. 
In manner of a daily apostrophe, 
To him should be her judge, true God, true 

Man, 
Jesus, the only-gotten Christ ! who can. 
As being redeemer and repairer too 
Of lapsed nature, best knew what to do. 
In that great act of judgment, which the father 
Hath given wholly to the son (the rather 
As being the son of man) to shew his power, 
His Avisdom, and his justice, in that hour. 
The last of hours, and shutter up of all ; 
Where first his power A\'ill appear, by call 
Of all are dead to life ; his Avisdom shoAV 
In the discerning of each conscience so ; 
And most his justice, in the fitting parts, 
And giA'ing dues to all mankind's deserts ! 
In this sweet extasy she Avas rapt hence. 
Who reads, Avill pardon my intelligence, 
That thus have ventured these triv» strains 

upon. 
To publish her a saint. My muse is oone ! 

Ill pieta'is memoriani 

quam j^rrcstas 

Venetice hue illustrlssim. 

Marit. dign. Dlgbeie 

Ilanc 'AllOQEllSIJV, tibi, tuisque sacm, 

THE TENTH, 
relNO HEK INSCRIl-'TIOrJ, OR CROWK, 13 r.O.IT 



LEGES CONVIVALES. 



GUOD FGELIX FAUSTUMaUE CONVIVIS IN APOLLINE ST 



1 Nemo asymbolus, nisi umbra, huc venito. 

2 Idiota, insulsus, tristis, turpis, abesxo. 

3 Ekuditi, urbani, hilares, honesti, adscis- 

CUXTOR, 

4 Nec lect^ fcemin^ repudiantor. 

5 In appailvtu quod convivis corruget nares 

nil esto. 

6 EpULJE DELECTU POTIUS QUAM SUMPTU PAP.AN- 

tor. 



7 Obsonator et coquus conyivarum a\jLm 

periti sunto. 

8 De discubitu non contenditor. 

9 ministri a dapibus, oculati et muti, 

a poculis, auriti et celere3 sunto. 

10 Vina puris fontibus ministrentor aut va- 

pulet h0spe3. 

11 moderatis poculis provocare sodales fas 

ESTO. 



RULES FOR THE TAVERN ACADEMY ; 

OR, 

LAWS FOR TIIE BEAUX E3PRITS : 

From the Latin of Ben Jonson, engraven in Marble over the Chimney, in the Ainlm of tlui 
Old Devil Tavern, at Temple- B ar ; that being his Club- Room. 

NON VERBmi EEDDERE VEKBO. 



1 As the fund of our pleasure, let each pay his 

shot. 
Except some chance friend, whom a member 
brings in. 

2 Far hence be the sad, the Iciod fop, and the sot : 
For such, have the plagues of good company 

been. 



3 Let the learned and icitfij, the jovial and gay. 
The geiicrous and honest, compose our free 

state ; 

4 And the more to exalt our delight whilst we 

staif. 
Let none be dcoarr'd from his choice female 
mate. 



5 Let no scent offensive the chamber infest. 

6 Let fancy, not cost, prepare all her dishes. 



7 Let the caterer mind the taste of each guest ; 
And the cook, in his dressing, comply with 
their wishes. 



8 Let's have no disturbance about tailing 

places, 
To sheio your nice breeding, or out of vain pride. 

9 Let the drawers be ready with wine and 

fresh glasses. 
Let the waiters have eyes, though their 
tongues must be ty'd. 



10 Lei our wines without mixture or stum, be 

all fine. 
Or call up the master, and break his dull 
noddle. 

1 1 Let no sober bigot here think it a sin, 

To push on the cliirping and moderate bottle. 
849 



S50 



LEGES CONVIVALES. 



12 At FABl'LIS MAGIS QUAM VIWO VELITATIO FIAT. 

13 CojrVIV-15 NEC MUTI NEC LOaUACES SUNTO. 

14: De SERIIS AC SACKIS POTI ET SATURI NE DI3- 
SERUNTO. 

15 FiDICEX, NISI ACCERSITUS, NON VENITO. 

16 AdMISSO BISU, THIPUDIIS, CK0REI3, CANTU, 

SALIBrS, 

Omni gratiarum festivitate sacra cele- 

RRANTOR. 

17 joci sine felle sunto. 

18 Insipida poemata nulla recitantor. 

19 Versus scribere nullus cogitor. 



20 Argumentationis totius strepitus abesto, 

21 AmATORIIS QUERELIS, AC SUSPIRIIS LIBER AN- 

gulus esto. 

22 Lapitharum more scyphis pugxare, yitrea 

collidere, 
Fenestras excutere, supellectilem di- 
lacerare nefa3 esto. 

23 Qui foras vel dicta, vel facta eliminkt, 

eliminator. 

24 Neminem reum pocula faciunto. 

Focus perennis esto. 



12 Lot the contests be rather of books than of 

"wine. 

13 Let the company be neither noisy nor mute. 

14 Let none of things serious, much less of di- 

vine, 
When belly and head's full, profanely dis- 
pute. 



15 Let no saucy fidler presume to intrude, 
Unless he is sent for to vm-y our bliss. 

16 With mirth, wit, and dancing, and singing 

conclude. 
To regale every sense, with delight in excess. 



17 Let raillery be without malice or heat. 

18 DuU poems to read let none privilege take. 

19 Let no poetaster command or intreat 
Another extempore verses to make. 



20 Let argument bear no unmusical sound, 
Nor jars interpose, sacred friendship to grieve. 

21 For generous lovers let a corner be found, 
Where they in soft sighs may their passions 

relieve. 



Like the old Lapithites, with the goblets to 

fight, 
Our own 'mongst offences unpardon'd will 

rank, 
Or breaking of Avindows, or glasses, for spight, 
And spoiling the goods for a rakehelly prank. 



23 Whoever shall publish -what's said, or what's 

done. 
Be he banish'd for ever our assembly divine. 

24 Let the freedom we take be perverted by 

none. 
To make any guilty by drinking good wine. 



VERSES PLACED OVER THE DOOR AT THE ENTRANCE INTO 
THE APOLLO. 



Welcome all who lead or follow, 

To the Oracle of Apollo 

Here he speaks out of his pottle. 
Or the tripos, his tower bottle : 
All his answers are divine. 
Truth itself doth flow in Avine. 
Hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, 
Cries old Sim, the king of skinkers ; 
He the half of life abuses. 
That sits watering with the Muses. 
Those dull girls no good can mean us 
Wine it is tlie milk of Venus, 



And the poet's horse accounted : 

Piy it, and you all are mounted. 

'Tis the true Phoebian liquor, 

Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker. 

Pays all debts, cures all diseases. 

And at once three senses pleases. 

Welcome all who lead or follow, 

To the Oracle of Apollo. 

O RARE Ben JonsonI 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



HORACE HIS ART OF POETRY. 



HORATIUS DE AKTE POETICA. 

BiLtnano mpiti cervicem pictor equinam 
Jungere si velit, et varias inducere plutnas 
TJndique coUatis membris, ut turpittr atrum 
Dcsiiiat in 2nscem muUer formosa siipern^ ; 
Spectatum admissi visum teneatis, amici? 
Credite, Pisones, isti tabula fore librum 
Persimiiem, cujus, velut wgri somnia, vanee 
Fingontur species : ut nee pes, nee eaput uni 
Reddalur forni(e. Pictoribus atque poetis 
Quidlihet audendi semper fuit aqua potestas. 
Scimus ; et kanc vetiiam pietimusque, damusque, 

vicissim : 
Sed non ut placidis co&'ant immitia, non ut 
Serpentes avibus geminentur, tigribus agni. 



Incncptis gravibtis plerumque, et 7nagna jirofessis 
Purpureus, lat^ qui sjjleiideat, unus et alter 
AssuUur pannus : ohm lucus et ara Diana, 
Et 2'>ropcrantis aquce per amccnos ambitus agros, 
Aut flumcn Rhenum, aut 2}luvius describitur arcus 
Sed nunc non erat his locus : etfortasse cuj^ressum 
Scis simulare : quid hoc, si fractis enatat exspes 
Navibus, cere dato qui pingitur / amphora cocpit 
Institui ; currcnte rotd, cur urceus exit? 
Donique sit, quod vis, simiilox duntaxat et unum. 



Maxima pars vatum, pater, ct juvcnes patre 
digni, 
Decipimur specie recti. Brevis esse laboro, 
Obscxirus fio : sectantem Icevia, nerci 
Deficiunt animiqua : pirofessus grandia, target : 
Serpit humi, tutus nimium, timidusque 2^rocellce, 
Qui variare cupit rem prodigaliter unatn, 
Det2)hinum sglvis ajjpingit, fluctibus ainum. 
In vitium ducit culiJce fuga, si caret arte. 



^milium circa ludumfaber imus, et ungues 
Exprimei, et moUes imitcibitur are cajnllos ; 
Infoalix operis summd, quia 2^0 ne re totum 
Nesciet. Hunc ego me, si quid componere curcm. 



HORACE OF THE ART OP POETRY. 

If to a -woman's head a painter would 
Set a horse-neck, and divers leathers fold 
On every limb, ta'en from a several creature, 
Presenting upwards a fair female feature, 
"Which in some swarthy fish uncomely ends : 
Admitted to the sight, although his friends, 
Could you contain your laughter ? Credit me, 
This piece, my Pisos, and that book agree, 
Whose shapes, like sick men's dreams, are 

feign'd so vain. 
As neither head, nor feet, one form retain. — 
But equal power to painter and to poet, [it ; 
Of daring all, hath still been given. We know 
And both do crave, and give again, this leave. 
Yet, not as therefore wild and tame should 

cleave 
Together ; not that we should serpents see 
With doves ; or lambs with tigers coupled be. 

In grave beginnings, and great things profest, 
Ye have oft-times, that may o'ershine the rest, 
A scarlet piece, or two, stitch'd in : when or 
Diana's grove, or altar, with the bor- 
D'ring circles of swift waters that intwine 
The pleasant grounds, or when the river Rhine, 
Or rainbow is describ'd. But here was now 
No place for these. And, j^ainter, haplj' thou 
Know'st only well to paint a cypress-tree. 
What's this r if he whose money hireth thee 
To paint him, hath by swimming, hopeless, scap'd, 
The whole fleet wreck'd ? A great jar to be shap'd, 
Was meant at first ; why forcing still about 
Thy laboring wheel, comes scarce a pitcher out ? 
In short, I bid, let Avhat thou work'st upon, 
Be simple quite throughout, and wholly one. 

Most writers, noble sire, and either son. 
Are, with the likeness of the truth, undone. 
Mj'self for shortness labor, and I grow 
Obscure. This, striving to run smooth, and flow 
Hath neither soul nor sinews. Lofty he ' 
Professing greatness, swells ; that, low by lee, 
Creeps on the ground ; too safe, afraid of storm 
This seeking, in a various kind, to form 
One thing prodigiously, paints in the woods 
A dolphin, and a boar amid the floods, 
So, shunning faults to greater fault doth lead, 
When in a Avrong and artless way we tread. 

The worst of statuaries, here about 
Th' Emilian school, in brass can fashion out 
The nails, and every curled hair disclose ; 
But in the main work hapless : since he knowe 
Not to design the whole. Should I aspire . 
To form a work, I would no more desire 

85; 



852 



TRANSLATIONS FllOM THE LATIN POETS. 



Non magis esse velim, yuhm pravo vivere naso, 
Speelandimt nit/ris oculis, nigroque caplllo. 

Siimite materiam vesiris, qui scribitis, cequam 
Virihus, et venate din, quid fore recusent, 
Quid raleant humeri, Cui lecta j)Otenter erit res, 
Nee facundia deseret hunc, nee lucidus ordo. 
Onlinis hac virtus erit, et Venus, aut ego fallor, 
Ut Jam nunc dicat,jam mine debentia dici; 
Pleraqiie differat, et 2>r(esens in tempus omittat ; 
Hoc amet, hoc sp)ernat, jiromissi carminis auctor. 



In verbis etiam tenuis cautusque serendis, 
Dixeris egregit, notum si callida verbum 
Reddiderit junctura novum. Si forte necesse est 
Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita reruni ; 
Fingere cinctutis non cxaudita Celhegis 
Continget, dabiturque liccntia, sumpta jnidenter. 
Et novajictaque nuper ftabebunt verba fdetn, si 
Gracofonte cadant, pareh detorta. Quid autcni 
Ccecilio Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademptum 
Virgilio Varioque ? Ego cur, acqiurere pauca 
Si piossum, invideor : cum lingua Catonis, et Enni 
Sermonem ptatrium ditaverit, et nova rerum 
Nomina protulerit ? Licuit, semperque licebit, 
Signatum prcesentc notd producere nomen, 
Ut sylvcB foliis piroiios mutantur in annos. 
Prima cadunt ; ith verboruni vetus interit atas, 
Et juvenum ritu florent modd nata, vigentque. 
Debemur morti nos nostraque ; sivo receptus 
Terrd Neptunus, classes Aquilonibus arcet. 
Regis opus ; sferilisve diii palus, ap)taque remis, 
Vicinas urbes alit, et grave seniit aratruni : 
Sen cursum mutavit iniquum frugibus amnis : 
Doctus iter melius. Mortalia facta 2)eribunt, 
Nedum sermonum stct honos, et gratia vivax. 
Malta renascentur, qua; jam cecidtre, cadentque 
Quce nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus ; 
Quern pienes arbitrium est, ct jus, et norma loqucndi. 



Res gestcD regumque ducumque, et trisiia bella. 
Quo scribi p)ossent 7iumero, monstravit Homerus. 
Versibus imparitcr junctis querimonia p>rimum, 
Post etiam inclusa est voti sententia compos, 
Quis tamen exiguos elegos cmiscrit auctor, 
Grammatici certant, ct adhuc sub judice lis est. 



, Musa dedit Jidibus dicos 2nierosque deorum, 

Et pug Hem victorum, et equum certamitie primion. 



To be that smith, than live mark'd one of those, 
With fair black eyes and hair, and a wry nose. 
Take, therefore, you that write, still, matter 
Unto your strength, and long examine it, [fit 
Upon you shoulders : prove Avhat they will bear; 
And what they will not. Him, whose choice 

doth rear 
His matter to his pow'r, in all he makes, 
Nor language, nor clear order e'er forsakes ; 
The virtue of which order, and true grace, 
Or I am much deceiv'd, shall be to place 
Invention : now to speak ; and then defer 
Much, that might now be spoke, omitted here 
Till fitter season ; noAv, to like of this, 
Lay that aside, the epic's office is. 

in using also of new words, to be • 
Hight spare, and wary : then thou speajc'st to 
me [grew 

Most worthy praise, when words that common 
Are, by thy cunning placing, made mere new. 
Yet if by chance, in utt'ring things abstruse. 
Thou need new terms ; thou mayst, without ex- 
cuse, 
Feign Avords unheard of to the well-truss'd race 
Of the Cothegi : and all men Avill grace. 
And give, being taken modestly, this leave, 
And those thy new and late coin'd words receive, 
So they fall gently from the Grecian spring, 
And come not too much wrested. Whats that 
A Iloraan to Cfficilius Avill 'allow, [thing 

Or Plautxis, and in Virgil disavow, 
Or Varius ? why am I now envy'd so. 
If I can give some small increase ? when lo, 
Cato's and Ennius' tongues have lent much 
Avorth, [forth 

And Avcalth unto our language ; and brought 
NcAv names of things. It hath been ever free, 
And ever will, to utter terms that be [appears 
Stampt to the time. As Avoods Avhose change 
Still in their leaves, throughout the sliding years, 
The first-born dying, so the aged state 
Of Avords decays, and phrases born but late, 
Like tender buds shoot up, and freshly grow. 
Ourselves, and all that's ours, to death avc owe : 
Whether the sea receiv'd into Jhc shore. 
That from the north the naA^y safe doth store, 
A kingly Avork ; or that long barren fen 
Once rowablc, but noAV doth nourish men 
In nciglibor towns, and feels the Aveighty plough ; 
Or the Avild river, who hath changed noAV 
His course, so hurtful both to grain and seeds. 
Being taught a better Avay. All mortal deeds 
Shall perish : so far off it is, the state, 
Or grace of sj)eech, should hope a lasting datei 
Much phrase that noAv is dead, shall be rcA'iv'd, 
And much shall die, that noAV is nobly liv'd, 
If custom please ; at Avhose disposing Avill 
The poAver and rule of speaking restcth still. 
The gests of kings, great captains, and sad 
Avars, 
What number best can fit. Homer declares. 
In A'erse Ainequal match'd, first sour laments. 
After men's Avishes, croAvn'd in their events, 
W^ere also clos'd : but Avho the man should be. 
That first sent forth the dapper elegy, 
All the grammarians strive ; and yet in court 
Before the judge, it hangs, and waits report. 
Unto the lyric strings, the muse gave grace 
To chant the gods and all their god-like race 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



S5S 



Et juvenum curas, at libera vina rcferre. 
Arckilochuin propria rabies armavit Xambo. 
Hiinc socci ceptre pedon, grandesque cothurni, 
Alternis aptum sermonibus, et 2Kpulares 
Vincentem st>-e2}itus, ct natum rebtis agendis. 



Versibus exponi tragicis res comica non vtcU. 
Indignatur item prioatis, ac prop^ socco 
Dignis carminibiis celebrari cccna Thyestce. 
Singiua quaqiie locum tenecmt sortita doccnter. 
Descriptas servare vices operumque colores 
Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, polita salutor ? 
Cur nescire, 2}i(dcns piravii, quam disccre malo? 
Interdiim tamen, et vocetn comocdia toUit, 
Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore, 
Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone picdestri 
Tclephus, et Peleus, cum p)au2}er, et exul uterque, 
Projicit am2nMas, et sesquiqyedalia, verba, 
Si curat cor spectantis tcfigisse quereld. 
Non satis est 2nilchra esse 2Miimata : dtdcia stinto, 
Et quocunque volent, animum auditoris agunto. 
Ut ridentibus arrident, ita Jieiitibus adjient 
liumani vultus. Si vis me fiere, dolendum est 
Frimum ipsi tihi : tunc tua me infortunia Itedent 
Tek'i)he, vel Feleu : male si mandata loqucris, 
Aut dormkabo, aut ridebo. Tristia mccstum 
VuUum verba decent : iratum, 2}lena minarum : 
Ludentem, lascivn : severum, seria dictu. 
Format enirn natura prius non intus ad omnem 
Fortunarum Jiahitum : juvaf, aut impeUit ad iram, 
Aut ad humum moeroro gravi deducit, ct angit : 
Post effert animi motus interprete lingud. 
Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta, 
Eomani toUcnt equitcs peditesque cachinman. 
Intcrerit muUum, Davusne loquatur, an hcros, 
Mafurusne senex, an adhuc florente juventcL 
Fervidus : an matrona p)Otcns, an sedula nutrix : 
Mcrcatorno vagus, cultorne virentis agelli : 
Colchus, an Assyius : Thebis mitritus, an Argis, 
Aut famam sequere, aut sihi convenientia finge 
Scrijjfor. Ilonoratum sifortt reqjonis Achillcm, 
Jm2)iger, iracundus, inexorabilis, aeer, 
Jura ncget sibi naia, nihil non arroget arm is. 
Sit Medea ferox ifivlctaque, flebilis Ino, 
Perjidus Ixion, lo vaga, tristis Orestes. 
Si quid inex2)ertum scena comnnttis, et andes 
Personam formare notiim ; serretur ad imun:. 
Qitalis ah incwpio 2i>'0C€sserit, et sibi constet. 



I The conqu'ring cliampion, tlie prime horse in 

course, 
Fresh lover's business, and the wine's free source 
Th' Iambic arm'd Archilochus to rave. 
This foot the socks took up, and buskins grave. 
As fit t' exchange discourse ; a verse to win 
On popular noise with, and do business in. 

The comic matter will not be exprest 
In tragic verse ; no less Thyestes' feast 
Abhors low numbers, and the private strain 
Fit for the sock : each subject should retain 
The place allotted it, with decent thewes. 
If now the turns, the colors, and right hues 
Of poems hero describ'd, I can nor use. 
Nor know t' observe : why (i' the muses name) 
Am I call'd poet ? wherefore with wrong shame, 
Perversely modest, had I rather owe 
To ignorance still, than either learn or know ? 
Yet sometime doth the comedy excite 
Her voice, and angry Chromes chafes out-right 
With swelling throat : and oft the tragic wight 
Complains in humble phrase. Both Telephus, 
And Peleus, if they seek to heart-strike us 
That are spectators, with their raiserj-, 
When the J- are poor, and banish' d, must throAV by 
Their bombard-phrase, and foot and half-foot 

Avords : 
'Tis not enough, th' elaborate muse affords 
Her poems beauty, but a sweet delight 
To work the hearers' minds still to their plight. 
Men's faces still, with such as laugh are -prone 
To laughter ; so they grieve with those that 

moan ; [drown'd 

If thou would'st have me weep, be thou first 
Thj'self in tears, then me thy loss will wound, 
Peleus, or Telephus. If you speak vile 
And ill-penn'd things, I shall or sleep, or smile. 
Sad language fits sad looks, stuff'd menacings 
The angry brow, the sportive wanton things ; 
And the severe, speech ever serious. 
For nature, first within doth fashion us, 
To every state of fortune ; she helps on. 
Or urgeth us to anger : and anon 
With weighty sorrow hurls us all along, 
And tortures us : and after, by the tongue 
Her truchman, she reports the mind's each throe. 
If now the phrase of him that speaks, shall flow 
In sound, quite from his fortune ; both the rout, 
And Roman gentry, jeering, will laugh cut. 
It much will differ, if a god sjpeak, than, 
Or an heroe ; if a ripe old man. 
Or some hot youth, yet in his flourishing course ; 
Whcr some great lady, or her diligent nurse ; 
A vent'ring merchant, or a farmer free 
Of some small thankful land : whether he be 
Of Colchis born, or in Assyria bred ; . 
Or with the milk of Thebes, or Argos, fed. 
Or follow fame, thou that dost write, or feign 
Things in themselves agreeing : if again 
Honor'd Achilles' chance by thee be seized, 
Keep him still active, angry, unappeas'd. 
Sharp and contemning laws at him should aim, 
Be nought so 'bove him but his sword let claim. 
Medea make brave with impetuous scorn , 
Ino bewail'd, Ixion false, forsworn : 
Poor lo wand'ring, wild Orestes mad : 
If something strange, that never yet Avas had 
Unto the scene thou bring'st, and dar'st create 
A mere noAV person ; look he keep his state 



854 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



Difficile est propria communia dicere ; tuque 
Rcctiiis Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, 
Quani si pro/ores ignota, indictnque primus. 
Publica maieries privati juris erit ; si 
JVec circa vilem, pmtulumque moraheris orbem : 
Necverbum verba curabis reddere Jidus 
Interpres ; nee desilies imitator in arctum, 
Unde2iedemproferrepudor vetet, aut operis lex. 
Nee sic incipies, ut scriptor cyclicus olim : 
Fortunam Priami cantabo, et nobile bellum. 
Quid dignum tantoferet hie promissor hiatu ? 
Parturiunt monies, nascetur ridiculus mus. 
Quanta rectihs hie, qui nil molltur inept^ : 
JDic miki, Musa, virum, capta post tempora 

TrojcB, 
Qui mores ho?nimcm multorum vidit, et urbes. 
Nonfumum exfulgore, sed exfumo dare luceni 
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula lyromat, 
Antiphaten, ScyUamque, et cum Cgclope Cha- 

rijbdin : 
Nee rediticm Diomedis ab interitu Meleagri. 
Nee gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ova. 
Semjier ad eventum festinat, et in medias res, 
Nan seciis ac notas, auditorem rapit : et qucs 
Desperai tractata nitescere posse, relinquit. 
Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falsa remiscet, 
Prima ne mediutn, medio ne discrepet imum. 
Tu quid ego, etpapulus mecum desideret, audi. 
Si plausoris eges aulcca manentis, et usque 
Sessuri, donee cantor, vos •plaudite, dicat ; 
JEtatis cujusque notandi sunt tibi mares, 
Mobilibusque decor naturis dandus, et annis. 



Reddere qui voces Jam scit jnier, et pede cerlo 
Signat humnm, gestit paribus calludere, et iram 
Colligit, ac panit temerh, et mutatur in haras. 



hnberbis juvcnis tamdem custode remoto, 
Gaiidot equis canibusque, et a2)rici gramine campi^ 
Cereus in vitiumflecti, monitoribus asj^er, 
TTtiliutn tardus pravisor, pradigus ceris, 
fi'.iblimis, cupidusque, et arnata relinquero pcrnix^ 



'-'onversis studiis,' (etas, animusque virilia 
Qumrit opes, etamieilias : insernit honori • 
Coyimiisisse cavet, quod mox mutare lab'jrci 



Unto the last, as when he first went forth, 
Still to be like himself, and hold his worifl. 

'Tis hard to speak things common properly 
And thou may'st better bring a rhapsody 
Of Homer's forth in acts, than of thine own, 
First publish things unspoken, and unknown 
Yet common matter thou thine own may'st 

make, 
If thou the vile broad trodden ring forsake. 
For, being a poet, thou may'st feign, create, 
Not care, as thou wouldst faithfully translate. 
To render word for word : nor with thy sleiglit 
Of imitation, leap into, a streight, 
From whence thy modesty, or poem's law 
Forbids thee forth again thy foot to draw. 
Nor so begin, as did that circler late, 
I sing a noble war, and Priam's fate. 
What doth this promisor such gaping worth 
Afford ? The mountains travail' d, and brought 

forth 
A scorned mouse ! O, how much better his, 
Who nought assays unaptly, or amiss ? 
Speak to me, muse, the man, Avho after Troy 

was saek'd, 
Saw many towns and men, and could their 

manners tract. 
He thinks not how to give you smoke from light, 
But light from smoke, that he may drav/ his 

bright 
Wonders forth after : as Antipliatcs, 
Scylla, Charybdis, Polypheme, Avith these. 
Nor from the brand, with which the life did 
Of Meleager, brings he the return [burn 

Of Diomedo ; nor Troy's sad Avar begins 
From the two eggs that did disclose the twins. 
He ever hastens to the end, and so 
(As if he knew it) raps his kearor to 
"The- middle of his matter ; letting go 
AVhat he despairs, being handled, might no; 

show : 
And so well feigns, so mixeth cunningly 
Falsehood Avith truth, as no man can espy 
Where the midst differs from the first ; or 

where 
The last doth from the midst disjoin'd appear. 

Hear AA-hat it is the people and I desire : 
If such a one's applause thou dost require, 
That tarries till the hangings be ta'cn doAvn, 
And sits till th' epilogue says Clap, or croAvr : 
The customs of each age thou must observe, 
And give their years and natures, as they SAverve,. 
Fit rights. The child, that noAV knoAvs hoAV 10 

say. 
And can tread firm, longs Avith like lads to play ; 
Soon angry, and soon pleas'd, is sAveet or sour, 
He knoAvs not why, and changeth every hour. 
Th' unbearded youth, his guardian once being 

gone, 
Loves dogs and horses ; and is over one 
1' the open field ; is wax-like to be Avrought 
To every vice, as hardly to be brought 
To endure counsel : a provider slow 
For his OAvn good, a careless letter-go 
Of money, haughty, to desire soon mov'd, 
And then as SAvift to leave Avhat he hath lov'd. 
These studies alter noAV, in one groAvn man ; 
His better' d mind seeks wealth and friendship ; 
Looks after honors, and bcAvarca to act [than 
What straightAvay he must labor to retract. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



85S 



Malta seuem circumveniunt incommodo, vel qicdd 
Queer it, et invcntis miser abstinet, ae timet ttti: 
Vel quod res omnes fimidc gelideque ministrat ; 
Dilator, spe longus, iners, avidusque futxiri, 
Vifficilis, querulus, laudator temporis acti 
Se j^uero • censor, casiigatorquo minorum. 
Multa ferunt anni venientes coinmoda secum ; 
Multa reccdentes adimimt, ne fort^ seniles 
Mandenturjuveni partes, piueroquc viriles, 
Semper in adjunctis, cuvoqiis tnorabimur aptis. 



Aut agtcur res tn scenis, aid acta refertur, 
Signiiis irritant animos demissa jjer aurem, 
Qiiam qum sunt oculis siibjecta fidelihus, et quce 
Ipso sibi tradit spectator. Nan tamen intus 
Digna geri, p)-omes in scenam : multaqiie tolles 
Ex oculis, qiice mox narret facundia prcesens. 
Nee pueros coram populo Medea trucidet ; 
Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus ; 
Aut in avem Progne vertatur, Cadmus in angucm. 
Quodcunque ostendis inihi sic, incredulus odi. 



Neve minor, quinto, neii sit producfior actu 
Fabula, quce posci, vult, et spectata reponi. 
Nee cleus intcrsit, nisi digtius vindice nodus 
Incident : nee quarta loqui 2^ersona laboret. 



Actoris partes chorus, officiumque virile 
Defendat, neu quid medios interciiiat actus, 
Quod 7ionproposito conducat, et hcereat apth, 
llle bonis faveatque, et conciletur amic6 : 
Et regat iratos, et ametjKccare timentes. 
llle dapcs laudet mensce brevis : ille salubrem 
Justitiam, legesque, et apcrtis otia j)ortis. 
llle tegut cominissa, dcosque precetur, et oret, 
Ut redeat misoris, abeatj'ortuna sujierbis. 



Tibia non, ut nunc, oriclialcho vincta, tubceque 
Emula, sed tenuis, simplexque foramine 2)auco 
Aspirare, et adesse choris erat utilis, atque 
Nondiim spissa nimis complere sedUia fiatu. 
Quo san^ populus numei'abilis, tifjiote ^larvus, 
Etfrugi, castusque verecundusque colbat. 
Postquam capit agros extendere victor, et urbem 
Latior amplecti, murus, vinoque diurno, 
Placari Genius feslis impund dlebus, 
Accessit numerisque modisque licentia major. 
Indoctus quid enim saperet, liberque laborum, 
Rusticus urbano confusus, turpis honesto ? 
Sic Priscce motumquc, et luxuriam addidit arti 
Tibicen, traxitque vagus per pulpita vcstem. 
Sic etiam Jidibus voces crevere severis, 
Et tulit chquium insolitum facundia pira:ce2:is. 
Utiliuinque sagax rcruin, et dioinafuturi 
Sorlikgis non descrepuit sententia Delphis. 



The old man many evils do girt round ; 
Either because he seeks, and, having found, 
Doth -wretchedly the use of things forbear, 
Or does all business coldly, and with fear ; 
A great defcrrcr, long in hope, grown numb 
With sloth, yet greedy still of what's to come : 
Froward, complaining, a commender glad 
Of the times past, when he was a young lad ; 
And still correcting youth, and censuring. 
Man's coming years much good with them do 

bring : 
As his departing take much thence, lest then 
The parts of age to youth be given, or men 
To children ; we must always dwell, and stay 
In fitting proper adjuncts to each day. 

The business either on the stage is done, 
Or acted told. But ever things that run 
In at the ear, do stir the mind more slow 
Than those the faithful eyes take in by show, 
And the beholder to himself doth render. 
Yet to the stage at all thou may'st not tender 
Things M'orthy to be done within, but take 
Much from the sight, which fair report will 

make 
Present anon : Medea must not kill 
Her sons before the people, nor the ill- 
Natur'd and wicked Atreus cook to th' eye 
His nephew's entrails ; nor must Progne fly 
Into a swallow there ; nor Cadmus take 
Upon the stage the figure of a snake. 
"What so is shown, I not believe, and hate. 

Nor must the fable, that Avould hope the fate 
Once seen, to be again call'd for, and play'd, 
Have more or less than just five acts : nor laid. 
To have a god come in ; except a knot 
Worth his untying happen there : and not 
Any fourth man, to speak at all, aspire. 

An actor's parts, and office too, the quire 
j\Iust maintain manly : nor be heard to sing 
Between the acts, a quite clean other thing 
Than to the purpose leads, and fitly 'grees. 
It still must favor good men, and to these 
Be won a friend ; it must both sway and bend 
The angry, and love those that fear t' offend. 
Praise the spare diet, wholesome justice, laws, 
Peace, and the oj^en ports, that peace doth 

cause. 
Hide faults, pray to the gods, and wish aloud 
Fortune would love the poor, and leave the 
proud. 

The hau'boy, not as now with latten bound. 
And rival with the trumpet for his sound. 
But soft, and simple, at few holes breath'd time 
And tune too, fitted to the chorus' rhyme. 
As loud enough to fill the seats, not yet 
So over-thick, but where the people met, 
They might with ease be number'd, being a few 
Chaste, thrifty, modest folk, that came to view. 
But as they conquer'd and enlarg'd their bound. 
That wider walls embrac'd their city round. 
And they uncensur'd might at feasts and plays 
Steep the glad genius in the wine whole days, 
Both in their tunes the license greater grew, 
And in their numbers ! for alas, what knew 
The idiot, keeping holiday, or drudge, 
Clown, townsman, base and noble mixt, to 

judge ? 
Thus to his ancient art the piper lent 
Gesture and Riot, whilst he swooping, went 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



Iijnotum Tragiccs genus invenisse Caniccncs 
Dicitur, et plaustris vcxisse podmata Thespis, 
Qua; canerent agerentque peruncti fcecibtis ora 
Post hunc personm pallceque repcrtor honestce 
JEschylus^ et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, 
Et docuit magnumque loqui nitlque cothurno. 
Carmine qui tragico vileni certavit oh hercum. 
Max ctiam agrestcs satyros nudavit, et asper 
Incolumi gravitate jocuin tentavit : eb quod 
Illeccbris erat, et gratcl novitate morandus 
Spectator, functusque sacris, et piotus ct ezlex. 



Veriim ita risores, ita commendare dicaces 
Convenient satyros, ita vertere seria Indo : 
Ne, quicunque deus, quicunque adhibehitur heros, 
Begali conspectiis in auro nuper, et astro, 
Migret «» obscuras humili sermone tabernas ; 
Ant, dum vitat humum, nubes, et inania captet. 



Eff'utire leves indigna tragoedia versus : 
Ut festis matro7ia 7noveri jussa diebus, 
Intererit satyris pauluin pudibunda protervis. 



Non ego inornata, et dominantia nomina solum, 
Verbaque, Pisones, satgrorum scrlptor amabo : 
Nee sic enitar tragico differre colori 
Ut nihil intersit, Davusne loquatur, an audax 
Pythias emuncto lucrata Simone talentum ; 
An custos, famidusque dei Silenus alumni. 

Ex noiofietum carmen sequar, ut sibi quivis 
SjJoret idem : sudet multhm fritstraqua laboret 
Ausus idem : tantum series juneturaque pollet : 
Tantmn do medio sumptis accedit honoris, 
Silvis deducii caveant, me judice, Fauni, 
Ne velut innati triviis, ac peni. forenses. 
Ant nimium teneris juvenentur versihus iinquam, 
Aut imtnunda crepent, ignominiosaque dicta. 
Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, et imter, et res . 
Nee, si quid fricti ciccris 2'>robat, et nucis emjitor, 
JEquis accipiunt aniniis, donantoe carond. 



Suceessit vetus his Comcedia non sine mult A 
Laude, sed in vitium libertas cxcidit, ct vim 
T)ignam lege regi. Lex est accepta ; choricsque 
Turpitur obticuit, sublato Jure nocendi. 



In his traiii'd gown about the stage : so grew 
In time to tragodj', a music new, 
The rash and headlong eloquence brought fortl; 
Unwonted language : and that sense of worth 
That found out profit, and foretold each thin"- 
Now differed not from Delphic riddling. 

Thespis is said to be the first found out 
The Tragedy, and carried it about, 
Till then unknown, in carts, wherein did ride 
Those that did sing, and act : their faces dy'd 
"With lees of wine. Next Eachj-lus, more late 
Brought in the visor, and the robe of state, 
Built a small timber'd stage, and taught them 

talk 
Lofty and gra-\'e, and in the buskin stalk. 
He too, that did in tragic verse contend 
For the vile goat, soon after forth did send 
The rough rude satyrs naked, and would try. 
Though sour, with safety of his gravity, 
How he could jest, because he mark'd and saw 
The free spectators subject to no law, 
Having well eat and drunk, the rites being done 
Were to be staid with softnesses, and won 
"With something that was acceptably new. 
Yet so the scofhng satyrs to men's view, 
And so their prating to present was best, 
And so to turn all earnest into jest, 
As neither any god were brought in there, 
Or semi-god, that late was seen to wear 
A royal crown and purple, be made hop 
With poor base terms through every baser shopi 
Or whilst he shuns the earth, to catch at air 
And empty clouds. For tragedy is fail-, 
And far unworthy to blurt out light rhymes ; 
But as a matron drawn at solemn times 
To dance, so she should sharaefac'd differ far 
From what th' obscene and petulant satyrs are. 
Nor I, when I write satyrs, will so love 
Plain phrase, my Pisos, as alone t' approve 
Mere reigning words : nor will I labor so 
Quite from all face of tragcdj^ to go. 
As not make difference, whether Davus speak. 
And the bold Pythias, having cheated weak 
Simo, and of a talent wip'd his purse ; 
Or old Silenirs, Bacchus' guard and nursej 

I can out of known geer a fable frame, 
And so as every man may hope the same ; 
Yet he that offers at it may sweat much, 
And toil in vain : the excellence is such 
Of order and connexion ; so much grace 
There comes sometimes to things of meanest 

place. [beware. 

But let the Fauns, drawn from their groves, 
Be I their judge, they do at no time dare, 
Like men street-born, and near the hall rehearse 
Their youtliful tricks in over-wanton verse ; 
Or crack out bawdy speeches, and unclean. 
The Roman gentry, men of birth and mean, 
Will take offence at this : nor though it strike 
Him that buys chiches blanch' d, or chance tc 

like [fore 

The nut-crackers throughout, will they there- 
Receive or give it an applause the more. 
To these succeeded the old comedy. 
And not without much praise, till liberty 
Fell into fault so far, as now they saw 
Her licence fit to be restrain'd bj' law : 
Which law receiv'd, the chorus held his peace. 
His power of foully hurting made to cease. 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



857 



Syllaha longa hrevi suhjeda vacatur Iambus, 
Pes citus : uncle otiam trimetris accrescere jussit 
Nomoi lainbeis, cum senos redderel ictus. 
Primus ad extremum similis sibi : non ita pridcm 
Tardiof utpaulo gradiorque venirct ad aures, 
Spondwos stabiles in jura paferna recepit 
Commodus, et pialiens : non ut de sede secunda 
Cederct, aut quarta socialite)' : hie et in Acci 
Nobilibus trimetris apparct rarus, et Emii, 
In sccenam missos magna cum 2)oiidere versus, 
Aut operce ceteris nimium, curaquo carentis, 
Aut ignarat(B p)re»nit artis crimino turpi, 
Non quivis videt immadulata palimata judex : 
Ut data Itomanis venia est indigna po&tia, 
Idcircone vager, scribamque liconter? anomnes 
Vizuros peccata putem mea ? tutus, et intra 



Spein Venice cautus ? vitavi denique culpam, 
Non laudem merui. Vos cxempjlaria Grccca 
Nociurnd versate manu, versato diurnd. 

At nostri 2)roavi Plautinos, et numeros, et 
Laudaverc sales : nimium patienter utrumque, 
Na dicam stultd, mirati ; si macld ego, et vos 
Scimus inurbanum-lcinda seponere dicta, 
Lcgitimumque solium cUgitis callemus, et aure. 

Nil intentatum nostri liquere podicc. 
Nee minimum inerutre decus, vestigia Grcsca 
Ausi dcserere, et celebrare damestica facta : 
V I qui pircetextas, vel qui dacu6re togatas. 



Nee virtute foret, clarisve patentius armis, 
Quam lingud, Latium, si non offenderet wnim- 
quemque poiitarum limce labor, et mora. Vos, 6 
Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehenclite, quod non 
Malta dies, et multa litura coCreuit, atque 
Perfeetum deeics nan castigavit ad unguem. 
Tngenium miserd quia fortunatius arte 
Credit, et exeludit sanos TIelicane p>aGtas 
Democritus, bona p)ars non ungues ponere curat, 
Non barbani ; secreta petit laca, bcdnca vital. 
Nanciseetur enim prctium, nomenque po&lcR, 
Si tribus Anticyris caput insanabilo niinquam 
Tonsari Licino cammiserit. O ego Icevus, 
Qui purcjor bilem sub verni temporis horam ! 
Non alius facer et meliora p/oBmata : verum, 
Nil tanti est : ergo fungar vice eotis, acutum 
Reddere quce ferrum valet, exsars ipsa secandi. 
Munus et ojficium, nil scribens ipse, docebo ; 
. JJnde parentur opes : quid alat formstque i^oStam : 
Quii deceat, quid non : quo virtus, cpid fcrat error. 



Two rests, a short and long, th' Iambic frame 
A foot, whose swiftness gave the verse tk*' 

name 
Of Trimeter, when yet it was six pac'd, 
But mere Iambics all, from first to last. 
Nor is't long since they did with patience take 
Into their birth-right, and for fitness sake, 
The steady Spondees ; so themselves do bear 
More slow, and come more weighty to the car : 
Provided, ne'er to yield, in any case 
Of fellowship, the fourth or second place. 
This foot yet, in the famous Trimeters 
Of Accius and Ennius, rare appears : 
So rare, as with some tax it doth engage 
Those heavy verses sent so to the stage, i 
Of too much haste, and negligence in part, 
Or a worse crime, the ignorance of art. 
But every judge hath not the faculty 
To note in poems breach of harmony ; 
And there is given too unworthy leave 
To Roman poets. Shall I therefore weave 
My verse at random, and licentiously ? 
Or rather, thinking all my faults may spy, 
Grow a safe v>"riter, and be wary driven 
Within the hope of having all forgiven. 
'Tis clear this way I have got off from blame. 
But, in conclusion, merited no fame. 
Take you the Greek examples for your light. 
In hand, and turn them over day and night. 
Our ancestors did Plautus' numbers praise. 
And jests ; and both to admiration raise 
Too patiently, that I not fondly say, 
If either you or I know the right way 
To part scurrility from wit ; or can 
A lawful verse by th' ear or finger scan. 
Our poets too left nought unproved here ; 
Nor did they merit the less crown to wear. 
In daring to forsake the Grecian tracts, 
And celebrating our own home-born facts ; 
AVhethor the garded tragedy they wiought. 
Or 'twere the gowned comedy they taught. 

Nor had our Italy more glorious been 
In virtue, and renown of arms, than in 
Her language, if the stay and care t' have 
Had not our every poet like offended, [mended, 
But you, Pompilius' offspring, spare you not 
To tax that verse, which many a day and blot 
Have not kept in ; and (lest perfection fail) 
Not ten times o'er corrected to the nail. , 
Because Democritus believes a wit 
Happier than wretched art, and doth by it 
Exclude all sober poets from their share 
In Helicon ; a great sort will not pare 
Their nails, nor shave their beards, but to bye 

paths 
Retire themselves, avoid the public baths ; 
For so they shall not only gain the worth, 
But fame of poets, they think, if t'ney como 

forth 
And from the barber Licinus conceal 
Their heads, vdiich three Anticyras cannot heal. 

I Icft-witted, that purge every spring 
For choler ! if I did not, who could bring 
Out better poems ? but I cannot buy 

My title at the rate, I'd rather, I, 

Be like a whetstone, that an edge can put 

On steel, though't self be dull, and cannot cut. 

1 writing nought myself, will teach them yet [fat, 
Their charge and office, whence their wealth to 



858 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



Scrilendl recti, sapere est ef principlum etfons. 
'Rem tibi Socraticce poterunt osiendere chartce : 
Verbaqtte provisam rem non invita sequentur. 
Qui didicit, patrice quid deheat, et quid amicis : 
Quo sit amore parens, quo f rater amaiidus, et 

hospes : 
Quod sit conscripiti, quod judicis offi,cium : qua 
Payies in bellum missi ducis, ille profectd 
Reddere personm scit convenieiitia cuique. 
Respicere exemplar vita:, morumque juhebo 
Doctum imitatorem, et veras hinc ducere voces. 
Tnterdum s2)eciosa locis, ynorataque recti 
Fabula, nullius Veneris, sine po?iderc, et arte, 
Valdius oblectat po2}ulum, meliusque moratur, 
Qudm versus inopes rerum, nugceque canorcB, 



Gratis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo ; 
Musa loqui, prater laudem, nullius avaris. 
Rotnani pnieri longis rationibus asseni 
Discunt in partes centum cliducere. Dicat 
Pilius Albini, si de quincunce remoia est 
Uncia, quid superat ? poteras dixisse, triens : eu. 
Rem imtcris servare tuam : reclit uncia : quid Jit? 
Semis : an, hcec animos cerugo, et cura peculi. 
Cum semel imbuerit, speramus carmina fingi 
Posse linenda cedro, et lavi servanda cupresso ? 
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poSta, 
Aid simul et Jucunda, et idonea dicere vitcc. 



Sylvestrcs homines sacer, interpresque deorum, 
Cwdibus et victufoado detcrruit Orpheus, 
Dictus ob hoc lenire tigres, rabidosque luones : 
Dictus et Amphion, Thebancs conditor arcis, 
Saxa mopere sono testudinis, et prece blanda 
Ducere quo vellet. Fuit hcec sapicntia quondam, 
Publica 2})'ioatis secernere, sacra profanis, 
Concubilu 2}>'ohibere vago : dare Jura maritis, 
Oppida moliri, leges incidere ligno. 
Sic honor, et nomen dioinis vatibus, aique 
Carmlnlbwi venit : j)0st has insignis Homerus, 
Tyrtceusque mares animos in Martia bella 
Versibus exacuit : dictce p)er carmina sortcs, 
Et vita monsirata via est, et gratia regum 
Picriis tentata modis, ludusque repertus, 
Et longm\(m ojKrum Jlnis : ne forth pudori 
Sit tibi tnusa lijrce solers, et cantor Apollo. 



What nourisheth, what formed, ^vhat begot 
The poet, what becometh, and what not. 
Whither truth may, and whither error bring. 
The very root of writing well, and spring 
Is to be wise ; thy matter first to know, 
Which the Socratic writings best can show : 
And where the matter is provided still, 
There words will follow, not against their will. 
Ho that hath studied well the debt, and knows 
What to his country, what his friends he owes 
What height of love a parent will fit best. 
What brethren, what a stranger, and his gucst^ 
Can tell a statesman's duty, what the arts 
And office of a judge are, what the parts 
Of a brave chief sent to the wars : he can, 
Indeed, give fitting dues to every man. 
And I still bid the learned maker look 
On life, and manners, and make those his book, 
Thence draw forth true expressions. For some- 
times, 
A poem of no grace, weight, art, in rhymes 
AVith specious places, and being humor'd rightj 
More strongly takes the people with delight, 
And better stays them there than all fine noise 
Of verse, mere mattcrlcss, and tinkling toj'S. 
The muse not only gave the Greeks a wit, 
But a well-comj)ass'cl mouth to utter it. 
Being men were covetous of nought, but praise : 
Our Roman youths they learn the subtle wayi 
How to divide into a hundred parts 
A pound, or piece, by their long compting arts ; 
There's Albin's son will say, Subtract an ounce 
From the five ounces, what remains ? pronounce 
A third of twelve, j'ou may ; four ounces. Glad, 
He cries, good boy, thou'lt keep thine own. 

Now add 
An ounce, what makes it then ? the half-pound 

just, 
Six ounces. O, when once the canker' d rust, 
And care of getting, thus our minds hath 

stein' d ; 
Think we, or hope there can be verses feign'd 
In juice of cedar worthy to be steep'd. 
And in smoth cypress boxes to be keep'd ? 
Poets would either profit or delight ; 
Or mixing sweet and fit, teach life the right. 
Orpheus, a priest, and speaker of the gods, 
First frighted men, that wildly lived, at odds, 
From slaughters, and foul life ; and for the same 
Was tigers said, and lions fierce to tame. 
Amphion too, that built the Theban towers, 
Was said to move the stones by his lute's 
powers, [would. 

And lead them with soft songs, where that he 
This was the Avisdom that they had of old, 
Things sacred from profane to separate ; 
The public from the private, to abate 
Wild raging lusts ; prescribe the marriage good ; 
Build towns, and carve the laws in leaves of 

wood. 
And thus at first, an honor, and a name 
To divine poets, and their verses came. 
Next these, great Homer and Tyrtseus set 
On edge the masculine spirits, and did whet 
Their minds to wars, and rhymes they did re- 
hearse ; 
The oracles too were given out in verse ; 
All M'ay of life was sheM"n ; the grace of kings 
Attempted by the musej tunes and striTigs; 



TRANSLATIONS FEOM THE LATIN POETS. 



859 



Qmcqmd pracipies, esto brevis : ut cilb dicta 
Peraipiant animi dociles, teneantque Jidelcs. 
Omne supervacuum 2)Ie?io do pectore manat. 



Ficta, vcluptatis causa, slnt pii-oxima veris : 
Nee quodeunque volet, poscat sibifabula credl : 
Ncu prcmscB Lamia vivum imerum extraliat alvo, 
Centurifs scniorum agitaiit expertia fnigis : 
Celsi prcetcrcunt austcra poiimata Rhamnes, 
Omne tulitpunctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, 
Lectorem delectando, pariterque inoncndo. 
Uic meret csra liber ISosiis : hie et mare transit, 
Et loiiQum noto scriptori piroroijat cevttm. 



Sutit delicta tamc-n quibus igiiovisse velimus. 
Nam neque chorda soiium rcddit, quem vult maims, 

et 7nens, 
Posccntique gravem, perscepe rcmittit acufum : 
Nee semper feriet, quodeunque minabitur areas. 
Veriim id)i pilura nitent in carmine, non ego piaucis 
Off'endar maculis, quas aut ineuria fudit, 
Aut humana parum cavit natura : quid ergo ? 
Ut seriptor si peccat idem librarius usque, 
Quamvis est monitus, venia caret ; et citharocdus 
Ridctur, chorda qui semper obcrrat eadcm : 
iiio mihi, qui multum ccssat,Jit Chccrilus ille, 
Qnem bis tcrve bonum cum risu miror ; et idetn 
Indignor : quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus. 
Veriim optere in longofas estobrepere somnum. 



Ut piciura potsis, erit : quce, si jjropiics stes, 
Te capiet magis, et qucedam, si longius ahstes. 
Hcec aniat obscurum : volet hcsc sub lua videri, 
Judieis argutum quce non formidat acumen. 
Hcec 2Jlcicuit semel: hcec clacies rcpeiit:i, lilacebit. 

O major jiivenum, quamvii ct voce pcvtcrna 
Finger is ad rectum, et per te sapi'j, hoe tibi dictum 
Tolle memor : certis tnodiwn, et tolerabile rebus 
Rect^ concedi : consuUus juyi", ct actor 
Causarum inediocris, abc^t virtuie diserti 
Messalce, nee scit quconiwr. CasceUius Aulus : 
!Sed tamcn in pretio 2st. Modiocribus esscj)oBtis 
Non homines, ncn d/l, )ion concessere columncs. 



Ut graias inter mensas symphonia discors, 
Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle pia- 

paver, 
Offendunt ; poterat duci quia cwna sine istis : 
Sic animis natum inventumque poBma juvandis, 
Si paxMun c summo discessit, vergit ad imum. 



Plays were found out, and rest, the end a;ul 

crown 
Of their long labors, was in verse set down -. 
All which I tell, lest when Apollo's nam'd, 
Or muse, upon the lyre, thou chance b' asham'd. 

13e brief in what thou wouldst command, 
that so 
The docile mind might soon thy precepts know, 
And hold them faithfully ; for nothing rests. 
But flows out, that o'erswelleth, in full breasts. 

Let what thou feign'st for pleasure's sake, be 
near 
The truth ; nor let thy fable think whate'er 
It would, must be : lest it alive would draw 
The child, Avhen Lamia has din'd, out of hei 
The poems void of profit, our grave men [maw. 
Cast out by voices ; want they pleasure, then 
Our gallants give them none, but pass them by ; 
But he hath every suffrage, can apply 
Sweet mixt with sour to his reader, so 
As doctrine and delight together go. 
This book will get the Sosii money ; this 
Will pass the seas, and long as nature is. 
With honor make the far-known author live. 

There are yet faults, which we would well 
forgive, 
For neither doth the string still yield that sound 
The hand and mind would, but it will resound 
Oft-times a sharp, when we require a flat : 
Nor always doth the loosed bow hit that 
Which it doth threaten. Therefore, where I see 
Much in the poem shine, I will not be 
Offended with few sjDots, which negligence 
Hath shed, or human frailtj^ not kept thence, 
How then ? why as a scrivener, if h' offend 
Still in the same, and warned will not mend, 
Deserves no pardon ; or who'd play, and sing 
Is laugh' d at, that still jarrcth on one string : 
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me 
A Cherilus, in whom if I but see 
Twice or thrice good, I wonder ; but am more 
Angry. Sometimes I hear good Homer snore 
But I confess, that in a long work, sleep 
May, with some right, upon an author creep. 

As painting, so is iDoesj'. Some man's hand 
Will take you more, the nearer that you stand < 
As some the farther off ; this loves the dai-k ; 
This fearing not the subtlest judge's mark, 
Will in the light be view'd : this once the sight 
Doth please, this ten times over will delight. 

You, sir, the elder brother, though you are 
Informed rightly, by your father's care. 
And of yourself too understand ; yet mind 
This saying : to some things there is assign'd 
A mean, and toleration, which does well : 
There may a lawyer be, may not excel , 
Or pleader at the bar, that maj- come short 
Of eloquent Messala's power in court, 
Or knows not what Cacellius Aulus can ; 
Yet there's a value given to this man. 
But neither men, nor gods, nor pillars meant, 
Poets should ever be indifferent. 

As jarring music doth at jolly feasts, 
Or thick gross ointment but oftbnd the guests • 
As poppy, and Sardan honey ; 'cause without 
These, the free meal might have been well 

drawn out : 
So any poem, fancied, ci forth-brought 
To bett'ring o*" 'Le mind of man, in aughU 



860 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



Luficre qui ncsclt, campestribus abstinet armis, 
ImlociHsque pilce discive, trochive, quioscit, 
Ne spissee ristiin tollant impune coroncs. 
Qui nescif, versus ta/nan audet finger e : quidiii ? 
Liber, et in(jicnuus,pra!seriim census equestrcm 
Sutnmnm nummorum, vitioque remotus ab onini. 
Th nihil invitd dices, faciesve Minervd, 
Id tibi judicium est, ea 77iens, si quid tamen olini 
Scripseris, in Meti descendat judicis aures, 
Et patris, et nostras, nonumque prematur in an- 
num. 
Membranis intus positis, delere licebit 
Quod non edideris. Nescit vox missa reverti. 



"NaturGu fieret laudabila carmen, an arte, 
Quasitum est : ego noc studium sine divite vena. 
Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium ; alterius sic 
Altera poscit ojiem res, et conjurat amicb. 



Qui studet optatam cursu contingore metam 
MuUa tulit fecitque puer, sudavit, et alsit, 
Abstinuit Venere, et vino : qui Pi/tkica caniat 
Tibicen, didicit prius, extimuitque magistrum. 
Nunc satis est dixisse. Ego mira pioSmata pango : 
Oceupet extremum scabies, milii turpe relinqui est, 
Et quod non didici, sane nescire fateri. 



TJt pr<eco ad merce.i turbam gui cogit emcndas, 
Adsentatores jubet ad lucrum ire podta. 
Dives agris, dives jios ids infcenore nummis. 
Si verb est, unction qui recth imnere possit, 
Et spondere Icvi jiro paupere, et eripere atris 
Liiibus implic/tum ; mirabor, si sciet inter- 
Noscere mcndac-3m verumque beatm amicum. 
Tu sen donaris, sen quid donare voles cui, 
Nolito ad versus tibifactos ducere 2)lenum 
Lcetitice : clamabit enim, Pulchrd, bene, recth. 
Fallescit super his : etiam stillabit amicis 
Ex oeulis rorem, saliat, tundet pede terram. 
Ut qui conducti jilorant infunere, dicunt 
Et faciunt proph ^dura dolentibus ex animo : sic 
Devisor vera plus luudatore movetur. 



lieges dicuntur muUis urgere culullis, 
El torquere mero, quern persjjexisse laborent 
An sit amicitid dignus : si carmina eondes, 
Nunquam te fallMit animi sub vulpe latenfes. 



QuiniiUo, si quid recitares, Corrige, sodcs, 
IToc, aiebat, et hoc: meliiis te posse negares. 
Bis, tcrquo expertuni frustra ; delere jubebat, 
Et male tornatos incnidi reddere versus. 



If ne'er so little it depart the first 

And highest, sinketh to the lowest and worst. 

He that not knows the games, nor how to use 
His arms in ^Mars his field, he doth refuse ; 
Or Avho's unskilful at the coit, or ball. 
Or trundling wheel, he can sit still from all ; 
Lost the throng' d heaps should on a laughter take 
Yet who's most ignorant, darcS verses make. 
Why not ? I'm gentle, and free born, do hate 
Vice, and am known to have a knight's estate. 
Thou, such thy judgment is, thy knowledge too. 
Wilt nothing against nature speak or do ; 
But if hereafter thou shalt write, not fear 
To send it to be judg'd by Metius' ear. 
And to your father's, and to mine, though't be 
Nine j-ears kept in, your papers by, yo' are free 
To change and mend, what j-ou not forth do set 
The writ, once out, never returned yet. 

'Tis now inquir'd which makes the nob^ei 
verse. 
Nature, or art. My judgment will not pierce 
Into the profits, what a mero rude brain 
Can ; nor all toil, without a wealthy vein . 
So doth the one the other's help require. 
And friendly should unto one end conspire 

He that's ambitious in the race to toucn 
The wished goal, both did, and suffer'd much 
While he was young : he sweat, and freez'd 

again, 
And both from wine and women did abstain. 
Who since to sing the Pythian rites is heard, 
Did learn them first, and once a master fear'd. 
But now it is enoug'h to say, I make 
An admirable verse. The groat scurf take 
Him that is last, I scorn to come behind. 
Or of the things that ne'er camo in my mind 
To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a crier 
That to the sale of wares calls every buyer; 
So doth the poet, who is rich in land, 
Or great in moneys out at use, command 
His flatterers to their gain. But sa}', he can 
Make a groat supper, or for some poor man 
Will be a suret}^ or can help him out 
Of an entangling suit, and bring't about : 
I wonder how this happy man should know, 
Whether his soothing friend speak truth or no. 
But you, my Piso, carefully beware 
(Whether yo' are given to, or giver are) 
You do not bring to judge your verses, one. 
With joy of what is given him, over-gone : 
For he'll cry. Good, brave, better, excellent ! 
Look pale, distil a shower (was never meant) 
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the groun'.. 
As those that hir'd to weep at funerals swoon, 
Cry, and do more to the true mourners : so 
The scoft'er the true praiser doth out-go. 

Rich men are said with many cups to ply, 
And rack with wine the man whom they would 

try. 
If of their friendship he be worthy or no : 
When you write verses, with your judge do so : 
Look through him, and be sure you take not 

mocks 
For praises, Avhere the mind conceals a fox. 

If to Quintilius you recited aught. 
He'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this, 'tis 

naught. 
If jou denied you had no better strain, 
And twice or thrice had 'ssay'd it, still in vaia; 



TllANSLATIONS FROM THE juATIN POETS. 



361 



Si dcfendere delictum, quam vertere mallosf, 
Nullum ultra verhum, aut operam sumebat inanem, 
Quilt sine rivali toque et tua solus ainares. 



Vir bonus et ^yrudens^ versus reprekendit inerfes, 
Culpabit duros, incomptis alliiiet atrum 
Transversa calamo signum, anibitiosa recidet 
Ornamenta, p)arum claris lucem dare coget : 
Arguet ambigu^ dictum, tnutanda iwtabit : 
Fict Aristarchus, nee dicet, Cur ego amicum 
Offendam in nugis ? — Hce nugcB seria ducent 
In mala, semel derisum, exceptumque sinistre. 



TJt mala guem scabies, aut morbus regius urgct, 
Aid fanatieus error, et iracunda Diana, 
Vesanum tetlgisse timent, fugiuntque 2}oetam, 
Qui sapiunt : agitant piieri, incautique sequuntur 
Hie dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat ; 
Si veluti mcrulis intentus dccidit auceps 
In puteum, Jbveamvo ; licet, Succurrite, longum 
Clamet, Id elves ! non sit qui tollere curet. 
Si quis curet opan ferre, et demittere funem, 
Qui scis, an prudens hue se dejecerit, atque 
Servari noiit ? dieam, Siculique poetce 
Narrabo interitunv. Deus immortalis hab&ri 
Dum cupit Empedocles, arduntem frigidus JElnam 
Insiluit. Sit jus, liceatquo ^^erire 2^06'tis . 
Invitum qui servat, idem facit accident i. 
Ncc semel hoc fecit : nee si retractus erit,jam 
Fict homo : et ponet famosce mortis amorem. 



Noc satis ajjpaiin, cut versus factitet : utrtim 
Minxerit in piatrios cineres, an triste bidental 
Moverit ineestus : certi furit, ae, veluf ursus, 
Objeetos cavece valuit si f rang ere clathros, 
Indoctum doctumque fugat reciiator acerbus. 
Quern Vera arripuit, tenet oeciditque legendo, 
Nofi missura cutem tiisi plena cruoris hirudo. 



He'd bid blot all, and to the anvil bring 
Those ill-torn'd verses to new hammering. 
Then if your fault j-ou rather had defend 
Than change ; no Avord or work more would he 

spend 
In vain, but you and yours you should love still 
Alone, without a rival, by his will. 

A wise and honest man will cry out shame 
On artless verse ; the hard ones he will blame, 
Blot out the careless with his turned pen ; 
Cut off superfluous ornaments, and when 
They're dark, bid clear this : all that's doubtful 

wrote 
Rei^rove, and what is to be changed note ; 
Become an Aristarchus. And not say 
Why should I grieve my friend this trifling way ? 
These trifles into serious mischiefs lead 
The man once mock'd, and suff'er'd wrong to 

tread. 
Wise sober folk a frantic poet fear ; 
And shun to touch him, as a man that were 
Infected with the leprosy, or had 
The yellow jaimdicc, or were furious mad, 
According to the moon. But then the boys 
They vex, and follow liim with shouts and 

noise ; 
The while he belcheth lofty verses out, 
And stalketh, like a fowler, round aoout, . 
Busy to catch a black-bird, if ho fall 
Into a pit or hole, although he call 
And cry aloud. Help, gentle countrymen ! 
There's none will take the care to help him 

then ; 
For if one should, and with a rope make haste 
To let it down, Avho knows if he did cast 
Himself there purposely or no, and would 
Not thence be sav'd, although indeed he could 
I'll tell you but the death and the disease 
Of the Sicilian poet Empedocles : 
He, while he labor'd to be thought a god 
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd 
Conceit, and into burning iEtna leapt. 
Let poets perish, that will not be kept. 
He that preserves a man against his will, 
Doth the same thing with him that would him 

kill. 
Nor did he do this once ; for if you can 
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man, 
Or love of this so famous death lay by. 

His cause of making verses none knows why, 
Whether he piss'd upon his father's grave. 
Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have 
Defiled, touch'd ; but certain he was mad, 
And as a bear, if he the strength but had 
To force the grates that hold him in, wculd 

fright 
All : so this grievous writer puts to flight 
Learn'd and unlearn'd, holding whom once he 

takes. 
And there an end of him reciting makes ; 
Not letting go his hold, where he draws food, 
Till he drop off", a horse-leech, full of blood. 



862 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



HORAT. OD. LIB. V. OD. II. 

tit.t; eustic-e laudes. 

Jieattts ilk, qui jn-ocul negotiis, 

Ut prisca gens mortalium, 
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis, 

Solutus omni fccnore : 
Nee cxcitatur classico tniles truci, 

Nee horret iratum mare : 
Fonimque vitat, et superba civium 

Potentiorum limina. 
Ergo aid adultA vititim propagine 

Altas maritat jjopulos : 
Imdilesque falce ramos amputans, 

Feliciores inserit : 
Aid in reducta valle mugientium 

Prospectat errantes greges : 
Aid iiressa piiris mella condit amphoris, 

Aid tondet infirmas oves : 
Vel cum decorum mitibus iMniis caput 

Aidumnua arvis cxtulit : 
Ut gaudet insitica clecerpens pyra, 

Certantem et iivam purpurtB, 
Qiid muneretiir te, Priape, et te, pater 

Sylvane, tutor finium ! 
Libet jaccre modd sub antiqua ilice ; 

Modo in tenaci gramine. 
Labuntur altis interim ripis aqua; : 

Queruntur in sylvis aves, 
Fontesque lymjohis obstrepunt manantibus, 

So7nnos quod invitet leves. 
At cum tonentis annus hybernus Jovis 

Imbres nivesque comparat ; 
Aid trudit acres hinc, et June muUA cane 

Apros in obstantes plagas : 
Aid amite levi rara tendit retia ; 

Turdis edacibus dolos ; 
Pavidumque Icporem, et adcenam laqueo gruem, 

Jucunda cajHat praimia : 
Quis non malarum, quas amor curas habet, 

HcEC inter obliviscitur ? 
Qudd si pudica mulier in partem j'uvet 

Domum, atque didces liberos, 
(Sahina qicalis, aid jjerusta solibus 

Pernicis uxor Appidi) 
Sacrum vetusti extruat lignis focum 

Lassi sub adventum viri : 
Claudensque textis cratibus latum pecus 

Distenta siccct libera ; 
Et horna didci vina ptromens dolio, 

Dapes inemptas apparef ; 
Non me Lucrina juverint conchylia, 

Magisve rhombus, aut scari, 
Si quos Eois intonata Jluctibus 

Hyems ad hoc vertat mare : 
Von Afra avis descendat in ventrem meum 

Non attagcn lonicus, 
Jucundior, quam lecta de pinguissimis 

Oliva ramis arborum : 
Aut hnrba lapathi jvata aniantis, et gravi 

Malvoi salubres corpori ; 
Vel agna festis ceesa Tertninalibus : 

Vel hcedus erej^tus lupo. 
Has inter epulas, ut juvat pastas oves 

Videre piroperantcis domum ! 
Vidcre fp.ssos vomerem inversum bovea 

C'ollo trahentes languido ! 



PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE. 

Happy is he, thai from all business clear, 

As the old race of mankind Avere, 
With his owi'^ oxen tills his sire's left lands, 

And is not in the usurer's bands : 
Nor soldier-like, started with rough alarms. 

Nor dreads the sea's enraged harms : [boards, 
But flies the bar and courts, with the i^roud 

And waiting-chambers of great lords. 
The poplar tall he then doth mai-rying twine 

"With the grown issue of the vine ; 
And M'ith his hook lops off the fruitless race, 

And sets more happj' in the place : 
Or in the bending vale beholds afar 

■ The lowing herds there grazing are : 
Or the prcst honey in pure pots doth keep 

Of earth, and shears the tender sheep : [round 
Or when that autumn through the fields lifts 

His head, with mellow ajiples crown' d. 
How plucking pears, his own hand grafted had. 

And purple-matching grapes, he's glad ! 
With which, Priapus, he may thank thy hands, 

And, Sylvan, thine, that kept'st his lands ! 
Then now beneath some ancient oak he may 

Now in the rooted grass him lay. 
Whilst from the higher banks do slide the floods 

The soft birds quarrel in the woods. 
The fountains murmur as the streams do creeji. 

And all invite to easy sleep. [showers 

Then when the thund'ring Jove his snow and 

Are gathering by the wintry hours : [hound 
Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a 

Wild boars into his toils pitch'd round : 
Or strains on his small fork his subtle nets 

For th' eating thrush, or pit-falls sets : [crane, 
And snares the fearful hare, and new-come 

And 'counts them sweet rewards so ta'en, 
W"ho amongst these delights, would not forget 

Ijove's cares so evil and so great ? 
But if, to boot with these, a chaste wife meet 

For household aid, and children sweet ; 
Such as the Sabines, or a sun-burnt blowse, 

Some lusty quick Apulian's spouse, ■ 
To deck the hallow'd hearth with old wood fired 

Against the husband comes home tired ; 
That penning the glad flock in hurdles by, 

Their swelling udders doth draw dry : 
And from the sweet tub wine of this year takes, 

And unbought A'iands ready makes. 
Not Lucrine oysters I could then more prize, 

Nor turbot, nor bright golden eyes : 
If with bright floods, the winter troubled much, 

Into our seas send any such : 
The Ionian godwit, nor the ginny-hen 

Could not go down my belly then 
More sweet than olives, that new-gather'd be 

From fattest branches of the tree : 
Or the herb sorrel, that loves meadows still, 

Or mallows loosing bodies ill : 
Or at the feast of bounds, the lamb then slain, 

Or kid forc'd from the wolf again. 
Among these cates how glad the sight doth come 

Of the fed flocks approaching home : 
To view the weary oxen draw, with bare 

And fainting necks, the turned share ] 



I 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



863 



Positosqite vernas, ditis cxamen cloimh, 

Circiim renidenfes lares ! 
H(Pc ubi locutus, fcenerator A/j}hius, 

Jam jam fiitunis rusticus, 
Omncm rclegit Idibiis pecuniam ; 

Quferit calendis jionere. 



The wealtliy household swarm of bondmen met, 
And 'bout the steaming chimney set ! 

These thoughts Avhen usurer Alphius, now about 
To turn mere farmer, had spoke cut ; 

'Gainst the ides, his moneys he gets in with pain, 
At the calends puts all out again. 



HORACE, ODE I. LIB. IV. 

AD VENEREM. 

Iniermissa Venus din, 

Rursus bella tiioves f Farce 2n'ccor, precor 
Noil sum qualis ei'am bona; 

Sub regno Cijnarce : desine dulcium, 
Mater scBva Cupidinum, 

Cirea lustra deeem flectere molUbus 
Jam durum imperiis : abi 

Qud blandce juvenum to revocant preees. 
Tempestivius in domo 

Paull purpureis ales oloribus, 
Comessabere Maximi, 

Si torrerc jecur quaris idoneum, 
Namquo et nobilis, et deeens, 

Et pro solicitis non tacitus reis, 
Et centum puer artium, 

Lath signa feret militia tu(e. 
Et quandoque potentior 

Largi muneribus riserit amuli, 
Albanos pro^K te lacus 

Ponet marmorea?n sub trabe cgpreA, 
Illic p)lurima narlbus 

Duces thura, Igrceque, et Berecijnthid, 
Delectabcro tibid 

ilistis carminibus non sine Jistula. 
Illic bis pueri die, 

Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum 
Laudanfes, pede candido 

In morem Salium ter quatient humum. 
Me nee foenmia nee puer 

Jam, nee spes anhni credula rmUui, 
Nee certare juvat mero : 

Nee vincire novis tempora floribus, 
Scd cur, heu ! Ligurine, cur 

Manat rara meas lachryma per gcnas ? 
Cur facunda jjarum decoro 

Inter verba cadit lingua silentlo ? 
Nocturnis te ego somniis 

Jam captum ieneo, jam volucrem sequor 
Te j^er gramina Martii 

Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubilea. 



ODE I. BOOK IV 

TO VENUS. 

Venus, again thou mov'st a Avar 

Long intermitted, pray thee, pray thee spare : 
I am not such, as in the reign 

Of the good Cynara I was : refrain 
Sour mother of sweet Loves, forbear 

To bend a man now at his fiftieth year 
Too stubborn for commands so slack : [back. 

Go where youth's soft entreaties call thee 
More timely hie thee to the house, 

With thy bright swans, of Paulus Maximus : 
There jest and feast, make him thine host, 

If a fit liver thou dost seek to toast : 
For he's both noble, lovely, young. 

And for the troubled client fills his tongue • 
Child of a hundred arts, and far 

WiU he display the ensigns of thy war. 
And when he smiling finds his grace 

With thee 'bove all his rivals* gifts take place, 
He'll thee a marble statue make 

Beneath a sweet-wood roof near Alba lake. 
There shall thy dainty nostril take 

In many a gum, and for thy soft ears' sake 
Shall verse be set to harp and lute. 

And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the flute. 
There twice a day in sacred lays. 

The youths and tender maids shall sing thy 
And in the Salian manner meet [praise : 

Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory feet. 
Me now, nor wench, nor wanton boj', 

Delights, nor credulous hope of mutual joy • 
Nor care I now healths to pr«iDound, 

Or with fresh flowers to girt my temple round 
But why, oh why, my Ligurine, [of mine r 

Flow my thin tears down these pale cheeks 
Or Avhy my well-grac'd words among 

AVith an luicomely silence fails my tongue ? 
Hard-hearted, I dream every night [light, 

I hold thee fast ! but fled hence, with the 
Whether in Mars his field thou be. 

Or Tyber's winding streams, I follow thee 



ODE IX. LIB. III. AD LYDIAM. 

DIALOGUS HORATII ET LYDI^. 

Hor. Donee gratus cram tibi, 

Nee quisquam p)otior braehia t andidce 

Cervici juvenis dabat ; 
Pei-sarum vigui rege beatior. 



ODE IX. BOOK III. TO LYDIA. 

DIALOGUE OF HORACE AND LYDIA. 

Hor. AVhilst, Lydia, I was lov'd of thee, 

And 'bout thy ivory neck no yc.ith did fling 

His arms more acceptably free, 
I thought me richer than the Persian kir.g 



864 



TRANSLATIONS "FROM THE LATIN POETS. 



Lyd. Donee non alid magis 

Arsisti, ncque erat Lydia post Cldolin, 

MuUi Lydia nominis 
Jiomand vigui clarior Hid. 

Hor. Me mine Thressa C'hhd regit, 

Dulces clocta modos et citharce sciens : 

Pro qua 7ion metuam mori,. 
Si parcent animce fata siqierstiti, 

Lyd. Me iorret face mufiid 

TJmrini Calais Jilius Ornithi : 

Pro quo his patiar mori, 
Si parcent puero fata supersiiti. 

Hor. Quid si prisca redit Ve7ius, 
Diductosque jugo cogit aheneo ? 

Si flava excutitur Chlog, 
Picjectceque pafet janua Lydice ? 

Lyd. Quamquani sidere pulchrior 

Ille est, tu levior corticc, et hnproho 

Iracundior Adrid, 
Tecum vivere amem, tecum oheam libcns. 



Lyd. Whilst Horace lov'd no mistress more, 
Nor after Chloe did his Lydia sound ; 

In name, I went all names before, 
The Roman Ilia was not more renown' d. 

Hor. 'Tis true, I'm Thracian Chloe's I, [plays 
Who sings so sweet, and with such cunning; 

As, for her, I'ld not fear to die, 
So fate would give her life, and longer days 

Lyd. And I am mutually on fire 

With gentle Calais, Thurine Ornith's son, 

For whom I doubly would expire. 
So fate would let the boy a long thread run. 

Hor. But say old love return should make, 
And us disjoin'd force to her brazen j'oke ; 

That I bright Chloe off should shake. 
And to left Lydia, now the gate stood ope r 

Lyd. Though he be fairer than a star ; . 
Thou lighter than the bark of any tree, 

And than rough Adria angrier far ; 
Yet would I wish to love, live, die with thee. 



Fragmentum Pethox. Arbitr. 

Fceda est in coitu, et brevis voluptas, 

Et tmdct Veneris statim peractce. 

Non ergo ut pccudes libidinosce, 

Caci pirotiniis irruamus illuc : 

Nam languescit amor p>eritque flamma, 

Sed sic, sic, sine fine feriaii, 

JLt tecum jaceamus osculantos : 

Hie nullus labor est, ruborque nulhis ; 

Hoc Juvit, juvat, et din juvabit : 

Hoe non deficit, ineipitque semper. 



Fragment of Petron. Arbiter translated. 

Doing, a filthy pleasure is, and short ; 

And done, we straight repent us of the sport : 

Let us not then rush blindly on unto it, 

Like lustful beasts that only know to do it : 

For lust will languish, and that heat decay. 

But thus, thus, keeping endless holiday, 

Let us together closely lie and kiss, 

There is no labor, nor no shame in tliis ; 

This hath pleas'd, doth please, and long will 

please ; never 
Can this decay, but is beginning ever. 



Epigramma Martialis, Lib. viiL. ep. 77. 

Liber, amicorum dulcissima cura tuorum, 

Liber in aterna vivere digne rosd ; 
Si sapis, Assyrio semper tibi crinis amoino 

Sjilendeat, et cingant florea serf a captct : 
Candida 7iigrescant vctulo crystalla Falerno, 

Et caleat blando mollis amore thorns. 
Qui sic, vcl medio finitus vixit in cevo, 

Longior huic facta est, quam data vita fuit. 



Epigram op Martial, viii. 77. — translated. 

Liber, of all thy friends, thy sweetest care, 
Thou worthy in eternal flower to fare. 

If thou be'st wise, with Syrian oil let shine 
Thy locks, and rosy garlands crown thy head * 

Dark thy clear glass with old Falernian wine, 
And heat with softest love thy softer bed. 

He, that but living half his days, dies such. 

Makes his life longer than 'twas given him, 
much. 



SYLYA. 



Rcrum, ei seT^nllarum, quasi "i7i; dicta a multijMci materia, ct varidate, in iis content A. Quemad- 
niodum enini rulyo snlctnus infinitam arborum nascentium incliscriminatim multitudinom Si/Ivam dicore . 
ita ctiam libros suos in qiiibus varies et diversca materia ojniscula temere congcsta erant, Si/lvas avpellu' 
haiU antiqui, Tin.bcr-trees. 



TIMBER 



DISCOVEEIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER, 

AS THEY HAVE PLOWED OUT OF HIS DAILY READINGS, OU HAD THEIll EEFLUX TO HIS PECULIAB 

NOTION OF THE TIMES. 

Tecum kabita, ut ndris quam sit tibi curta supelle.x. — Peks. Sat. 4. 



Fortuna. - 111 fortune never crusli'd that 
man, whom pood fortune deceived not. I there- 
fore have counselled my friends, never to trust 
to her fairer side, though she seemed to make 
peace with them : but to place all things she 
gave them, so as she might ask them again with- 
out their trouble : she might take them from 
them, not pull them ; to keep always a distance 
between her, and themselves. He knows not 
his own strength, that hath not met adversity. 
Heaven prepares good men Avith crosses ; but 
no ill can happen to a good man. Contraries 
are not mixed. Yet, that Avhich happens to 
any man, may to every man. But it is in his 
reason vs^hat he accounts it, and will make it. 

Casus. — Change into extremity is very fre- 
quent, and easy. As when a beggar suddenly 
grows rich, he commonly becomes a prodigal ; 
for to obscure his former obscurity, he puts on 
riot and excess. 

Consilia. — No man is so foolish, but may 
give another good counsel sometimes ; and no 
man is so wise, but may easily err, if he will 
^ake no others counsel but his own. But very 
few men are Aviso by their own counsel ; or 
learned by their own teaching. For he that 
was only taught by himself,' had a fool to his 
master. 

Fama. — A Fame that is wounded to the 
world, Avould be better cured by another's apol- 
ogy, than its own : for few can aj^i^ly medicines 
well themselves. Besides, the man that is once 
hated, both his good, and his evil deeds oppress 
him. He is not easily emergent. 

Negotia. — In great affairs it is a work of diffi- 
culty to please all. And oft-times we lose the 
occasions of carrying a business well, and thor- 

1 AvTodiSaaKaKo^. 
55 



oughly, by our too much haste. For -passions 
are spiritual rebels, and raise sedition against 
the understanding. 

Amor patrio!. — There is a necessity all men 
should love their country : he that professeth the 
contrary, may be delighted with his words, but 
his heart is there. 

Iiigcnia. — Natures that are hardened to evil 
you shall sooner break, than make straight ; they 
are like poles that are crooked and dry ; there 
is no attempting them. 

Applausus. — We praise the things we hear, 
with much more willingness, than those we 
see ; because Ave envy the present, and rever- 
ence the past ; thinking ourselves instructed by 
the one, and OA'cr-laid by the other. 

Opinio. — Opinion is a light, vain, crude, and 
imperfect thing, settled in the imagination ; but 
never arriving at the understanding, there to 
obtain the tincture of reason. AVe labor Avith 
it more than truth. There is much more holds 
us, than presseth us. An ill fact is one thing, 
an ill-fortune is another : yet both oftentimes 
SAvay us alike, by the error of our thinking. 

Impostura. — Many men believe not them- 
seh'es, AA'hat they Avould persuade others ; and 
less do the things, Avhich they Avould impose on 
others : but least of all, knoAV AA'hat they them- 
selves most confidently boast. Only they set 
the sign of the cross over their outer doors, and 
sacrifice to their gut and their groin in their in- 
ner closets. 

Jactura vita'. — AVhat a deal of cold business 
doth a man mispend the better part of life in ! 
in scattering compliments, tendering Adsits, 
gathering and A'cnting news, following feasts 
and plays, making a little Avinter-love in a dark 
corner. 

Hypocrita. — Puritanus hypocrita est h(Preiicus, . 
865 



866 



DISCOVERIES. 



quern opinio propria, perspicaciw, gud sibi videtur, 
cum 2iaitcis in ecclesid dogmatibus, errores quos- 
dam aniinadcertisse, dc statu mentis deturbavit : 
xinde sacrn furore percitus, phrcnetice pwjnat 
contra marjistratus, sic ratus obcdien/iam pirccstare 
Deo. 

Mufua auxilia. — Learning needs rest : sover- 
eignty gives it. Sovereignty needs counsel : 
learning affords it. There is such a consocia- 
tion of offices, between the prince and whom 
his favor breeds, that they may help to sustain 
his power, as he their knowledge. It is the 
greatest part of his liberality, his favor : and 
from whom doth he hear discipline more willing- 
ly, or the arts discours'd more glady, than from 
those whom his own bounty, and benefits have 
made able and faithful ? 

Cognit. univers. — In being able to counsel 
others, a man must be furnished with an uni- 
versal store in himself, to the knowledge of all 
nature : that is the matter, and seed plot ; there 
are the scats of all argument, and invention. 
But especially you must be cunning in the na- 
ture of man : there is the variety of things which 
are as the elements, and letters, which his art 
and Avisdom must rank, and order to the present 
occasion. For .we see not all letters in single 
words; nor all places in particular discourses. 
That cause seldom happens, wherein a man Avill 
use all arguments. 

ConsiUarii adjunct. Probitas, Sapientia. — The 
two chief things that give a man reputation in 
counsel, are the opinion of his honesty, and the 
opinion of his wisdom : the authority of those 
two will persuade, when the same counsels ut- 
tered by other persons less qualified, are of no 
efficacy, or working. 

Vita recta. — Wisdom without honesty is mere 
craft, and cozenage. And therefore the repu- 
tation of honesty must first be gotten ; which 
cannot be but by living well. A good life is u 
main argument. 

Obscqucntia. — Humanitas. — Solicitudo. — Next 
a good life, to beget love in the persons we 
counsel, by dissembling our knowledge of abil- 
ity in ourselves, and avoiding all suspicion of 
arrogance, ascribing all to tneir instruction, as 
an ambassador to his master, or a subject to his 
sovereign ; seasoning all with humanity and 
sweetness, only expressing care and solicitude. 
And not to counsel rashly, or on the sudden, 
but with advice and meditation : {Dat nox con- 
silium.') For many foolish things fall from wise 
men, if they speak in haste, or be cxtcmporal. 
It therefore behoves the giver of counsel to be 
circumspect; especially to beware of those, with 
whom he is not thoroughly acquainted, lest any 
spice of rashness, folly, or self-love appear, 
which will be marked by new persons, and men 
of experience in afftiirs. 

Mudcsiia. — Parrhcsia. — And to the prince, 
or his superior, to behave himself modestly, 
and with respect. Yet free from flatt^■:5^ or 
empire. Not with insolence, or precept ; but 
as the prince wqvq already furnished with the 
parts he should have, especially in affairs of 
state. For in other things they will more easily 
suffer themselves to be taught, or reprehended • 
they will not willingly contend. But hear (-Rdtli 



Alexander) the answer the musician gave him, 
Ahsit, 6 rex, tit tu melius hae scias, quhm egc.^ 

ferspicuitas. — Elogantia. — A man should so 
deliver himself to the nature of the subject 
whereof he speaks, that his hearer may take 
knowledge of his discipline wdth some delight : 
and so ajiiDarol fair and good matter, that the 
studious of elegancy be not defrauded ; redeem 
arts from their rough and brakoy seats, whoze 
they lay hid, and overgrown Avith thorns, to a 
pure, open, and flowery light i where they may 
take the eye, and be taken by the hand. 

Natura non ejfcota. — I cannot think Nature is 
so spent and decayed, that she can bring forth 
nothing worth her former years. SIio is always 
the same, like herself; and when .she collects 
her strength, is abler still. Men are decayed, 
and studies : she is not. 

Non iiimiiim credendum antiquilati. — I knov/ 
nothing can conduce more to letters, than to 
examine the writings of the ancients, and not 
to rest in their sole authority, or take all upon 
trust from them ; provided the plagues of judg- 
ing and pronouncing against them be away ; 
such as are Gn\y, bitterness, prcciijitation, ijn- 
pudence, and scurril scoffing. For to all the 
observations of the ancients, we have our own 
experience ; which if we will use, and apply, 
we have better means to pronounce. It is true 
they opened the gates, and made the way that 
went before us ; but as guides, not commanders ; 
Non domini nostri, scd daces j'uvrc. Truth lia" 
open to all ; it is no man's several. Patet om~ 
nibus Veritas ; nonduni est occupaia. Multum eu> 
illd, etiam futuris t dicta est. 

Dissentire licet, sed cum ratione. — If in some 
things I di3se:>.t from other :^, whose v.it, industry, 
diligerce, and judgmeTit I look up at, and ad- 
mire ; let me not therefere hear presently of 
ingratitude, and rasliness. For I thank those 
that have taught me, and will ever : but yet 
dare luit tliiiik the scope of their labor and in- 
quiry was to er.vy their posterity, what they 
also could add, and find out. 

Non miki credendum sed veritati. — If I err, 
pardon me : Nulla ars simul et inventa est, et ab- 
coluta. I do not desire to be equal to those that 
went before ; but to have my reason exammed 
with theirs, and so much faith to be given them, 
or me, as those shall evict. I am neither authot 
nor fautor of any sect. I will have no man ad- 
dict himself to me ; but if I have any thing 
right, defend it as Truth's, not mine, save as i" 
conduccth to a common good. It profits no* 
me to have any man fence or fight for me, to 
flourish, or take my side. Stand for Truth, and 
'tis enough. 

Scicntite liberales. — Arts that respect the 
mind, were ever reputed nobler than those that 
serve the body : though we less can be without 
them. As tiliage, spinning, weaving, building, 
&c., without which, we could scarce sustain 
I'fe a day. But these were the works of every 
hand ; the other of the brain only, and those 
the most generous and exalted wits and sph-its, 
tl.at cannot rest, or acquiesce. The mind oi 
lauii is still fed with labor — Opere pnscitur. 

1 i']'itarch in vita Ales. 



DISCOVERIES. 



867 



No}i milf/i sunt. — There is a more secret cause : 

and the power of liberal studies lies more hid, 

than that it can be wrought out by profane wits. 

It is not every man's way to hit. They are 

men, I confess, that set the caract, and value 

upon things, as they love them ; but science is 

not every man's mistress. It is a.s great a spite 

..to be praised in the wrong place, and by a wrong 

..nerson. as can be done to a noble nature. 

•f Honesfa ainhltio. — If divers men seek fame 

or honor by divers ways ; so both be honest, 

neither is to be blamed : but they that seek 

immortality, are not only worthy of love, but 

of praise. 

Marilus iiniJrohus. — lie hath a delicate wife, 
H fair fortune, and family to go to be welcome ; 
yet he had rather be drunk with mine host, 
and the fiddlers of such a town, than go home. 

Affiictlo pia majistra. — AfRiction teacheth a 
wicked person some time to pray : prosperity 
never. 

Deploratis facills descension Averiii. — The devil 
take all. — Many might go to heaven with half 
the lab^r they go to hell, if they would venture 
their industry the right waj^ : but the devil 
take all (quoth he) that v/as choak'd in the 
mill-dam, with his four last words in his mouth. 

Aegidlus cursu superat. — A cripple in the 
way out- travels a footman, or a post out of the 
way. 

Frodigo immmi nauci. — Bags of money to 
!\, prodigal person, are the same that cherrj''- 
3tones are with some boys, and so thrown away. 

Munda et sordida. — A woman, the more curi- 
ous she is about her face, is commonly the more 
careless about her house. 

Debilum dsijlo ration. — Of this spUt water, 
there is a little to be gathered up : it is a des- 
perate debt. 

Lairo scsquipcdalls. — The thief i that had a 
longing at the gallows to commit one robbery 
more, before he was hanged. 

And like the German lord,- when he went 
out of Newgate into the cart, took order to 
have his arms set up in his last herborough : 
said he was taken, and committed upon sus- 
picion of treason ; no witness appearing against 
him : but the judgcs_ entertained him most civ- 
illy, discoursed with him, offered him the cour- 
tesy of the rack ; but he confessed, &c. 

CalaimiicB fructus. — I am beholden to cal- 
umny, that she hath so endeavored, and taken 
pains to belie me. It shall make me set a surer 
guard on myself, and keep a better watch upon 
my actions. 

Importinens. — A tedious person is one a man 
would leap a steeple from, gallop down any steep 
hill to avoid him ; forsake his meat, sleep, na- 
ture itself, with all her benefits, to shun him. 
A mere impertinent ; one that touched neither 
heaven nor earth in his discourse. He opened 
an entry into a fair room, but shut it again 
presently. I spake to him of garlic, he an- 
swered asparagus : consulted him of marriage, 
he teUs me of hanging, as if they went by one 
iiud the same destiny. 



- With a great belly. 

" Comes Ue Sclierterihein 



Bellum scrlbentiiim. — What a sight it is tc 
see Avritcrs committed together by the ears foi 
ceremonies, syllables, points, colons, commaS; 
hyphens, and the like ! lighting as for their 
fires aiad their altars ; and angry that none are 
frighted at their noises, and loudbrayings undei 
their asses skins. 

There is hope of getting a fortune withou* 
digging in these quarries. Sed mellore {in omnej 
ingenio, animoque quam fortunA, sum tisus. 

Pingue solum lassat; sed juvat ipse labor. 

Dijferentia inter doctos et sciolos. — Wits made 
oiit their several expeditions then, for the dis- 
covery of truth, to find out great and profitable 
knowledges ; had their several instruments for 
the disquisition of arts. Now there are certain 
scioli or smatterers, that are busy in the skirti 
and outsides of learning, and have scarce any 
thing of solid literature to commend them. They 
may have some edging or trimming of a scholar, 
a welt, or so : but it is no more. 

Impostorum fucus. — Imposture is a specious 
thing : j-et never worse than when it feigns to 
be best, and to none discovered sooner than the 
simplest. For truth and goodness are plain and 
open ; but imposture is ever ashamed of the 
light. 

Icimculoruni molio. — A puppet-play must be 
shadowed, and seen in the dark : for draw the 
curtain, et sordet gesticulatio. 

Princi2)es, et administri. — There is a great 
difference in the understanding of some princes, 
as in the quality of their ministers about them. 
Some would dress their masters in gold, pearl, 
and all true jewels of majesty : others furnish 
them with feathers, belLs, and ribands ; and 
are therefore esteemed the fitter servants. But 
they are ever good men, that must make good 
the times : if the men be naught, the times 
will be such. Finis expeetandus est in unoqito- 
que homimmi ; animali ad mutationeni 2}i'oinplis- 
simo. 

Saition Ilispanicum. — It is a qidck saying with 
the Spaniards, Artes inter hceredes non dividi. 
Yet these have inherited their father's lying, 
and they brag of it. He is a narrow-minded 
man, that affects a triumph in any glorious 
study ; but to triumph in a lie, and a lie them- 
selves have forged, is frontless. Folly often 
goes beyond her bounds ; but Impudence knows 
none. 

Non nova res livor. — Envy is no new thing, 
nor was it born only in our times. The ages 
past have brought it forth, and the coming ages 
will. So long as there are m-cn fit for it, quo- 
rum odium virtute relictd placet, it will never be 
wanting. It is a barbarous envy, to take from 
those men's virtues, Avhich because thou canst 
not arrive at, thou impotently despairest to im- 
itate. Is it a crime in me that I know that, which 
others had not yet known, but from me ? or that 
I am the author of many things, which ricver 
would have come in thy thought, but that I 
taught them ? It is a new, but a foolish way 
you have found out, that whom you cannot 
equal, or come near in doing, you would destroy 
or ruin Avith evi. speaking : as if you had bound 
both your wits and nature's prentices to slander 



8C8 



DISCOVERIES. 



and then came forth the best artificers, when you 
could form the foulest calumnies. 

Nil gratias protervo lib. — Indeed nothing is 
ol more credit or request noAV, than a petiilant 
paper, or scoffing verses ; and it is but con- 
venient to the times and manners Ave live with, 
tr\ have then the worst writings and studies 
flourish, when the best begin to be desjDised. 
Ill arts begin where good end. 

Jam literce sordcnt. — Pastas hodiern. Iiigen. — 
The time was when men would learn and study 
good things, not envy those that had them. Then 
men were had in price for learning ; now letters 
only make men vile. He is upbraidingly called 
a poet, as if it were a contemptible nick-name : 
but the professors, indeed, have made the learn- 
ing cheap. Railing and tinkling rhymers, v/hose 
writings the vulgar more greedily read, as being 
taken with the scurrility and petulancy of such 
wits. He shall not have a reader now, unless 
he jeer and lie. It is the food of men's natures ; 
the diet of the times ! gallants cannot sleep else. 
The writer must lie, and the gentle readers rest 
happiy, to hear the worthiest works misinterpret- 
ed, the Clearest actions obscured, the innocent- 
ost life traduced : and in such a license of lying, 
a field so fruitful of slanders, how can there be 
matter wanting to his laughter ? Hence comes 
the e2:)idcmical infection: for how can they es- 
cape the contagion of the writings, whom the 
virulency of the calumnies hath not staved off 
from reading ? 

Sed seculi morbus. — Nothing doth more invite 
a greedy reader, than an unlooked-for subject. 
And what more unlooked-for, than to see a 
person of an unblamed life made ridiculous, or 
odious, by the artifice of lying ? but it is the 
disease of the age : and no wonder if the world, 
growing old, begin to bo infirm : old age itself 
is a disease. It is long since the sick world be- 
gan to doat and talk idly : would she had but 
doated still I but her dotage is now broke 
forth into a madness, and become a mere 
frenzy. 

Alastoris maliiia. — This Alastor, who hath left 
nothing unsearched, or unassailed, by his im- 
pudent and licentious lying in his aguish writ- 
ings ; (for he was in his cold quaking fit all the 
while ;) what hath he done more, than a trou- 
blesome base cur ? barked and made a noise afar 
off; had a fool or two to sjiit in his mouth, and 
cherish him with a musty bone ? but they are 
rather enemies of my fame than me, these 
barkers. 

Mali Choragifuere. — If is an art to have so 
much judgment as to apparel a lie well, to give 
it a good dressing ; that though the nakedness 
would show deformed and odious, the suiting 
of it might draw their readers. Some love any 
Btrumpet (bo she never so shop-like or meretri- 
cious) in good clothes. But these, nature could 
not have formed them better, to destroy their 
own testimony, and overthrow their calumny. 

Hear-sai/ ncios. — That an elei:)hant, in 1630, 
came hither ambassador from the groat Mogul 
(who could both write and read) and was every 
day alloM-cd twelve cast of bread, twenty quarts 
of Canary sack, besides nuts and almonds the 
3itizens wives sent him. Tliat he had a Span- 



ish boy t ~) his interpi-eter, and his chief ncgoci- 
ation wa?, to confer or practise with Archj-, the 
principal fool of state, about stealing hence 
Windsor- castle, and cartying it away on liis 
back if he can. 

Lingua sapientis, potiics quhrn loquentis A 

wise tongue should not be licentious and wan- 
dering ; but moved, and, as it were, governe 
with certain reins from the heart, and bottor 
of the breast : and it was excellently said of 
that philosopher, tliat there Avas a wall or parape* 
of teeth set in our mouth, to restrain the petulan- 
cy of our words ; that the rashness of talking 
should not only be retarded by the guard and 
watch of our heart, but be fenced in, and defended 
by certain strengths, placed in the mouth itself, 
and within the lips. Rut you shall see some so 
abound with words, without any seasoning or 
taste of matter, in so profound a security, as 
while they are speaking for the most part, they 
confess to speak they not what. 

Of the two (if either were to be wished) I 
would rather have a plain downright wisdom, 
than a foolish and affected eloquence. Fo.r 
what is so furious and Bethlcm like, as a vain 
sound of chosen and excellent words, without 
any subject of sentence or science mixed ? 

Optanda. — Thersites Ilomeri. — Whom the 
disease of talking still once possesseth, he can 
never hold his peace. Nay, rather than he Avil 
not discourse he will hire men to hoar him. 
And so heard, not hearkened unto, he comes 
off most times like a mountebank, that when 
he hath praised his medicines, finds none wiU 
take them, or trust him. He is like Homer's 
Thersites. 

'AiiiTQoinijC, uxi)itUiv&oq, Speaking without 
judgment or measure. 

Loquax Kia<ris, quiiii facundus, 

Satis liiqucntia;, saiiienlia; parum.l 

FAwcro-ryf roi Ori^avpoi tti dvO/jdiTroKTiv updiTDS 

<^£i(}c^)^i;{, TrAiiarj) f!t Xii/Jif Kara fiirijov iouatu,^ 

Optimum est liomiiii linguEB tiiesauriis, et iiigens 

Gratia, qum parcis mensurat singula verbis. 

Ilomeri Ulysses. — Demacatus Plutarchi. - 
Ulysses in Homer, is made a long-thinking 
man, before he speaks ; and Epaminondas is 
celebrated by Pindar, to be a man, that though 
he knew much, yet he spoke but little. Demac- 
atus, Avhcn on the bench he was long silent, and 
said nothing ; one asking him, if it were folly 
in him, or want of language ? he answered, A 
fool could never hold his j^eace.^ For too much 
talking is ever the indice of a fool. 

Diiiu tacet indor.tiis, poterit cordatus habeii ; 
Ls morbus animi iiamque tacendo tegit.i 

Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno the philos- 
opher to bo passed over, with the note of ig- 
norance ; Avlio being invited to a feast in Athens, 
where a great prince's ambassadors were enter- 
tained, and v.'as the only person that said noth- 
ing at the table ; one of them with courtesy 
asked him. What shall we return from thee, 
Zeno, to the prince our master, if he asks us of 

1 Salbist. 

- Ilosiodns. 

3 Vid. Zeuxidis pict. Scrm. ad Jlogabizum. 

* I'liitarch. 



DISCOVERIES. 



869 



thee ? Nothing, he replied, more, but that you 
found an old man in Athens, that knew_to be 
silent amonn;st his cups. It was near a miracle 
to see an old man silent, since talking is the 
disease of age ; but amongst cups makes it fully 
a wonder. 

Argute dictum. — It was wittilj' said upon one 
that was taken for a great and grave man, so 
long as he held his peace : This man might have 
been a counsellor of state, till ho spoke : but 
having spoken, not the beadle of the ward. 
*Eytuv6[a. Pi/tharj. qudin laudabilis .' yXiLaatig nn'o 
iwv aXlwv youTit, 6eorg f.Tousio?. Linguani cohibe, 
pr<B allis omnibus, ad deorum exetnplumA Digito 
compesce labellumfi 

Acufius cermmtur vitia qtiam virtutcs. — There 
is almost no man but he sees clearlicr and sharp- 
er the vices in a speaker, than the virtues. 
And there are many, that with more case will 
find fault with what is spoken foolishly, than 
can give allowance to that wherein you are wise 
silently. The treasure of a fool is always in his 
tongue, said the witty comic poet ; ^ and it ap- 
pears not in any thing more than in that nation, 
whereof one, when he had got the inheritance 
of an unlucky old grange, would needs sell it ; ^ 
and to draw buyers proclaimed the virtues of it. 
Nothing ever thrived on it, saith he. No owner 
of it ever died in his bed; some hung, some 
irowned themselves ; some were banished, some 
starved ; the trees were all blasted ; the swine 
died of the meazles, the cattle of the murrain, 
the sheep of the rot ; they that stood wore rag- 
god, bare, and bald as your hand ; nothing was 
ever reared there, not a duckling, or a goose. 
Ilospitium fucrat calumitatis.^ Was not this man 
like to sell it. 

Vulgi expcciatio. — Expectation of the vulgar 
is more drawn and held with newness tlian good- 
ness ; we see it in fencers, in players, m poets, 
in preachers, in all where fame promiseth any 
thing ; so it be new, though never so naught and 
depraved, they run to it, and are taken. Which 
shews, that the only decay, or hurt of the best 
men's reputation with the people is, their wits 
have out-lived the people's palates. They have 
been too much or too long a feast. 

Claritaa patrice. — Greatness of name in the 
father oft-times helps not forth, but overwhelms 
the son ; they stand too near one another. The 
shadow kills the growth : so much, that we see 
the grandchild come more and oftener to be heir 
of the iirst, than doth the second : he dies be- 
tween; the possession is the third's. 

Ehquentia. — Eloquence is a great and diverse 
thing : nor did she yet ever favor any man so 
much as to become wholly his. lie is happy 
that can arrive to any degree of her grace. Yet 
there are who prove themselves masters of her, 
and absolute lords ; but I believe they may mis- 
take their evidence : for it is one thing to be elo- 
quent in the schools, or in the liall ; another at 
th.Q bar, or in the pulpit. There is a difference 
between mooting and pleading ; between fencing 

1 Vide Apiileiuiii. 

2 Juveii;il. 

3 Plautus. 

4 Trill. Act 2. Seen. 4. 
6 Mart. lib. J.ep. 85. 



and fighting. To make arguments in mj- study, 
and confute them, is easy ; where I answer my- 
self, not an adversary. So I can see whole vol- 
umes dispatched by the umbratical doctors on 
all sides : but draw these forth into the just lists : 
let them appear sub dio, and tlicy are changed 
with the place, like bodies bred in the shade ; 
they cannot suffer the sun or a shower, nor bear 
the open air ; tliey scarce can find themselves; 
that they were wont to domineer so among their 
auditors : but indeed I would no more choose a 
rhetorician for reigning in a school, than I would 
a pilot for rowing in a pond. 

Amor ct odium. — Love that is ignorant, and 
hatred, have almost the same ends : many fool- 
ish lovers wish tlie same to their friends, which 
their enemies would : as to wish a friend ban- 
ished, that they might accompany him in exile , 
or some great want, that they might relieve him ; 
or a disease, thatthej^ might sit by him. They 
make a causeway to their country by injuxj-, as 
if it were not honester to do notliing than to 
seek a way to do good by a mischief. 

Injuria. — Injuries do not extinguish courte- 
sies : they only suffer them not to appear fair. 
For a man that doth me an injury after a cour- 
tesj-, takes not away that courtesy, but defaces 
it : as he that writes other verses upon my 
verses, takes not away the first letters, but hides 
them. 

Beneficia. — Nothing is a courtesy unless it be 
meant us ; and that friendly and lovingly. We 
owe no thanks to rivers, that they carry our 
boats ; or winds, that they be favoring and fill 
our sails ; or meats, that they be nourishing. 
For these are what they are necessarily. Horses 
carry us, trees shade us, but they know it not. 
It is true, some men may receive a courtesy, and 
not know it ; but never any man received it 
from him that knew it not. Many men have 
been cured of diseases by accidents ; but they 
were not remedies. I myself have known one 
helped of an ague by falling into a water, anothef 
whipped out of a fever : but no man would ever 
use these for medicines. It is the mind, and 
not the event, that distinguisheth the courtesy 
from wrong. My adversary may offend the judge 
M'ith his pride and impertinences, and I win my 
cause ; but he meant it not to me as a courtesy. 
I escaped pirates by being shipwrecked, was 
the wreck a benefit therefore ? No : the doing 
of courtesies aright, is the mixing of the respects 
for his own sake, and for mine. He that dooth 
them merely for his own sake, is like one that 
feeds his cattle to sell them. : he hath his horse 
well dressed for Smithfield. - 

Valor rerum. — The price of many things is far 
above what they are bought and sold for. Life 
and health, which are both inestimable, we havq 
of the physician : as learning and knowledge, 
tlie true tillage of tlio mind, from our school- 
masters. But the fees of the one, or the salary 
of the other, never answer the value of what w'C 
received ; but served to gratify their labors. 

Memoria. — Memory, of all the jDOwers of the 
mind, is the most delicate, and frail : it is the 
first of our faculties that age invades. Seneca, 
the father, the rhetorician, confesseth of himself, 
he liad a miraculous one j not only to receive 



870 



DISCOVERIES. 



but to hold. I myself could, in my youth, have 
repeated all that ever I had made, and so contin- 
ued till I ^vas jiast forty : since, it is much de- 
cayed in mc. Yet I can repeat Vv^hole books that I 
have read, and poems of some selected friends, 
^vhich I have liked to charge my memory with. 
It was wont to be faithful to mc, but shaken v\"ith 
age now, and sloth, which weakens the strong- 
est abilities, it may perform somewhat, but can- 
not promise much. By exercise it is to be made 
better, and serviceable. Whatsoever I pawned 
with it while I was young and a boy, it offers 
me readily, and without stops : but what I trust 
to it now, or have done of later years, it lays iip 
more negligently, and oftentimes loses ; so that 
I receive mine own (though frequently called 
for) as if it were new and borrowed. Nor do I 
always find presently from it what I seek ; birt 
while I am doing another thing, that I labored 
for will come : and what I sought with trouble, 
v/ill offer itself when I am quiet. Now in some 
men I have found it as happy as nature, who, 
whatsoever they read or pen, they can say with- 
out book presently ; as if they did then write in 
their mind. And it is more a wonder in such as 
have a swift style, for their memories are com- 
monly slov,-est ; such as torture their writings, 
and go into council for OA'ery ■S'S'ord, must needs 
fix somewhat, and make it their own at last, 
thougli but through their own vexation. 

Comit. suffragia. — Suffrages in parliament are 
numbered, not weighed : nor can it be other- 
wise in those public councils, Avhere nothing is 
so unequal as the equality : for there, how odd 
Boever men's brains or wisdoms are, their power 
is always even and the same. 

Stare a partibiis. — Some actions, be they 
never so beautiful and generous, are often ob- 
scured by base and vile misconstructions, either 
out of envy, or ill-nature, that judgeth of others 
as of itself. Nay, the times are so wholly grown to 
be either partial or malicious, that if he be a 
friend, all sits well about him, his very vices shall 
be virtues ; if an enemy, or of the contrary fac- 
tion, nothing is good or tolerable in him : inso- 
much that we care not to discredit and shame 
our judgments, to sooth our jjassions. 

Dilus ill craaturis. — Man is read in his face ; 
God in his creatures ; but not as the philoso- 
pher, the creature of glory, reads him : but as 
the divine, the servant of humility : yet even he 
must take care not to bo too curious. For to 
utter truth of God (but as he thinks only) may 
be dangerous ; who is best known by our not 
knowing. Some things of him, so much as he 
hath revealed, or commanded, it is not only law- 
ful but necessary for us to know : for therein 
our ignorance was the first cause of our wick- 
edness. 

Veritas proxirium hominis. — Truth is man's 
proper good ; and the only immortal thing was 
given to our mortality to use. No good Christian 
or ethnic, if he be honest, can miss it : no states- 
man or patriot should. For without truth all 
the actions of mankind are craft, malice, or what 
you will, rather than wisdom. Homer says, he 
hates him worse than hell-moutJi, that utters 
Dne thing w,ith his tongue, and keeps another in 
his bieast. "Which high expression Avas ground- 



ed on divine reason : for a lying mouth is a 
stinking pit, and murders Avith the contagion it 
ventefh. Beside, nothing is lasting that 13 
feigned ; it Avill have another face than it had, 
erelong. As Euripides saith, " Nolle ever groAvs 
old." 

XiiUum vitiuin sine patrocinio. — It is strange 
there should be no vice Avithout its patronage, 
that, Avhen Ave have no other excuse, Ave Avill say, 
Ave love it ; Ave cannot forsake it. As if thai 
made it not more a fault. We cannot, because 
Ave think Ave cannot, and Ave loA'e it, because wa 
Avill defend it. We Avill rather excuse it, than 
be rid of it. That Ave cannot, is pretended ; but 
that we Avill not, is the true reason. Hoav many 
have I knoA\"n, that Avould not have theii trices 
hid ? nay, and to be noted, live like antipodes to 
others in the same city .'' ncA'er see the sun rise 
or set, in so many years ; but be as they Avcre 
Avatching a corpse by torch-light ; Avould not sin 
the common Avay, but held that a kind of rus- 
ticity ; they Avould do it noAv, or contrarj', for the 
infamy ; they Avere ambitious of living back- 
Avard ; and at last arrived at that, as they Avould 
love nothing but the vices, not the A'icious cus- 
toms. It Avas impossible to reform these na- 
tures ; they Avere dried and hardened in their 
ill. They may say they desired to leave it ; but do 
not trust them : and they ma}' think they desire 
it, but tliey may lie for all that : they are a little 
angry Avith their follies noAV and then ; marry 
they come into grace Avitli them again quickly. 
They Avill confess they are offended Avith their 
manner of liA-ing : like enough ; Avho is not ? 
AVhen they can put me in security that they 
are more than offended, tlrat they hate it, then I 
Avill hearken to them ; and perhaps believe 
them : but many now a days love and hate their 
ill together. 

De vere argutis. — I do hear them say often, 
some men are not Avitty ; because they are not 
every Avhere Avitty ; than Avhich nothing is more 
foolish. If an eye or a nose be an excellent 
part in the face, therefore be all eye or nose ! I 
think the eye-broAV, the forehead, the cheek, 
chin, lip, or any part else, are as necessary, and 
natural in the place. But noAV nothing is good 
that is natural : right and natural language 
seems to have least of the Avit in it ; that Avhich 
is Avrithed and tortured, is counted the more ex- 
quisite. Cloth of bodiiin or tissue must be em- 
broidered ; as if no face Avere fair that Avere not 
powdered or painted ? no beauty to be had, but 
in Avrestling and AA-rithing our OAvn tongue ! 
Nothing is fashionable till it be deformed ; and 
this is to Avrite like a gentleman. All must be 
affected, and preposterous as our gallants' 
clothes, SAveet bags, and night dressings : in 
Avhich you Avould think our men lay in, like la- 
dies, it is so curious. 

Censura de poeiis. — Nothing in our age, I 
have observed, is more preposterous than the 
running judgments upon poetry and jjoets ; 
Avhen we shall hear those things commended, 
and cried up for the best Avritings, Avhich a man 
Avould scarce A'Ouchsafe to Avrap any Avholcsonie 
drug in ; he Avould never light his tobacco Avith 
thorn. And those men almost named for mira- 
cles, Avho yet are so vile, that if a man should 



DISCOVERIES. 



871 



go about to examine and correct them, he must 
make all they have done but one blot. Their 
good is so entangled M-ith their bad, as forcibly 
one must draw on the other's death ■with it. A 
Bponge dipt in ink will do all : 



Comitetur Puiiica librum 



Et paulo post, 
Non possmit 



. miiluc .... litiirK 
UIU1 litura potest.i 



Ccstius. — Cicero. -- Heath. — Taylor. — Spen- 
ser. — Yet their vices have not hurt them : nay, a 
great many they have profited ; for they have 
been loved for nothing else. And this false opin- 
ion grows strong against the best men ; if once 
it take root with the ignorant. Cestius, in his 
time, was preferred to Cicero, so far as the igno- 
rant durst. They learned him without book, 
and had him often in their mouths : but a man 
cannot imagine that thinac so foolish, or rude, but 
will find, and enjoy an admirer ; at least a reader, 
or spectator. The puppets are seen now in de- 
spight of the players : Heath's epigrams, and the 
SkuUer's poems, have their applause. There are 
never wanting, that dare prefer the worst i^reach- 
ers, the Avorst pleaders, the worst poets ; not 
that the better have left to write, or speak 
better, but that they that hear them judge 
worse ; Non illi pejus diciuit, sed hi corrtipiius Ju- 
dicant. Nay, if it were put to the question of 
the water-rhj-mer's works, against Spenser's, I 
doubt not but they would find more suffrages ; 
because the most favor common vices, out of a 
prerogative the vulgar have to lose their judg- 
ments, and like that which is naught. 

Poetry, in this latter age, hath proved but a 
mean mistress to such as have wholly addicted 
themselves to her, or given their names up to 
her family. They who have but saluted her on 
the by, and now and then tendered their visits, 
she hath done much for, and advanced in the 
way of their own professions (both the law and 
the gosficl) beyond all they could have hoped or 
done for themselves, without her favor. Wherein 
she doth emulate the judicious but preposterous 
bounty of the time's grandees: who accumulate 
all they can upon the parasite, or fresh-man in 
their friendship ; but think an old client, or hon- 
est servant, bound by his place to write and 
starve. 

Indeed the multitude commend writers, as 
they do fencers, or wrestlers ; Avho if they come 
in robustiously, and put for it with a deal of 
violence, are received for the braver fellows : 
when many times their o^vn rudeness is a cause 
of their disgrace ; and a slight touch of their 
adversary gives all that boisterous force the foil, 
liut in these things the unskilful are naturally 
deceived, and judging wholly by the bulk, think 
rude things greater than polished ; and scat- 
tered more numerous than composed : nor think 
this only to be true in the sordid multitude, but 
the neater sort of our gallants : for all are the 
multitude ; only they differ in clothes, not in 
judgment or understanding. 

1 Mart. 1. !V. epig. 10. 



Da 8haJisj)eare nostrat. — Augustus in Hat. — 
I remember, the players have often mentioned 
it as an honor to Shakspeare, that in his writing 
(whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a 
line. My answer hath been. Would he had blot- 
ted a thousand. ' Which they thought a malev- 
olent S])eech. I had not told posterity this, 
but for their ignorance, who chose that circum- 
stance to commend their friend by, wherein hi3 
nrost faulted ; and to justify mine own candor : 
for I loved the man, and do honor his memory, 
on this side idolatry, as much as any. He was 
(indeed) honest, and of an open and free na- 
ture ; had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, 
and gentle expressions ; wherein he flowed with 
that facility, that sometimes it was necessary 
he should be stopped : Sufflaminamlus erat, as 
Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in 
his own power, would the rule of it had been 
so too. ^lany times he fell into those things, 
could not escape laughter : as when he said in 
the person of CtEsar, one speaking to him, 
" Caesar, thou dost me wrong." He replied, 
" Cajsar did never wrong but Avith just cause," 
and such like ; which were ridiculous. But he 
redeemed his vices with his virtues. There wag 
ever more in him to be praised than to be par 
doned. 

Inffeniorum discrimina. Not. 1. — In the dif- 
ference of wits, I have observed there are many 
notes : and it is a little auaistry to know them ; 
to discern what every nature, every disposition 
will bear : for, before we sow our land, we should 
plough it. Tliere arc no fewer forms of minds, 
than of bodies amongst us. The variety is ir- 
credible, and therefore we must search. Some 
are fit to make divines, some poets, some law- 
yers, some physicians : some to be sent to the 
plough, and trades. 

There is no doctrine will do good, v/here na- 
ture is wanting. Some wits are swelling and 
high ; others low and still : some hot and fiery, 
others cold and dull ; one must have a bridle, 
the other a spur. 

Not. 2. — 'i'here be some that are forward and 
bold ; and these will do every little thing easilj' ; 
I mean that is hard by and next them, Avhich they 
will utter unrctarded without any shamefast- 
ness. These never perform much, but quickly. 
They are what they are, on the sudden ; they 
shew presently like grain, that scattered on the 
top of the ground, shoots up, but takes no root ; 
has a j'cllow blade, but the car empty. They 
are wits of good promise at first, but there is an 
ingenistitium : - they stand still at sixteen, they 
get no higher. 

Not. 3. — You have others, that labor only to 
ostentation ; and are ever more busy aboat the 
colors and surface of a Avork, than iu the mat- 
ter and foundation : for that is hid, the other is 
seen. 

Not- 4. — Others, that in composition are 
nothing, but Avhat is rough and broken : Qua. 
per sulebras, altaque saxa cadunt.^ And if it 
Avould come gently, they trouble it of jjurpose. 
They Avould not have it run Avithout rubs, as if 

2 A Wit-stand. 

3 Martial, lib. .\i. epig. 91. 



872 



DISCOVERIES. 



that style were more strong and manly, that 
struck "the car ivith a khid of unevenness. 
These men err not bj' chance, but knowingly 
and willingly ; they are like men that affect a 
fashion by themselves, have some singularity in 
a ruff, cloak, or hat-band ; or their beards spe- 
cially cut to provoke beholders, and set a mark 
upon themselves. They would be reprehended, 
while they are looked on. And this vice, one 
that is authority with the rest, loving, delivers 
'^vcr to them to be imitated ; so that oft-times 
the faults which he fell into, the others seek 
for : this is the danger, Avhen vice becomes a 
precedent. 

Not. 5. — Others there are that have no 
composition at all ; but a kind of tuning and 
rhyming fall, in what they write. It runs and 
slides, and only makes a sound. Women's 
poets they arc called, as you have women's 
tailors ; 

They write a verse as smooth, as soft as cream ; 
In wliicli tliero is no torrent, nor ^carce stream. 

You may sound these wits, and find the depth 
of them with your middle finger. They are 
cream-bowl, or but puddle-deep. 

Not. 6. — Some that turn over all books, and 
are equally searching in all papers, that write 
out of what they presently find or meet, without 
choice ; by which means it happens, that what 
they have discredited and impugned in one 
week, they have before or after extolled the 
same in another. Such are all the essayists, even 
their master Montaigne. These, in all they 
write, confess still Avhat books tliey have read 
last ; and therein their own folly, so much, that 
they bring it to the stake raw and undigested ; 
not that the place did need it neither ; but 
that they thought themselves furnished, and 
would vent it. 

Not. 7. — Some again (who after they have 
got authority, or, which is less, opinion, by 
their v/ritings, to have read much) dare present- 
ly to feign whole books and authors, and lye 
safely. For what never was, will not easily be 
found, not by the most curious. 

Not. 8. — And some, by a cunning protesta- 
tion against all reading, and false venditation 
of their own naturals, think to divert the saga- 
sity of their readers from themselves, and cool 
the scent of their own fox-like thefts ; when 
yet they are so rank, as a man may find whole 
pages together usurped from one author : their 
necessities compelling them to read for present 
use, which could not be in many books ; and so 
ecme forth more ridiculously, and palpably 
guilty than those, who because they cannot 
trace, they yet would slander their indus- 
try. 

Not. 9. — But the wretcheder are the obstinate 
contemners of all helps and arts ; such as pre- 
suming on their own naturals (Avhich perhaps 
are excellent) dare deride all diligence, and 
Bccm to mock at the terms, when they under- 
Btand not the things ; thinking that v.-ay to get 
off wittily, with their ignorance. These are 
imitated often by such as are their peers in neg- 
ligence, though they cannot be in nature : and 
they utter all they can think with a kind of 



violence and indispositioti ; unexamined, with- 
out relation cither to person, place, or any fi.tnes3 
else : and the more wilful and stubborn thev 
are in it, the more learned they are esteemed 
of the multitude, through their excellent vice 
of judgment: who think those things the 
stronger, that have no art ; as if to break, were 
better than to open ; or to rent asunder, gentler 
than to loose. 

Not. 10. — It cannot but come to pass, that 
these men Avho connnonly seek to do more than 
enough, may sometimes happen on something 
that is good and great ; but very seldom : and 
when it comes, it doth not recompense the rest 
of their ill. For their jests, and their sentences 
(which they only and ambitiously seek for) 
stick OTit, and arc more eminent ; because all is 
sordid, and vile about them ; as lights are more 
discerned in a thick darkness, than a faint 
shadow. Now because they speak all they can 
(however unfitly) they are thought to have the 
greater copy : where the learned use ever elec- 
tion and a mean ; they look back to what they 
intended at first, and make all an even and 
proportioned body. The true artificer will not 
run away from nature, as he were afraid of her ; 
or depart from life, and the likeness of truth ; 
but speak to the capacity of his hearers. And 
though his language differ from the vulgar some- 
what, it shall not fly from all humanity, with 
the Tamerlanes, and Tamer-chams of the late 
age, which had nothing in them but the sceuical 
strutting, and furious vociferation, to warrant 
them to the ignorant gapers. He knows it is 
his only art, so to carry it, as none bvit artificers 
perceive it. In the mean time, perhaps, he is 
called barren, dull, lean, a poor writer, or by 
what contumelious word can come in their 
cheeks, by these men, who without labor, judg- 
ment, knowledge, or almost sense, are received 
or preferred before him. He gratulates them, 
and their fortune. Another age, or justcr men, 
will acknowledge the virtues of his studies, his 
wisdom in dividing, his subtlety in arguing, 
Avith what strength he doth inspire his readers, 
with what sweetness he strokes them ; iu in- 
veighing, what sharpness ; in jest, what urbanity 
he uses : how he doth reign in men's affections : 
how invade, and break in ui>on them ; and 
makes their minds like the thing he writes. Then 
in his elocution to behold what word Ls proper, 
which hath ornaments, v,-hich height, what is 
beautifully translated, where figures are fit, 
v.'hich gentle, which strong, to shew the compo- 
sition manly : and how he hath avoided faint, 
obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, improper, or 
effeminate phrase ; which is not only joraised of 
the niost, but commended, (which is worse,^ 
especially for that it is naught. 

Ignorantia aniinai. — I know no disease of tho 
soul, but ignorance ; not of the ai-ts and sciences, 
but of itself : j'ct relating to those it is a per- 
nicious evil, the darkener of man's life, the dis- 
turber of his reason, and common confounder 
of truth ; Avith which a man goes groping in 
the dark, no other\Aise than if he were blind. 
Great understandings arc most racked and trou- 
bled with it : nay, sometimes they will rather 
choose to die, than not to know the things they 



DISCOVERIES. 



873 



Btudy for. Think then what an evil it is, and 
what good the contrarj'. 

S^cicntia. — Knowledge is the action of the 
soul, and is perfect without the senses, as having 
the seeds of all science and virtue in itself; but 
not without the service of the senses ; by these 
organs the soul works : she is a perpetual agent, 
prompt and subtle ; but often flexible, and err- 
ing, intfingiing herself like a silk-worm : but 
her reason is a weapon with two edges, and cuts 
through. In her indagations oft-times ncAV 
scents put her by, and she takes in errors into 
her, by the same conduits she doth truths. 

Otium. — SttuUoriim. — Ease and relaxation are 
profitable to all studies. The mind is like a bow, 
the stronger by being unbent. But the temper 
in spirit is all, when to command a man's wit, 
v>hen to favor it. I have knoAvn a man vehe- 
ment on both sides, that knew no mean, either to 
intermit his studies, or call upon them again. 
When he hath set himself to writing, he would 
join night to day, press upon himself without 
release, not minding it, till ho fainted ; and 
when he left off, resolve himself into all sports 
and looseness again, that it was almost a despair 
to draw liim to his book ; but once got to it^ie 
grew stronger and more earnest by the cMo. 
His whole powers were renewed ; he would 
work out of himself what he desired ; but with 
siuch excess, as his study could not be ruled ; 
lie knew not how to dispose his own abilities, 
or husband them, he was of that immoderate 
power against himself. Nor was he only a 
strong but an absolute speaker, and writer ; 
but his subtlety did not shew itself; his judg- 
ment thought that a vice : for the ambush hurts 
more that is hid. He never forced his language, 
nor went out of the highway of speaking, but 
for some great necessity, or apparent profit : far 
he denied figures to be invented for ornament, 
but for aid ; and still thought it an extreme 
madness to bind or wrest that which ought to 
be right. 

Stilieminentia. — Vinjil. — Tulhj. — Sallust. — 
It is no wonder men's eminence appears but in 
their own way. Virgil's felicity left him in 
prose, as Tully's forsook him in verse. Sallust's 
orations arc read, in the honor of story ; yet the 
most eloquent Plato's speech, which he made 
for Socrates, is neither worthy of the patron, 
nor the person defended. Nay, in the same 
kind of oratory, and where the matter is one, 
j'ou shall have him that reasons strongly, open 
negligently ; another that prepares well, not fit 
so well : and this happens not only to brains, 
but to bodies. One can wrestle well, another 
run well, a third leap, or throw she bar, a fourth 
lift, or stop a cart going : each hath his way of 
strength. So in other creatures, some dogs are 
for the deer, some for the wild boar, some are 
" fox-hounds, some otter-hounds. Nor are all 
horses for the coach or saddle, some are for t'ne 
cart and paniers. 

De Claris orator ibits. — I have kno\^ai many 
excellent men, that would speak suddenly, to 
the admiration of their hearers ; who upon study 
and premeditation have been forsaken by their 
own wits, and no way answered their fame : 
their eloquence was greater than their reading ; 



and the things' they uttered, better than those 
they knew : their fortune deserved better of 
them than their care. For men of jiresent 
spirits, and of greater wits than study, do please 
more in the things they invent, than in those 
they bring. And I have heard some of them 
compelled to speak, out of necessity, that have 
so infinitely exceeded themselves, as it was bet- 
ter both for them and their auditory, that they 
were so surprised, not prepared. Nor was it 
safe then to cross them, for their adversary, their 
anger made them more eloquent. Yet these 
men I could not but love and admire, that they 
returned to their studios. They left not dili- 
gence (as many do) when their rashness pros- 
pered ; for diligence is a great aid, even to an 
indifferent wit ; when wc are not contented with 
the examples of our own age, but would know 
the face of the former. Indeed, the more we 
confer with, the more we profit by, if the per- 
sons be chosen. 

Dominus Verulamius. — One, though he be 
excellent, and the chief, is not to be imitated 
alone : for no imitator ever grew up to his au- 
thor ; likeness is always on this side truth. Yet 
there happened in m}' time one noble speakei', 
who was full of gravity in his speaking. His 
language (where he could spare or pass by a jest) 
was nobly censorious. No man ever spake 
more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or 
suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he 
uttered. No member of his speech, but con- 
sisted of his own graces. His hearers could 
not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. 
He commanded %\-hcre he spoke ; and had his 
judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No 
man had their afi'cctions more in his power. 
The fear of every man that heard him \\-as, lest 
he should make an end. 

Scrip/oruin catalocjus} — Cicero is said to be 
the only wit that the people of Home had 
equalled to their empire. Int/enium -par invperio. 
We have had many, and in their several ages 
(to take in bixt the former seculum'^) sir Thomas 
Moore, the elder Wiat, Henry earl of Surrey, 
Chaloner, Smith, Eliot, B. Gardiner, were for 
their times admirable ; and the more, because 
they began eloquence with us. Sir Nicolas 
Bacon was singular, and almost alone, in the 
beginning of queen Elizabeth's time. Sir Philip 
Sidne)', and Mr. Hooker (in difi'erent matter) 
grew great masters of wit and language, and in 
whom all vigor of invention and strength of 
judgment met. The Earl of Essex, noble and 
high ; and Sir Walter Ilaleigh, not to be con- 
temned, either for judgment or style. Sir Henrv 
Savile, grave, and trulj-- lettered; sir Edwin 
Sandys, excellent in both; lord Egcrton, the 
chancellor, a grave and great orator, and best 
when he was provoked. But his learned and 
able (though unfortunate) successor, is he who 
hath filled up all numbers, and performed that 



1 Sir Thomas Moore. Sir Thomas Wi.it. Henry, eari 
of Surrey Sir Thomas Chaloner. Sir Thomas Smith. Sii 
Thoraa? Eliot. Bisliop Gardiner. Sir Nicholas Bacon 
L. K. Sir Philip Sidney, Waster Richard Hooker. Robert, 
earl of Essex. Sir W'alter Ralcijih. Sir Henry Savile 
Sir Edwin Sandys. Sir Thcnias Egcrton, L. C. Sii 
Francis Bacon, L. C. 



874 



DISCOVERIES. 



in our tongue, which may be compared or pre- 
ferred cither to insolent Greece, or haughty 
Rome. In short, i^ithin his view, and about 
his times, were all tlie wits born, that could 
honor a language, or help study. Now things 
daily fall, wits grow downward, and eloquence 
grows backward: so that he may be named, 
and stand as the mark and «;rio,' of our lan- 
guage. 

De augmentis sclrnfiaruni. — Julius Ccpsar. — 
Lord St. Alban. — I haA'e ever observed if to 
nave been the office of a wise patriot, among 
the greatest affairs of the state, to take care of the 
commonwealth of learning. For schools, they 
arc the seminaries of state; and nothing is 
worthier the study of a statesman, than that 
part of the rejniblic which v:e call the advance- 
ment of letters. Witness the care of Julius 
Ctcsar, who, in the heat of the civil war, writ 
his books of Analogy, and dedicated them to 
Tully. This made the late lord St. xVlban en- 
title his work Novum Organum : which though 
by the most of superficial men, who cannot get 
beyond the title of nominals, it is not penetrat- 
ed, nor understood, it really opcnoth all defects 
of learning whatsoever, and is a book 

Gill longiim noto scriptori prorogct cEVum.i 

My conceit of his person Avas never increased 
toward him by his place, or honors : but I 
have and do reverence him, for the greatness 
that was onlj' proper to himself, in that he 
seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the 
greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, 
that had been in many ages. In his adversity 
I ever prayed that God Avould give him strength ; 
for greatness he could not v,'ant. Neither could 
I condole in a word or syllable for him, as know- 
ing no accident could do harm to virtue, but 
rather help to make it manuest. 

De corrwpUla morum. — There cannot be one 
color of the mind, anotlier of the Avit. If the 
mind be staid, grave, and composed, the wit is 
so ; that vitiated, the other is blown and delioAV- 
ered. Do we not sec, if the mind languish, the 
members are dull ? Look upon an effeminate 
person, his very gait confesscth him. If a man 
be fiery, his motion is so ; if angry, it is trou- 
bled and violent. So that we may conclude 
wheresoever manners and fa.shions are corrupt- 
ed, language is. It imitates the public riot. 
The excess of feasts and apparel are the notes 
of a sick state ; and the wantonness of language 
of a sick mind. 

.De rebus mundanis. — If avo Avould consider 
•what oiir affairs are indeed, not Avhat they are 
called, 've should find nrore evils belcnging to 
us, than happen to u*. Hoav often doth that, 
which was called a calamity, prove the begin- 
ning and cause of a man's happiness .' and, on 
the contrary, that Avhich hapjoened or came to 
another Avith great gratulatioii and applause, 
hoAV it hath lifted him but a step higher to his 
ruin ? as if he stood before, where he mi^it fall 
safely. 

Vulgi mores. — Morbus comitialis. — The a'uI- 
gar are commonly ill-natured, and ahvays grudg- 

1 Horat. de Art. Poetica. 



ing against their governors : Avhich makes that 
a prince has more business and trouble Avith 
them, than ever Hercules had Avith the bull or 
any other beast ; by hoAV much they have more 
heads than Avill be reined AA'ith one bridle. 
There Avas not that A-ariety of beasts in the ark, 
as is of beastly natures in the multitude ; es- 
pecially Avhen they come to that iniquity to 
censure their sovereign's actions. Then all the 
counsels are made good, or bad, by the cA'ents : 
and it falleth out, that the sams facts recciA'e 
from them the names, now of diligence, noAV 
of A'anity, now of majesty, now of furA' ; Avhere 
they ought Avholly to hang on his mouth, as he 
to consist of himself, and not others counsels. 

Princeps. — After God, nothing is to be loved 
of man like the prince : he violates nature, that 
doth it not Avitli his Avhole heart. For Avhen 
he hath put on the care of the public good, 
and common safety, I am a Avretch, and put off 
man, if I do not reverence and honor him, in 
Avhose charge all things divine and human are 
placed. Do but ask of nature Avhy all living 
creatures are less delighted Avith meat and drinlc 
that sustains them, than Avith A^enery that Avastcs 
thoni ? and she Avill tell thee, the hrst respects 
bwa private, the other a common good, propa- 
gation. 

De eodem. — Orpheus' Hijmn. — He is the ar- 
biter of life and death : Avhen he finds no other 
subject for his mercy, he should spare himself. 
All his ijunishments are rather to correct than 
to destroy. Why arc prayers Avith Orpheus said 
to be the daughters of Jupiter, but that princes 
are thereby admonished that the petitions of 
the Avretched ought to haA'e more Aveight AA-ith 
them, than the laws themselves. 

De opt. Rege Jacobo. — It Avas a great accu- 
mulation to his majesty's deserved praise, that 
rnen might openly A'isit and pity those, whom 
his greatest prisons had at any time received, 
or his laAvs condemned. 

De Princ. adjunctis. — Sed verb prudens haud 
concipi 2)ossit Princaps, nisi — simid et bonus. — • 
Lijcurgus. — Sylla. — Lxjsander. — Cyrus. — Wise, 
is rather tire attribute of a i:)rincc, than learned 
or good. The learned man profits others rather 
than himself; the good man, rather himself 
than others : but the prince commands others, 
and doth himself. The Avise Lycurgus gaA'e no 
laAV but what himself kept. Sylla and Lysan- 
der did not so ; the one living extremely disso- 
lute himself, inforced frvigality by the laws ; the 
other permitted those licenses to others, Avhich 
himself abstained from. But the prince's pru- 
dence is his chief art and safety. In his coun- 
sels and deliberations he foresees the future 
times : in the equity of his judgment, he hatt 
remembrance of the past, and knowledge of 
Avhat is to be done or aA'oided for the present. 
Hence the Persians gave out their Cyrus to 
to have been nursed by a bitch, a creature to 
encounter it, as of sagacity to seek out good ; 
shcAving that Avisdom may accompany fortitude, 
or it leaves to be, and puts on the name of 
rashness. 

De malign, studentium. — There be some mer: 
are born only to suck out the poise n of books : 
Hubeiit vencnum pro victu ; imu pro deliciis. And 



DISCOVERIES, 



875 



3uch are th? y that ojily rclisli the obscene and 
foul things in poets •„ wliich makes the profes- 
sion taxed. But by 'whom? Men that watch 
for it ; and (had they not had this hint) are so 
unjust valuers of letters, as they think no learn- 
ing good but what brings in gain. It shows 
they themselves would never have been of the 
professions they are, but for the profits and fees. 
But if another learning, well used, can instruct 
to good life, inform manners, no less persuade 
and lead men, than they threaten and compel, 
and have no reward : is it therefore the worst 
study ? I could never think the study of wis- 
dom confined only to the philosopher ; or of 
piety to the divine ; or of state to the politic : 
but that he which can feign a commonwealth 
(which is the poet) can govern it with counsels, 
strengthen it with laws, correct it with judg- 
ments, inform it with religion and morals, is 
all these. "We do not require in him mere 
elocution, or an excellent faculty in verse, but 
the exactknowledge of all virtues, and their con- 
traries, v\'ith ability to render the one loved, the 
other liated, by his proper embattling them. The 
philosophers did insolently, to challenge only 
to themselves that which the greatest generals 
ajid gravest counsellors never durst. For such 
had rather do, than promise the best things. 

Controvers. scriptores. — More Andabataruiii qui 
clausis oculis jmgnant. — Some controverters in 
'livinity are like swaggerers in a tavern, that 
catch that which stands next them, the candle- 
Stick, or pots ; turn every thing into a weapon : 
ofttimes they fight blindfold, and both beat tlie 
air. The one milks a he-goat, the other holds 
under a sieve. Their arguments are as fluxive 
as liquor spilt upon a table, which with your 
finger you may drain as you will. Such con- 
troversies, or disputations (carried with more 
labor than profit) are odious ; where most times 
the truth is lost in the midst, or left untouched. 
And the fruit of their fight is, that they spit 
upon one another, and are both defiled. These 
fencers in religion I like not. 

Morbi. — The body hath certain diseases, that 
are with loss evil tolerated, than removed. As 
if to cure a leprosy a man should bathe himself 
with the warm blood of a murdered child : so 
in the church, some errors may be dissimuled 
with less inconvenience than they can be dis- 
covered. 

Jactantia intcnipcstiva. — Men that talk of 
their own benefits, are not believed to talk of 
them, because they have done them ; but to 
have done them, because they might talk of 
them. That which had been great, if another 
had reported it of them, vanisheth, and is 
nothing, if he that did it speak of it. For men, 
wlien they cannot destroy the deed, will yet be 
glad to t;ak3 advantage of the boasting, and les- 
■ sen it. 

Adulatio. — I have seen that poverty makes 
me do unfit things : but honest men should not 
do them ; they should gain otherwise. Though 
a man be hungry, he should not plaj- the para- 
Bite. That hour wherein I would repent me to 
be honest, there were ways enough open for me 
to be rich. But flattery is a fine pick-lock of 
tender cars ; especially of those v/hom fortune 



hath borne liigh upon their ^A-ings, that submit 
their dignity and authority to it, by a soothing 
of themselves. For indeed men could never bo 
taken in that abundance with the springes of 
others flattery, if they began not there ; if they 
did but remember how much more jjrofitablo 
the bitterness of truth were, than all the honey 
distilling from a whorish voice, Avliich is not 
praise, but poison. But now it is come to that 
extrem.e folly, or rather madness, with some, that 
he that flatters them modestly, or sparingly, ia 
thought to malign them. If their friend con- 
sent not to their vices, though he do not coti- 
tradict them, he is nevertheless an enemy, 
"When they do all things the worse way, even 
when they look for praise. Nay, they will hire 
fellows to flatter them, Avith suits and suppers, 
and to prostitute their judgments. They have 
livery-friends, friends of the dish, and of the 
spit, that wait their turns, as my lord has his 
feasts and guests. 

Do vitd hitmand. — I have considered our 
whole life is like a play : wherein every man 
forgetful of himself, is in travail with expression 
of another. Nay, we so insist in imitating 
others, as we cannot (when it is necessary) 
return to ourselves ; like children, that imitate 
the vices of stammerers so long, till at last they 
become such ; and make the habit to another 
nature, as it is never forgotten. 

De piis ct prohis. — Good men are the stars, 
the planets of the ages wherein they live, and 
illustrate the times. God did never let them be 
wanting to the world : as Abel, for an example 
of innocency, Enoch of purity, Noah of trust in 
God's mercies, Abraham of faith, and so of the 
rest. These, sensual men thought mad. because 
they would not be partakers or practicers of their 
madness. But they, placed high on the top of 
all virtue, looked down on the stage of the 
world, and contemned the jjlay of fortune. For 
though the most be players, some must be spec- 
tators. 

Mores aulici. — I have discovered, that a feigned 
familiarity in great ones, is a note of certain 
usurpation on the less. For great and popular 
men feign themselves to be servants to others, 
to make those slaves to them. So the fisher 
provides bait for the trout, roach, dace, &c. that 
they may be food to him. 

Impiorum querela. — Augustus. ■ — Tarns. — Ti- 
berius. — The complaint of Oaligula was most 
wicked of the condition of his times, v>dion he 
said. They were not famous for any public ca- 
lamity, as the reign of Augustus was. by the 
defeat of Varus and the legions ; and that of 
Tiberius, by the falling of the theatre at Fidena) ; 
Avhilst his oblivion was eminent, througli the 
prosperity of his affairs. As that other voice 
of his was worthier a headsman than a head, 
when he wished the people of Rome had but 
one neck. But he found (when he fell) they 
had many hands. A tyrant, how great and 
mighty soever he may seem to cowards and 
sluggards, is but one creature, one animal. 

Nobilium ingenia. — I have marked among tho 
nobility, some are so addicted to the service of 
the prince and commonwealth, as they look not 
for spoil ; such are to be honored and loved 



876 



DISCOVERIES. 



There are others, which no obligation will fasten 
on ; and they are of two sorts. The first arc 
such as love their own ease ; or, out of vice, of 
nature, or self-direction, avoid business and 
care. Yet these the prince may use with safety. 
The other remove themselves upon craft and 
design, as the architects say, with a premeditated 
thought to their own, rather than their prince's 
profit. Such let the prince take heed of, and 
not doubt to reckon in the list of his open ene- 
mies, 

Princijnim varia. — Firmissima vcrd omniimi 
casis jus hcpredifarium Princiins. — There is a 
great variation between him that is raised to 
the sovereignty by the favor of his peers, and 
him that comes to it by the suffrage of the peo- 
ple. The first holds with more difficulty ; be- 
cai\se he hath to do with many that think them- 
selves his equals, and raised him for their own 
greatness and oppression of the rest. The latter 
hath no upbraiders, but M-as raised by them that 
sou-ght to be defended from oppression : whose 
end is both easier and the honester to satisfy. 
Beside, while he hath the people to friend, who 
are a multitude, he hath the less fear of the 
nobility, who are but few. Nor let the common 
proverb (of he that builds on the j^eople builds 
on the dirt) discredit my opinion : for that hath 
only place where an ambitious and private per- 
son, for some popular end, trusts in them against 
the public justice and magistrate. There they 
will leave him. But when a prince governs 
then\ s" as they have still need of his adminis- 
tration (for ihat is his art) he shall ever make 
and hold them faithful. 

dementia. — Machiaxell. — A prince should 
exercise his cruelty not bj' himself, but by his 
ministers ; so he may save himself and his dig- 
nity with his people, by sacrificing those when 
he list, saith the great doctor of state, Machia- 
vell. But I say, he puts off man, and goes into 
a beast, that is cruel. No virtue is a prince's 
own, or becomes him more, than this clemencj' : 
and no glory is greater than to be able to save 
■with his power. Many punishments sometimes, 
and in some cases, as much discredit a prince, 
as many funerals a physician. The state of 
things is secured by clemency ; severity reprcss- 
eth a few, but irritates more.' The lopping of 
trees makes the boughs shoot out thicker ; and 
the taking away of some kind of enemies, in- 
creaseth the number. It is then most gracious 
in a prince to pardon, when many about him 
would make him cruel ; to think then how 
much he can save, when others tell him how 
much he can destroy ; not to consider what the 
impotence of others hath demolished, but what 
his own greatness can sustain. These are a 
prince's virtues : and thej' that give him other 
counsels, are but the hangman's factors. 

dementia tutda optima. — He that is cruel to 
halves (saith the said St. Nicholas ') loseth no 
less the opportunity of his cruelty than of his 
benefits : for then to use his crueltj' is too late ; 
and to use his favors will be interpreted fear 



1 Hand infima ars in piiiicipe, ubi Icnitas, ubi severitas 
— plu^i polleat in commune bonuin calleie. 
- i.c. Macliiavell. 



and necessity, and so he loseth the thanks. 
Still the counsel is cruelty. But princes, by 
hearkening to cruel counsels, become in time 
obnoxious to the authors, their flatterers, and 
ministers : and are brought to that, that when 
they would, they dare not change them ; they 
must go on, and defend cruelty with cruelty'; 
they cannot alter the habit. It is then grown 
necessary, they must be as ill as those have made 
them : and in the end they will groAV more 
hateful to themselves than to their subjects. 
Whereas, on the contrary, the merciful prince ia 
safe in love, not in fear. He needs no emissa- 
ries, spies, intelligencers, to entrap true subjects. 
He fears no libels, no treasons. His people 
speak what they think, and talk openly what 
they do in secret. They have nothing in their 
breasts that they need a cypher for. He is 
guarded with his own benefits. 

IlcUgio, Palladium Ilomeri. — Euripides. — The 
strength of empire is in religion. What else is 
the Palladium (with Homer) that kept Troy so 
long from sacking ? nothing more commends the 
sovereign to the subject than it. For he that is 
religious, must be merciful and just necessarily : 
and they are two strong ties upon mankind. 
Justice is the virtue that innocence rejoiceth in. 
Yet even that is not always so safe, but it may 
love to stand in the sight of mercy. For some- 
times misfortune is made a crime, and then in- 
nocence is succored no less than virtue. Nay, 
often-tim.es virtue is made capital ; and through 
the condition of the times it may happen, that 
that majr be punished with our praise. Let no 
man therefore murmur at the actions of the 
prince, who' is placed so far above him. If ho 
offend, he hath his discoverer. God hath a 
height beyond him. But where the prince is 
good, Euripides saith, " God is a guest in a hu- 
man body." 

Tijranni. — Scjanus. — There is nothing with 
some princes sacred above their majesty ; or i">ro- 
fane, but what violates their sceptres. But a 
prince, with such a council, is like the god Ter- 
minus, of stone, his own landmark ; or (as it is 
in the fable) a crowned lion. It is dangerous 
offending such a one ; who being angry, knows 
not how to forgive : that cares not to do anj'- 
thing for maintaining or enlarging of empire ; 
kills not men or subjects : but destroyeth whole 
countries, armies, mankind, male and female, 
guilty or not guilty, holy or profane ; yea, some 
that have not seen the light. All is under the 
law of their spoil and license. But princes that 
neglect their proper office thus, their fortune is 
often-times to draw a Sejanus to be near about 
them, who at last affect to get above them, and 
put them in a Avorthy fear of rooting both them 
oiit and their family. For no men hate an evil 
prince more than they that helped to make him 
such. And none more boastingly weep his ruin, 
than they that procured and practised it. The 
same path leads to ruin, Avhich did to rule, when 
men profess a license in government. A good 
king is a public servant. 

liliteraius princeps. — A prince without letters 
is a pilot without eyes. All his government is 
groping. In sovereignty it is f most happy 
thing not to be compelled ; but se it is the most 



DISCOVERIES. 



877 



miserable not to be counselled. And how caw 
he be counselled that cannot see to read the 
Dost counsellors (which are books ;) for they 
neither flatter us, nor hide from us ? He may hear, 
you will say ; but how shall lie always be sure 
to hear truth ? or be counselled the best things, 
not the sweetest ? They say princes learn no 
art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The 
reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will 
throw a prince as soon as his groom. Which is 
en argument, that the good counsellors to princes 
are the best instruments of a good age. For 
though the prince himself be of a most prompt 
inclination to all virtue ; j-et the best pilots have 
needs of mariners, besides sails, anchor, and other 
tackle. 

Character ■priiicipls. — Alexander magnus. — If 
tnen did know what shining fetters, gilded mise- 
ries, and painted happiness, thrones and sceptres 
were, there would not bo so frequent strife about 
the getting or holding of them : there v/ould be 
more princiijalities than princes : for a prince is 
the pastor of the people. He ought to shear, 
not to flay his sheep ; to take their fleeces, not 
their fells. Who were his enemies before, being 
a private man, become his children now he is 
public. He is the soul of the commonwealth, 
and ought to cherish it as his own body. Alex- 
ander the Great was wont to saj-, " He hated 
that gardener that plucked his herbs or flowers 
up by the roots." A man may milk a beast till 
the blood come : churn milk, and it yieldeth 
butter ; but Avring the nose, and the blood fol- 
loweth. He is an ill prince that so pulls his 
subjects' feathers, as he would not have them 
grow again : that makes his exchequer a receipt 
for the spoils of tliose he governs. No, let him 
keep his own, not affect his subjects' : strive 
rather to be called just than powerful. Not, 
like the Roman tyrants, affect the surnames that 
grow by human slaughters : neither to seek war 
in peace, nor peace in war ; but to observe faith 
given, though to an enemy. Study piety toward 
the subject ; shew care to defend him. Be 
slow to punish in divers cases ; but be a sliarp 
and severe revenger of open crimes. Break no 
decrees, or dissolve no orders, to slacken the 
strength of laws. Choose neither magistrates 
civil or ecclesiastical, by favor or price : but 
with long disquisition and report of their worth, 
by all suffrages. Sell no honors, nor give them 
hastily; but bestow them with counsel, and for 
reward ; if he do, acknowledge it, (though late,) 
and mend it. For princes are easy to be de- 
ceived : and what wisdom can escape where so 
many court-arts are studied ? But above all, 
the prince is to remember, that when the great 
day of account comes, which neither magis- 
trate nor prince can shun, there will be required 
of him a reckoning for those whom he hath 
trusted, as for himself, which he must provide. 
And if piety be wanting in the priests, equity 
in the judges, or the magistrates be found rated 
at a price, what justice or religion is to be ex- 
pected ? which are the only two attributes 
make kings a-kin to God ; and is the Delphic 
sword, both to kill sacrifices, and to chastise 
offenders. 

De gratiosis. — When a virtuous man is laised, 



it brings gladness to his friends, grief to his 
enemies, and glory to his posterity. Nay, liis 
honors are a great part of the honor of the 
times : Avhen by this means he is grown to ac- 
tive men an example, to the slothful a spur, to 
the envious a punishment. 

Divites. — Ileredes ex asse. — He which is sole 
heir to many rich men, having (besides his fa- 
ther's and uncle's) the estates of divers his kin- 
dred come to him by accession, must needs 
be richer than father or grandfather : so they 
AA'hich are left heirs ex asse of all their ancestors 
vices ; and by their good husbandry im2:)rovc the 
old, and daily purchase new, must needs be 
wealthier in vice, and have a greater revenue or 
stock of ill to spend on. 

Fares publici. — The great thieves of a state 
are lightly the ofhcers of the crown ; they hang 
the less still, play the pikes in the pond, eat 
whom they list. The net was never spread for 
the hawk or buzzard that hurt us, but the harm- 
less birds ; they are good meat : 

Dat veiiiam corvis, vex;U censiira colunibas.i 
A^on rete accipitri tenditur, iieque milvio.3 

Lewis XL — But they are not always sati' 
though, especially when they meet with wise 
masters. They can take down all the huff and 
swelling of their looks ; and like dexterious 
auditors, place the counter where he shall valui:. 
nothing. Let them but remember Lewis the 
Eleventh, who to a clerk of the exchequer that 
came to be lord treasurer, and had (for his de- 
vice) represented himself sitting on fortune's 
wheel, told him, he might do well to fasten it 
with a good strong nail, lest turning about, it 
might bring him where he was again. As in- 
deed it did. 

De bonis et malis. —^ De innoceniiA. — A good 
man will avoid the spot of any sm. The very 
aspersion is grievous ; Avhich makes him choose 
his waj' in his life, as ho would in his journey. 
The ill man rides through all confidently; he is 
coated and booted for it. The oftener he offends, 
the more openly ; and the fouler, the fitter in 
fashion. His modesty, like a riding-coat, the 
more it is worn, is the less cared for. It is good 
enough for the dirt still, and the ways he travels 
in. An innocent man needs no eloquence ; his 
innocence is instead of it : else I had never 
come off so many times from these precipices, 
whither men's malice hath pursued me. It is 
true, I have been accused to the lords, to tli.e 
king, and by great ones : but it happened my 
accusers had not thought of the accusation with 
themselves ; and so were driven, for want of 
crimes, to use invention, which was found slan- 
der : or too late (being entered so fair) to seek 
starting-holes for their rashness, which were not 
given them. And then they may think what 
accusation that was like to prove, when they 
that were the inginecrs feared to be the authors. 
Nor were they content to feign things against 
me, but to urge things feigned by the ignorant 
against mj' profession ; which though, from their 
hired and mercenary impudence, I might have 
passed by, as granted to a nation of barkers, 

1 Juvgnalia. • Plautua. 



S78 



DISCOVERIES. 



that let out their tongues to lick others' sores ; 
yet I durst not leave myself undefended, having 
a pair of cars unskilful to hear lies, or have those 
thing's said of me, ■which I could trulj' prove of 
them. They objected making of verses to me, 
when I could object to most of them, their 
not being able to read them, but as worthy of 
Bcorn. Nay, they would offer to urge mine own 
v/ritings against mo ; but by pieces, (which was 
an excellent way of malice,) as if any man's 
context might not seem dangerous and offensive, 
if that which was knit to what went before were 
defrauded of his beginning ; or that things by 
themselves uttered might not seem subject to 
calumny, which read intire, would appear most 
free. At last they upbraided my poverty : I 
confess she is ray clomestic ; sober of diet, sim- 
ple of habit, frugal, painful, a good counseller 
to me, that keeps me from cruelty, pride, or 
other more delicate impertinences, which are 
the nurse-children of riches. But let them 
look over all the great and monstrous wicked- 
ness, they shall never find those in poor fami- 
lies. They arc the issue of the wealthy giants, 
and the mighty hunters : whereas no great work, 
or worthy of praise or memorj-, but came out of 
poor cradles. It was the ancient poverty that 
founded commonweals, built cities, invented 
arts, made wholesome laws, armed men against 
vices, rewarded them with their own virtues, 
and jjrcserved the honor and state of nations, 
till tliey betrayed themselves to riches. 

Amor nummi. — Money never made any man 
rich, but his mind. He that can order himself to 
the law of nature, is not only without the sense, 
but the fear of poverty. O ! but to strike 
blind the people with our wealth and pomp, is 
tlie thing ! what a wretchedness is this, to thrust 
all our riches outward, and be beggars within ; 
to contemplate nothing but the little, vile, and 
sordid things of the world ; not the great, noble, 
and precious? we serve our avarice ; and not con 
tent with the good of the earth that is offered us, 
we search and dig for the evil that is hidden. 
God offered us those things, and placed them at 
hand, and near us, that he knew were profitable 
for us ; but the hurtful he laid deep and hid. 
Yet do we seek only the things whereby we may 
perish ; and bring them forth, when God and na- 
ture hath buried them. We covet supertluoiis 
things, when it were more honor for us, if we 
would contemn necessary. What need hath na- 
ture of silver dishes, multitudes of waiters, del- 
icate pages, perfumed napkins r she requires meat 
only, and hunger is not ambitious. Can we 
think no wealth enough, but such a state, for 
which a man may be brought into a preniunire, 
bogged, proscribed, or poisoned ? O ! if a liian 
co'jld restrain the fury of his gullet, and groin, 
and think how many nres, how many kitchens, 
cooks, pastures, and ploughed lands ; what or- 
chards, stews, ponds, and parks, coops and gar- 
ners, he could spare ; what velvets, tissues, em- 
broideries, laces, he could lack ; and then how 
short and uncertain his life is ; he were in a bet- 
ter way to happiness, than to live the emperor 
of these delights, and be the dictator of fashions : 
but we make ourselves slaves to our pleasures ; 
ard we serve fame and ambition, which is an 



erqual slavery. Have not I seen the pomp of a 
whole kingdom, and what a foreign king could 
bring liither ? Also to make himself gazed and 
wondered at, laid forth as it were to the shew, 
ai>^l vanish all away in a day ? And shall that 
which could not fill the expectation of few hours, 
entertain and take up our whole lives ? when even 
it appeared as superfluous to the possessors, as 
to me that was a spectator. The bravery Ava3 
shevv'n, it was not possessed ; while it boasted 
itself, it perished. It is vile, ana a poor thing 
to place our happiness on these desires. Bay we 
wanted them all. Famine ends famine. 

De molUbus et effccminatis. — There is nothing 
valiant or solid to be hoped for from such as are 
always kempt and perfumed, and every day smell 
of the tailor ; the exceedingly curious, that are 
AvhoUy in mending such an imperfection in the 
face, in taking away the morphew in the nock, 
or bleaching their hands at midnight, gumming 
and bridling their beards, or making the waist 
small, binding it with hoops, while the mind runs 
at waste : too much pickedness is not manlj'. 
Not from those that will jest at their own out- 
ward imperfections, but hide their ulcers Avith- 
in, their pride, lust, envy, ill-nature, with all the 
art and authority they can. These persons are 
in danger ; for whilst they think to justify their 
ignorance by impudence, and their persons by 
clothes and outward ornaments, they use but a 
commission to deceive themselves : Avhere, if we 
will look with our understanding, and not our 
senses, Ave may behold virtue and beauty though 
covered with rags in their brightness ; and vice 
and deformity so miich the fouler, in having all 
the splendor of riches to gild them, or the false 
light of honor and power to help them. Yet this 
is that wherewith the world is taken, and runs 
mad to gaze on ; clothes and titles, the birdlime 
of fools. 

Dc stuUltia. — What petty things they are we 
wonder at ? like children, that esteem every 
trifle, and prefer a fairing before their fathers ; 
what difference is between us and them ? but 
that we are dearer fools, coxcombs at a highci 
rate ? They are pleased with cockleshells, whis- 
tles, hobbyhorses, and such like ; we with stat- 
ues, marble pillars, pictures, gilded roofs, Avhoro 
underneath is lath and lime, perhaps loam. Yet 
Ave take pleasure in the lie, and are glad Ave can 
cozen ourseh'es. Nor is it only in our Avails and 
ceilings ; but all that aa'O call hax^iDiness is mere 
painting and gilt ; and all for nioney ; AA'hat a thin 
membrane of honor that is ? and hoAV hath all 
true reputation fallen, since money began to 
have any ? yet the great herd, the multitude, 
that in all other things are divided, in this alono 
conspire and agree ; to love money. TIjpj'' Avish 
for it, they embrace it, they adore it ; AvhUe yet 
it is possest Avith greater stir and torment than 
it is gotten. 

De sibi molestls. — Some men AA'hat losses so- 
ever they have, they make them greater : and if 
they have none, CA^en all that is not gotten is a 
loss. Can there be creatures of more Avretched 
condition than these, that continv.ally labor un- 
der their oAvn misery, and otherf euA'y .' A man 
should study other things, not to coA'et, not to 
fear, not to repent him : to make his base such. 



DISCOVERIES. 



879 



83 no teiuj^cst shall shake him : to be secure of 
al- opinion, and j^leasing to himself, even for that 
wherein he displeascth others : for the worst 
opinion gotten for doing well, should delight us. 
Wouldst not thou be just but for fame, t^jou 
oughtest to be it with infamy : he that would 
have his virtue published, is not the servant of 
virtue, but glory. 

Pericuhsci mdanchoUa. — It is a dangerous 
thing when men's minds come to sojourn with 
their affections, and their diseases eat into their 
strength : that when too much desire and greed- 
iness of vice hath made the body unfit, or un- 
profitable, it is yet gladded with the sight and 
spectacle of it in others ; and for want of ability 
to bo an actor, is content to be a witness. It 
enjoj's the pleasvire of sinning, in beholding 
others sin ; as in dining, drinking, drabbing, &c. 
Nay, when it cannot do all these, it is offended 
w»th his own narrowness, that excludes it from 
the universal delights of mankind ; and often- 
times dies of a melancholy, that it cannot be vi- 
cious enough. 

Falsa species fugienda. — I am glad when I see 
any naan avoid the infamy of a vice ; but to shun 
the vice itself were better. Till he do that, he 
is but like the prentice, who being loth to be 
spied by his master coming forth of Elack Lucy's, 
went in again ; to whom his master cried. The 
more thou runncst that way to hide thyself, the 
more thou art in the place. So arc those that 
keep a tavern all day, that they may not be seen 
at night. I have known lawyers, divines, yea, 
great ones, of this heresy. 

Dedpiinur specie. — There is a greater rever- 
ence had of thing remote or strange to us, than 
of much better, if they be nearer, and fall under 
our sense. Men, and almost all sorts of crea- 
tures, have their reputation by distance. Rivers, 
the farther they run, and more from their spring, 
the broader they are, and greater. And where 
our original is known, \\c are the less confident : 
among strangers v.-e trust fortune. Yet a man 
may live as renowned at home, in his own coun- 
txj, or a private village, as in the whole world. 
For it is virtue that gives glory ; that will en- 
denizen a man every where. It is only that can 
naturalise him. A native, if he be vicious, de- 
serves to be a stranger, and cast out of the com-, 
monvt'ealth as an alien. 

Dijcciio Aullc. — A dejected countenance and 
mean clothes, beget often a contempt, but it is 
with the shallowest creatures ; courtiers com- 
monly : look up even with them in a new suit, 
you get above them straight. Nothing is more 
short-lived than pride; it is but while their 
clothes last : stay but while these are worn out, 
you cannot wish the thing more wretched or 
dejected. 

Pocsis, et pictura. — Plutarch. — Poetry and 
picture are arts of a like nature, and both are 
busy about imitation. It was excellently said 
of Plutr.rch, poetry was a speaking picture, and 
picture a mute poesy. For they both invent, 
feign and devise many things, and accommodate 
all they invent to the use and service of nature. 
Yet of the two, the pen is more noble than the 
pencil ; for that can speak to the understanding ; 
tho other but to the sense. They both behold 



pleasure and profit, as their common object ; 
but should abstain from all base pleasures, lest 
they should err from their end, and while they 
seek to better men's minds, destroy their man- 
ners. They both are born artificers, not made. 
Nature is more powerful in them than study. 

De pictura. — Whosoever loves not picture is 
injurious to truth, and all the M-isdom of poetry. 
Picture is the invention of heaven, the most 
ancient, and most akin to nature. It is itself a 
silent work, and always of one and the same 
habit ; yet it doth so enter and penetrate the 
inmost affection (being done by an excellent 
artificer) as sometimes it overcomes the power 
of speech and oratory. There are divers graces 
in it ; so are there in the artificers. One excels 
in care, another in reason, a third in easiness, a 
fourth in nature and grace. Some have dili- 
gence and comeliness ; but they want majesty. 
They can express a human form in all the 
graces, sweetness, and elegancy : but they miss 
the authority. They can Lit nothing but smooth 
cheeks ; they cannot express roughness or grav- 
ity. Others aspire to truth so much, as they 
are rather lovers of likeness than beauty. Zeuxis 
and Parrhasius are said to be contemporaries : 
the first found out the reason of lights and 
shadows in picture ; the other more subtlely 
examined the line. 

De stylo. — Pliny. — In picture liglit is re- 
quired no less than shadow : so in style, height 
as well as humbleness. But beware tliey be not 
too humble ; as Pliny pronounced of Regulus's 
writings. You would think them written not 
on a child, but by a child. JIany, out of their 
own obscene apprehensions, refuse proper and 
fit words ; as occupy, nature, and the like : so 
the curious industry in some of having all alike 
good, hath come nearer a vice than a virtue. 

De progres. pictura;.'- — Picture took her feign- 
ing from poetry ; from geometry her rule, com- 
pass, lines, proportion, and tlie whole symmetry. 
Parrhasius vras the first won reputation, by ad- 
ding symmetry to picture : he added subtlety to 
the countenance, elegancy to the hair, love-lines 
to the face, and by the public voice of all artifi- 
cers, deserved honor in the outer lines. Eu- 
pompus gave it splendor hj numbers, and other 
elegancies. From the optics it drew reasons, by 
which it considered how things placed at a dis- 
tance, and afar off, should appear less : how 
above or beneath the head should deceive the 
eye, &c. So from thence it took shadows, re- 
cessor, light, and heightnings. l''rom moral 
philosophy it took the soul, the expression of 
senses, perturbations, manners, when they would 
paint an angry person, a proud, an inconstant, 
an ambitious, a brave, a magnanimous, a ju.st, u 
merciful, a compassionate, an humble, a deject- 
ed, a base, and the like ; they made all height- 
enings bright, all shadows dark, all swellings 
from a plane, all solids from brealcing. Sec 
where he complains of their painting Chimccras,'-' 

1 Pai-rliasius. E;iponipus. Socrates. Parrliasius. Ciito. 
Piilygnotas. AglaupUoii. Zeuxis. Parrhasius. Raphael 
(le Urbino. Mien. Angelo Buouarota. Titian. Antony 
de Correg. Set ist de Venct. Julio Romano Andres 
Sartorio 

3 P!in. lib. 35. c 2. u. 6, and 7. Vitruv. lib, 8.. and 7 



880 



DISCOVERIES. 



by the vul-^ar unaptly called grotesque : saying, 
that men wlio were born truly to study and 
emulate nature, did nothing but make monsters 
against nature, which Horace so laughed at.' 
The art plastic was moulding in clay, or potters 
earth anciently. This is the parent of statuarj', 
sculpture, graving, and 23icturc ; cutting in brass 
and marble, all serve under her. Socrates taught 
Parrhasius raid Clito (two noble statuaries) first 
to express manners by their looks in imagery. 
Polygnotus and Aglaophon were ancienter. 
After them, Zeuxis, who was the law-giver to 
all painters ; after, Parrhasius. They were con- 
temporaries, and lived both about Philip's time, 
the father of --Ucxander the Great. There lived 
in this latter age six famous painters in Italy, 
who were excellent and emulous of the ancients ; 
Raphael do Urbino, Michael Angelo Buonarota, 
Titian, xintony of Correggio, Sebastian of Venice, 
Julio Romano, and Andrea Sartorio. 

rarasltl ad mensam. — These are flatterers for 
their bread, that praise all my oraculous lord 
does or saj-s, be it true or false : invent tales that 
shall please ; make baits for his lordsliip's ears ; 
and if they be not received in what they offer at, 
they shift a point of the compass, and turn their 
tale, presently tack about, deny what they con- 
fessed, and confess what they denied ; fit their 
discourse to the persons and occasions. What 
they snatch up and devour at one table, utter at 
another : and grow suspected of the master, 
hated of the servants, while they enquire, and 
reprehend, and compound, and delate business 
of the house they have nothing to do with : 
they praise my lord's wine, and the sauce he 
likes ; observe the cook and bottle-man, while 
they stand in my lord's favor, speak for a pen- 
eion for them ; but pound them to dust upon my 
lord's least distaste, or change of his palate. 

How much better is it to be silent, or at least 
to speak sparingly ! for it is not enough to speak 
good but timely things. If a man be asked a 
question, to answer ; but to repeat the question 
before ho answer is well, that he be sure to 
understand it, to avoid absurdity : for it is less 
dishonor to hear imperfectly than to speak im- 
perfectly. The cars are excused, the under- 
standing is not. And in things unlinown to a 
man, not to give his opinion, lest by the affec- 
tation of knowing too much, he lose the credit 
he hath by speaking or knowing the wrong way, 
what he utters. Nor seek to get his patron's 
favor, by embarking himself, in the factions of 
the family : to enquire after domestic simulties, 
their sports or affections. They are an odious 
and vile kind of creatures, that fly about the 
house all day, and picking up the filtli of the 
house like pies, or swallows, carry it to their 
nest, (the lord's ears,) and often-times report the 
lies they have feigned, for what they have seen 
and heard. 

Imo scrviles. — These are called instruments 
of grace and power, with great persons : but they 
are indeed the organs of their impotency, and 
marks of weakness. For sufficient lords are 
able to make these discoveries themselves. 
Neither will an honorable person enquire -who 

1 Horat. in Arte Poet. 



eats and drinks together, M-hat that man plays, 
whom this man loves, with whom such a or.t' 
walks, what discourse they held, who sleeps 
with whom. They are base'and servile natures", 
that busy themselves about these disquisitions! 
How often have I seen (and worthily) these 
censors of the family undertaken by some hon- 
est rustic, and cudgelled thriftily ? These are 
commonly the off"-scowering and' dregs of men 
that do these things, or calumniate others ; yet 
I know not truly which is worse, he that maligns 
all, or that praises all. There is as great a vice 
in praising, and asfrequent, as in detracting. 

It_ pleased your lordship of late, to a.sk°my 
opinion touching the education of your sons, 
and _ especially to the advancement of their 
studies. To which, though I returned some- 
M-hat for the present, which rather manifest- 
ed a will in me, than gave any just resolution 
to the thing propounded ; I have upon better 
cogitation called those aids about me, both of 
mind and memory, which shall venture my 
thoughts clearer, if not fuller, to your lordship's 
demand. I confess, my lord, they ■\\-iIl seem 
but petty and minute things I shall offer to you, 
being writ for children, and of them. Eut studies 
have their infancy as well as creatures. "\Ve 
see hi men even the strongest compositions had 
their beginnings from milk and the cradle ; and 
the wisest tarried sometimes about apting their 
mouths to letters and syllables. In their educa- 
tion, therefore, the care must be the greater had 
of their beginnings, to know, examine, and 
weigh their natures; which though they bo 
proner in some children to some disciplines ; yet 
are they naturally prompt to taste all by degrees, 
and with change. For change is a kind of re- 
freshing in studies, and infuseth knowledge by 
way of recreation. Thence the school itself is 
called a play or game ; and all letters are so best 
taught to scholars. They should not be affright- 
ed or deterred in their entry, but drawn on Avith 
exercise and emulation. A" youth should not be 
made to hate study, before he know the causes 
to love it; or taste the bitterness before the 
sweet ; but called on and allured, intreated and 
praised: yea, when he deserves it not.' For 
Avhich cause I wish them sent to the best school, 
and a public, which I think the best. Your 
lordship, I fear, hardly hears of that, as willing 
to breed them in your eye, and at home, and 
doiibting tlicir manners maybe corrupted abroad. 
They are in more danger in your own family, 
among ill servants (atlowing" they be safe In 
their schoolmaster) than amongst a thousand 
boys however immodest. Would we did not 
spoil our own children, and overthrow their 
manners ourselves by 'too much indulgence! 
To breed them at home, is to breed them in a 
shade ; where in a school they have the light 
and heat of the sun. They are used and accus- 
tomed to things and men. When they come 
forth into the commonAvealth, they And nothing 
new, or to seek. They have made their friend- 
ships and aids, some to last their age. They 
hear what is commanded to others as well as 
themselves. Much approved, much corrected , 
all which they bring to their own store and urr, 
and learn as much as they hear. Eloquence 



DISCOVERIES. 



881 



would be but a poor thing, if we should only 
converse with singulars ; speak but man and 
man together. Therefore I like no private breed- 
ing. I would send them where their industry 
should be daily increased by praise ; and that 
kindled by emulation. It is a good thing to 
inflame the mind, and though ambition itself be 
a vice, it is often the cause of great virtue. Give 
me that wit whom praise excites, glory puts on, 
or disgrace grieves ; he is to be nourished with 
ambition, pricked forward with honor, checked 
with reprehension, and never to be suspected of 
sloth. Though he be given to play, it is a sign 
of spirit and liveliness, so there be a mean had 
of their sports and relaxations. And from the 
rod or ferrule, I would have them free, as from 
the menace of them ; for it is both deformed 
and servile. 

De stylo, et opiimo scrihendi ge^iere. — For a 
man to write well, there are required three ne- 
cessaries : to read the best authors, observe the 
best speakers, and much exercise of YLs own 
style. In style to consider what ought to be 
• written, and after M-hat manner ; he must first 
think and excogitate his matter, then choose his 
words, and examine the weight of either. Then 
take care in placing and ranking both matter 
and words, that the composition be comely, 
and to do this with diligence and often. No 
matter how slow the style be at first, so it be 
labored and accurate; seek the best, and be not 
glad of the froward conceits, or first Avords, that 
offer themselves to us ; but judge of what wo 
invent, and order what we approve. Repeat 
often what we have formerly written; which 
beside that it helps the consequence, and makes 
the juncture better, it quickens the heat of im- 
agination, that often cools in the time of setting 
down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew 
lustier by the going back. As we see in the 
contention of leaping, they jump farthest, that 
fetch their race largest : or, as in throwing a dart 
or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our 
loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair gale 
of wind, I forbid not the steering out of cur 
sail, so the favor of the gale deceive us not. 
For all that we invent doth please us in concep- 
tion of birth, else we would never set it down. 
But the safest is to return to our judgment, and 
handle over again those things, the easiness of 
which might make them justly suspected. So 
did the best writers in their beginnings ; they 
imposed upon themselves care and industry ; 
they did nothing rashly : they obtained first to 
write well, and then custom made it easy and a 
habit. By little and little their matter shewed 
itself to them more plentifully ; their words 
answered, their composition followed ; and all, 
as in a Avell-ordered family, presented itself in 
the place. So that the sum of all is, ready 
writing makes not good writing ; but good 
writing brings on ready writing : yet, when we 
think Ave have got the faculty, it is oven then 
good to resist it ; as to give a horse a check som.e- 
times Avith a bit, Avhich doth not so much stop 
his course, as stir his mettle. Again, Avhether 
a man's genius is best able to reach thither, it 
should more and more contend, lift, and dilate 
itself, as men of low stature raise themselves on 

56 



their toes, and so oft-times get even, if not emi- 
nent. Besides, as it is fit for groAvn and able 
Avritcrs to stand of themselves, and Avork Avith 
their OAvn strength, to trust and endeavor by 
their OAvn faculties : so it is fit for the beginner 
and learner to study others and the best. For the 
mind and memory arc more sharply exercised in 
comprehending another man's things than our 
own ; and such as accustom themselves and are 
familiar Avith the best authors, shall ever and 
anon find somewhat of them in themseh'es, and 
in the expression of their minds, OA'en Avhon 
they feel it not, be able to utter something like 
theirs, Avhich hath an authority above their OAvn. 
Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a man's 
study, the praise of quoting another man fitly : 
and though a man be more prone, and able for 
one kind of Avriting than another, yet he must 
exercise all. For as in an instrument, so in 
style, there must be a harmony and consent of 
parts. ■ 

Prcecipiendi modi. — I take this labor in teach- 
ing others, that they should not be alwaj's to be 
taught, and I Avoukl bring my precepts into prac- 
tice : for rules are ever of less force and a' alue 
than experiments : yet Avith this purpose, rather 
to shcAV the right Avay to those that come after, 
than to detect any that have slipt before by 
error, and I hoi^e it Avill be more profitable. 
For men do more willingly listen, and Avith more 
faA'or, to precept, than reprehension. Among 
diA'ers opinions of an art, and most of them con- 
trary in themselves, it is hard to make election ; 
and therefore though a man cannot invent new 
things after so many, ho may do a Avolcome Avork, 
yet to help posterity to judge rightly of the old 
But arts and precepts avail nothing, except na- 
ture be beneficial and aiding. And therefore 
these things are no more Avritten to a dull dis- 
position, than rules of husbandry to a soil. No 
precepts Avill profit a fool, no more than beauty 
Avill the blind, or music the deaf. As we should 
take care that our style in Avriting be neither 
dry nor empty ; Ave should look again it be not 
Avinding, or Avanton Avith far-fetched descrip- 
tions ; either is a vice. But that is Averse Avhich 
proceeds out of Avant, than that Avhich riots out 
of plenty. The remedy of fruitfulness is easy, 
but no labor Avill help the contrary ; I Avill like 
and praise some things in a young Avrit«r ; Avhich 
yet if he continue in, I cannot but justly hate 
him for the same. There is a time to be giA'en 
all things for maturity, and that even your coun- 
try husbandman can teach ; Avho to a young 
plant Avill not put the pruning-knife, because it 
seems to fear the iron, as not able to admit the 
scar. No more Avould I tell a green Avriter all 
his faults, lest I should make him grieve and 
faint, and at last despair. For nothing doth 
more hurt than to make him so afraid of all 
things, as he can endeavor nothing. Therefore 
3'outh ought to be instructed betimes, and in the 
best things ; for Ave hold those longest Ave take 
soonest ; as the first scent of a vessel lasts, and the 
tinct the wool first receives ; therefore a master 
should temper his own powers, and descend to 
the other's infirmity. If you pour a glut of Avater 
upon a bottle, it receives little of it ; but Avith 
a funnel, and by degrees, you shall fill many of 



882 



DISCOVERIES. 



tlieni, and spill little of your own ; to tlieir ca- 
pacity they will all receive and be full. And as 
it is fit to i'cad the best authors to youth first, so 
let them be of the openost and clearest.' As 
Livy before Sallust, Sidney before Donne : and 
beware of letting thera taste Gower or Chaucer 
at first, lest falling ton much in love with an- 
tiquity, and not apprehei-ding the weight, they 
grow rough and barren in language only. When 
their judgments are firm, and out of danger, let 
them read both the old and the new ; but no 
less take heed that their new flowers and sweet- 
ness do not as much corrupt as the others' dry- 
ness and squalor, if they choose not carefully. 
Spenser, in afiecting the ancients, writ no lan- 
j^uagc ; yet I Avould have him read for his mat- 
ter, but as Virgil read Ennius. The reading of 
Homer and Virgil is counselled by Quintilian, 
as the best way of informing youth, and con- 
firming man. For, besides that the mind is 
raised Avith the height and subliniity of such a 
verse, it takes spirit from the greatness of the 
matter, and is tincted with the best things. 
Tragic and lyric poetry is good too, and comic 
with the best, if the manners of the reader be 
once in safety. In the Greek poets, as also in 
Plautus, we shall see the economy and disposi- 
tion of poems better observed than in Terence ; 
and the latter, Avho thought the solo grace and 
virtue of their fable the sticking in of sentences, 
as ours do the forcing in of jests. 

Fals. querel. fugiend. — Platonis peregrlnatio in 
Italiam. — We should not protect our sloth with 
the patronage of difficulty. It is a false quarrel 
against nature, that she helps understanding but 
in a few, when the most part of mankind are 
inclined by her thither, if they Avould take the 
pains ; no less than birds to fly, horses to run, 
&c., Avhich if they lose, it is through their own 
sluggishness, and by that means become her 
prodigies, not her children. I confess, nature in 
children is more patient of labor in study, than 
in age ; for the sense of the pain, the judgment 
of the labor is absent, they do not measure what 
they have done. And it is the thought and con- 
sideration that affects us more than the weari- 
ness itself. Plato was not content with the learn- 
ing, that Athens could give him, but sailed into 
Italy, for Pythagoras' knoAvledge : and yet not 
thinking himself sufficiently informed, went into 
Egypt, to the priests, and learned their myste- 
ries. He labored, so must we. Many things 
may be learned together, and performed in one 
point of time : as musicians exercise their memo- 
ry, their voice, their fingers, and sometimes their 
head and feet at once. And so a preacher, in 
the invention of matter, election of words, com- 
position of gesture, look, pronunciation, motion, 
useth all these faculties at once : and if we can 
express this variety together, Avhy should not 
divers studies, at divers hours, delight, Avhen the 
variety is able alone to refl-esh and repair us ? 
As Avhen a man is Aveary of Avriting, to read ; 
and then again of reading, to Avrite. Wherein, 
howsoever Ave do many things, yet are Ave (in a 
Bort) still fresh to Avhat Ave begin ; Ave arerecre- 



1 Livy. Sallust. Sidney. Donne. 
Bpenser. Viigil. Ennius. Homer. 
tU3. Tereucii. 



Gower. Chaucer. 
Quintilian. Plau- 



ated Avith change, as the stomach is Avith meats. 
But some Avill say, this A'ariety breeds confusion, 
and makes, that either Ave lose all, or hold no 
more than the last. Why do Ave not then per- 
suade husbandmen that they should not till 
land, help it Avith marl, lime, and compost ? 
plant hop-gardens, prune trees, look to bee- 
hives, rear sheep, and all other cattle at once ? 
It is easier to do many things and continue, than 
to do one thing long. 

Prcpcept. element. — It is not the passing through 
these learnings that hurts us, but the dwelling 
and sticking about them. To descend to those 
extreme anxieties and foolish cavils of gramma- 
rians, is able to break a Avit in pieces, being a 
Avork of manifold misery and vainness, to be 
clementa.rii senes. Yet even letters are asit Avere 
the bank of Avords, and restore themselves to an 
author as the paAvns of language : but talking 
and eloquence are not the same : to speak, and 
to speak avcU, are tAVO things. A fool may talk, 
but a Avise man speaks, and out of the observa- 
tion., knoAvledge, and the use of things, many 
Avriters perplex their readers and hearers Avith. 
mere nonsense. Their Avritings need sunshine. 
Pure and neat language I love, yet plaiir and 
customary. A barbarous phrase has often made 
me out of love Avith a good sense, and doubtful 
Avriting hath Avracked me beyond my patience. 
The reason Avhy a poet is said that he ought to 
have all knoAvledges is, that he should not be 
ignorant of the most, especiallj'' of those he Avill 
handle. And indeed, Avhen the attaining of 
them is possible, it A\-cre a sluggish and base 
thing to despair. For frequent imitation of any 
thing becomes a habit quickly. If a man should 
prosecute as much as could be said of every 
thing, his AVork Avould find no end. 

De orationis dignitate. — 'Eivy.vy.loTiaiSna. — 
M'etaphora. — Speech ,is the only benefit man 
hath to express his excellency of mind above 
other creatures. It is the instrument of soci- 
ety ; therefore Mercury, Avho is the president of 
language, is called Dconun homiimmque interprcs. 
In all speech, Avords and sense are as the body 
and the soul. The sense is, as the life and soul 
of language, Avithout Avhich all Avords are dead. 
Sense is Avrought out of experience, the knoAvl- 
cdge of human life and actions, or of the liberal 
arts, Avhich the Greeks called 'Evy.vy.lorruiSeiav. 
Words are the people's, yet there is a choice of 
them to be made. For Verborum delectus origo est 
eloquentUc^ They are to be chose according 
to the persons Ave make speak, or the things 
Ave speak of. Some are of the camp, some of 
the council-board, some of the shop, some of 
the sheep-cote, some of the pulpit, some of the 
bar, &c. And herein is seen their elegance and 
propriety, Avhen Ave use them fitly, and draw 
them forth to their just strength and nature, by 
Avay of translation or metaphor. But in this 
translation Ave must only serve necessity, {Nam 
temert nihil transfcrtur a 2vudcnti,) or commod- 
ity, Avhich is a kind of necessity : that is, Avhen 
Ave either absolutely Avant a Avord to express by, 
and that is necessity ; or Avhen Ave have not so 

- Julius Ca^-sar Of words, see llor de Art. Poet. Qum- 
til. 1. 8. LudoA'. Vivea, pi 6 and 7 



DISCOVERIES. 



883' 



fit a word, and that is commodity ; as when we 
avoid loss by it, and escape obscenenoss, and gain 
in the grace and property which helps significance. 
Metaphors, far-fet, hinder to bo understood ; and 
affected, lose their grace. Or when the person 
fetcheth his translations from a wrong place. As 
if a privy-counsellor should at the tabic take 
his metaphor from a dicing-house, or ordinary, 
or a vinter's vault ; or a justice of peace draw 
his similitudes from the mathematics, or a divine 
from a bawdy-house, or taverns ; or a gentleman 
of Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, or the Mid- 
land, should fetch all the illustrations to his 
country neighbors from shipping, and tell them 
of the main-sheet and the boulin. Metaphors 
are thus many times deformed, as in him that 
said, Castrafam morte AfricanirempubUcam. And 
another, Stercus curim Glauciam. And CanA 
nive couspuit Alpcs. All attempts that are new 
in this kind, are dangerous, and somewhat hard, 
before they be softened with use. A man coins 
not a new word without some peril, and less 
fruit ; for if it happen to be received, the praise 
is but moderate ; if refused, the scorn is assured. 
Yet we must adventure ; for things, at first hard 
and rough, are by use made tender and gentle. 
It is an honest error that is committed, following 
great chiefs. 

Consuetudo. — Perspicuitas, Venustas. — Au- 
iJioritas. — Virgil. — Lucretius. — Chaucerisni. — 
Paronomasia. — Custom is the most certain mis- 
tress of language, as the public stamp makes the 
current money. But we must not be too fre- 
quent with the mint, every day coining, nor 
fetch words from the extreme and utmost ages ; 
since the chief virtue of a style is perspicuity, 
and nothing so vicious in it as to need an inter- 
preter. "Words borrowed of antiquity do lend a 
kind of majesty to style, and are not without 
their delight sometimes. Por they have the 
authority of years, and out of their intermission 
do win themselves a kind of grace-like newness. 
But the eldest of the present, and newness of 
the past language, is the best. For what was 
the ancient language, which some men so dote 
upon, but the ancient custom ? yet when I name 
custom, I understand not the vulgar custom ; 
for that were a precept no less dangerous to lan- 
guage than life, if we should speak or live after 
the manners of the vulgar : but that I call cus- 
tom of speech, which is the consent of the 
learned ; as custom of life, which is the consent 
of the good. Virgil was most loving of anti- 
quity ; yet how rarely doth he insert aquai, and 
fictai ! Lucretius is scabrous and rough in 
these ; he seeks them : as some do Chaucerisms 
Avith us, which were better expunged and ban- 
ished. Same words are to be culled out for 
ornament and color, as we gather flowers to 
strow houses, or make garlands ; but they are 
better when they grow to our style ; as in a 
meadow, where though the mere grass and 
greenness delight, yet the variety of flowers doth 
heighten and beautify. IMarry we must not play 
or riot too much with them, as in Paronomasies ; 
nor use too swelling or ill-sounding words ! 
Quceper salebras, altaque saxa cadunt. It is true, 
there is no sound but shall find some lovers, as 
the bitterest confections are grateful to some 



palates. Our comxiosition must be more accu 
rate in the beginning and end than in the midst 
and in the end more than in the beginning ; foi 
through the midst the stream bears us. And 
this is attained by custom more than care ol 
diligence. We must express readily and fully, 
not profusely. There is difference between a 
Hberal and prodigal hand. As it is a great 
point of art, when our matter requires it, to en- 
large and veer out all sail ; so to take it in and 
contract it, is of no less praise, when the argu- 
ment doth ask it. Either of them hath theit 
fitness in the place. A good man always profits 
by his endeavor, by his help, yea, when he is 
absent, nay, ivhen he is dead, by his example 
and memory. So good authors in their style : 
a strict and succinct style is that, where you can 
take away nothing without loss, and that loss to 
be manifest. 

De Stylo. — Tacitus. — The Laconic. — Suetonius. 
— Seneca, and Fabianus. — The brief style is that 
which expresseth much in little. The concise 
style, which expresseth not enough, but Icavea 
somewhat to be understood. The abrupt style, 
which hath many breaches, and doth not seem 
to end, but fall. The congruent and harmonioua 
fitting of parts in a sentence hath almost the fas- 
tening and force of knitting and connection ; as 
in stones well squared, which will rise strong a 
great Avay without mortar. 

Periodi. — Obscuritas offundit tenebras. — Su- 
perlatio. — Periods are beautiful, when they are 
not too long ; for so they have their strength too, 
as in a pike or javelin. As we must take the care 
that our words and sense be clear ; so if the 
obscurity happen through the hearer's or read- 
er's want of understanding, I am not to answer 
for them, no more than for their not listening or 
marking ; I must neither find them ears nor mind. 
But a man cannot put a word so in sense, but 
something about it will illustrate it, if the writer 
understand himself. For order helps much to 
perspicuity, as confusion hurts. Bectitudo lucem 
adfcrt ; obliquitas et circumductio ojfuscat. We 
should therefore speak what we can the nearest 
Avay, so as we keep our gait, not leap ; for too 
short may as well be not let into the memory, as 
too long not kept in. Whatsoever loseth the 
grace and clearness, converts into a riddle : the 
obscurity is marked, but not the value. That 
perisheth, and is passed by, like the pearl in the 
fable. Our style should be like a skein of silk, 
to be carried and found by the right thread, not 
ravelled and perplexed ; then all is a knot, a 
heap. There are words that do as much raise a 
style, as others can depress it. Superlation and 
over-muchness amplifies. It may be above faith, 
but never above a mean. It was ridiculous in 
Cestius, when he said of Alexander : 

Fiemit oreanus, quasi indignotur, quod terras relinquas ; 

But propitiously from Virgil : 

Credas inuare vevulsas 

Cycladas. 

lie doth not say it was so, but seemed to be 
so. Although it be some^yhat incredible, that is 
excused before it be spoken. But there ai^ hy- 
perboles which wiU become one language, that 



684 



DISCOVERIES. 



will by no means admit another. As Eos esse 
P. R. excrcitus, qui coclum 2'>ossint pcmmipere,'^ who 
would sav with us, but a madman ? Therefore 
we must "consider in every tongue what is used, 
'vhat received. Quintilian warns us, that in no 
kind of translation, or metaphor, or allegory, we 
make a turn from what we began ; as if we 
fetch the original of our metaphor from sea, and 
billows, we end not in flames and ashes : it is a 
most foul inconsequence. Neither must we 
draw out our allegory too long, lest either we 
make ourselves obscure, or fall into affectation, 
which is childish. But why do men depart at 
all from the right and natural ways of speaking ? 
sometimes for necessity, when we are driven, or 
think it fitter to speak that in obscure words, 
or by circumstance, which uttered plainly would 
offend the hearers. Or to avoid obsceneness, or 
sometimes for pleasure, and variety, as travellers 
turn out of the highway, drawn either by the 
commodity of a foot-path, or the delicacy or 
freshness of the fields. And all this is called 
icr/rjuunai^trt;, or figured language. 

Oratio imago cmimi, — Language most shews a 
man: Speak, that I may see thee. It springs out 
of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and 
is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No 
glass renders a man's form or likeness so true as 
his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man : and as 
we consider feature and composition in a man, 
so words in language ; in the greatness, aptness, 
sound, structure, and harmony of it. 

Structura et statura, sublimis, humilis, pumila. 
— Some men are tall and big, so some language 
is high and great. Then the words are chosen, 
their sound ample, the composition full, the ab- 
solution plenteous, and poured out, all grave, 
sinewy, and strong. Some are little and dwarfs ; 
so of speech it is humble and low, the words 
jDOor and flat, the members and periods thin and 
weak, without knitting or number. 

Mediocris plana et placida. — The middle are of 
a just stature. There the language is plain and 
pleasing ; even without stopping, round with- 
out swelling : all well-torned, composed, elegant, 
and accurate. 

Vitiosa oratio, vasta — tiimens — enormis — af- 
feetata — abjecta. — The vicious language is vast, 
and gaping, swelling, and irregular : when it 
contends to be high, full of rock, mountain, and 
pointedness : as it affects to be loV, it is abject, 
and creeps, full of bogs and holes. And accord- 
ing to their subject these stj'les vary, and lose 
their names : for that which is higli and lofty, 
declaring excellent matter, becomes vast and 
tumorous, speaking of petty and inferior things : 
so that which was even and apt in a mean and 
plain subject, will appear most poor and humble 
in a high argument. Would you not laugh to 
meet a great counsellor of state in a flat cap, 
with his trunk hose, and a hobby-horse cloak, 
his gloves under his girdle, and yond haber- 
dasher in a velvet gown, furred with sables ? 
There is a certain latitude in these things, by 
which we find the degrees. 

Figura. — The next thing to the stature, is the 
figure and feature in language ; that is, whether 

1 Citsar Comment, circa fin. 



it be round and straight, wnich consists of shorl 
and succinct periods, nirmoious and polished, oi 
square and firm, Avhich is to have equal and 
strong parts every where answerable, and 
weighed. 

Cutis sive cortex. Com^Msitio. — The third is 
the skin and coat, which rests in the well-joining, 
cementing, and coagmentation of words ; when 
as it is smooth, gentle, and sweet, like a table 
upon which you may run your finger Avithoul 
rubs, and your nail cannot find a joint ; not hor- 
rid, rough, wrinkled, gaping, or chapt : aftci 
these, the flesh, blood, and bones come in 
question. 

Carnosa — adipata — redundans. — We say it is 
a fleshy style, when there is much periphrasis, 
and circuit of words ; and when with more than 
enough, it grows fat and corpulent : arcina ora- 
tionis, full of suet and tallow. It hath blood 
and juice when the Avords are proper and apt, 
their sound sweet, and the phrase neat and 
picked. Oratio uncta, at bene 2^asta. But where 
there is redundancy, both the blood and juice 
are faulty and vicious : Redundat sanguine, quia 
multd 2}lus dicit, quani necesse est. Juice in lan- 
guage is somewhat less than blood ; for if the 
words be but becoming and signifying, and the 
sense gentle, there is juice ; but where that want- 
eth, the language is thin, flagging, poor, starved, 
scarce covering the bone, and shews like stones 
in a sack. 

Jejuna, macilenta, strigosa. — Ossea, et nervosa, 
— Some men, to avoid redundancy, run into 
that ; and while they strive to have jio ill blood 
or juice, they lose their good. There be some 
styles again, that have not less blood, but less 
flesh and corpulence. These are bony and 
sinewy ; Ossa habent, et Tiervos. 

Notrn domini Sti. Albani do doctrin. intemper. — 
Dictator. — Aristoteles. — It was well noted by 
the late lord St. Alban, that the study of words 
is the first distemper of learning ; vain matter 
the second ; and a third distemper is deceit, or 
the likeness of truth : imposture held up by 
credulity. All these are the cobwebs of learn- 
ing, and to let them grow in us, is either slut- 
tish, or foolish. Nothing is more ridiculous than 
to make an author a dictator, as the schools have 
done Aristotle. The damage is infinite knowl- 
edge receives by it ; for to many things a man 
should owe but a temporary belief, and suspen- 
sion of his own judgment, not an absolute res- 
ignation of himself, or a perpetual captivity. 
Let Aristotle and others have their dues; but 
if we can make farther discoveries of truth and 
fitness than they, why are we envied ? Let us 
beware, while we strive to add, we do not di- 
minish, or deface ; we may improve, but not 
augment. By discrediting falsehood, truth grows 
in request. We must not go abou.t, like men 
anguished and perplexed, for vicious affectation 
of praise : but calmly study the separation of 
opinions, find the errors have intervened, awako 
antiquity, call former times into question ; but 
make no parties with the present, nor follow any 
fierce undertakers, mingle no matter of doubtful 
credit with the simplicity of truth, but gently 
stir the mould about the root of the question, 
and avoid all digladiations, facihty of credit, oi 



DISCOVERIES. 



833 



superstitious simplicity, seek the consonancy, 
and concatenation of truth ; stoop only to point 
of necessity, and what leads to convenience. 
Then make exact aniraadvorsion ■where style 
hath degenerated, where flourished and thrived 
in choiceness of phrase, round and clean com- 
position of sentence, sweet falling of the clause, 
varying an illustration by tropes and figures, 
■weight of matter, worth of subject, soundness 
of argument, life of invention, and depth of 
judgment. This is monte pofh-i, to get the hill ; 
for no perfect discovery can be made upon a flat 
or a level. 

De Optimo scrijyfore. — Cicero. — Now that I 
have informed you in the knowing these things, 
let me lead you by the hand a little farther, "in 
the direction of the use, and make you an able 
writer by practice. The conceits of the mind 
are pictures of things, and the tongue is the 
interpreter of those pictures. The order of 
God's creatu.rcs in themselves is not only ad- 
mirable and glorious, but eloquent : then he 
who could apprehend the consequence of things 
in their truth, and utter his apprehensions as 
truly, were the best writer or speaker. There- 
fore Cicero said much, w^hen he said, Dicere 
rede nemo potest, nisi qui prudenter intelligit. The 
Bhame of speaking unskilfully were small, if 
the tongue only thereby were disgraced ; but as 
the image of a king, in his seal ill represented, 
is not so much a blemish to the wax, or the 
signet that sealed it, as to the prince it repre- 
senteth ; so disordered speech is not so much 
injury to the lips that give it forth, as to the dis- 
proportion and incoherence of things in them- 
selves, so negligently expressed. Neither can 
his mind be thought to be in tune, whoso words 
do jar ; nor his reason in frame, whose sentence 
is preposterous ; nor his elocution clear and 
perfect, whose utterance breaks itself into frag- 
ments and uncertainties. Were it not a dis- 
honor to a mighty prince, to have the majesty 
of his embassage spoiled by a careless ambassa- 
dor ? and is it not as great an indignity, that an 
excellent conceit and capacity, by the indili- 
gence of an idle tongue, should be disgraced ? 
Negligent speech doth not only discredit the 
person of the speaker, but it discreditcth the 
opinion of his reason and judgment ; it discred- 
itcth the force and uniformity of the matter and 
Bubstance. If it be so then in words, which fly 
and escape censure, and where one good phrase 
begs pardon for many incongruities and faults, 
how shall he then be thought wise, whose pen- 
ning is thin and shallow ? how shall yon look 
for wit from him, ■whose leisure and head, as- 
sisted with the examination of his eyes, yield 
you no life or sharpness in his writing ? 

De stylo epistolari. — Inventio. — In writing 
there is to be regarded the invention and the 
fashion. For the invention, that ariseth upon 
your business whereof there can be no rules of 
more certainty, or precepts of better direction 
given, than conjecture can lay down, from the 
several occasions of men's particular lives and 
vocations : but sometime* men make baseness 
of kindness : As " I could not satisfy myself 
till I had discharged my remembrance, and 
charged my letters with commendation to you ; " 



or, " My business is no other than to testify my 
love to you, and to put you in mind of my will- 
ingness to do you all kind offices : " or, " Sir, 
have you leisure to descend to the remembering 
of that assurance you have long possest in youi" 
servant, and iipon your next opportunity make 
him happy with some commands from you ? " 
or the like ; that go a begging for some mean- 
ing, and labor to be delivered of the great 
burden of nothing. When you have invented, 
and that your business be matter, and not bare 
form, or mere ceremony, but some earnest, then 
are you to proceed to the ordering of it, and 
digesting the parts, which is had out of two 
circumstances. One is the understanding of 
the persons to Avhom you are to write ; the 
other is the coherence of j'our sentence. For 
men's capacity to weigh what will be appre- 
hended with greatest attention or leisure ; what 
next regarded and longed for especially, and 
what last will leave satisfaction, and (as it were) 
the sweetest memorial and belief of all that is 
past in his understanding whom you write to. 
For the consequence of sentences, you must be 
sure that every clause do give the Q. one to the 
other, and be bespoken ere it come. So much 
for invention and order. 

Modus. — I. Brevitas. — Now for fashion: it 
consists in four things, which are qualities of 
your style. The first is brevity : for they must 
not be treatises or discourses (your letters) ex- 
cept it be to learned men. And even among them 
there is a kind of thrift and saving of words. 
Therefore you are to examine the clearest pas- 
sages of your understanding, and through them to 
convey the sweetest and most significant words 
you can devise, that you may the easier teach 
them the readiest way to another man's appre- 
hension, and open their meaning fullj^ roundly, 
and distinctly ; so as the reader may not think a 
second view cast away upon your letter. And 
though respect be a part following this, yet now 
here, and still I must remember it, if you write 
to a man, whose estate and cense, as senses, you 
are familiar with, you may the bolder (to set a 
task to his brain) venture on a knot. But if to 
your superior you are bound to measure him in 
three farther points : first, with interest in him ; 
secondly, his capacity in yovir letters ; thirdly, 
his leisure to peruse them. For your interest 
or favor with him, yoii are to be the shorter or 
longer, more familiar or siibmiss, as ho will af- 
ford you time. For his capacity, you are to be 
quicker and fuller of those reaches and glances 
of wit or learning, as he is able to entertain them. 
For his leisiu-e, you are commanded to the 
greater briefness, as his place is of greater dis- 
charges and cares. But with your betters, you 
are not to put riddles of wit, by being too scarce 
of words : not to cause the trouble of making 
breviates by writing too riotous and wastingiy. 
Brevity is attained in matter, by avoiding idle 
compliments, prefaces, protestations, parenthe- 
ses, superfluous circuit of figures and digres- 
sions : in the composition, by omitting conjunc- 
tions [not only, but also; both the one and the 
other, whereby it cometh to piass^ and such like idle 
particles, that have no great business in a serious 
letter but breaking of sentences, as oftentimes 



S86 



DISCOVERIES. 



a short journey is made long by unnecessary 
baits. 

Quintilia7i. — But, as Quintilian saith, there is 
a briefness of the jjarts sometimes that makes the 
whole long ; as I came to the stairs, I took a pair 
of oars, they launched out, rowed apace, Handed 
at the court gate, I paid my fare, went up to the 
presence, asked for my lord, I was admitted. All 
this is but, I went to the court, and spake with 
my lord. This is the fault of some Latin writers, 
within these last hundred years, of my reading ; 
and perhaps Seneca may be appeached of it ; I 
accuse him not. 

2. Perspicuitas. — The next property of epis- 
tolary style is perspicuity, and is oftentimes by 
affectation of some wit ill angled for, or ostenta- 
tion of some hidden terms of art. Few words 
they darken speech, and so do too many ; as well 
too much light hurteth the eyes, as too little ; 
and a long bill of chancer}^ confounds the under- 
standing, as much as the shortest note ; there- 
fore let not your letters be penn'd like English 
statutes, and this is obtained. These vices arc 
eschewed by pondering your business well and 
distinctly concerning yourself, Avhich is much 
furthered by uttering your thoughts, and letting 
them as well come forth to the light and judg- 
ment of your own outward senses, as to the 
censure of other men's ears ; for that is the 
reason why many good scholars speak but fum- 
blingly ; like a rich man, that for want of par- 
ticular note and difference, can brhag you no 
certain ware readily out of his shop. Hence it 
is, that talkative shallow men do often content 
the hearers more than the wise. But this may 
find a speedier redress in writing, where all 
comes under the last examination of the ej'es. 
First, mind it well, then pen it, then examine it, 
then amend it, and you maj^ be in the better 
hope of doing reasonably well. Under this vir- 
tue may come plainness, which is not to be cu- 
rious in the order as to answer a letter, as if you 
were to answer to interrogatories. As to the 
first, first ; and to the second, secondly, &c. but 
both in method to use (as ladies do in their 
attire) a diligent kind of negligence, and their 
sportive freedom : though with some men you 
are not to jest, or practise tricks ; yet the deliv- 
er}' of the most important things may be carried 
with such a grace, as that it may yield a pleas- 
ure to the conceit of the reader. There must 
be store, though no excess of terms ; as if you 
are to name store, sometimes you maj' call it 
choice, sometimes plenty, sometimes copious- 
ness, or variety ; but ever so, that the wotd 
which comes in lieu, have not svich difference of 
meaning, as that it may put the sense of the first 
in hazard to be mistaken. You are not to cast a 
ring for the perfumed terms of the time, as ac- 
commodation, complement, spirit, &c. but use them 
properly in their place, as others. 

3. Vigor. — There foUoweth life and quick- 
ness, which is the strength and sinews, as it 
were, of your penning by pretty sayings, simil- 
itudes, and conceits ; allusions from known 
history, or other common place, such as are in 
the Courtier, and the second book of Cicero De 
Oratore. 

4. Discretio. — The last is, respect to discern 



what fits yourself, him to whom you write, and 
that which you handle, which is a quality lit to 
conclude the rest, because it doth include all, 
And that must proceed from ripeness of judg- 
ment, which, as one truly saith, is gotten by 
four means, God, nature, diligence, and conver- 
sation. Serve the first well, and the rest will 
serve you. 

De Poetica. — We haA'O spoken sufficiently of 
oi'atory, let us now make a diversion to poetry. 
Poetr}', in the primogeniture, had many peccant 
humors, and is made to have more now, through 
the levity and inconstancy of men's judgments. 
Whereas indead it is the most prevailing elo- 
quence, and of the most exalted caract. Now 
the discredits and disgraces are many it hath 
received, through men's study of depravation 
or calumny; their practice being to give it dim- 
inution of credit, by lessening the professor's 
estimation, and making the age afraid of their 
liberty : and the age is grown so tender of her 
fame, as she calls all writings aspersions. 

That is the state word, the phrase of court 
(placentia college), which some call Parasites 
place, the Inn of Ignorance. 

jD. Hieronrjmm. — Whilst I name no persons, 
but deride follies, why should any man confess 
or betray himself? Avhy doth not that of S. 
Hierome come into their mind, JJbi generalis est 
de viiiis disputatio, ibi nidlius esse personce injuri- 
am ? Is it such an inexpiable crime in poets, 
to tax vices generally, and no offence in them, 
who, by their exception, confess they have com- 
mitted them particularly ? Are wo fallen into 
those times that ^^"e must not 

Auriculas tcneras niordaci rodcro vDro.l 

Remedii votum semper veriiis erat, quam spes." 
— Sexiis focmiii. — If men may by no means write 
freely, or speak truth, but when it oftends not ; 
why do physicians cure with sharp medicines, 
or corrosives ? is it not the same equally lawful 
in the cure of the mind, that is in the cure of 
the body ? Some vices, you will say, are so foul, 
that it is better thej^ should be done than spoken. 
But they that take offence where no name, 
character, or signature, doth blazon them, seem 
to me lilvC affected as Avomen, who if they hear 
any thing ill spoken of the ill of their sex, are 
presently moved, as if the contumely respected 
their particular : and on the contrary, when 
they hear good of good women, conclude, that 
it belongs to them all. If I see any thing that 
toucheth me, shall I come forth a betrayer of 
myself presently ? No, if I be wise, I'll dis- 
semble it ; if honest, I'll avoid it, lest I publish 
that on my own forehead which I saw there 
noted without a title. A man that is on the 
mending hand will either ingenuously confess 
or wiseh' dissemble his disease. And the wise 
and virtuous will never think any thing belongs 
to themselves, that is written, but rejoice that 
the good are warned not to be such ; and the 
ill to leave to be such. The person oftended 
hath no reason to be offended with the writer, 
but with himself ; and so to declare that proper- 
ly to belong to him, which was so spoken of 



1 Per. Sat. 1. 



2 Livias. 



DISCOVERIES. 



8S7 



aU men, as it coula be no man's several, but his 
that would wilfully and desperately claim it. 
It sufficeth I know what kind of persons I dis- 
please, men bred in the declining and decay of 
virtue, betrothed to their own vices ; that have 
abandoned or prostituted their good names ; 
hungry and ambitious of infamy, invested in all 
deformity, enthralled to ignorance and malice, 
of a hidden and concealed malignity, and that 
hold a concomitancy with all evil. 

VHiat is a Poet? 
Poefa. — A poet is that which by the Greeks 
is called jt«r' f'io/tjr, 6 jroojTf;?, a maker, or a 
feigner : his art, an art of imitation or feigning ; 
expressing the life of man in fit measure, num- 
bers, and harmony, according to Aristotle ; from 
the word notftv, Avhich signifies to make or 
feign. Hence he is called a poet, not he which 
v.-riteth in measure only, but that feigneth and 
formeth a fable, and ^\Tites things like the 
truth. For the fable and fiction is, as it were, 
the form and soul of any poetical work, or poem. 

What mean you hy a Poem ? 
Poetna. — A poem is not alone any work, or 
eomposition of the poet's in many or few verses ; 
but even one alone verse sometimes makes a 
perfect poem. As when iEneas hangs up and 
consecrates the arms of Abas with this inscrip- 
tion : 

jEneas ha?c de Danais victoribus arma : i 

And calls it a poem, or carmen. Such are those 
in Martial : 

Omnia, Castor, emis : sic fiet, ut omnia vendas. 2 
And, 

Pauper videri Cinna vult, et est pauper. 

Horatius. — Lucretius. — So were Horace's 
odes called Carmina, his lyric songs. And Lu- 
cretius designs a whole book in his sixth : 

Quod in primo quoque carmine claret. 

E^iicrnm. — Dramaticuin. — Lyricum. — Elegia- 
oum. — Epigrammat. — And anciently all the 
oracles were called Carmina ; or whatever sen- 
tence was expressed, were it much or little, it 
was called an Epic, Dramatic, Lyric, Elegiac, 
or Epigrammatic poem. 

But how differs a Poem from ichat ive call Poesy? 
Poesis. — Artium regina. — Poet, differentia. — 
Grammatic. — Logic. — PJietoric. — Ethica. — A 
poem, as I have told you, is the work of the 
poet ; the end and fruit of his labor and study. 
Poesy is his skill or craft of making ; the very 
fiction itself, the reason or form of the work. 
And these three voices diff"er, as the thing done, 
the doing, and the doer ; the thing feigned, the 
feigning, and the feigner ; so the poem, the 
poesy, and the poet. Now the poesy is the 
habit, or the art ; nay, rather the queen of arts, 
which had her original from heaven, received 
thence from the Hebrews, and had in prime es- 
timation with the Greeks, transmitted to the 
Latins and all nations that professed civility. 



' Virg. .'En. lib. 3. 



a Martial, lib. 8, epig. 19. 



The study of it (if we will trust Aristotle) of- 
fers to mankind a eertan rule and pattern of 
living well and happily, disposing us to all civil 
offices of society. If we will believe Tully, it 
nourisheth and instructeth our youth, delights 
our age, adorns our prosperity, comforts our ad' 
versity, entertains us at home, keeps us com- 
pany abroad, travels Avith us, watches, divides 
the times of our earnest and sports, shares in 
our country recesses and recreations ; insomuch 
as the wisest and best learned have thought her 
the absolute mistress of manners, and nearest 
of kin to virtue. And Avhcreas they entitle 
philosophy to be a rigid and austere poesy ; they 
have, on the contrary, styled jooesy a dulcet and 
gentle philosophy, which leads on and guides 
us by the hand to action, with a ravishing de- 
light, and incredible sweetness. But before we 
handle the kinds of poems, with their special 
dift'crences ; or make court to the art itself, as a 
mistress, I would lead you to the knowledge of 
our poet, by a perfect information what he is or 
should be by n.ature, by exercise, by imitation, 
by study, and so bring him down through the 
disciplines of grammar, logic, rhetoric, and the 
ethics, adding somewhat out of all, peculiar to 
himself, and worthy of j'our admittance or re- 
ception. 

1. Ingenium. — Seneca. — Plato. — Aristotle. — 
Helicon. — Pegasus. — Parnassus. — Ovid. — First, 
we require in our poet or maker (for that title 
our language affords him elegantly with the 
Greek) a goodness of natural Avit. For where- 
as all other arts consist of doctrine and precepts, 
the poet must be able by nature and instinct to 
Ijour out the treasure of his mind ; and as 
Seneca saith, Aliquando secundum Anacreontem 
insanire jiicundum esse ; by which he understands 
the poetical rapture. And according to that of 
Vl&io, Frustra 'poeticas fores sui compos pulsav it. 
And of Aristotle, Nullum magnum ingenium sine 
tnixturd dementia fuit. Nee 2)otest grande aliquid, 
et supra cateros loqui, nisi mota mens. Then it 
riseth higher, as by a divine instinct, when it 
contemns common and known conceptions. It 
utters somewhat above a mortal mouth. Then it 
gets aloft, and flies away Avith his rider, whither 
before it Avas doubtful to ascend. This the poets 
understood by their Helicon, Pegasus, or Par- 
nassus ; and this made Ovid to boast, 

Est dens in nobis, agitante calescimus illo : 
Scdibus a;tliereis spiritus ille venit. 

Lipsius. — Petron. in Fragm. — And Lipsius 
to affirm : Seio,p)oetamnetninempircestantemfuisse, 
sine parte quadam ubcriore divines auree. And 
hence it is that the coming up of good poets (foi 
I mind not mediocres or imos) is so thin and 
rare among us. Every beggarly corporation 
affords the state a mayor, or tAvo bailiff's yearly , 
but Solus rex, aut poeta, non quotannis nascitur. To 
this perfection of nature in our poet, Ave require 
exercise of those parts, and frequent. 

2. Exercitatio. — I'irgil. — Scaliger. — Valer 
Maximus. — Euripides. — Alcestis. — If his vdt 
Avill not arrive suddenly at the dignity of the 
ancients, let liira not yet fall out with it, quarrel, 
or be oA'er hastily angry ; off'er to tun it away 
from study in a humor ; but come to ggiin 



888 



DISCOVERIES. 



upon better cogitation ; try another time "n-ith 
labor. If then it succeed not, cast not away 
the quills yet, nor scratch the wainscot, beat 
not the poor desk ; but brinf; all to the forge 
and file again ; torn it anew. There is no statute 
law of the kingdom bids you be a poet against 
your will, or the first quarter ; if it comes in a 
year or two, it is well. The common rhymers 
pom- forth verses, such as they are, ex, tempore; 
but there never comes from them one sense 
worth the life of a day. A rhymer and a poet 
are two things. It is said of tlie incomparable 
Virgil, that he brought forth his verses like a 
bear, and after formed them with licking. Scal- 
iger the father writes it of him, that he made 
a quantity of verses in the morning, which 
afore night he reduced to a less number. But 
that which Valerius Maximus hath left recorded 
of Em-ipides the tragic poet, his answer to Al- 
cestis, another poet, is as memorable as modest : 
who, when it was told to Alcestis, that Euripides 
had in three days brought forth but three verses, 
and those with some difficiilty and throes ; Al- 
cestis, glorying he could with ease have sent 
forth an hundred in the space ; Euripides round- 
ly replied, Like enough ; but here is the differ- 
ence, thy verses will not last these three days, 
mine v.'ill to all time. Which was as much as 
to tell him, he could not write a verse. I have 
met many of these rattles, that made a noise, and 
buzzed. They had their hum, and no more. In- 
deed, things wrote with labor deserve to be so 
read, and will last their age. 

3. Imitatio. — Ilorathis. — Virgil. — Statins. — 
Ilomei-. — Ilorat- — Archil. — Alcaiis, ^c. — The 
third requisite in our poet, or maker, is imita- 
tion, to be able to convert the substance or riches 
of another poet to his own use. To make 
choice of one excellent man above the rest, and 
so to follow him till he grow very he, or so like 
him, as the copy may be mistaken for the prin- 
cipal. Not as a creature that swallows what 
it takes in crude, raw, or undigested; but that 
feeds with an a^jpetite, and hath a stomach to 
loncoct, divide, and turn all into nourishment. 
Not to imitate servilely, as Horace saith, and 
catch at vices for virtue ; but to draw forth out 
of the best and choicest flowers, with the bee, 
and turn all into honey, work it into one relish 
and savor : make our imitation sweet ; observe 
how the best writers have imitated, and follow 
them. How Virgil and Statius have imitated 
Homer ; how Horace, Archilochus ; how Al- 
coeus, and the other lyrics ; and so of the rest. 

4. Lectio. — Parnassus. — Helicon. — Arscorou. 
— M. T- Cicero. — Simylus. — Stoh. — Horal. — 
Arisfot. — But that which we especially require 
in him, is an exactness of study, and multiplicity 
of reading, which maketh a full man, not alone 
enabling him to know the history or argument 
of a poem, and to report it ; but so to master 
the matter and style, as to shew he kno-\\s liow 
to handle, place, or dispose of either with ele- 
gancy, when need shall be. And not think he can 
leap forth suddenly a poet, by dreaming he 
nath been in Parnassus, or having washed his 
aps, as they say, in Helicon. There goes more 
to his making than so : for to nature, exercise, 
imitation, and study, art must be added, to make 



all these perfect. And though these challenge 
to themselves much, in the making up of oui 
maker, it is art only can lead him to perfection, 
and leave him there in possession, as planted by 
her hand. It is the assertion of Tully, if to an 
excellent nature, there hap])en an accession or 
conformation of learning and discipline, there 
will then remain somewhat noble and singular 
For, as Simylus saith in Stobseus, OvTe ipvaif 
ixarij yi^'tTai Tf/v»;c «TfO, ofTs nav Jfyii] iir] (pvni% 
y.tnTfuir^f without art, nature can never be 
perfect ; and Avithout nature, art can claim no 
being. But our poet must beware, that his 
study be not only to learn of himself; for he 
that .shall affect to do that, confesseth his ever 
having a fool to his master. He must read 
many, but ever the best and choicest : those 
tteit can teach him any thing, he must ever 
account liis masters," and reverence : among 
whom Horace, and (he that taught him) Aris- 
totle, deserved to be the first in estimation. 
Aristotle was the first accurate critic, and truest 
j udge ; nay, the greatest philosopher the world 
ever had : for he noted the vices of all knowl- 
edges, in all creatures ; and out of many men's 
perfections in a science, he formed still one art. 
So he taught us two offices together, how wc 
ought to judge rightly of others, and what we 
ought to imitate specially in ourselves. But 
all this in vain, without a natural wit, and a 
poetical nature in chief. For no man, so soon 
as he knows this, or reads it, shall be able to 
write the better ; but as he is adapted to it by 
nature, he shall grow the fierfectcr writer. He 
must have civil prudence and eloquence, and 
that whole ; not taken up by snatches or pieces, 
in sentences or remnants, when he Mill handle 
business, or carry counsels, as if he came then 
out of the declaimer's gallery, or shadow fur- 
nished but out of the body of the state, which 
commonly is the school of men. 

Tirorum schola rcs2mb. — Lijsippus. — Apelks. — 
Kcevius. — The poet is the nearest borderer upon 
the orator, and expresseth all his virtues, though 
he be tied more to numbers, is his cqiial in or- 
nament, and above him in his strengths. And 
(of the kind) the comic comes nearest ; because 
in moving the minds of men, and stirring of 
affections (in which oratory shews, and especially 
approves her eminence) he chiefly excels. What 
figure of a body was Lj'sippns ever able to form 
with his graver, or Apelles to paint with his 
pencil, as the comedy to life expresseth so many 
and various afl'ections of the mind ? There shal. 
the spectator see some insulting with joy, others 
fretting with melancholy, raging with anger, 
mad with love, boiling with avarice, undone 
with riot, tortured with expectation, consumed 
with fear ; no perturbation in common life but 
the orator finds an example of it in the scene. 
And then for the elegancy of language, read 
but this inscription on the grave of a comic 
poet : 

Inimortales moi'tales si fas er.set flc-re, 
Flereiit div;e CaiiKEiia; Navium Poetam ; 
Ilaquo postqiiam est Orcino traditus thcsauro, 
01)liti sunt Ronix lingua luqui Latin^. 

L. JEliiis Stilo. — Plautiis. — M. Varro. — Oi 
that modester testimony given by Lucius iEliufi 



DISCOVERIES. 



8S9 



Stilo upon Plautus, who affirmed, Musas, si la- 
tini loqui voluisscnt, Plautino sermone fuisse lo- 
quuturas. And that illustrious judgment by the 
most learned M. Yarro of him, who pronounced 
him the prince of letters and elegancy in the 
Roman language. 

Sophocles. — t am not "of that opinion to con- 
clude a poet's liberty within the narroAV limits 
of laws, which either the grammarians or phi- 
losophers prescribe. For before they found out 
those laws, there were manj^ excellent poets 
that fulfilled them : amongst whom none more 
perfect than Sophocles, who lived a little before 
Aristotle. 

Demoslhcnc-s. — Pericles. — Alcibiades. — Which 
of the Greeklings durst ever give precepts to 
Demosthenes ! or to Pericles (whom the age 
surnamed heavenly) because he seemed to thun- 
der and lighten with his language ? or to Alci- 
biades, who had rather nature for his guide, 
than art for his master ? 

Arisioile. — But whatsoever nature at any time 
dictated to the most hajjpy, or long exercise to 
the most laborious, that the wisdom and learn- 
ing of Aristotle hath brought into an art ; be- 
cause he understood the causes of things : and 
what other men did by chance or custom, he 
doth by reason ; and not only found out the 
way not to err, but the short way we should 
take not to err. 

Euripides. — Aristophanes. — ]\Iany things in 
Euripides hath. Aristophanes wittily reprehend- 
ed, not out of art, but out of truth. For Eu- 
ripides is sometimes peccant, as he is most times 
perfect. But judgment when it is greatest, if 
reason doth, not accompany it, is not ever ab- 
solute. 

Cens. Seal, in Lil. Germ. — Horace. — To judge 
of poets is only the faculty of poets ; and not 
of all poets, but the best. Nemo infelicius do 
2}oetis Judicavit, qidnn qui de poet is scripsit.^ But 
some will say critics are a kind of tinkers, tliat 
make more faults than they mend ordinarily. 
See their diseases and those of grammarians. 
It is true, manj"^ bodies are the worse for the 
meddling with ; and the multitude of physi- 
cians hath destroyed many sound patients with 
their wrong practice. But the office of a true 
critic or censor is, not to throw by a letter any 
where, or damn an innocent syllabe, but lay 
the words together, and amend them ; judge 
sincerely of the author, and his matter, which 
is the sign of solid and perfect learning in a 
man. Such was Horace, an author of much 
civility ; and (if any one among the heathen 
can be) the best master both of virtue and wis- 
dom ; an excellent and true judge upon cause 
and reason ; not because he thought so, but be- 
cause he knew so, out of use and experience. 

Cato the grammarian, a defender of Lucilius." 

Cato giammaticus Latiiia syren, 
0,111 solus legit, et facit poetas. 

Quintilian of the same heresy, but rejected.^ 
Horace his judgment of Chcerillus defended 

1 Scnee. de brev. vit. cap. 13, et epist. 88. 

2 Heins. de Sat. 265. 

3 Pag. 267 



against Joseph Scaliger.'' And of LaberiuK 
against Julius.* 

But chiefly his opinion of Plautus " vindicated 
against many that are offended, and say, it is a 
hard censure upon the parent of all conceit and 
sharpness. And they wish it had not fallen 
from so great a master and censor in the art ; 
whose bondmen knew better how to judge of 
Plautus, than any that dare patronize the family 
of learning in this age, who could not be igno- 
rant of the judgment of the times in which hp 
lived, when poetry and the Latin language were 
at the height ; especially being a man so con- 
versant and inwardly familiar with the censures 
of great men, that did discourse of these things 
daily amongst themselves. Again, a man sc 
gracious, and in high favor with the emperor, 0.3 
Augustus often called him his witty mauling ; 
(for the littleness of liis stature ;) and if we may 
trust antiquity, had designed him for a secretary 
of estate, and invited him to the place, which 
he modestly prayed off, and refused. 

Terence. — Mcnandcr. — Horace did so highly 
esteem Terence's comedies, as he ascribes the 
art in comedy to him alone among the Latins, 
and joins him with jMenander. 

Now let us see what may be said for either 
to defend Horace's judgment to posterity, and 
not wholly to condemn Plautus. 

T lie parts of a comcdi/ and tragedij. — The pails 
of a comedy are the same with a tragedj', and 
the end is partly the same ; for they both delight 
and teach : the comics are called SiSaoxaXtn of 
the Greeks, no less than the tragics. 

Aristotle. — Plato. — Homer. — Nor is the mov- 
ing of laughter always the end of comedy, that 
is rather a fowling for the people's delight, or 
their fooling. For as Aristotle says rightly, the 
moving of laughter is a fault in comedy, a kind 
of turpitude, that depraves some part of a man's 
nature without a disease. As a wry face M-ith- 
out pain moves laughter, or a defoi-med vizard, 
or a rude clown dressed in a lady's habit, and 
using her actions ; we dislike, and scorn such 
representations, which made the ancient philos- 
ophers ever think laughter unfitting in a wisG 
man. And this induced Plato to esteem of 
Plomer as a sacrilegious person, because he pre- 
sented the gods sometimes laughing. As also 
it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to seem 
ridiculous is a part of dishonesty, and foolish. 

The icit of the old comedy. — So that what 
either in the words or sense of an author, or in 
the language or actions of men, is awry, or de- > 
praved, does strangely stir mean affections, and 
provoke for the most part to laughter. And 
therefore it Avas clear, that all insolent and ob- 
scene speeches, jests upon the best men, inju- 
ries to particular persons, perverse and sinister 
sayings (and the rather unexpected) in the old 
move laughter, especially Avhere it did imitate 
any dishonesty, and scurrility came forth in the 
place of Avit ; Avhich, Avho understands the na- 
ture and genius of laughter, cannot but perfect 1" 
knoAV. 

i Pag. 270, 271. 

'• Pag. 273, ct seq. 

6 Pag. ill cop.iiii. 1.53. et. seo. 



890 



DISCOVERIES. 



Aristophanes. — Plaufus. — Of which Aris- 
tophanes affords an ample harvest, having not 
only outshone Plautus, or any other in that kind ; 
but exprest^cd all the moods and figures of what 
is ridiculous, oddly. In short, as vinegar is not 
counted good until the wine be corrupted ; so 
■jests that are true and natural seldom raise 
laughter with the beast the multitude. They 
love nothing that is right and proper. The far- 
ther it runs from reason or possibility with them, 
the better it is. 

Socrates. — Theatrical wit. — What could have 
made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, 
that example of all good life, honesty, and vir- 
tue, to have him hoisted up with a puUy, and 
there play the philosopher in a basket 5 measure 
how many foot a flea could skip geometrically, 
by a just scale, and edify the people from the 
engine. This Avas theatrical wit, right stage 
jesting, and relishing a play-house, invented 
for scorn and laughter ; whereas, if it had sa- 
vored of equity, truth, perspicuity, and candor, to- 
iiave tasten a wise or a learned palate, — spit it 
out presently ! this is bitter and profitable ; this 
instructs and would inform us : what need we 
know any thing that are nobly born, more than 
a horse-race, or a hunting-match, our day to 
break with citizens, and such innate mysteries ? 

The cart. — This is truly leaping from the 
stage to the tumbril again, reducing all wit to 
the original dung-cart. 



Of the niagnilucle and comjjass of any fable, epic 
or dramatic. 

IVIuU the measure of a fable is. — The fable or 
plot of a 2Me»i defined. — The epic fable, differing 
from tlie dramatic. — To the resolving of this 
question, we must first agree in the definition 
of the fable. The fable is called the imitation 
of one entire and perfect action, whose parts are 
so joined and knit together, as nothing in the 
structure can bo changed, or taken away, with- 
out impairing or troubling the whole, of which 
there is a proportionable magnitude in the mem- 
bers. As for example : if a man would build a 
house, he would first appoint a place to build 
it in, which he would define within certain 
bounds : so in the constitution of a poem, the 
action is aimed at by the poet, which answers 
place in a building, and that action hath his 
largeness, compass and projDortion. But as a 
court or king's palace requires other dimensions 
than a private house ; so the epic asks a mag- 
nitude from other poems : since what is place 
in the one, is action in the other, the difference 
is in space. So that by this definition we con- 
clude the fable to be the imitation of one per- 
fect and entire action, as one perfect and entire 
place is required to a building. By perfect, we 
understand that to which nothing is wanting ; 
as place to the building that is raised, and ac- 
tion to the fable that is formed. It is perfect, 
perhaps not for a court, or king's palace, which 
requires a greater ground, but for the structure 
he would raise ; so the space of the action may 
not prove large enough for the epic fable, yet 
be perfect for the dramatic, and whole. 

What we understand by icholc, — Whole we call 



that, and perfect, which hath a beginning, a 
midst, and an ena. So the place of any build- 
ing may be whole and entire for that work, 
though too little for a palace. As to a tragedy 
or a comedy, the action may be convenient and 
perfect, that would not fit an epic poem in mag- 
nitude. So a lion is a perfect creature in him- 
self, though it be less than that of a I uffalo, or 
a rhinoccrote. They differ but in specie : cither 
in the kind is absolute ; both have their parts, 
and either the whole. Therefore, as in every 
body, so in every action, which is the subject of 
a just work, there is required a certain propor- 
tionable greatness, neither too vast, nor too mi- 
nute. For that which happens to the eyes 
when we behold a body, the same happens to 
the memory, when we contemplate an action. I 
look upon a monstrous giant, as Tityus, whose 
body covered nine acres of land, and mine eye 
sticks upon every part : the whole that consists 
of those parts will never be taken in at one en- 
tire view. So in a fable, if the action be too 
great, Ave can never comprehend the whole 
together in our imagination. Again, if it be too 
little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the ob- 
ject ; it affords the view no stay ; it is beheld, 
and vanisheth at once. As if we should look 
upon an ant or pismire, the parts fly the sight, 
and the whole considered is almost nothing. 
The same happens in action, which is the object 
of memory, as the body is of sight. Too vast 
ojjpresseth the eyes, and exceeds the memory ; 
too little, scarce admits either. 

What is the utmost bounds of a fable. — Now in 
every action it behoves the poet to know which 
is his utmost bound, how far Avith fitness and a 
necessary proportion he may produce and deter- 
mine it ; that is, till either good fortune change 
into the Avorse, or the Averse into the better. 
For as a body Avithovxt proportion cannot be 
goodly, no more can the action, either in comedy 
or tragedy, Avithout his fit bounds : and every 
bound, for the nature of the subject, is esteemed 
the best that is largest, till it can increase no 
more : so it behoves the action in tragedy or 
comedy to be let groAv, till the necessity ask a 
conclusion ; Avherein two things are to be con- 
sidered ; first, that it exceed not the compass of 
one day ; next, that there be place left for di- 
gression and art. For the episodes and digres- 
sions in a fable are the same that household stuff 
and other furniture are in a house. And so far 
from the measure and extent of a fable dramatic. 

What bij one and entire. — Now that it should 
be one, and entire. One is considerable tAvo 
Avays ; either as it is only separate, and by itself, 
or as being composed of many parts, it begins 
to be one, as those parts groAV, or are Avrought 
together. That it should be one the first Avay 
alone, and by itself, no man that hath tasted let- 
ters ever Avould say, especially having required 
before a just magnitude, and equal proportion 
of the parts in themselves. Neither of Avhich 
can possibly bo, if the action be single and sep- 
arate, not composed of parts, Avhich laid together 
in themselves, Avith an equal and fitting propor- 
tion, tend to the same end ; Avhich thing out of 
antiquity itself hath deceived many, and more 
this day it doth deceive. 



DISCOVERIES. 



891 



Hercules, — Theseus. — Achilles. — TJbjsses. — 
Homer and Virgil, — JEneas. — Venus. — So many 
there be of old, that have thought the action of 
one man to be one ; as of Hercules, Theseus, 
Achilles, Ulysses, and other heroes ; Avhich is 
both foolish and false, since by one and the same 
person many things may be severallj' done, 
which cannot fitly be referred or joined to the 
same end : which not only the excellent tragic 
poets, but the best masters of the epic. Homer 
and Virgil saw. For though the argument of 
an epic poem be far more diffused and poured 
out than that of tragedy ; yet Virgil writing of 
.Eneas, hath pretermitted many things. He 
neither tells how he was born, how brought up, 
how he fought with Achilles, how he M-as 
snatched out of the battle by Venus ; but that 
one thing, how he came into Italy, he prosecutes 
in twelve books. The rest of his journey, his 
error by sea, the sack of Troy, are put not as 
the argument of the work, but episodes of the 
argument. So Homer laid by many things of 
Ulysses, and handled no more than he saw 
tended to one and the same end. 

Theseus. — Hercules. — Juvenal. — Codrus. — So- 
fihocles. — Ajax. — Vhjsses. — Contrary to which, 
and foolishly, those poets did, whom the philoso- 
pher taxeth, of whom one gathered all the ac- 
tions of Theseus, another put all the labors of 
Hercules in one work. So did he whom Juve- 
nal mentions in the beginning, " hoarse Co- 
drus," that recited a volume compiled, which he 
called his Thescide, not yet finished, to tlie great 
trouble both of his hearers and himself ; amongst 
wliich there were many parts had no coherence 
nor kindred one with another, so far they were 
from being one action, one fable. For as a 
house, consisting of divers materials, becomes 



one structure, and one dwelling ; so an action, 
composed of divers parts, may become one fable, 
epic or dramatic. For example, in a tragedy, 
look upon Sophocles his Ajax : Ajax, deprived 
of Achilles' armor, which he hoped from the 
suffrage of the Greeks, disdains ; and growing 
impatient of the injurj% rageth, and runs mad 
In that humor he dotli many senseless things, 
and at last falls upon the Grecian flock, and kills 
a great ram for Ulysses : returning to his senses, 
he grows ashamed of the scorn, and kiUs him- 
self ; and is by the chiefs of the Greeks forbid- 
den burial. Those things agree and hang to- 
gether not as they were done, but as seeming to 
be done, which made tlie action whole, entire, 
and absolute. 

The conclusion concerning the lohole, and the 
parts. — Which are episodes. — .4^0.2; and Hector. — 
Homer. — For the whole, as it consisteth of 
parts ; so without all the parts it is not the whole ; 
and to make it absolute, is required not only 
the parts, but such parts as are true. For a 
part of the whole was true ; which if you take 
away, you either change the whole, or it is not 
the whole. For if it be such a part, as being 
present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, 
it cannot be called a part of the whole : and 
such are the episodes, of which hereafter. For 
the present here is one example ; the single 
combat of Ajax Avith Hector, as it is at largo 
described in Homer, nothing belongs to this 
Ajax of Sophocles. 

You admire no poems, but such as run liko 
a brewer's cart upon the stones, hobbling ; 

Et, qus per salebras, altaque saxa cadiinL 
Accius et quiilquid Pacuviusquo vouuin 
Attonitusque legis terrai, frugiferai .1 

1 Martial, lib. si. epig- SI, 




THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR, 

MADE Br 

BEN JONSON, 

FOR THE BENEFIT OF ALL STRANGERS, 

Oirr OF UIS OBSERVATIOIS' of the EKGLISII language, NO^Y SrOKEN AXD IN USE. 
Consitetudo, certissima loquendl inarjlstra, utendumque 2^faul sermone, ut nummo, cut publica forme 

fSt. — QuiNCTIL. 

Non ohstant lies disciplines par illas euntibus sed circa illas hcerentibus . — Quinctil. 
Major adhuc restat labor, sed sane sit cum veniA, si gratid carebit: boni enim artijids paries sunt, 
quam 2}aucissima possit omittere. — Soalig. lib. 1. c. 25. 

Neque enim opitimi artijicis est, omnia iKrsequi. — Gallenus. 
Expedire grammatico, ctiam, si qiuedani nesciat, — Quinctil. 

THE PREFACE, 

The profit of Grammar is great to strangers, who are to live in communion and commerce witli us, and it is Jionora 
Die to ourselves : for by it we communicate all our labors, studies, profits, without an interpreter. 

Wc free our language from the opinion of rudeness and barbarism, wherewith it is mistaken to be diseased : wo 
shew the copy of it, and matcliableness with other tongues ; we ripen the wits of our own children and youth sooner by 
it. and advance their knowledge. 

Confusion of language, a curse. 
Experience breedetli art : lack of experience, chance. 

Experience, obscn'ation, sense, induction, are the four triers of arts. It is ridiculous to teach any thing for undoubted 
truth, that sense and experience can confute. So Zeno disputing of Quies, was confuted by Diogenes, rising up and 
walking. 

In grammar, not so much the invention, as the disposition is to be commended : yet wo must remember, that the 
most excellent creatures are not ever born perfect ; to leave bears, and whelps, and other failings of nature. 



GEAMMATICA ANGLICANA. 



' Jul. Caesar Scaliger. de cans. Ling. Laf. 

Grammatici iiniis Jiiiis est redd loqui. Neque 
tiecesse habet scribere. Accidit enim scriptura voci, 
neque aliter scribere debemus, qudm loquamur. — 
Ramus in definit. pag. 30. 

Grammatica est ars bent loquendi. 

' Veiercs, ut Varro, Cicero, Quinctilianvis, 
Etgmologiam in notationo vocum statuire. 

■* Dictionis natura jwior est, 2Msterior orationis. 
Ex usu veterum Latinorum, Vox, pro diciione 
scriptd accipitur : quoniam vox esse 2^ossit. Est 
nrticulata, qum scripto excijn, atqtie exjjrimi 
valeat : inarticulata, qua non. Articulata vox 
dicitur, quA genus Immanum tttitur distincthn, a, 
cateris animalibus, qua: muta vocantur : non, qudd 
sonmn non edant : sed quia soiri eorum nullis 
sxprimantur propria Uterariim notis. — Smithus 
de reetA, et emend. L. Latin, script. 

* Syllaba est elcmentum sub accentu. — Scalig. 
lib. 2. 

* Litera est itars dictionis indivisibilis. Nam 
quamquam sunt litercB quadam dujiUces, una tamen 
tantiim litera est, sibi quceque soman unum certum 
icrvans. — Scali"'. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAE. 



CHAP. I. 

OF GRAMMAR, AND THE PARTS. 

' Grammar is the art of true and well-speak ■ 
ino: a languap-e : the writing is but an accident. 



The 2^arts of Gra7n>nar are 
Etymology,^ ) which C the true notation of words, 
Syntax, 5 is \ the right ordering of theiru 
^ A ivord is a part of speech, or note, wherebj 
a thing is known, or called ; and consisteth of 
one or more syllabes. 



* A syllabe is a perfect sound in a word, and 
consisteth of one or more letters. 

* A letter is an indivisible part of a syllabe, 
Avhose 2^rosody,^ or right sounding, is perceived 
by the power ; the orthograjihy, or right writing, 
by the form. 

832 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



893 



Et ^initlius, ibid. Litera pars minima vocis 
articulafm. 

* Natura liter<s tribus modis intclUgitur ; no- 
mine, quo prommciatur ; potestate, quA valet; 
figurri, quA scribitur. At potestas est soniis ille, 
quo proHunciari, quern etiam figura debet imitari ; 
ut his Frosodiam Orthographia sequatur. — Asper. 

' Prosodia autem, et Orthographia piartes non 
stc?it ; sed, ut sanguis, et sptiritus per corpus uni- 
versum fusee. — Seal, ut supra. Ramus, ;w^. 31. 



Litera, A lineando ; undi, linerc, Uneatura;, 
litera, et liturce, Neque enim a lituris Uterce quia 
dekrentur ; 2}rius eiiim factce, quam deletes sunt. 
At forma potiiis, atque ovalae rationem, quam 
interitils, Sabeamus. — Seal. ibid. 



^ Litera genus quoddam est, ciijus species pri- 
maries ducB vocalis et consonans, quarum natura, 
et constifutio non 2iotest percipi, nisi jiriiis cognos- 
cantur differentia; formales, quibus factum est, %it 
inter se non convenirent. — Seal. ibid. 

* Literee differentia generica est piotestas, quam 
nimis rudi consilio veteres Accidens appeUArunt. 
Est enim forma qucedam ipse flexus in voce, quasi 
in mater i A, jiropter quern f extern jit ; ut vocalis p)cr 
se possit pronunciari : Muta non jMssit. Figura 
autem est accidens ab arte insfitutum, ; potestque 
aUributa mutari. Jul. Cees. Seal, ibidem. De 
vi, ac piotestate Uterarum tarn accurate •scripserunt 
Antiqid, quam de qudvis aliA sua professionis 
parte. ElaborAnmt in hoc argumento Varro, Pris- 
lianus, Appion, ille, qui ctjmbalum dicebatur mundi: 
et inter rhetores non postremi judicii, Dionysius 
JIaliearnassceus, Caius quoque Cccsar, et Octavius 
Augustus. — Smith, ibid. 

* Litera, qua per seipsas possint pronunciari, 
vocales sunt ; qua non, nisi cum aliis, consonantes. 

Vocalium nomina simpliei sono, nee differente a 
piotestate, ^n-oferantur. 

Consonantes, additis vocalibus, quibusdam pra- 
positis, aliis jmst^Jositis. 

* Ex consonantibus, quorum noinen incipit a 
Consonanfe, Muta sunt; quartern a vocali, semi- 
i-ocales : Mutas non indd appellatas, quod pariim 
sonare'it; sed quod nihil. 



Omnes Vocales andpites sunt ; (i. e.) modd 
hngce, modd breves : eodem tamen 7nodo sem^J^r 



' Prosody, and orthography, are not parts of 
grammar, but diffused like the blood and spirits 
through the whole. 

CHAP II. 

OP LETTERS AND THEIR PO^VEUS." 

In our language we use these twenty and four 
letters, A. B. C. D. E. F. G, H. I. K. L. M. N. 
O. P. Q. R. S. T. V. W. X. Y. Z. a. b. c. d. e. 

f. g. h. i. k. 1. m. n. o. p. q. r. s. t. v. w. x. y. 7.. 

The great letters serve to begin sentences, M'ith 
us, to lead proj^er names, and express numbers. 
The less make the fabric of speech. 



Our numeral letters are, 



for . 



1 



I 
V 
X 

L 

C 
D 

M J 

•* All letters are either voioels or consonants ; 
and are principally known'' by their powers. 
The figure is an accident. 



10 

50 

100 

500 

1000 



^ A voioel will be pronounced by itself : a co-n- 
sciiant not without the help of a vowel, eithej 
before or after. 

The received vowels in our tongue are, 
a. e. i. 0. ti. 
° Consonants be either mutes, and close the 
sound as b. c. d. g. h. p. q. t. Or half voioels, and 
open it, as f. I. m. n. r. s. x. z. 

n. is rarely other than an aspiration in power, 
though a letter in form. 

W. and Y. have shifting and uncertain seats, 
as shall be shewn in their places. 



CHAP. III. 

OF THE VOWELS 

'' All our vowels are sounded doubtfully. 



quantity, (wliich is time) long or short. 



In 
Or, in 



894 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



depidce, (nam scriptura est imitatio sermonis, tit 
jnctura corporis. Scriptio vocum pictura. Smithies J 
et eode?n sono 2}>'omtnciaiee. Nisi qudd vocalis 
hnga bis tantum te}7iporis in ejfando retinet, quani 
brevis. Ut recti cecinit ille de vocalibits. 
Tetnporis tmius brevis est, ut longa duorum. 



' Litcrm hujus sonus est omnium gentium feri 
iX)7nmunis. Nomen autem, et figura multij natio- 
nibns est diversa. — Scalig. et Ramus. 

Dionysius ait a esse, ii'quiroTaTov, ex pcciiitu- 
dine vocis. 

^ Tereii. Maurus. 

A, prima locum littera sic ab ore, sumit, 

Immunia, rictu patiilo, tenere labra : 

Linguamqite necesse est ita pandulam reduci, 

Ut nisus in illam valeat subire vocis, 

Nee partibus ullis aliquos ferire denies. 



3 JJ 

Triplicem differentiam hahet : primam, mediocris 
rictios : sccundain, Ungues, eamque duplicem ; alte- 
ram, interioris, nemp^ injlexce ad interius ccclum 
palati ; alteram genuinos prementis. Tertia est 
labri inferioris. 

Ramus, lib. 2. 
Dims jnimas Tcrentianus owtavit ; 
iertiatn tacuil. 

Terentianus 1. 
E, quce scquitur, vocula dissona est j^riori : quia 
dcprimit altum modioo tenore rictum, et remotos 
premit hine, et hinc molares. 



* Ajmd Latinos, e latius sonat in adverbio bene, 
quam in adverbio here : hujus enim piosteriorem 
vocalem exiliiis pronunciabant ; ita, ut etiam in 
niaxime exilem sonum transierit licri. Id, quod 
latius in multis quoque piatet : ut ab Eo, verbo, 
deductum, ire, iis, et eis : diis, et cleis : febrem, 
febrim : turrem, turrim : priore, et priori : Ram. 
ct Scalig. 

Et propter hanc vicinitatem (ait Quinct.) e 



accent, (which is tune) sharp or fiat. Lone in 

these words, and their like : 

Debating, congeling, expiring, opposing, onduring. 

Short in these : Sto?na,c7iing, severing, vanquish' 
ing, ransoming, piicluring. 

Sharp in these : hdte, mite, blte^ mHe, pule. 

Flat in these : hat, met, bit, not, pull. 



' With us, in most words, is iironouncod less 
than the French a ; as in 

art, act, apple, ancient. 
But when it comes before I, in the end of a 
syllabc, it obtaincth the full French sound,- 
and is uttered with the mouth and throat wide 
opened, the tongue bent back from the teeth, 
as in 

all, small, gall, fall, fall, call. 
So in the syllabcs where a consonant follow - 
eth the I, as in 

salt, malt, balm, calm. 

■■" E 

Ls pronounced with a mean opening the mouth, 
the tongue turned to the inner roof of the jial- 
ate, and softly striking the upper great teeth. 
It is a letter of divers note and use ; and either 
soundeth, or is silent. When it is the last 
letter, and soundeth, the sound is sharp, as in 
the French i. Example in mi, sc6, agrei, yi, 
sh6 ; in all, saving the article ihk. 

Where it endeth, and soundeth obscure and 
faintly, it serves as an accent to produce the 
voicel preceding : as in made, stime, strij'e, dre, 
cure, Avhich else would sound, mad, stem, stripe, 
dr, ciir. 

It altereth the power of c, g, s, so placed, as 
in hence, which else would sound henc ; swinge, 
to make it different from swing ; use, to distin- 
guish it from us. 

It is mere silent in words where I is coupled 
with a consonant in the end ; as tohistle, gristle, 
brittle, fickle, thimble, &c. 

Or after v consonant, as in 

love, glove, move. 

Where it endeth a former sjdlabc, it soundeth 
longish, but fiat ; as in 

derive, pripare, risolve. 
Except in derivatives, or compounds of the sharp 
c, and then it answers the ;j/-<mjYji;e or simple in 
the first sound ; as 

agreeing, of agree ; foreseeing, of foresee ; being, 
of be. 

Where it endeth a last syllabe, with one oi 
more consonants after it, it either soundeth fla) 
and full ; as in 

descent, intent, amend, ojfend, rest, best. 
Or it passeth away obscured, like the faint i ; 
as in these, 

written, gotten, open, saijeth, &c. 

'' Which two letters e and i have such a near* 
ness in our tongue, as oftentimes they inter- 
change places; as in 

enduce, for induce : endlte, for indite. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAE. 



89'i 



yuoque lo;o i fuit : ut Menerva, leber, magester : 
pro Minerva, liber, magister. 



Porrigit ictum genidno pro])^ ad ipsos 
Minimumque renidet supero tenus laheUo. 

Terent. 
1 vocalis sonos hahet tres : suum, exilem : alfe- 
rmn, latiorcm proprioremque ipsi e ; et tertium, 
cbscuriorein ipsius u, infer qute duo Y Grcpccc vo- 
calis sonus continetur : ut noa inconsultd Victorinus 
ambiguam illani quam adduximus voceni, per Y 
soribendam esse p'utf^rit, Optimus. 
Scalig. 
Ante consonantcm I senqttr est vocalis. 



Ante vocalem ejusdem syllabce consonans. 



' Ajmd Hcbrceos I perpefud est consonans ; ut 
apud Grwcos vocalis. 

* Ut ill Giacente, GiesCi, Gioconda, Giustitia. 

* O proiiiinciatitr rotundo o)v, lingud ad radices 
hypoglossis reductd. 6 uIxqov, et a> ^i-^ya, unicd 
tanthm notd, sono differenti. 



Profertur, ut 



' Ut 00, vel ou Gallicum. 

Una quoniam sat habitum est notare forma, 
Pro teinporibus qiue gremium ministret tisum, 
Igitur sonitum reddere vales niinori, 
lietrorsiis adactam modicd teneto linguam, 
Eictii ncquc magno sat erit 2}atere labra, 
At longior alto tragicum sub oris antro 
Molita, rotundis acuit sonum labellis. Terent. 
Dijfercntiam o parvi valdt distinctam Franci 
tenent : sed scripturd valdd confundant. O, scri- 
bunt perinde tit proferunt. At w scribunt niodd 
2)er au, modd i^r ao, qu(B sonum talem minimd 
sonant, qui sim2}lici, et rotundo motu oris proferri 
debet. 



■* Quanta sit ajjinitas (o) cum (u) ex Quinct. 



Is of a narrower sound than e, and uttered with 
a less opening of the mouth, the tongue brought 
back to the palate, and strikuig the teeth next 
the cheek teeth. 

It is a letter of a double power. 
As a vowel in the former, or single syllabcs, it 
hath sometimes the sharp accent ; as in 

binding, minding, pj«/«y, whining, loiving, 
thriving, mine, thine. 

Or all Avords of one syllabe qualified by e. 
But the flat in more, as in these, bill, bitter, 
giddy, little, incident, and the like. 

In the derivatives of sharp primitives, it keep- 
eth the sound, though it deliver over the prim- 
itive consonant to the next syllabe ; as in 
divi-ning, requi-ring, repi-ning. 
For, a consonant falling between two vowels 
in the word, will be spelled with the latter. 
In syllabes and words, composed of the same 
elements, it varieth the sound, now sharp, now 
flat : as in 
give, give, alive, live, drive, driven, title, t\tlc. 
But these, iise of speaking, and acquaintance 
in reading, will teach, rather than rule. 

^ /, in the other power, is merely another 
letter, and would ask to enjoy another char- 
acter. For where it leads the sounding vowel, 
and beginneth the syllabe, it is ever 'a conso- 
nant; as in 

James, John, jest, jump, conjurer, jjerjured. 
And before diphthongs ; as jag, jog, juice, hav- 
ing the force of the Hebrew Jorf,^ and the Ital- 
ian Gi.* 

O 
* Is pronounced with a round mouth, the 
tongue drawn back to the root ; and is a letter 
of much change, and uncertainty with us. 

In the long time it naturally soundeth sharp, 
and high ; as in 

® chdsen, hdsen, hdlg, f6llg ; 
dpcn, dver, ndte, thr6te. 
In the short time more flat, and akin to u ; aR 
' cosen, dosen, mother, 
brdther, Idve, prove. 
In the diphthong sometimes the o is sounded ; 
as 

aught, s6ught, nfSughf, 
wrdught, moio, s6w. 
But oftener upon the u; as in sound, bdund, 
how, ndw, thou, cdw. 

In the last syllabes, before n and w, it fre- 
quently loseth its sound ; as in 

2}ersdn, action, willow, billow. 
It holds up, and is sharp, when it ends the 
word, or syllabe ; as in 

gd, frd, sd, nd. 
Except intd, the preposition ; two, the numeral , 
dd, the verb, and the compounds of it ; as undo, 
and the derivatives, as doing. 

It varieth the sound in syllabes of the same 
character, and proportion ; as in 

shdve ; gldve, grdvc. 

Which double sound it hath from the Latin ; a? 

* Voltus, vicltus, vultis, vcltis. 



393 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



Plimo, Pnpvriano notum est. Quid enim o ct u, 
permututce invlc&m, ut Hecobo, et Notrix, Cul- 
3hicles, ct Pulixena, scriberentur ? sic nostri prce- 
ceptores, Cervom. Scrvomque ii et o Utteris scrip- 
scrunt; Sic dcderont, probaveront, Romanis olim 
fuere, Quiiict. lib. 1. 

Deinquc o, teste Pllnio apiid Priscianum, ali- 
quot Italia civitates non habehant ; sod loco ejus 
ponebaiit ii, et maxime Uinbri, et Tusci. Atque u 
contra, teste apud eundem Papyriaiio, niultis Italics 
jjopulis in usii non erat ; sed utebanturo; mide 
Romanonim quoque vetusiissimi in 7nuHis dictio- 
nibus, loco ejus o j^osucrunt : Ut iDoblicum, ^),"0 
publicum ; polcrum, pro pulcrum ; colpam, ^jy-o 
c'uljiani. 

V 
Quam scribere Grains, nisi Jungat Y, nequibit 
Ilanc cdere vocem quotiis paramus ore, 
Nitamur ut U dicere, sic citetur oi'tus 
Productiiis autem, coSuntibus labellis 
Natura soni pressi altiiis meabit. Terentian. 
Et alibi. 

Graca diphthoncfus o v. Uteris tainen nostris vacat, 
Sola vocalis quod u complet liunc satis sonmn. 
Ut in titulis, fabulis Terentii prcqiosiiis. Grceca 
Menandru : Grceca Apollodoru, ;»'o Mivaxbnov, et 
'Anollo^uoov, ct quidem, ne quis do pofestate Xio- 
calis kujus addubitare 2^ossit, etiam a nmtis ani- 
malibus testimonium Plautus nobis cxhibuit c Pen- 
iculo Menechmi. Me. Egon' dcdi? Pe. Tu, tu, 
inquam, vin' ajferri noctuam, 

Qu(B tu, tu, icsque dicat tibi : nam nos Jam nos 
dffossi sumus. 

Ergd ut avium balafus i]Ta Uteres sonu/n : sic 
noctuaru?ii cantus, et cuculi apud Aristopihanem 
sonum hujus vocalis vindicabit. Nam, quando u 
liquescit, ut in quis, ct sanguis, liabct sonum com- 
munetn cum Y Greecd, x' oJtioQ' 6 y.uy.y.vq li'noi 
xiiy.y.v. Et quando Coccyx dixit Coccy. 

- Consonans ut u Gallicum, vol Digcmuna pro- 

fertur. 
Ilanc et modd quam diximus J, simidjugatas, 
Verum est spacium sumere, vimque consonatum. 
Ut quceque tamen constiteril loco priore : 
Nam si juga quis nominet, J consona Jiet, 
Terent. 

Vers'd vice Jit p>rior V, sequcttur ilia, ut in Tide. 

W 

^ Ut Itali proferunt Edoardo in Edouardo, et 
Gain, ou-y. 

Sutlvis, suCideo, etiam Latini, ut sov-avis, &c. 
At quid aftinet dupUcare, quod simplex queat suffi,- 
'..■ere f Proindt W 2^''o copid C/iaracterum non 
reprehendo, pro novd literd earth non agnosco. 
Veteresque Anglo-Saxones p)ro ed, quando nos W 
wlcmus uti, Jxguram istitts modi ^ solebant con- 
Btribere, quce non multiun diffcrt ab ed, qud ct 
hodii. utimur f simjilici, dum verbtim inchoet. 

Smitlius ch rect. ct amend. L. A. Script. 



V 

' Is souixled M-ith a narrower and moan com- 
pass, and some depression of the middle of tho 
tongue, and is like our i, a letter of a double 
power. As a vowel, it soundeth thin and sharp, 
as ill I'.se ; thick and fiat, as in its. 

It never endeth any word for tho nakedness, 
but yieldeth to the termination of tho diphthong 
620, as in new, knew, &c. or the qualifying e, as 
in sue, due, true, and the like. 



^ When it followeth a sounding vowel in a 
syllabe it is a consonant ; as in save, reve, prove, 
love, Sec. Which double force is not the un- 
steadfastness of our tongue, or incertainty of 
our Avriting, but fallen upon us from the Latin. 



W 

^ Is but the V geminated in the full sound, 
and though it have the scat of a consonant with 
us, the fiower is always vowelish, even where it 
leads the vowel in any syllabe ; as, if you mark 
it, pronounce the two uu, like the Greek ov, 
quick in passage, and those words, 

ov-inc, ov-ant, ov-ood, ov-ast, sov-ing, sov-am; 
will sound, wine, want, wood, wast, swing, swam. 

So put the aspiration afore, and these Avords, 
hnv-at, hov-ich, hov-eel, hov -ether ; 
Will be, tohat, iphieh, loheel, whetlier. 

In the diphthongs there will be no doubt, as 
in draw, strain, sow, know. 

Nor in derivatives, as knowiiig, sowing, draw- 
ing. 

Where the double w is of necessity used, 
rather than the single u, lest it might alter the 
sound, and be pronounced hioving, soving, drav- 
ing; 

As in saving, having. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



897 



' Siquidem eandcm pro v. grceco retinet : Certd 
aiium quam i, omni in toco reddere debebat sonum. 



B 

* Nobis cum Latinis co7nmunis. — Smith. 
Nam muta jubet comjyrimi labella, 

Vocalis at intus locus exitiun tninistrat. Terent. 
B, Labris per spiritus impetum reclusis edicimus. 

Mart. cap. 
C 

•* Litera Androgj'ne, naturd ncc mas, nee fcc- 
mina, et uirumque est netiiritm. Monstrum literce, 
noil litera ; Ignorantim specimen, non artis. — 
Smithus. 

Quomodo nunc utimur vzdgd, aut nullas, aut ni- 
mias habet vires : Nam modo k sonat, modd s. 
At si litera sit d.'k. et S diversa, suum debet habere 
sonum. Sed nescio quod monstrum, aut Emjmsa 
sit, qiue modo mas, modo fmmina, modo setpens, 
modd comix, apparent ; et pier ejusmodi impo- 
sturas, pro suo arbitrio, tarn s quam k exigat 
adibus, et fundis suis : Ut Jure possint h(B dtue 
Utm-CR contendere cum c per edictum, wide vi : 
Neque dubito quin, ubi sit prator aquus facilt c 
cadet caiissa. 

* Apiud Latinos c candem habuit formam, et 
charactirem, qucm ^Tyfia apud Graecos vetcres. 

An liccc fuit occasio, quod ignorantia, confu- 
sioque eundem, apud imperitos, dcderit sonum C, 
quem S, nolo affirmare. 

* Vetustce illius Anglo-Saxonicse linguce, et 
scriptionis peritiores contcndunt, ajnid illos atavos 
iws/ros Anglo-Saxones, C litcram,maxim^,ante e 
et i cum habuisse sonum, quem, et pro tenui lov 
Chi, sono agnscimus : et ItaH, maximt, Hetrusci, 
ante e et i hodit ustapant. Idem ibidem. 

^ C molaribus super lingum extrema appidsls 
exprimitur. — Mart. Cap. 

C 2y>'essiiis urget : sed et hinc, hincque remittit, 
Quo vocis adhcerens sonus explicetur ore. 

Terent, 

57 



Is also mere vowelish in our tongue, and hath 
only the power of an i, even where it obtains 
the seat of a consonant, as in young, younker. 

Which the Dutch, whose primitive it is, write 
lunk, lunker. 

And so might we write 

iouth, ies, ioke, ionder, iard, ielk ; 
youth, yes, yoke, yonder, yard, yelk. 
But that we choose y, for distinction sake ; as 
we usually difference to lye or feign, from to lie 
along, ^-c. 

In the diphthong it sounds always i ; as in 

may, say, way, Joy, toy, they. 
And in the ends of words ; as in 
deny, reioly, defy, cry. 
Which sometimes are written by i, but qual- 
ified by e. 

But where two ii are sounded, the first will 
be ever ay; as in derivatives : 

denying, replying, defying. 
* Only in the words received by us from the 
Greek, as syllabe, tyran, and the like, it keeps 
the sound of the thin and sharp u, in some pro- 
portion. And this we had to say of the vowels. 

CHAP. IV. 

OF THE CONSONANTS. 
B 

- HAxn the same sound with us as it hath 
with the Lgtin, always one, and is uttered with 
closing of the lips. 



C 

3 Is a letter which our forefathers might very 
Avell have spared in our tongue ; but since it 
hath obtained jilace both in our writing and 
language, we are not now to quarrel with or- 
thography or custom, but to note the poAvcrs. 

Before a, u, and o, it plainly sounds k, chi, or 
kappa ; as in 

cable, cobble, cudgel. 
Or before the liquids, I and r ; as in 
clod, crust. 
Or when it ends a former syllabe before a con ■ 
sonant ; as in 

ac-quaintance, ac-knowledgment, ac-tion. 
In aU which it sounds strong. 

* Before e and i it hath a Aveak sound, and 
hisseth like s ; as in 

certain, center, civil, citizen, zchence. 
Or before diphthongs, whose first vowel is e or 
i ; as in 

cease, deceive, ceiling. 

* Among the English Saxons it obtained the 
weaker force of chi, or the Italian c ; as in 

caiJcl, cane, cild, cyrce. 
Which were pronounced 

chapel, chance, child, church. 
^ It is sounded with the top of the tongue, 
striking the upper teeth, and rebounding against 
til'! palate. 



898 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



D 

D appuhu linrjiuB circa denies siiperiores innas- 

cilur. 

• At portio denies quotiens supretna lingucB 

Pidsaverit imos, modiceque curva summas, 

Tunc D sonitum perjicit, explicafque voceni. 

Terent. 



* Litera a Grceca ip recedlt lenis, et hehes sonus. 

Idem, 



^ Vau consona, Varrone et Dydiino testibus, no- 
minata est ^.figura a Clauclio Cscsareyarfa ctiam 
est. Vis ejus, et 2)otestas est eadem, qiue Digamma 
.MoUci, ut ostendit Teretitianus in v consona. 
"V, vade, veni, refer ; teneto vultuni : 
Crevisse soman pei'spicis, et cotsse crassum, 
Undo .MoUis litem Jingifur Digammos. 
_j, quasi iv, contrariuin Y, quce sonat (f. 

G 

* S2}iritus cum xxtlato, — Mart. Cap. 

De sono quidem hvjus litera satis constat : Sed 
distinctionis caicssd Charact&rem illi dedhnmt aliqui 
hunc X, ut secernatur a G. Natn ut Grseci in 
secundd conjiigatione tres habent literas, ■/., y, y, 
tcnucm, mcdiam, densani ; Angli quatuor habent, 
raid proportione sibi respondentes, ka, ga, ce, 5' s. 
lUcB simpliccs, et apertcc ; ha stridulce, et compressa ; 
ill<B media lingua officio sonantur ; ha szcmmd 
linguA ad interiorcs ilUsa, stiperiortun dentium 
ymgivas efflantur. Quodque est ka ad ga : Idem 
est ce ad S- — Smithus ibid. 

Voces tamen plerceque, quas Meridionales Angli 
per hunc soman ruv 5 2^>'onuncianiits in fine : 
Borcales 2^er G proferunt : ut in voce Pons, nos 
hyx^ : Illi brig. In rupturd, brec : illi brek. 
Maturatn avem ad volandum, nos &ix : Illi flig. 
Ibid. 

ApucC Latinos 2'roximum i2}si C est G. Itaque 
Cneum et Gncum, dicehant : Sic Curculionem, et 
Gurculionem : A2>2nilsd enim ad palatum lingud, 
modicello relicto intervailo, S2nritu tota 2}ronu7i- 
ciaiur. — Seal, de causs. L. L. 

Et Terentianus. 
Sic amurca, qua vetustd sa2)e per c scribitur, 
Esse per g 2'>rofcrendum credidtrunt plurimi. 

Quando auonyij Grseca vox est; yuuuu origo 
jyraferat. 
Aimd Germanos sen^ier profertur 7. 
K 

" Ciim Kalenda; Gracam habebant diductioiiem 
et iioniim, ramia Gracam sunt mutuati literam 
Rc/mani, ut eas exprimerent. Et, credo tamen, 
Jcccrunt ed fornid, ut, et C Romanum efformarent, 
qudd haberet adjunctum, quasi retro baciUum, ut 
tobur ei addercnt istd formd K : nam C Romamcm 
Uridulum quiddam, et moUiiis sonat, quam K 
Gracuni. 

Est et hac litera Gallis ^)^a«e su2Jcrvacanea, aid. 
certi qu est. Nam qui, qua;, quod, quid, nulld 
prommciant differentlA, ne minimd quidem, a ki, 
kc, kod, kid, faucibus, 2}aiatoque formatur. — 



Canel 



Romani in sud serie non habebunt. 



D 

Ilath the same sound, both before and after a 
vowel with us, as it hath with the I;atins ; and is 
pronounced softly,' the tongue a little affecting 
the teeth, but the nether teeth most. 

F 

Is a letter of two forces with us ; and in them 
both sounded M-ith the nether lip rounded, and 
a kind of blowing out ; but gentler in the one 
than the other. 

The more general sound is the softest,^ and 
expresseth the Greek (f> ; as in 

faith, field, fight, fm-ce. 
Where it sounds ef. 

•* The other is fi;, or vau, the digamma 01 Clau- 
dius ; as in 

cleft, of cleave ; left, of leave. 
The difference Avill best Idc found in the word 
of, which as a preposition sounds 

ov of speaking of a person or thing. 
As the adverb of distance, 
off, far off. 

G 

* Is likewise of double force in our tongue, 
and is sounded with an impression made on the 
midst of the palate. 

Before a, o, and u, strong ; as in these, 

gate, got, gut. 
Or before the aspirate h, or liquids I and r ; 
as in ghost, glad, grant. 

Or in the ends of the words ; as in 

Imig, song, ring, swing, eg, leg, lug, dug. 
Except the qualifying e follow, and then the 
sound is ever weak ; as in 

age, stage, hedge, 

sledge. Judge, drudge. 

Before u, the force is double ; as in 

guile, guide, guest, guise. 

Where it soundeth like the French gu. And in 

guerdon, languish, anguish. 
Where it speaks the Italian gu. 

Likewise before e and i, the powers are con- 
fused, aod uttered, now strong, now weak ; as in 
get, geld, give, 
gittern, finger. 
In 
genet, gentle, gin, 
gibe, ginger. 
But this use must teach : the one sound being 
warranted to our letter from the Greek, the 
other from the Latin throughout. 

We will leave H in this place, and come to 
K 

* Which is a letter the Latins never acknowl- 
edged, but only borrowed in the word kalenda. 
They used qu for it, AVe sound it as the Greek 
x : and as a necessary letter, it precedes and 
follows all voicels with us. 

It goes befoi-e no consonants but n ; as in 

hnare, hnel, knot, Sec. 

And I, with the quiet e after ; as in 

michle, 2iickle, trickle, fiekle. 

Which were better written without the c, if 

that which we have received for orthography 

would yet be contented to be altered. But that 

is an emendation rather to be wished than hoped 

for, after so long a reign of ill custom amongst ua. 



lonff. 



I- 



eak. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



899 



LinguA, palatoque dulcescU. — M. Cap. 
Et sic Dionj'sius Y^vitvTaTor, dulcissimam Ute- 
mm nominat. 

Qui nescit, quid sit esse Semi-vocalem, ex nos- 

trd linguA facilh poterit discere : Ipsa enim litera 

L quandam, quasi vocalem, in se videbur continere, 

ita ut juncta mutae sine vocali sonum faciat ; ut 

abl, stabl, fabl, &c. 

Qu(B nos scribimus cum e, in fine, vulgo 

able, stable, fable. 
Sed certi illud e non tarn sonat hie, quam fus- 
cv,m illud, et fcemininum Francorum e : Nam 
uequicquam sonat. 

Alii hcBC haud inconstdtd scribunt 
abil, stabil, fabul ; 
Tanquam afontibus 

habilis, stabilis, fabula ; 
Verius, sed uequicquam prqficiunt. Nam con- 
sideratiits auscultanti, nee i, iiec u est, sed tinnitus 
quidam, vocalis tiaturam habens, qua naturaliter 
bis liquidis incst, 

LI 

- Libris imprimiiur. — M. Capclla. 

Mugit intiis abditum, ac eacum sonmn. — Terent. 

Triplex somes Iwjus literce ISI. Obscurem, in 
extremifafe dietionum sonat, ut templum : Aper- 
tum, in prineipio ; ut magnus : Mediocre, in 
mediis ; ut umbra. Prise, 

3 N 

Quarto; sonitus fingitur usque sub 2}alato, 

Quo spiritus anceps coeat naris, etoris. — Terent. 

LinguA dentibus appulsA collidit. — Mart. Cap. 

Splendidissimo sono in fine : et subtremulo ^;fc- 
niore in principiis ; viediocri in medio. — Jul. C. 
Seal. 

4 P 

Labris spiritu erunipit. — Mar. Cap. 
PelUt sonitum de mediis foras labellis. 

Ter. Maurus. 

Q ♦ 

^ Est litera mendica, supposititia, verd servilis, 
manea, et decrepita; et sine u, tanquam bacillo, 
nihil potest : et ciim u nihil valet ampliiis quam k. 
Qualis quails est, hanc Jam habemus, sed semp>er 
cum pracedente suA u, ancillA supcrbA. — Smithus. 
Namque Q, prcemissd semper u, simul mvgit sibi, 
Sjjllabam non editura, ni comes sit tertia 
Qualibet vocalis. Ter. Mau. 

Diomedes ait Q esse compositam ex c et u. 

Appulsu ^ja/ait ore restricfo jn-ofertur. — LI. 
Cap. 



R 

'^ Vibrat tremidis zetibus aridum sonorem, 
Ter. M. 



It foUoweth the s in some words ; as in 

sJdrt, skirmish. 
Which do better so sound, than if -writtei. 
■with e. 



' Is a letter half-vowelish ; which, though the 
Italians (especially the Florentines) abhor, ■vve 
keep entire with the Latins, and so pronounce. 

It melteth in the sounding, and is therefore 
called a liquid, the tongue striking the root of 
the palate gently. It is seldom doubled, but 
where the vowel sounds hard upon it ; as in 
hell, bell, kill; shrill, trull, full. 

And, even in these, it is rather the haste, and 
superfluity of the pen, that cannot stop itself 
upon the single /, than any necessity we have 
to use it. For, the letter should be doubled 
only for a following syllabe's sake ; as in 
killing, beginning, begging, swinwiing. 



il 

^ Is the same with us in sound as with tno 
Latins. It is pronounced with a kind of hum- 
ming inward, the lips closed ; open and full in 
the beginning, obscure in the end, and meanly 
in the midst. 



N 
^ Ringeth somewhat more in the lips and 
nose ; the tongue strOiing back on the palate, 
and hath a threefold sound, shrill in the end, 
full in the beginning, and/?a< in the midst. 

They are letters near of kin, both with the 
Latins and us. 

P 

* Breaketh softly through the lips, and is a 
letter of the same force with us as with the 
Latins. 

Q 

* Is a letter we might very well spare in our 
alphabet, if we Avould but use the serviceable k 
as he should be, and restore him to the right of 
reputation he had with our forefathers. For 
the English Saxons knew not this halting Q, 
with her waiting- woman u after her ; but exprest 

quail, \ ( kuail. 

quest, f , 1 kucst. 

quick, i ■' \ kuick. 

quill, ' ) ( kuill. 
Till custom, under the excuse of expressing en- 
franchised words with us, intreated her into our 
language, in 

quality, quantity, 

quarrel, quintessence, &c. 

And hath now given her the best of k's posses- 
sions. 



R 

^ Is the dog's letter, and hurrieth in the 
sound ; the tongue striking the inner palate, 



900 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



— Sonai hlc de nare caninA 

Litera _ Pers. Sat. 1. 

R Spiritum lingud, crispantc, corraditur. — M. 
Cap. 

Dionysius roiv ofmytvlvn' ycrauuTaTsv yQuiiua, 

6 congcncribus t/cnerossimam appellavit. 

S 

• S pi'omptus in ore, agitui-que jion^ denies, 
Sic lenis et umim ciei auribus susurrum. 

Quare jwn est nierita, ut d, Pindaro diceretur 
Savy.i^dtikur. Dionysius quoque cum ipsimi ex- 
2}eUii, rejicitque ad serpenfes, maluit canem irri- 
tatum imitari, quam arboi'is naturales susorros 
sequi. — Seal. 

Est Consonantium prima, et fortissima hcee 
litera, ut agiwscit Terentianus. — Ram. 

Vivida est hcce inter omnes, atque densa litera. 

Sibihon facit dentibus verberatis. — M. Cap. 

Quotics litera tnedia vocalium Imigarum, vel 
subjecia longis esset, geniinabitur ; tit Caussa, 
Cassus. — Quintil. 



^ T quA superis dentibus intima est origo 
Summa satis est ad sonititm ferire linguA. 

Tcr. 
T ajipulsic linguce, dentibusquo ap2ndsis excudi- 
iur. — M. Cap. 

Latinh factio, actio, generatio, corruptio, vi- 
tium, otium, S^c. 

X 
' X potestatem liabet cs, et gs ; ut 

ex crux et frux, apparcat. 
Quorum obliqui casus sunt 
Crucis et Frugis. 

Ram. in Gram, ex Varrone. 
X quicquid c e< s formavit, exsibilat. — Capell. 
Neque Latini, neque Nos illd multiim utimur. 

Z 

* Z verd idcircd Appius Claudius detestabatur ; 
qiidd dentes mortui, dum exprimitur, imitatur. 

M. Capel. 

L Cotnjycndium duarum literarum est nS, in tend 
not A, et compendium Orthographise, non Prosodise ; 
quia hie in voce non una litera effertur, sed dum 
distinguuntur. ■Compendium ineleganttr, et fal- 
lacittr inventum. Sonus enim, notd illd signiji- 
catus, in unam sijUabam non pierpetud concluditur, 
sed dividitur, aliquajido. Ut in illo Plauti loco : 
Non Anticissat, sed Sicilissat, pro airiy.iLn, 
oixtXitd, Greeds ; et tibi initium facit, est da, non 
oa, sicuii Live, non aatv?, sed doivg. — Ram. in 
Ub. 2. 



H 



NuUi duhium est,faucibus emicet quod ipsis 
H litera sive est nota, quce spiret anhelum. — 



Ter 



H. co7itractis paidiim faucibus, ventus exhalat. 

Mar. Cap. 
Vocalibus apti, sed et anteposita cunctis 
Hastas, Hederas, quiun loquor, Hister, Hospes, 
Hujus, 



with, a trem.bling about the teeth. It is sounded 
firm in the beginning of the Avords, and more 
liquid in the middle and ends ; as in 
rarer, riper. 
And so in the Latin. 



S 
' Is a nvost easj- and gentle letter, and softly 
hisseth against the teeth in the prolation. It is 
called the serpent's letter, and the chief of the 
consonants. It varieth the powers much in our 
pronunciation, as in the beginning of words -it 
hath the sound of weak c before vowels, diph- 
thongs, or consonants ; as 

salt, say, small, sell, 
shrik, shift, soft, &c. 
Sometimes it inclincth to z ; as in these, 
muse, use, rose, nose, wise, 
and the like : where the latter voicel serves for 
the mark or accent of the former's production. 
So, after the half-voicels, or the obscure e ,• as in 
bells, gems, wens, burs, 
chimes, names, games. 
Where the vowel sits hard, it is commonly 
doubled. 

T 
'Is sounded with the tongue striking the 
upper teeth, and hath one constant power, save 
where it precedeth /; and that again followed 
by another vowel ; as in 

faction, action, generation, conniption, 
where it hath the force of s, or c, 

X 

^ Is rather an abbreviation, orwayof shoii 
writing with us, than a letter : for it hath the 
sound of c and s, or k and s. It begins no word 
with us, that I know, but ends many ; as 

ax, six, fox, box, 
which soimd like these, 

backs, knacks, knocks, locks, &c. 



'' Is a letter often heard among us, but seldom 
seen ; borrowed of the Greeks at first, being the 
same with t ; and soundeth in the middle as 
double ^ss, though in the end of many English 
words (where 'tis only properly used) it seems 
to sound as s ; as in maze, gaze. 

And on the contrary, words Avrit with « sound 
like z : as muse, nose, hose, as. 

Never in the beginning, save in the \Yest 
country people, that have zed, zay, zit, zo, zome, 
and the like ; for said, say, sit, so, some. 

Or in the body of words indenizened, i. e. 
derived from the Greek, and commonly used as 
English ; as 

azure, zeal, zcphyre, &c. 

H 

^ Whether it be a letter or no, hath been 
much examined by the ancients, and by some 
of the Greek party too much condemned, and 
thrown out of the alphabet, as an aspirate merely, 
and in request only before voicels in the begin- 
ning of words. The Welsh retain it still after 
many consonants. But be it a letter, or spirit, 
we have great use of it in our tongue, both 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



901 



Solum 2Mtitur quatuor ante consonantes, 
Graecis quotiis nominihus Latinaybrwia est, 
Si quando Clioros Phillida, Rhamnes, Thima, 
dico. 

Uecfd quidem ill hdc parte Gra2cissant;josi'/-j Walli. 

Smithus. 
H verb xar' iio^ri^v aspiratio vacatur. Est enim 

omnium Uterarum s^nrituosissima, vel spiritus 

]}otius ipse. Nullius, aut quam minimum egens 

officii corum, qu<B modd nominavimus instncmenta 

literartim formandarum. 

H extrinsecns ascribitur omnibus Vocalibus, ut 

minimum sonet; Consonantibus autem quibusdam 

intrinsecus. 



Cli 

' Omnis Utera, sive vox, 2)lus sonat ipsa sese, 
oum posfponifur, quam ciim anteponitur. Quod 
vocalibus accidens esse videtur ; nee si toUatur ea, 
2Krit etiam vis signijicationis ; rit, si dicam Eren- 
nius, absque asp)iratio)ie, qxiamvis vitium videar 
facere, intellectus tamen integer permanet. Con- 
Bonantibus autem si eohceret, ut ejusdem penitus 
substaniice sit, ct si auferatur, significationis vim 
minuatprorsxis ; tit, si dicam Crcmes,/jra Chremcs. 
Uncle hdc consideratA ratione, Grajcorum doctis- 
simi singulas fecSrunt eas quoque literas, ut ^^ro 
til 6, ph cp, 2)ro chi 7. — Ram. 

Gh 
* Sonum illius g quterant, quibus ith libet scri- 
bere ; aures profectb mem nuuquam in his vocibus 
3onitum tov g 2ioterant haurire. 

Smithus de rect. et emend. 



Ph et Rh 
^ Litera <f apud Grfficos, (1 aspirata. 

Sh 

* Si quis error in Uteris ferendus est, ciim eor- 
Ttgi queat, nusquam in ullo sono tolerabilior est, 
quhm in hoc, si scribatur Sh : et in 'f> si scribatur 
per th. Nam hce duce quandam violentiam gran- 
diorem spiritus in x^roferendo requirunt, quam 
ccetercs Utera. — Ibid. 

Th 

* Ildc literd sive characfere, quam spinam-, id 
est, Jjorne, nostri Proavi appeUabant. Avi nostri, 
et qui 2^^oxim^ ante Ubrorum impressioneni vixt- 
runt, sunt abusi, ad omnia ea scribenda, quce nunc 
magna viagisfrorum errore 2ier th scribimus ; ut 

■Jie, ■^OM^'-^^t, "J^cra, -pcse, t,iclc_ 

Sed ubi mollior ex2)rimebatur sonus super?id, 
scribebant : icbi durior in eodeni sulco ; tnolliorem 
appelh ilium, quern Anglo- Saxones j:)er 3 durio- 
Tcm, qi^em per "p, exprimebant. Nam illud Sax- 



before and after vowels. And though I dare not 
say she is (as I have heard one call her) the 
queen-mother of consonants ; yet she is the life 
and qiiickcning of c, g, p, s, t, 10 ; as also r when 
derived from the aspirate Greek '(> ; as cheati 
gJwst, al2)habet, shcqjc, that, xchat, rhapsody. 

Of which more hereafter. 

What her powers are before voioels and dipJi* 
thongs, will appear in 

hall, heal, hill, hot, how, hew, hoiday, &c. 

In some it is written, but sounded without 
power ; as 

host, Iionest, humble ; 
where the vmoel is heard without the aspiration, , 
as est, onest, umble. 

After the voicel it sounds ; as in ah, and oh. 

Reside, it is coupled with divers consonants, 
where the force varies, and is particularly to be 
examined. 

We Mill begin with Ch. 

Ch 
' Hath the force of the Greek •/, or y., m 
many words derived from the Greek ; as in 
characf. Christian, chronicle, archangel, monarch. 
In mere English words, or fetched from tlie 
Latin, the force of the Italian c. 

cha2}lain, chast, chest, cho2}S, 
chin, chuff, churl. 



: Gh 
^ Is only a piece of ill writing Avith us : if wo 
could obtain of custom to mend it, it were not 
the worse for our language, or us : for the g 
sounds just nothing in 

trough, cough, might, night, Sec. 
Only the writer was at leisure to add a super- 
fluous letter, as there are too many in our jjseu- 
dograjfhy. 

Ph & Rh 
' Are used only in Greek infranchised words ; 
as Philip, physic, rhetoric, Rhodes, &c. 

Sh 
■• Is merely English, and hath the force of the 
Hebrew ^ shin, or the French ch ; as in 
shake, shed, shine, shoio, 
shrink, rush, blush. 



Th 

5 Hath a double and doubtful sound, which 
must be found out by use of speaking ; some 
times like the Greek 6 ; as in 

thief, thing, lengthen, strengthen, hveth, &c 

In others, like their S, or the Spanish d ; ab 

this, that, then, thence, 

tlwsc, bathe, bequeath. 

And in this consists the greatest difficulty of 

oxir alphabet, and true writing : since we have 

lost the Saxon characters '5 and j) that distin* 

guished 



902 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAE. 



onum (S respondef ilU sono, quern vulgaris Grseca 
lingua facit, quando protumciant siium d, aid 
Hispani d, Uteram suam molUorem, ut ciim vcH- 
tatem, verdad appellant. Spina autem ilia "p, 
videtur rcferre prorsiis Grsecorum 6. At th sonum 
6 non rect't dat. Nam si 6 non esset alia deflcxio 
vocis, nisi aspirafionis additce, cequi facile fuit 
Grsecis tw r' aspirationem adjungere, quam lii (>. 



from 



Wh 



tin, 

f^hred, 

T^hrive. 



Hath been enqiiired of in w. And this for 

the letters. 



CHxiP. V. 



OF THE DIPHTHONGS. 



Diphi/iongs are the complexions or couplings 
of vowels, wlien the two letters send forth a joint 
sound, so as in one syllabe both sounds be 
heard ; as in 

Ai, or Ay, 

aid, maid, said, pay, day, way. 

Au, or Aw, 

audience, author, aunt, laic, saw, draw. 

Ea, 

earl, 2^earl, meat, seat, sea, flea. 

To which add yea and plea ; and you have at 

one view all our words of this termination. 

Ei, 

sleight, streight, weight, theirs. 

Ew, 

Jeiv, strew, dreio, anew. 

Oi, or Oy, 

point, joint, soil., coil, 

Joy, toy, boy. 

Oo, 

good, food, mood, brood, &c. 

Ou, or Ow, 

rout, stout, hoic, 

now, bow, low. 

Vi, or Vy, 

2}uissance, ox puyssance ; juice, ovjuyce. 

These nine are all I would observe ; for to 

mention more, were but to perjilex the reader. 

The Oa, and Ee, will be better supplied in our 

orthography by the accenting e in the end ; as in 

brdde, I6de, c6te, bdte, quitie. 
Neither is the double ee to be thought on, but 
in derivatives ; as trees, sees, and the like, where 
it is as two syllabes. As for eo, it is fovmd but 
in three words in our tongue, 

yeoman, people, jeopard. 
"Which were truer written, 

yiman, p(^p)lc, ji2xird. 

And thus much shall suffice for the diphthongs. 

The triphthong is of a complexion rather to be 

feared than loved, and would fright the young 

qrammarian to see him : I therefore let him pass, 

and make haste to the notion — 

CHAP. VI. 

OF THE SYLLABES. 

A Syllabe is a part of a word that may of itself 
make a perfect sound ; and is sometimes of one 
only letter, which is always a vowel : sometimes 
of moie. 



Of one, as in every first vowel in these words ; 
a. a-bated. 
e. e-clipsed. 
i. i-magined. 
o. o-mitted. 
u. usurped. 
A syllabe of more letters is made cither of 
VGioels only, or of consonants joined with voiceh. 
Of voioels only, as the diphtJiongs. 
ai, in ai-ding, 
au, in austere, 
ea, in ea-sie, ea-ting. 
ei, in ei-ry of hawks. 
etc, in ew-er, &c. and in 
the triphthong yea. 
Of the voivels mixed ; sometimes but with one 
consonant, as to ; sometimes two, as try; some- 
times three, as best ; or four, as nests ; or five, as 
stumps ; otherwhile six, as the latter syllabe in 
restraints : at the most they can have but eight, 
a? strengths. 

Some syllabes, as 

the, then, there, that, 
with, and which, 
are often compendiously and shortly written ; a« 

e en are t 

y y y y 

th ch 

w and to 
which whoso list may use ; but orthography com- 
mands it not : a man may forbear it, without 
danger of falling into 2)rcemunire. 

Here order would require to speak of the 
quantity of syllabes, their special prerogative 
among the Latins and Greeks ; whereof so 
much as is constant, and derived from nature, 
hath been handled already. The other, which 
grows hy 2^03 ition-!. and placing of letters, as yet 
(not through default of our tongue, being able 
enough to receive it, but otir own carelessness, 
being negligent to give it) is ruled by no art. 
The principal cause whereof scemeth to be this ; 
because our verses and rhymes (as it is almost 
with all other people, whose language is spoken 
at this day) are natural, and such whereof 
Aristotle speaketh ix licv uvroa/iSiaauuiwv, that 
is, made of a natural and voluntary composition, 
without regard to the quantity or syllabes. 

This would ask a larger time and field than 
is here given for the examination ; but since I 
am assigned to this province, that it is the lot 
of my age, after thirty years' conversation with 
men, to be elementarius senex, I will promise and 
obtain so much of myself, as to give, in tho 
heel of the book, some spur and incitement to 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



903 



that which I so reasonably seek. Not that I. 
would have the viMjar and practised way of 
making, abolished and abdicated (being both 
Bweet and delightful, and much taking the ear), 
but to the end our tongue may be made equal to 
those of the renowned countries Italy and 
Greece, touching that particular. And as for 
the difficulty, that shall never withdraw, or put 
me off fronr the attempt : for neither is any 
excellent thing done with ease, nor the com- 
passing of this any whit to be despaired : espe- 
cially when Quintilian hath observed to me, by 
this natural rhyme, that we have the other arti- 
ficial, as it were by certain marks and footings, 
tirst traced and found out. And the Grecians 
themselves before Homer, as the Romans like- 
wise before Livius Andronicus, had no other 
meters. Thus much therefore shall serve to 
have spoken concerning the 2Mrts of a word, in a 
letter and a stjUubc. 

It followeth to speak of the common affec- 
tions, which unto the Latins, Greeks, and He- 
brews, are two ; the accent and notation. And 
first, 

CHAP. VII. 

OF THE ACCENT. 

The accent (which unto them was a tuning of 
the voice, in lifting it up, or letting it down) 
hath not yet obtained with us any sign ; which 
notwithstanding were most needful to be added; 
not wheresoever the force of an accent heth, but 
where, for want of one, the word is in danger 
to be mis-tuned ; as in 

abased, excessive, besdted, 
obtain, ung6dly, surrender. 

But the use of it will be seen much better by 
collation of words, that according unto the di- 
vers place of their accent, arc diversly pro- 
nounced, and have divers significations. Such 
are the words following, with their like ; as 

differ, defir ; desert, desdrt ; present, present ; 

refuse, refuse ; object, objdct ; incense, incinse ; 
cdnvert, convirt; tdrment, torment, &c. 

In original nouns, adjective or substantive, de- 
rived according to the rule of the writer of 
analogy, the accent is intreated to the first ; as 

ui » 

fatherless, mdtJierless^ 
peremptory, hdberdasher. 
Likewise in the adverbs, 

brdtherly, sisterly. 
-All nouns dissyllabic simj)le, in the first, as 
belief, hdnor, credit, 
silver, surety. 
All nouns trisyllabic, in the first ; 

cduntefiance, jiopardy, &c. 
All nouns compounded in the first, of how 
many syllabcs soever they be ; as 

tinnis-court keeper, chimney-siveeper. 
Words simple in able, draw the accent to the 
&rst, though they be of four syllabes ; as 
sdciable, tdlerable. 
When they be compounded, they keep the 
same accent ; as 

insociable, intdlerable. 
J3ut in the way of comparison, it altereth thus : 
some men are sociable, others insociable ; some 



tolerable, others intolerable : for the accent sits on 
the syllabe that puts diff'erence ; as 
sincerity, insincerity. 
Norms ending in tion, or sion, are accented in 
ante-penultimd, ; as 

condition, infusion, &c. 
In ty, a Latinis, in antepcnxdtimA ; as 

virity, charity, sinqMcity. 
In encc, in antepenultimd ; as 
2}istilence, abstinence, 
sustenance, cdnsequence. 
All verbs dissyllabes ending in er, el, ry, and 
ish, accent in primd ; as 

cover, cdncel, carry, bury, 
livy, ravish, &C. 
Verbs made of nouns follow the accent of the 
nouns ; as 

to blanket, to bdsguet. 
All verbs coming from the Latin, either of the 
supine, or otherwise, hold the accent as it is found 
in the first person present of those Latin verbs ; 
as from 

dnimo, animate; 
cilebfo, celebrate. 
Except words compounded of facio ; as 

liquefucio, liquefie. 
And of statuo ; as 

constituo, constitute. 
All variations of verbs hold the accent in the 
same place as the theme, 

I animate, thou dnimatest. 
And thus much shall serve to have opened 
the fountain of o7-thography. Now let us come 
to the notation of a word. 

CHAP. VIII. 

THE NOTATION OF A WORD, 

Is when the original thereof is sought out, 
and consisteth in two things, the kind and the 
figure. 

The kitid is to know whether the word be a 
primitive, or derivative : as 

)nan,love, 
are pirimitives : 

manly, lover, 
are derivatives. 

The figure is to know whether the word bo 
simjile, or compounded ; as 

learned, say, are simple ; 
nnlearned, gain-say, are compounded. 
In which kind of composition, our English 
tongue is above all other very hardy and happy, 
joining together, after a most eloquent manner, 
sundry words of every kind of speech ; as 
mill-horse, lip-wise, self-love, 
twy-light, there-about, 
not-ioith-standing, be-cause, 
cut-jnlrse, never-the-less. 
These are the common affections of a word . 
the divers sorts now follow. A word is of num- 
ber, or without number. Of number that word is 
termed to be, Avhich signifieth a number singu- 
lar or plural. 

Singular, which expresseth one only thing ; aa 

tree, book, teacher. 
Plural, when it expresseth more things than 
one ; as 

trees, books, teachers. 



90i 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



Again, a word of niimber is fnite or injimtc. 
Finite which varieth his number with certain 
endings ; as 

7nan, men ; run, runs ; 
horse, horses. ' 

Infinite, wliich varieth not ; as 

true, strong, running, &c. 
both in the singular and plural. 

Moreover, a word of number is a noun or a 
verb. But here it were iit Ave did first number 
our words, or parts of speech, of which our 
..anguago consists.' 

CHAr. IX. 

OF THE PARTS OF SPEECH. 

In our English sjieech wc number the same 
parts with the Latins. 

Noun, Adverb, 

Pronoun, Conjunction, 

Verb, Prceposition, 

rartlciplc. Interjection. 

Only we add a ninth, which is the aHicle : 
and that is two-fold ; 

Finite, i. e. relating to both numbers ; as the. 
Infinite, relating only to the singular ; as a. 
The finite is set before noiins appiellatioes ; as 
the horse, the horses ; 
the tree, the trees. 
Fropier names and pronouns refuse artieles, ex- 
cept for emphasis sake ; as 

the Henry of Heni-ics, 
the only He of the to\i'n. 
Where he stands for a noun, and signifies man. 
The infinite hath a power of declaring and de- 
signing uncertain or infinite things ; as 
a man, a house ; not a men, a houses. 
This artiele a answers to the German ein, or 
th(! French or Italian articles, derived from one, 
not numeral, hwt preepositive ; as 

a house, ein hause. Ger. 

une maison. French, 
una casa. Italian. 
TJie is put to both numbers, and answers to 
Lie German article, der, die, das. 
Save that it admits no inflection. 

CHAP. X. 

OP THE NOUXS. 

All nouns are words of number, singular, or 
plural. 

C common, ^ C substantive. 

They are < pro2)cr, > and are all < or 

^ personal, 3 C adjective. 

Their accidents arc 



1 Compositio. 

SfBpi tria coarrmcntantur nomina ; ut, a foot-ball player, a 
lennis-court-keeper. 

Sccpissimd duo substaiitina ; ut, liand-kerchief, raiii-bow, 
eye-sore, table-napkin, liead-ach, KCfpaf'aXyia. 

Substantivuni cum verba ; ut, wood-bind. 

Pronomeii cam substaiiiivo ; ut, self-love, ^lAaun'a; self- 
freedom, avTOvofxia. 

Verbum cum substantivo ; xit, a pufT-cIieek, (jiucriyvuSoj. 
Draw-well, draw-bridge. 

Jidjectivum cum siibstantico ; «(, New-ton, Nsa^oXtf. 
Handi-craft, xf^'I'ooo^ta. 

Adverbium cum sulstantivo ; ut, down-fall. 

Advcrbium cum participio ; ut, up-rising, down-lying. 



5. Doubtful. 



gender, case, declension. 

Of the genders there are six. 

1 INIasculii First, the masculine, which com- 

prehendeth all males, or what is un. 

derstood under a masculine species ; as angeh, 

men, stars : and (by prosopo2}oeia) the montJis, 

winds, almost all the^j^a«eis, 

n „ . . Second, the feminine, which com* 

M. 1* cniinine. • 

priseth women, and female species . 

islands, countries, cities : 
and some rivers with us ; as 

Severn, Avon, Sec. 
„ „ Third, the neuter, OT feigned gender , 

Avhose notion conceives neither sex . 
under which are comprised all inanimate things, 
a ship excepted : of whom we say, she sails 
Avell, though the name be Hercules, or Henry 
or the Prince. As Terence called his comedy 
Eunuchus, per vocabuhun artis. 

„ . Fourth, the 2>>'oniisciu}us, or epi- 

cene, which understands both kinds • 
especially, when we cannot make the difference ; 
as, when we call them horses, and clogs, in the 
masculine, though there be bitches and mares 
amongst them. So to foicls, for the most part, 
we use the feminine ; as of eagles, hawks, wo 
say, she files icell ; and call them geese, ducks, 
and doves, which they fly at, not distinguisliing 
the sex. 

Fifth, the co)nnion, or rather 
doubtful gender, we rise often, and 
with elegance ; as in 

cousin, gossip, friend, neighbor, enemy, 
servant, thief, &c. including both sexes. 
6. Common of The sixth is, the common of three 
Tliree. genders ; by which a 7ioim is di- 

vided into substantive and adjective. For a sub- 
stantive is a noun of one only gender, or (at the 
most) of two : and an adjective is a noun of three 
geiulers, being always infinite. 



CHAP. XI. 

OF THE DIMIXOTION OF NOUNS. 

The common affection of nouns is dlminiUiort. 
A diminutive is a noun noting the diminution of 
his primitive. 

The diminution of substantives hath Jhese four 
divers terminations. 

El. j^arf, parcel ; cock, cockerel. 

Et. capon, caponet ; poke, liocket ; baron, baronet. 

Ock. hill, hillock ; bull, bullock. 

Ing. goose, gosling ; duck, duckling. 

So from the adjective, dear, darling. 
Many diminutives there are, which rather be 
abusions of speech, than any proper English 
words. And such for the most part are men's 
and icomen's names : names which are spoken in 
a kind of flattery, especially among familiar 
friends and lovers ; as 

Biehard, Dick ; William, WiU ; 
Margery, Madge ; Mary, Mai. 

Diminution of adjectives is in this one end, ish; 
as ivhite, ichitisk ; green, greenish. 

After Avhich manner certain adjectives of like- 
ness axe also formed from their substantives; as 
devil, devilish ; thief, thievish ; 
colt, coltish ; elf, elvish. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



yo5 



Some noxtns steal the form of diminution, 'which 
neither in signification shew it, nor can derive 
it ivoxa. a 2)rimitivo ; as 

gibbet, doublet, 2)ccvish. 

CHAP. XII. 

OF COJIPARISOXS. 

These then are the common affections both of 
substantives and adjectives : there follow certain 
others not general to them both, but jiroper and 
peculiar to each one. The 2)>'opef affection there- 
fore of adjectives is comparison : of which, after 
the positive, there be two degrees reckoned, 
namely, the comparative, and the siqjerlatioe. 

The comparative is a degree declared by the 
positive with this adverb more ; as 
tciser, or more tcise. 
The superlative is declared by the positive, with 
this adverb most; as 

loiscst, or most tcise. 
Both which degrees are formed of the posi- 
tive ; the comparative, by putting to er ; the su- 
perlative, by putting to est; as in these exam- 
ples : 

learned, karnedei; learnedest ; 
simpile, simpiler, simplest; 
true, truer, truest ; 
black, blacker, blackest. 
Prom this general rule a few special words 
are excepted ; as 

good, better, best ; 
ill, or bad, worse, icorst ; 
little, less, least ; 
much, more, most. 
Many words have no comparison ; as 
reverend, 2Missant ; 
victorious, rcnotcncd. 
Others have both degrees, but lack the posi- 
tive ; as former, foremost. 

Some are formed of adverbs ; as 
wiseli/, iciselier, tciseliest ; 
justly, justlier, justliest. 
Certain comparisons form out of themselves ; 

less, lesser ; 
worse, tvorser, 

CHAP. XIII. 

OF THE FIllST DECLENSION. 

And thus much concerning the 2}>'oper affection 
of adjectives : the 2^>'02>cr aff'eciioa of substantives 
foUoweth ; and that consisteth in declining. 

A declension is the varying of a noun substan- 
tive into divers terminations. Where, besides the 
absolute, there is as it were a genitive case, made 
in the singular number, by putting to s. 

Of declensions there be two kinds : the first 
maketh the plural of the singular, by adding 
thereunto s ; as 

tree, trees ; 
thing, things ; 
siee2}le, stee2'>les. 

So with s, by reason of the near affinity of 
these two letters, whereof we have spoken be- 
fore : 



2Mr7i, paries ; buck, bucks ; 
dwarf, dwarfs ; 2}cith, paths ; 
And in this frst declension, the genitive plural 
is all one Avith the 2^lural absolute ; as 

Singular. S-f'^J'^'-J J Plur. 5>!f ''*• 
'^ (fathers^ {fathers. 

General Exceptions. Nouns ending in z, s, ^h, 

g and ch, in the declining take to the geniti-s'C 

singular i, and to the plural e ; as 

Sing.p™; Jpiur.p'"'""'''' 
° ( 2)rinci s, ) ^ jorinces, 

so rose, bush, age, breech. Sec. Avliich distinctions 

not observed, brought in first the monstrous 

syntax of the pronoun his joining with a noun 

betokening a possessor ; as the prince his house, 

for the 2J>'i'ici's house. 

Many words ending in diphthongs or vowels 

take neither :; nor s, but only change their rfyjA- 

thongs or vowels, retaining their last consonant, 

or one of like force ; as 

mouse, mice or ineece ; 

louse, lice or leece ; 

goose, geese ; foot, feet ; 

tooth, teeth. 

Exception of number. Some nouns of the frsi 

declension lack the plural ; as 

rest, gold, silver, bread. 

Other the singular ; as 

riches, goods. 

Many being in their principal signification ad- 

jectives, are here declined, and in the plural 

stand instead of substantives ; as 

other, others ; one, ones ; 

hundred, hundreds ; thousand, thousands ; 

necessary, necessaries ; and su?h like. 



CHAP. XIV. 

OF THE SECOND DECLENSION. 

The second declension formeth the 2^hiral from 
t\\Q singular, by putting to n; which, notwith- 
standing it have not so many nouns as hath the 
former, yet lacketh not his difficulty, by reason 
of sundry exceptions, that cannot easily be 
reduced to one general head : of this for- 
mer is 

ox, oxen ; hose, hosen. 

Exceptions. Man and icoman, by a contrac- 
tion, make men and icomen, instead of manen 
and womencn. Coio makes kino or keene : brother^ 
for brcthcren, hath brethren, and brethcrn : child 
formeth the plural, by adding r besides the root ; 
for Ave say not childen, Avhich, according to the 
rule given before, is the right formation, but 
children, because that sound is more pleasant to 
the ear. 

Here the genitive plural t^denoting the possessor) 

is made by adding s vmto the absolute ; as 

c,. ( child, 7 T>i ^ chihlren. 
Sing. \ , .,,', > Plur. < , •, , ' 
" ( child s, } i children s. 

Exceptions from both declensions. Some noum 

(according to the different dialects of several 

parts of the country) have the jj^jo %l of both 

declensions ; as 

house, houses and housen; 
eye, eyes and cyen ; 
shooe, shoocs and shooen. 



906 



THE ENGLISH GRAMISIAR. 



CHAP. XV. 

OF PRONOUNS. 

A FEW irregular notins, varying from the gen- 
eral precepts, are commonly termed pronouns ; 
whereof the first four, instead of the genitive, 
have an accusative case ; as 

7, ^ C We. Thou, 'i C You 

> Plur. ^ > Plur. } or 

Me, > ( Us. Thee, ) ( Thei/. 

He, she, that, all three make in the plural thei/, 
them. 

Four possessives : my, or mine : plural, our, 
ours. Thy, thine : ■plural, your, yours. His, hers, 
both in the plural making their, theirs. 

The demonstratives : this : plural, these. That : 
plural, those. Yon, or yonder, same. 

Three inter rag atives, ■whereof one requiring 
both genitive and accusative, and taken for a sub- 
stantive : who ? ichose ? ichom ? The other two 
vifinite, and adjectively used, what, whether. 

Two articles, in gender and number infinite, 
which the Latins lack : a, the. 

One relative, ivhich : one other signifying a re- 
ciprocation, self: plural, selves. 

Composition of p)'>'onouns is more common : 
my-self, our-sehes. 
thyself, yourselves, 
himself, ^ 

herself, > Plural, themselves, 
itself, ) 
This-samc, that-same, yon-same, yonclcr-same, self- 
same^ 

CHAP. XVI. 

OF A VEllB. 

Hitherto wc have declared the whole etymol- 
ogy of nouns ; which in easiness and shortness, 
is much to be preferred before the Latins and 
the Grecians. It remaineth with like brevitj-, 
if it may be, to prosecute the etymology of a verb. 
A verb is a word of number, which hath both 
time and person. Time is the diiference of a 
verb, by the jn-esent, past, and future, or to come. 
A verb finite therefore hath three only times, and 
those always inijierfect. 

The first is the present : as 

rt«w, I love. 
The' second is the Xiran past ; as 

amabani, I loved. 
The third is the future ; as 

Ama, amato : love, love. 
The other titnes both im2wrf<'ct ; as 

amem, amarem, amabo. 
And also perfect ; as 
amavi, amaverim, amaveram, amavissem, amavero, 
we use to' express by a syntax, as shall be seen 
in. the proper place. 

The future is made of the present, and is the 
same always with it. 

Of this future ariseth a verb infaiite, keeping 
the same termination ; as likewise of the present, 
and the time past, are. formed the participle pres- 
ent, by adding of ing ; as 

love, loving. 
The other is all one with the time past. 
The passive is expressed by a syntax, like the 
time's going before, as hereafter shall appear. 



A person is the special difference of a verbal 
number, whereof the present,- and the ti?ne past. 
have in every number three. 

The second and third person singular of the 
present are made of the first, by adding est and 
eth ; which last is sometimes shortened into s. 

The time past is varied, by adding in like man- 
ner in the second p)erson singular est, and making 
the third like unto the first. 

The future hath but only two piersons, the sec- 
ond and third ending both alike. 

The 2}erso)is plural keep the termination of the 
first x>erson singular. In former times, till about 
the reign of king Henry the eighth, they wei'e 
wont to be formed by adding en ; thus, 

loven, sayen, complainen. 
But now (whatsoever is the cause) it hath quite 
grown out of use, and that other so generally 
prevailed, that I dare not presume to set this 
afoot again : albeit (to tell you my opinion) I 
am persuaded that the lack hereof well consid- 
ered will be found a great blemish to our tongue. 
For seeing time and person be, as it were, the 
right and left hand of a verb, what can the 
maiming bring else, but a lameness to the whole 
body ? 

And by reason of these two differences, a 
verb is divided two manner of Avays. 

First, in respect of p)ersons, it is called person- 
al, or impersonal. 

Personal, which is varied by three persons ; as 
love, lovcst, loveth. 

Impiersonal, which only hath the third per- 
son ; as 

behovelh, irketh. 

Secondly, in consideration of the times, wo 
term it active, or neuter. 

Active, whose participle past may be joined 
with the verb am ; as 

/ am loved, thou art hated. 

Neuter, which cannot be so coupled ; as 
po'tain, die, live. 

This therefore is the general forming of a 
verb, which must to every special one hereafter 
be applied. 

CHAP. XVII. 

OF THE FIRST CONJUGATION. 

The varying of a verb hy persons and times, 
both finite and infinite, is termed a conjugation . 
whereof there bo two sorts. The first fetcheth 
the time j^ast from the 2»'esent, by adding ed ; and 
is thus varied : 

Pr. lore, lovest, loveth. PI. love, love, love. 
Pa. love, loved' st, loved. PI. loved, loved, loved. 
Fu, love, love. PI. love, love. 

Inf. love. 

Part. pr. loving. 

Part. past. hved. 
Verbs are oft times shortened ; as 
say est, saist ; xoould, ivou\l ; 
should, shon'd; holpe, ho'pe. 
But this is more common in the leaving out 
of e ,• as 

loved' st, for lovedest ; 
rubb'd, rubbed ; took'st, tookest. 
Exception of the time past, for ed, have d or t ■: 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



907 



Licked, lickt ; leaved, left ; 
Gaped, ffap'd ; blushed, blush' d. 
Some verbs ending in d, for avoiding the con- 
course of too many consonants, do cast it away ; 
as 

lend, lent ; spend, S23ent ; gird, girt. 
Make, by a rare contraction, is here turned 
into made. Many verbs in the time past, vary 
not at all from the present ; such are cast, hurt, 
cost, burst, &c. 

CHAP. XVIII. 

OF THE SECOND COXJUGATION. 

And so much for the first conjugation, being 
indeed the most useful forming of a verb, and 
thereby also the common inn to lodge every 
strange and foreign guest. That which follow- 
cth, for any thing I can find (though I have with 
some diligence searclacd after it), entertaincth 
none but natural and home-born words, which 
though in number they be not many, a hundred 
and twentj^ or thereabouts ; yet in variation 
are so divers and uncertain, that they need much 
the stamp of some good logic to beat them into 
proportion. We have set down that, that in 
our judgment agreeth best with reason and 
good order Which notwithstanding, if it seem 
to any to bo too rough hewed, let him phwie it 
out more smoothly, and I shall not only not 
envy it, but, in the behalf of my country, most 
neartily thank him for so great a benefit ; hoping 
that I shall be thought sufficiently to have done 
my part, if in tolling this boll, I may draw 
others to a deeper consideration of the matter : 
for, touching myself, I must needs confess, that 
after much painful churning, this only would 
"jome, which here we have devised. 

The second conjugation therefore turneth the 
in-csent into the time past, by the only change 
of his letters, namely, of vowels alone, or conso- 
nants also. 

Verbs changing voicels only, have no certain 
termination of the 2}articiple jMst, but derive it 
as well from the 2^>'esent, as the time jMst : and 
that other-M'hile differing from either, as the 
examples following do declare. 

The change of vowels is, either of simple voio- 
els, or of dijJhthongs ; whereof the first goeth by 
the order of voicels which we also will observe. 

An a is turned into oo. 

Pres. shake, shakest, PL shake, shake, shake, 
shaketh. 

Past. s]u)ok, shookest, PI. shook, shook, shook, 
shook. 

Fut. shake, shake. PL shake, shake. 
Inf. shake. 

Part. pre. shaking. 
Part. pa. shaken. 

This form do the verbs take, wake, forsake, and 
hang, follow ; but hang in the time past maketh 
hung, not hangen. 

Hereof the verb am is a special exception, 
being thus varied : 

Pr. am, art, is. PL are, are, are ; or be, be, be, 
of the unused Avord, be, bei'st, beCth, in the sin- 
gular. 



Past, toas, loast, loas ; or, icerei wert, were. P^ 
were, were, loere. 

Eut. be, be. Plur. be, be. 

Inf. be. 

Part. pr. being. 

Part. past. been. 

Ea castcth away a, and maketh e short : 

Pr. lead. Past. led. Part. pa. led. 
The rest of the times and jiersons, both singu- 
lar and plural, in this and the other verbs tha*. 
follow, because they jump with the former 
examples and rules in every point, we have 
chosen rather to omit, than to thrust in needless 
Avords. 

Such are the verbs, eat, beat, (both making 
participles past ; besides et and bet, or eaten and 
beaten) spread, dread, sweat, tread. 
Then a, or o, indifferently ; 
Pr. break. 

Past. brake, or broke. 

Par. pa. broke, at broken. 
Hither belong, speaJi, sioear, tear, cleave, wear, 
steal, bear, shear, iccave. So, get, and help ; but 
holpe is seldom used, save with the poets. 
i is changed into «. 
Pr. give. 

Past. gave. 

Par. pa. given. 
So bid, and sit. 

And here sometimes i is turned into a and o 
both. 

Pr. win. 

Past. toa7i, or won. 
Par. pa. won. 
Of this sort are fling, ring, wring, sing, eting, 
slirk, S2}in, strike, drink, sink, spring, begin, stinh, 
shrink, sioing, sioim. 

Secondly, verbs that have ee, lose one ; as 
Pr. feed. 

Past. fed. 
Par. pa. fdd. 
Also meet, breed, bleed, speed. 
Or change them into o ,■ as 
Pr. soeih. 

Past. sod. 

Par. pa. sod, or soden. 
Lastly, into aw ; as 
Pr. see. 

Past. sa2D. 
Par. pa. seen. 
O hath a. 

Pr. come. 

Past. came. 

Par. pa. come. 
And here it may besides keep its proper voieel. 
Pr. rim. 

Past. ra7i, or run. 
Par. pa. run. 
00 maketh o. 

Pr. choose. 

Past. chose. 

Par. pa. chosen. 
And one more, shoot, shot ; in the participle 
past, shot, or shotten. 

Some pronounce the verbs by the dijihthong 
ew, chewse, sheiot ; and that is Scottish-like. 



908 



THE ENGLISH GRAilMAR. 



m 




CHAP. XIX. 

OF THE THIRD CONJUGATIOX. 

Tee change of the dlphtJiotig is of ay, y, cue, 
and oic; all which are changed into eio. 
slay, 
slew. 
slain. 

fl'J' 
fieic. 
Jioicn. 
draio. 
drew, 
drawn, 
know, 
knew, 
knoicn. 

This last form cometh oftener than the three 
former; as snow, groio, throw, bloio, crow. 

Secondly ; some verbs in ite or ide, lose e ; as 
C Pr. bite. 

1 Past. bit. 

^ Par. pa. bit, or bitten. 
likewise, Jiide, quite, make hid, quit. 
So sJiiiie, strive, thrive, change i into o in the 
time past ; as shone, strove, throve. 

And as i severally frameth either e or a ; so 
may it jointly have them both. 
C Pr. rise. 

2 Past. ris, rise, or rose, 
^ Par. pa. ris, rise, or risen. 

To this kind pertain, smite, write, bide, ride, 
climb, drive., chide, stride, slide ; which make smit, 
writ, bid, r\d, clknib, drive, chid, strld, slid; or 
smote, wrote, bbde, rode, clomh, drove, chad, strod, 
elod. 

Thirdly, i is sometimes changed into the diph- 
thanai ay and ou ; as 

iVr:. lie. ■ 

Past. lay. 

Par. pa. lien, or lain, 
find, 
found, 
found. 
So bind, grind, wind, fight, make bound, ground, 
wound, fought. 

Last of all, aw and mo do both make e, 
C Pr. fall, 

e. < Past. feil. 
(_ Par. pa. fulkn. 
Such is the verb fraught ; which Chaucer, in 
the Man of Laic's Tale : 

This merchants have done, freight their ships 
new. 

( Pr. hold, 

0. < Past. held. 

^ Par. pa. held, or /widen. 
Exceptions of the time past. 
Some that are of the first conjugation only, 
Iiave in the 'po^rticiple past, besides their own, the 
form of the second, and the third ; as 
hew, hewed, and hewn, 
moio, mowed, and mowen. 
load, loaded, and loaden. 



ay. 



oy. 



Pr. 

Past. 
Par. pa. 



CHAP. XX. 

OF THE FOURTH CONJUGATIOX. 

Verbs that convey the time j^ast for the present^ 
by the change both oivoicels and consonants, fol- 
lowing the terminations of the first conjugation, 
end in d, or t. 

Pr. stand. 

Pa. stood. 
Such are these words, 

Pr. will, wilt, will. 

Pa. would, tvouldest, would. 

Put. tvill, will. 
The infinite times are not used. 

Pr. C can, canst, can. 

Pa. ( cold,^ or cotdd. 

Put. C shall, shall, shall. 

Pa. ( should. 

The other times of either verb are lacking. 

Pr. C hear. 

Pa. ( heard. 

Pr. ( sell. 

Pa. \ sold. 

So tell, told. 
Of the other sort are these, and such like. • 

Pr. ifeel. 

Pa. I felt. 

So creep, sleep, zveep, keep, stcecp, mean. 

Pr. C teach. 

Pa. ( taught. 

To this form belong think, retch, seek, reach, 
caic/i, bring, icork ; and buy and owe, which make 
bought and ought. 

Pr. C dare, darest, dare. 

Pa. ( durst, durst, durst. 

Pr. C may, mayst, may. 

Pa. \ might, mightest, might. 

These two verbs want the other times. 
A general exception from the former conjuga- 
tions. Certain verbs have the form of either 
conjugation ; as 

kang, Jianged, and hung. 
So chave, shear, sting, climb, catch, &c. 

CHAP. XXI. 

OF ADVERBS. 

Thus much shall suffice for the etymology of 
tcords that have number, both in a noun and a 
verb : whereof the former is but short and easy ; 
the other longer, and wrapped with a great deal 
more difficulty. Let us now proceed to the 
ety?nology of words without number. 

A word without number is that which without 
his principal signification noteth not any num- 
ber. Whereof there be two kinds, an adverb 
and a conjunction. 

An adverb is a A^'ord Avitliout number that is 
joined to another word ; as 
well learned, 
lie fighteth valiantly, 
he disputeth very subtlely. 

1 An old English word, fur which now we commonly uso 
sliall, or shatoU. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



909 



So that aij adverb is as it were an adjective of 
nouns, verbs, yea, and adverbs also themselves. 

Adverbs are either of qitantity, or quaUty. Of 
2uantitij ; as 

enough, too-much, altogether. 
Adverbs of quality be of divers sorts : 
First, of number ; as once, ticice, thrice. 
Secondly, of time ; as to-day, yesterday, then, 

by and by, ever, when. 
Thirdly, of ^jfoce ; as here, there, where, yonder. 
Fourthly, in affirmation, or negation ; as 

/, or ay, yes, indeed, no, not, nay. 
Fifthly, in wishing, calUng, and exhorting : 
Wishing ; as O, if. 
Calling ; as ho, sirrah. 
Exhorting ; as so, so ; there, there. 
Sixthly, in similitude and likeness ; as 

so, even so, likeioise, even as. 
To this place pertain all adverbs of quality 
whatsoever, being formed from nouns, for the 
most part, by adding ly ; as 

just, justly ; true, truly ; 
strong, strongly ; name, namely. 
Here also adjectives, as well 2}ositive as coin- 
pared, stand for adverbs : 

When he least thinketh, soonest shall he fall. 
Interjections, commonly so termed, are in right 
adverbs, and therefore may justly lay title to 
this room. Such are these that follow, with 
their like : as 

ah, alas, zooe, Jie, tush, ha, ha, he. 
st, a note of silence : Rr, that serveth to 
set dogs together by tlie ears : hn; to chajse birds 
a-\vay. 

Frc2}ositio)is are also a peculiar kind of adverbs, 
and ought to be referred hither. Pre2Jositions 
are separable or inseparable. 

Separable are for the most part of time and 
place ; as 

among, according, tcithout, 
afore, after, before, behind, 
■under, upon, beneath, over, 
against, besides, near. 



InsejMrable 2)repositions are they which signify 
nothing, if they be not compounded with some 
other words ; as 

re, un, in release, unlearned. 

CHAP XXII. 

OF CONJUNCTIONS. 

A conjunction is a word without number, knit- 
ting divers speeches together : and is declaring, 
or reasoning. Declaring, which u'tereth the 
parts of a sentence : and that again is gathering, 
or separating. Gathering, whereby the parts are 
affirmed to be true together : which is coupling, 
or conditioning. Coupling, Avhen the parts are 
severally affirmed ; as 

and, also, neither. 
Conditioning, by which the jDart following de- 
pendeth, as true, upon the part going before ; as 
if, unless, except. 
A separating conjunction is that whereby the 
parts (as being not true together) are sepa- 
rated ; and is 

severing, 

or 
sundring. 
Severing, when the parts are separated only 
in a certain respect or reason ; as 

but, although, notioithstanding. 
Sundring, when the parts are separated in- 
deed, and truly, so as more than one cannot bo 
true ; as 

either, tohether, or. 
Reasoning conjunctions are those which con- 
clude one of the pai'ts by the other ; whercoi 
some render a reason, and some do infer. 

Rendering are such as yield the cause of a 
thing going before ; as 

for, because. 
Inferring, by which a thing that cometh after 
is concluded by the former ; as 
therefore, wherefore, 
so that, insomuch that. 



SECOND BOOK. OF THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



OF SYNTAX, 



CHAP. I. 

OF APOSTROPHUS. 



As yet we have handled ctymohgy, and all the 
parts thereof. Let us come to the consideration 
of the syntax. 

Syntax is the second part of gra7nmar, that 
teacheth the construction of words j whereimto 



apostrophus,'^ an affection of words coupled and 
joined together, doth belong. 

Aposirophus is the rejecting of a vowel from 
the beginning or ending of a word. The note 
whereof, though it many times, through the 
negligence of writers and printers, is quite 

1 Tlie Latins and Hebrews have none 



910 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



omitted, yet by right should, and of the learn- 
eder sort "hath his sign and mark, which is such 
a semi-circle (') placed in the top. 

In the end a vowel may be cast away, when 
the word next following beginnc*h with an- 
other ; as 

Th' outicard man decay eth ; 
So th' inward man gctteth strength. 
If y' utter such words of pure love, and friend- 
ship, 
What then may loa look for, if y' once begin to 

hate ? 
Gower, lib. 1. de Confess. Amant. 

If thou'rt of his company, tell forth, my son, 
It is time t' awake from sleep. 
Vowels suffer also this ajmstrophus before the 
consonant /*. 

Chaucer, in the 3d book of Troilus. 
For of fortune' s sharp adversitie. 
The xoorst kind of unfortune is this : 
A man t' have been in prosperitie. 
And it to remember ichen it passed is. 
The first kind then is common with the 
Greeks ; but that which followeth, is proper to 
us, which though it be not of any, that I know, 
either in writing or printing, usually expressed ; 
yet considering that in our common speech 
nothing is more familiar (upon the which all 
precepts are grounded, and to the which they 
ought to be referred) who can justly blame me, 
if, as near as I can, I follow nature's call. 

This rejecting, therefore, is both in vowels 
and consonants going before : 

There is no fire, there is no sparkc. 
There is no dore, which may charke. 

Gower, lib. iv. 
Who answered, that he was not privy to it, 
and in excuse seem'd to be very sore dis- 
pleased icith the matter, that his men of icar 
had done it, without his comtnaiidement or 
consent. 

CHAP. II. 

OF THE SYNTAX OF ONE NOUN V>'ITH ANOTHER. 

Syntax appcrtaineth, both to words of num- 
ber, and without number, where the want and 
superfluity of any pavt of speech are two gen- 
eral and common exceptions. Of the former 
kind of syntax is that of a noun, and verb. 

The syntax of a noun, with a noun, is in nu7n- 
ber and gender ; as 

Esau could not obtain his father's blessing, 

though he sought it with tears. 
Jezabel teas a wicked icoman, for she sleio tJie 

Lord's lorophets. 
All idol is no God, for it is ?iiade toith hands. 
In all those examj^les you see Esau and he, 
Jezabel and she, idol and it, do agree in the sin- 
gular number. The first example also in the 
masculine gender, the second in the feminine, the 
third in the neuter. And in this construction 
(as also throughout the whole English syntax), 
order and the placing of words is one special 
thins to be observed. So that when a substan- 
tive and an adjective are immediately joined to- 
gether, the adjective must go before ; as 



Plato shtit poets out of his commonwealth, a* 
effeminate zci-iters, unprofitable members, 
and enemies to virtue. 
When two substantives come together, where- 
of one is the name of a possessor, the other of a 
thing possessed, then hath the name of a pos- 
sessor the former place, and that in the genitive . 
All man's righteousness is like a dcfilea cloth, 
Gower, lib. 1 : 

An Old Jlieth by night. 
Out of all other birds' sight. 
But if the thing ;ws«essefZ go before, then doth 
the preposition of come between : 

Ignorance is the mother of Error. 
Gower, lib. 

.So that it proveth well therefore 
The strength of man is sone lore. 
Which preposition may be coupled with the 
thing piossessed, being in the genitice, 
Nort. in Arsan. 

A road made info Scanderbech's country by 
the duke of Mysia's men : for, the men of 
the duke of iMysia. 
Here the absolute servcth sometimes instead 
of a genitive: 

All trouble is light, which is endured for 
righteousness' sake ; i. e. for the sake of 
righteousness. 
Otherwise two substantives are joined to- 
gether by apposition. 

Sir Thomas More, in king Richard's story : 
George duke of Clarence, was a prince at all 
jjoints fortunate. 
Where if both be the names of 2}ossesso)-s, the 
latter shall be in the genitive. 

Fox, in the 2d volume of Acts and Monuments : 
King Henry the eighth, married icith the lady 
Katherine his brother, prince Arthur's 
wife. 
The general exceptions : 
The substantive is often lacking. 

Sometime without small things, greater cannot 
stand : i. e. greater things, ^c. Sir 
Thomas More. 
The verb is also often wanting : 
Chaucer : 
For some folk tvoll be won for riches, 
And some folk for strokes, and some folk for 
gentleness : 
Where woll be icon once expressed, serves for 
the three parts of the sentence. 
Likewise the adjective : 

It is hard in prosperity to preserve true reli- 
gion, true godliness, and true humility. 
Lidgate, lib. 8,' speaking of Constantine, 
That ivhilome had the divination 
As chief monarch, chief prince, and chief 

president. 
Over all the icorld, from east to Occident. 
But tlie more notable lack of the adjectives is 
the want ' of the relative ; 

1 In Greek and Latin this want were barbarous : the K» 
brews notwithstanding iise it. 



THE ENGLISH GRAJ^IMAR. 



911 



In the things which we least mistrust, the 
greatest danger doth often lurk. 
Gower, lib. 2 : 

Forthy the xclse men ne demon 
The things after that there they semen; 
But, after that, which they know, and find. 
Psal. 118, 22. The stone the builders refused: 

for, which the builders refused. 
And here, besides the common wanting of a 
substantive, whereof wc spake before : there is 
another more special, and proper to the absolut-c, 
and the genitive. 

Chaucer, in the 3d book of Fame. 
This is the mother of tidings. 
As the sea is mother of ivclls, and is mother 
of springs. 

Rebecca clothed Jacob icith garments of his 
brothers. 

Superfluity also of nouns is much used : 
Sir Thomas !More : Whose death king Ed- 
ward (although he commanded it) ivJcen 
he wist it was done, pitcously bewailed it, 
and sorrowfully repented it, 
Chaucer, in his prologue to the Man of Law's 
Tale: 

Such law, as a man yeveth another loight. 
He sTiTAdd himself usen it by right. 
Gowcr, lib. 1 : 

For, whoso ivoll another blame. 
He seekcth oft his oion shame. 
Special exceptions, and first of number- Two 
singulars are put for one plural : 

All authority and custom of men, exalted 
against the icord of God, must yield them- 
sclues prisoners. 
Gower : 

In thine aspect are all alich, 
The poor man and eke the rich. 
The second person plural is for reverence' 
sake to one singular thing : 
Gower, lib. 1 : 

O good father dear. 
Why make ye this heavy chear ? 
Where also after a verb plural, the singular of 
the noun is retained : 

I kiww j'ou are a discreet and faithful man, 
and therefore am come to ask your ad- 
vice. 
Exceptions of Genders. 

The articles /le and it, are used in each other's 
jfender. 

Sir Thomas More : The south wind sometime 
swelleth of himself before a tempest, 
Gower, of the Earth : 

And forthy men it delve, and ditch. 
And earen it, loith strength of plough : 
Where it hath of himself enough. 
So that his need 's least. 
It, also followeth for the feminine : Gower, 
lib. 4 : 

He sicore it sftould nought be let. 
That, if she have a daughter boi-e, 
That it ne should bo forlore. 



CHAP, III. 

OF THE SYXTAX OF A TBONOUN WITH A NOUN. 

The articles a and the are joined to substan- 
tives common, never to proper names of men. 
William Lambert in the Perambulation of 

Kent : 
The cause only, and not the death, maketh a 
martyr. 
Yet, with a projjcr name used by a metaphor. 
or borrowed manner of speech, both articles may 
be coupled : 

Who so avoucheth the manifest and knoicn 
truth, ought not therefore to be called a 
Goliah, that is a monster, and impudeni 
fellow, as he was. 
Jewel against Harding : 

You have adventured yourself to be the tioble 
David to co7iquer this giant. 
Nort. in Arsa.i. 
Atid if ever it was necessary, now it is, tvhen 
many an Athanasius, 7nany an Atticus, 
many a noble pri/ice, and godly personage 
lieth prostrate at your feet for succor. 

Where this metaphor is expounded. So, when 
the proper name is used to note one's parentage, 
which kind of nouns the grammarians call patro~ 
nymics : 

Nort. in Gabriel's Oration to Scanderbech : 
For you knoio well enough the wiles of the 
Ottomans. 

Perkin Warbeek, a stra7iger born, feigned 
himself to be a Plantagenet. 
AVhen a substantive and an adjective are 
joined together, these articles are put before the 
adjective : 

A good conscience is a continual feast. 
Gower, lib. 1. 

For false semblant hath evermote 
Of his counsel in company. 
The da'^'k untrue hypocrisy. 
Which construction in the article a, notwith- 
standing, some adjectives will not admit : 
Sir Tho. More : 

Such a serpent is ambition, and desire of vain- 
glory. 
Chaucer : 

Under a shepherd false, and negligent. 
The icolf hath many a sheep and lamb to rent 
Moreover both these articles are joined to anj 
cases of the Latins, the vocative only excepted 
as, 

A man saith. The strength of a man, 
I sent to a md7i. I hurt a 7nan. 
I teas sued by a 7nan. 
Likewise, The apostle festifieth : the zeal of the 
apostle : give ear to the apostle : follow the apostle : 
depa7-t not from the apostle. 

So that in these two pronouns, the whole con- 
struction almost of the Latins is contained. Tho 
agreeth to any number ; a only to the singular, 
save when it is joined with those adjectives 
which do of necessity require a plural : 



912 



THE ENGLISH GEAMMAR. 



The conscience is a thousand icitncsses. 

Liclj^ate, lib. 1 : 

Though for a season (hey sit in high chears, 
Their fame shall fade within a fexo years. 
A, gooth before words beginning with, conso- 
nants ; and before all vowels (diphthongs, whose 
first letter is y or w, excepted) it is turned into 
an : 

Sir Thomas More : 
For men used to xorite an evil turn in marble 
stone ; but a good turn they write in the 
dust. 
Govver, lib. 1 : 

For all shall die ; and all shall pass 
As icell a lion as an ass. 
So may it be also before h. 
Sir Thomas More : 

What mischief worketh the proud enterprize 
of an high heart ! 
A hath also the force of governing before a 
noun : 

Sir Thomas More : 

And the protector had layd to her for manner's 
sake, that she teas a council tvith the lord 
Hastings to destroy him. 
Chaucer, 2d book of Troilus : 

And on his way fast homeicard he siied, 
And Troilus he found alone a bed. 
Likewise before the particijple present, a, an, 
have the force of a gerund. 
Nort. in Arsan. 

But there is some great tempest a bretcing to- 
tnards us. 
Lidgate, lib. 7 : 

The king teas slain, and ye did assent, 
In a forest an hunting, xohen that he xoent. 
The article the, joined with the adjective of a 
noun proper, may follow after the substantive : 
Chaucer. 

There chanticleer the fair 

Was toont, and eke his wives to repair. 

Otherwise it varieth from the common rule. 
Again, this article by a synecdoche doth restrain a 
general and common name to some certain and 
special one : 

Gower, in his Prologue : 

The Apostle writeth unto us all, 
Ajid saith, that upon us is fall 
TK end of the world : 
for Paul. So by the philoso2}her, Aristotle ; by 
thB poet, among the Grecians, Homer; with the 
Latins, Virgil, is understood. 

This and that being demonstratives ; and tchat 
the interrogative, are taken for substantives : 
Sir John Cheek, in his Oration to the Rebels : 
Ye rise for religion : what religion taught you 
that ? 
Chaucer, in the Revo's Tale : 

And this is very sooth, as I you toll. 

Ascham, in his discourse of the affairs of Ger- 
Doany : 

A loonderful folly in a great man himself, and 
some piece of misery in a xchole common- 



wealth, lohere fools chiefly and flatterers, 
may sjyeah freely what they will; and 
good men shall commonly he shent, if they 
speak Avhat they should. 
What, also for an adverb of partition : ' 
Lambert : 

But now, in our memory, what by the decay 
of the haven, and what by ovevthroio of 
religious houses, and loss of Calice, it ia 
brought in a man?isr to miserable naked- 
ness and decay. 
Chaucer, 3d book of Troilus : 

Then wot I well she might never fail, 
For to been holpen, what at your instance, 
What at your other friends governance. 
That is used for a relative : 
Sir John Cheek : 

Sedition is an aposteam, which, when it break- 
eth itiioai'dly, putteth the state in great 
danger of recovery ; and corrupteth the 
whole commonwealth tvith the rotten fury, 
that it hath piutrifled loith. For, loith 
which. 
They, and those, are sometimes taken, as it 
were, for articles : 

Fox, 2d volume of Acts, S^c. 

That no kind of disquictness shoidd be procured 
against them of Eer«"i and Zuflck. 
Gower, lib. 2 : 

My brother hath us all sold 
To them of Rome. 
The 2^>'Of^oun, these, hath a rare use, being 
taken for an adjective of similitude: It is neither 
the part of an Jionmt man to tell these tales ; nor 
of a zcise mail to receive them. 
Lidgate, lib. 5 : 

Lo, how these jn-inces proud and retchless. 
Have shameful ends, ivhich cannot live in 
peace. 
Him, and them, be used reciprocally for the 
compounds, himself, themselves. 
Fox: 

The garrison desired that they might depart 
with bag and baggage, 
Chaucer, in the Squire's Tale : 
So deep in grain he dyed his colors, 
Right as a serpetit hideth him under flowers. 
His, their, and theirs, have also a strange use ; 
that is to s^y, being possessives, they serve in- 
stead of primitives : 
Chaucer : 

And shortly so far forth this thing went. 

That my will was his icill's instrument. 

Which in Latin were a solecism : for there we 

should not say, sucb voluntatis, but voluntatis ip- 

sius. 

Pronouns have not the articles a and the going 
before ; the relatives, which, self, and same, only 
excepted : The same leivd cancred carle, practiseth 
nothing, but hoic he may overcome and oppress the 
faith of Christ, for the which, you, as you knoio, 
have determined to labor and travel continually. 

1 In the other tongues, ([mid, t\, have not the force of par- 
tition, nor illad, iia.ii'o, of a relative 



THE ENGLISH GRAlsniAR. 



918 



The possessioes, my, thy, our, your, and their, 
go before words ; as, my land, thy goods ; and so 
in the rest: mine, thine, ours, yours, /(<?«, and 
theirs, follow as it were in the genitive case ; as, 
these lands are mine, thine, &c. 

His doth infinitely go before, or follow after : 
as, his /wMse is a fair one ; and, this house is his. 

CHAP IV. 

OF THE SYNTAX OF ADJECTITES, 

Adjectives of quality are coupled with 2}ronouns 
accusative cases. 

Chaucer : 

And he was ioise, hardy, secret, and rich, 
Of these three itoitits, nas none him lych. 

Certain adjectives include a j^artiiion : From 
the head doth life and motion flow to the rest of the 
members. 

The comparative agreeth to the parts com- 
pared, by adding this 2^>'eposition, than : ' 

Chaucer, 3d book of Fame : 
What did this JEolus, but he 
Took out his black trump of brass, 
Tliat blacker than the divel teas. 

The superlative is joined to the parts com- 
pared by this pi'i'Wosition of. 

Gower, lib. 1 : 

Pride is of every miss the jjrick : 
Pride is the most vice of all loick. 

Jewel : 

The friendship of truth is best of all. 

Oftentimes both degrees are expressed by 
these two adverbs, more, and most : as more excel- 
lent, most excellent. "Whereof the latter seemeth 
to have his proper place in those that are 
spoken in a certain kind of excellency, but 
yet without comparison : Hector was a most 
valiant man ; that is, inter fort issimos. 

Furthermore, these adverbs, more and 7nost, 
are added to the comparative and superlative de- 
grees themselves, which should be before the 
positive : 

Sir Thomas More : 

Forasmuch as she saw the cardinal more 
readier to depart than the remnant ; for 
not only the high dignity of the civil ma- 
gistrate, but the most basest handicrafts 
are Iwly, when they are directed to t/if 
honor of God. 

And this is a certain kind of English atticism, 
or eloquent phrase of speech, imitating the man- 
ner of the most ancientest and finest Grecians, 
who, for more emphasis and vehemencies' sake, 
used so to speak. 

Positives are also joined with the preposition 
of, like the superlative : 

Elias was the only man of all the pro^ihets that 
ivas left alive. 

1 The Latins comparative governefli an ablative ; their 
superlative a genitive plural. The Greeks, both compara- 
tive and superlative hath a genitive; but in neither tongue 
is a sign going between. 

58 



Gower, lib. 4 : 

The first point of sloth I call 
Lachesse, and is the chief oi all. 

CHAP V. 

OP THE SYNTAX OF A VERB AVITH A NOUN. 

Hitherto we have declared the syntax of a 
noun : the syntax of a verb followeth, being either 
of a verb with a noun, or of one verb with an- 
other. 

The syntax of a verb with a noun is in number 
and person ; as 

/ a}7i content. You are mis-informed. 

Chaucer's 2d book of Fame : 
For, as flame is but lighted smoke ; 
Bight so is sound ayr ybroke. 

I myself, and ourselves, agree unto the first 
person : you, thou, it, thyself, yourselves, the 
second : all other nouns and pronouns (that are 
of any ^^o'son) to the third. Again, I, we, thou, 
he, she, they, who, do ever govern ; unless it be in 
the verb am, that requireth the like case after it 
as is before it, me, us, thee, her, them, him, whom, 
are governed of the verb. The rest, which are 
absolute, may either govern, or be governed. 

A verb impersonal in Latin is here expressed 
by an English impiersonal, with this article it 
going before ; as oportet, it behoveth ; decet, it 
becometh. General exceptions ; 

The person governing is oft understood by that 
went before : True religion glorifieth them that 
honor it ; and is a target unto thorn that are a buck- 
ler unto it. 

Chaucer : 

Womens counsels brought us first to woe. 
And made Adara from Paradise to go. 

But this is more notable, and also more com- 
mon in. t\\e future ; wherein for the most part wo 
never express any person, not so much as at the 

first: 

Fear God, honor the king. 

LikcAvise the verb is understood by some other 
going before : 

Nort. in Arsan. 

When the danger is most great, natural 
strength most feeble, and divine aid most 
needful. 
Certain pronoims, governed of the verb, do 
here abound. 

Sir Thomas More : 

And this I say although they icere not abused, 
as now they be, atid so long have bee^t-, 
that I fear ?ne ever they will be. 

Chaucer, 3d book of Fame : 
And as I wondrcd me, ywis 
Upion this house. 

Idem in Thisbe : 

She rist her up ivith afull dreary heart : 
And in cave with dreadful fate she start. 

Special exceptions. 

Nouns signifying a multitude, though they bo 
of the singular number, require a verb plural. 



014 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



Lidgate, lib. 2 : 

And ivise men rehearsen in sentence 

Where folk be drunken, there is no resistance. 

This exception is in other nouns also very 
common ; especially "when the verh is joined to 
an adverb or conjunction. It is jn-eposterous to 
execute a man, before ho have been condemned. 
Gower, lib. 1 : 

Although a man be tcise himselve, 
Yet is the wisdom more of twelve. 
Chaucer : 

Therefore I read you this counsel take, 
Forsake sin, ere sin you forsake. 

In this exception of number, the verb some- 
time agreeth not with the governing noun of the 
plural number, as it should, but with the noun 
governed : as Riches is a thing oft-times more 
hurtful than profitable to the oivners. After which 
manner the Latins also speak : Omnia pontus 
orat. The other special exception is not in 
use.' 

ciiAr. VI. 

OF THE SYNTAX OF A VERB WITH A VERB. 

When two verbs meet together, whereof one 
is governed by the other, the latter is put in the 
infinite, and that with this sign to, coming be- 
tween ; as, Good men ought to Join together in 
good things. 

Untwill, do, mag, can, shall, dare, (when it is 
intransitive) must and let, wlicn it signifies a 
sufferance, receive not the sign. 

Gower : To God no man may he fellow. 

This sign set before an infinite, not governed 
of a verb, changeth it into the nature of a noun. 

Nort. in Arsan. 

To loin is the benefit o/ fortune : but to keep is 
the p>ower of xcisdom. 

General exceptions. 

The verb governing is understood : 

Nort. in Arsan. 

For if the head, tvhich is the life and stay of 
the body, betray the members, must not 
the members also needs betray one another ; 
and so the whole body and head go alto- 
gether to litter wreck and destruction ? 

The other general exception is wanting.^ 
The special exception. Two verbs, have and 
am, require always a particij^le j^'^^i without 
any sign : as / am. 2)leased ; thou art hated. Save 
when they import a necessity or conveniency of 
doing any thing : in wliich case they are very 
eloquently jomed to the infinite,^ the sign com- 
ing between : 

1 Which notwithstanding the Hebrews use very strange- 
ly : Kullain tazubu ubovna, Job xvii. 10. All they return 
ye and come now. 

- So in the Greek and Latin, but in Hebrew this excep- 
tion is often, Esai. vi. 9 ; which Hebraism the New Testa- 
ment is wont to retain by turning the Hebrew infinite either 
into a verbal, dsoi;] iiKovacrc, Matth. x'ui. 14; or participle, 
i6o)v uSoi', Jlcls vii. 34. 

3 A phrase proper unto our tongue, save that the Hebrews 
eeni to have the former. Jul \x. 2o. When he is to fill his 



By the example of Herod, all princes are to 
take heed how they give ear to flatterers. 
Lidgate, lib. 1 : 

Truth andfalscness in ichat they have do7ic. 
May no while assemble in one person. 

And here those times, which in etymology we 
remembered to be Avanting, are set forth by the 
syntax of verbs joined together. The syntax of 
imperfect times in this manner. 

The jircsents by the infinite, and the verb may, 

or can; as for amem, aniarem ; I maj'' love, 1 

might love. And again ; /can love, I could love. 

'Yhe futures are declared by the infinite, and the 

verb shall, or will ; as amabo, /shall or will love. 

Amavero addeth thereunto have, taking the 
nature of two divers <i»ie5 ; that is, oi tlie future 
and the ti>ne jmst. 

I shall have loved : or 
/ will have loved. 
The perfect times are expressed by the verb 
have ; as amavi, amaveram. 

I have loved, I had loved. 
Amaverim and amavissem add might unto the 
former verb ; as 

/ might have loved. 
The infinite past, is also made by adding have ; 
as amavisse, to have loved. 

Verbs ptassive are made of the participle p)ast, 
and am the verb ; amor and aniabar, by the only 
putting to of the verb ; as 
amor, I am loved ; 
amabar, I was loved. 
Amer and amarer have it governed of the verb 
may or can ; as 

Amer, /may be loved; or / can be loved. 
Amarer, /might be loved, or / could he loved. 
In amabor it is governed of shall or icill ; as 
I shall or ivill be loved. 



CHAP. VII. 

OF THE SYXTAX OF ADVERBS. 

This therefore is the syntax of words having 
number ; there remaincth that of words without 
number, which standeth in adverbs or conjunctions. 
Adverbs are taken one for the other ; that is to 
saj', adverbs of likeness, for adverbs of time ; As 
he spake those words, he gave up the ghost. 

Gower, lib. 1 : 

Anone, as he was tneck and tame. 
He found toioards his God the same. 

The like is to be seen in adverbs of time and 
place, used in each others stead, as among the 
Latins and the Grecians. 

Nort. in Arsan. 

Let us not be ashamed to follow the counsel and 
cvample of our enemies, where %', may do 
US good. 

Adverbs stand instead of relatives : 

Lidgate, lib. 1 : 

And little icorth is fairness in certain 
In a person, where no virtue is fieeti. 

Nort. to the northern rebels : 

Few icomen storm a^/ainst the marriage oj 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



915 



2)riesfs, but such as have been, I'iriesis har- 
lots, or fain icould be. 

Chaucer in his ballad : 
But great God cUs2)oseth, 
And maJccth casual bij his providence 
Such things as frail man jnoyosdh. For 
those things, ■\vhich. 

Certain adverbs in the syntax of a substantive 
and an adjective meeting together, cause a, the 
Euticle, to follow the adjective. 

Sir John Cheek : 

O! icith what spite was sundred so 7ioble a 
body from so godly a mind. 

Jewel : 

It is too light a labor to strive for najnes. 

Chaucer : 

Thou art at ease, and hold thee wel tfierem. 
As great s.2)raise is to keep loell, as win. 

Adjectives compared,' when they are used ad- 
verbially, may have the article the going before. 

Jewel : 

The inore inlarged is your liberty, the less 
cause have you to complain. 

Adverbs are wanting. 

Sir Thomas More : 
Andhoio far be they off that ivould help, as God 
send grace, they hurt not ; for, that they 
hurt not. 

Oftentimes they are iised without any neces- 
sity, for greater vehemency sake ; as, then, after- 
ward, again, once more. 

Gower : He saw also the bowes spread 
Above all earth, in tchich locre 
The kind of all birds there. 

Prepositions are joined with the accusative 
cases of pironouns^' 

Sir Thomas More : 

I exhort and require you, for the love that you 
have born to me, and for the love that I 
have born to you, and for tlie love that our 
Lord beareth to us all. 

Gower, lib. 1 : 

For Lucifer, icith them that fell. 
Bare 2)ride with him into hell. 

They may also be coupled with the 2^ssessives : 
mine, thine, ours, yours, his, hors, theirs. 

Nort. to the rebels : 

Think you her majesty and the icisest of the 
realm have no care of their own souls, 
that have charge both of their own and 
yours ? 

These prepositions follow ^ sometimes the nouns 
they are coupled with : God hath made 2})'i»ces 
their subjects guides, to direct them in the way, 
which they have to icalk in. 

1 The Greek article is set before the positive also: Theo- 
crit. ti&. y. TtTvp', tj.ni' to kuXov irtfiXaikEvn. 

2 In Greek and Latin they are coupled ; some with one 
nWiqiie case, some with another. 

8 The Hebrews set tliera always before. 



But uKtrd or wards ; and toivard or towards, 
have the sair e syntax that versus and adversus 
have with th', Latins ; that is, the latter coming 
after the noun vi'hich it goverueth, and the oth- 
er contrarily. 

Nort. in Paul Angel's Oration to Scandcr 
bech : 

For his heart being unclean to Godwaxd, and 
S2nteful towards men, doth always ima- 
gine mischief. 
Lidgate, lib. 7 : 

And south-vf^rA runneth to Caucasus, 
And folk of Scythie, that beiie laborious. 

Now as before in two articles a and the, the 
whole construction of the Latins was contained ; 
so their whole rection is oj2Tre2msitions near-hand 
declared : where the preposition of hath the 
force of the genitive, to of the dative ; from, of, 
in, by, and such like, of the ablative: as, the 
praise of God. Be thankful to God. Take the 
cock of the hoop. I teas saved from yoic, by yott, 
in your house. 

Prc2Msitions matched with the participle pres- 
ent,^ supply the place of gerunds ; as, in loving, 
of loving, by loving, with loving, from loving, &c. 

Prepositions do also govern adverbs.^ 

Lidgate, lib. 9 : 

Hent from above, as she did understand. 

General exceptions : divers pre2)ositions are 
very often Avanting, whereof it shall be suffi- . 
cient to give a taste in those, that above the rest 
are most worthy to be noted. 

Of, in an adjective of partition : 

Lidgate, lib. 5 : 

His lieges eche one being of one assent 
To live and die with him in his intent. 

The preposition touching, concerning, or somo 
such like, doth often want, after the manner of 
the Hebrew Lamed: 
Gower : 

The 2>rivates of 7nan's heart. 

They S2}eaken, and sound in his ear, 

As though they bud loinds were. 

Riches and inheritance they be given by God's 
2)rovidence, to whom of his wisdom he thinketh 
good : for touching riches and heritance, or soma 
such like 2n'e2)osition. 

If, is somewhat strangely lacking : 

Nort. in Arsan. 

Unwise are they that end their matters with, 
Had I wist. 
Lidgate, lib. 1 : 

For ne tvere not this prudent ordina^ice. 

Some to obey and above to gye, 

Destroyed loere all worldly 2Mlicy. 

The superfluity of p7-e2iositions is more rare : 
Jewel : 

The whole university and city of Oxford. 

1 The like nature in Greek and Hebrew have prepositio7tt 
matched with tlie infinite, as iv rio dya-Kav. 

- Tliis in Hebrew is very common : from now, that is 
from this time ; whence proceed those Hebraisms in ths 
JVew Testament, diro tots, dwo tov vvv, &c. 



916 



THE ENGLISH GRMDIAR. 



Gower : 

So that my lord touchcnd of ^ this, 
I have answered, hoio that it is. 

CHAP. vni. 

OF THE SYNTAX OF CONJUXCTIONS. 

The syntax of conjunctions is in order only ; 
neither and either are placed in the beginning of 
words ; jwr and or coming after. 

Sir Thomas More : 

He can he no sanctuary-man, that hath nei- 
ther discretion to desire it, nor malice to 
serve it. 
Sir John Cheek : 

Either hy ambition you seek lordliness, much 
unfit for you ; or hy covcfousnoss, ye he 
unsatiahle, a thing likely enough in you, 
or else hy folly, yQ he not content with 
your estaie, a fancy to hepluckt out of 
yen. 
Lidgaite, lib. 2 : 

Wrong, clyming up of states and degrees, 
Either by murder, or by false treasons 
Asketh a fall, for their final guerdons. 

Here, for nor in the latter member, ne is some- 
times used : 

Lambert : 

But tlie archbishop set himself against it, af- 
firming plainly, that he neither could, ne 
would suffer it. 

The like syntax is also to be marked in so, and 
a3, used cctmparatively ; for, -when the comiiarison 
is in quantity, then so goeth before, and as fol- 
io wcth. 

Ascham : 

He hateth himself, and hasteth his own hurt, 
that is content to hear none so gladly, as 
either a fool or a flatterer. 

Gower, lib. 1 : 

Men wist in thilk time none 
So fair a wight, as she was one. 

Sometime for so, as cometh in. 

Cha\icer, lib. 5. Troil. 

And said, I ant, albeit to you no joy. 
As gentle a man, as any icight in Troy. 

But if the co>nparison be in quality, then it is 
contrary. 

Gower : 

For, as the fish, if it he dry 
Mote in default of icater dye : 
Right so xcithout air, or live. 
No man, ne beast, might thrive. 

And, in the beginning of a sentence, serveth 
instead of an admiration : And, what a notable 
sign of jMiience teas it in Job, tiot to murmur 
against the Lord. 

Chaiicer, 3d book of Fame : 

What, quoth she, and bo ye ivood ! 
And, tcene ye for to do good, 
AsvA.for to have of that no fame ! 



Conjunctions of divers sorts are taken one for 
another : as, But, a severing conjunction, for a 
conditioning : 

Chaucer in the Man of Law's Tale : 
But it were with the ilk cyen of his mind, 
With which men seen after they hen blind. 

Sir Thomas !More : 

Which neither can they have, but you give it, 
neither can you give it, if ye agree not. 

The self-same syntax is in and, the coupling 

conjunction : 

The Lord Berncrs in the Preface to his Trans- 
lation of Froisart : 

What knowledge should tee have of ancient 
things p)ast, and history ivere not ? 

Sir John Cheek : 

Ye have waxed greedy noio upon cities, and 
have attempted mighty spoils, to glut up, 
and you could, your wasting hunger. 

On the other side, for, a cause-renderer, hath 
sometime the force of a severing one. 

Lidgate, lib. 3 : 

But it may fall a Drewry in his right, 
To outrage a giant for all his great might. 

Here the ^wo general exceptions arc termed , 
Asyndeton and Polysijndeton. 

Asyndeton, when the conjunction wanteth : 
The universities of Christendom are tlie eyes, 
the lights, the leaven, the salt, the seaso}i- 
ing of the loorld. 
Gower : 

To lohom her heciH cannot heal. 
Turn it to looe, turn it to weal. 

Here the sutidering conjunction, or, is lacking, 
and in the former example, and, the coupler. 

Polysyndeton is in doubling the conjunction 
more than it need to be : 

Gower, lib. 4 : 

So, xch ether that he frieze, or siceat. 
Or 'tte be in, or 'tte be out. 
He will be idle all about. 



CHAP. IX. 

OF THE DISTIXCTIOX OF SENTENCES. 

All the parts of Syntax have already been de- 
clared. There restcth one general affection of 
the whole, dispersed thorough every member 
thereof, as the blood is thorough the body ; and 
consisteth in the breathing, when we pronounce 
any sentence. For, whereas our breath is by na- 
ture so short, that we cannot continue without 
a stay to speak long together ; it was thought 
necessary as well for the speaker's ease, as for 
the plainer deliverance of the things spoken, to 
invent this means, whereby men pausing a pret- 
ty while, the whole speech might never the 
worse be understood. 

These distinctions are either of a perfect oi 
imperfect sentence. The distinctions of an im- 
perfect sentence are two, a comma and a semicolon. 



THE ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 



917 



A comma is a mean breathing, when the ■word 
serveth indiiferently, both to the parts of the 
sentence going before, and following after, and 
is marked thus (,). 

A sonicolon is a distinction of an imitcrfect sen- 
tence, wherein with somewhrit a longer breath, 
the sentence following is included ; and is noted 
thus (;). 

Hither pertaineth a parenthesis, wherein two 
commas include a sentence : 
Jewel : 

Certain falshoods (by moan of good utter- 
ance) have sometimes more likely-hood of 
truth, than truth itself, 

Gower, lib. 1 : 

Division (the gospel saith) 
One house upon another laith. 

Chaucer, 3d book of Fame : 
For time, ylost (this know ye) 
By no way may recovered be. 

These imperfect distinctions in the syntax of 
a substantive and an adjective give the former 
place to the substantive. 
Ascham : 

Thus the poor gentleman suffered grief; great 
for the pain ; but greater for the spite. 

Gower, lib. 2. Speaking of the envious per- 
son : 

Tliough he a man see vertuous, 
And full of good condition, 
Tliereof maketh he no tnention. 

The distinction of a jjerfect sentence hath a 
more full stay, and doth rest thii spiiit, which is 
a 2}ause or a, period. 

A pause is a distinction of a sentence, though 
perfect in itself, yet joined to another, being 
marked Avith two pricks (:). 

A 2}eriod is the distinction of a sentence, in all 
respects perfect, and is marked Avith one full 
prick over against ti^e lower part of the last let- 
ter, thus (.). 



If a sentence be with an interrogation, we use 
this note(?). 

Sir John Cheek : 

Who can perswade, loheretreason is above rea- 
son ; and might ruleth right ; and it is 
had for lawful, whatsoever is lustful; 
and commotioners are better than commis- 
sioners ; and common woe is named com- 
inonioealth f 

Chaucer, 2d book of Fame : 
Loe, is it not a great mischance. 
To let a fool have governance 
Of things, that he cannot demain f 

Lidgate, lib. 1 : 

For, if tvioes be found variable, 
TT7iere shall husbands find other stable ? 

If it be pronounced with an admiration, thea 
thus (!). 

Sir Thomas More : 

Lord God, the blindness of our mortal na- 
ture ! 

Chaucer, 1st book of Fame : 
Alas ! lohat harm doth apparence. 
When it is false in existence ! 

These distinctions, as they best agree with 
nature, so come they nearest to the ancient staj'S 
of sentences among the Romans and the Gre- 
cians. An example of all four, to make the 
matter plain, let us take out of that excellent 
oration of Sir John Cheek against the rebels, 
whereof before we have made so often mention : 
When common order of the law can take no 
place in icnruly and disobedient subjects ; 
and all men will of toilfulness resist with 
rage, and think their own violence to be 
the best justice : then be tvise magistrates 
compelled by necessity to seek an extreme 
remedy, tohere mean salves help not, and 
bring in the martial law where tiotie other 
law serveth. 



JONSONUS yiRBIUS: 

OB, 

THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON. 

IIEVIVED BY THE FRIENDS OF THE MUSES. 
MDCXXXVIII. 

THE TEISTER TO THE READER. 

It is now about six months since the most learned and judicious poet, B. Jonson, became a subject for these Elegies* 
The time interjected between his deatli and the publishing of these, shows that so great an argument ought to bs 
'wjnsidered, before handled ; not that the gentlemen's affections were less ready to grieve, but their judgments to write. AS 
longth the loose papers were consigned to the hands of a gcntlcman,i who tnily honored liim (for he kneiv why he did 
so). To his care you are beholding that they are now made yours. And he was willing to let you know the value of 
what you have lost, that you might the better recommended what you have left of him, to your posteritj-. 

Farewell, E. P. 



AN ECLOGCE ON THE DEATH OF BEX JOXSOX, 

BETWEEN MELIBffiUS AND UYLAS. 

Mel. Hjdas, the clear day boasts a glorious 
sun, 
Our troop is ready, and our time is come : 
Tliat fox who hath so long our lambs destroy' d, 
And daily in his prosperous rapine joy'd, 
Is earth'd not far from hence ; old iEgon's son, 
Rough Corilas, and lusty Corydon, 
In part the sj^ort, in part revenge desire, 
And both thy tarrier and thy aid require. 
Haste, for by this, but that for thee we stay'd, 
The prey-devourer had our prey been made : 

IIi/l. Oh ! Melibceus, noAV I list not hunt, 
Nor have that vigor as before I wont ; 
My presence will afford them no relief. 
That beast I strive to chase is only grief. 

Mel. What mean thy folded arms, thy down- 
cast eyes. 
Tears which so fast descend, and sighs which 

rise ? 
What mean thy words which so distracted fall 
As all thy joys had now one funeral? 
Cause for such grief, can our retirements yield ? 
That follows courts, but stoops not to the field. 
Hath thy stern step-dame to thy sire reveal'd 
Some youthful act, which thou couldst wish 

conceal' d? 
Part of thy herd hath some close thief convey' d 
From oj)en pastures to a darker shade ? 
Part of thy flock hath some fierce torrent 

drown' d ? 
Thy harvest fail'd, or Amarillis frown'd ? 

Hyl. Nor love nor anger, accident nor thief. 
Hath rais'd the waves of my unbounded grief: 
To cure this cause, I would provoke the ire 
Of my fierce step-dame or severer sire, [grace 
Give all my herds, fields, flocks, and all the 



That ever shone in AmarilHs' face. 

Alas, that bard, that glorious bard is dead, 

Who, when I whilom cities visited, 

Hath made them seem but hours, Avhich v ere 

full days, 
Whilst he vouchsafed me his harmonious lays : 
And when he lived, I thought the country then 
A torture, and no mansion, but a den. 

Mel. JoxsoN you mean, unless I much do err, 
I know the person by the character. 

Hyl. You guesa aright, it is too truly so. 
From no less spring could all these rivers flow. 

Mel. Ah, Hylas ! then thy grief I cannot call 
A passion, when the ground is rational. 
I noAv excuse thy tears and sighs, though those 
To deluges, and these to tempests rose : 
Her great instructor gone, I know the ago 
No less laments than doth the widoAv'd stage, 
And only A'ice and folly now are glad. 
Our gods are troubled, and our prince is sad • 
He chiefly who bestows light, health, and art. 
Feels this sharp grief pierce his immortal heart, 
He his neglected lyre away ht.th thrown. 
And wept a larger, nobler Helicon, 
To find his herbs, which to his wish prevail, 
For the less love should his ov.-n favorite fail : 
So moau'd himself when Daphne he ador'd, 
That arts relieving all, should fail their lord. 

Hijl. But say, from whence in thee this knowl« 
edge springs. 
Of what his favor was with gods and kings. 

Mel. Dorus, who long had known books, mer.. 
and towns. 
At last the honor of our woods and downs, 
Had often heard his songs, was often fir'd 
With their enchanting power, ere he retir'd, 
And ore himself to our still gToves he brought, 
To meditate on what Ms muse had taught : 
Here all his joy was to revolve a] one. 



1 Dr. Biyan Duppa, bishop of Winchester. 



918 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



919 



A-11 that her music to his soul had shown, 

Or iu all meetings to divert the stream 

Of our discourse ; and make his friend his 

theme, 
And praising works -which that rare loom hath 

■sveav' d, 
Impart that pleasure which he had receiv'd. 
So in sweet notes (which did all tunes excell, 
But what he praised) I oft have heard him tell 
Of his rare pen, what was the use and price, 
The bays of virtue and the scourge of vice : 
How the rich ignorant he valued least, 
Nor for the trappings would esteem the beast ; 
But did our youth to noble actions raise, 
Hoping the meed of his immortal praise : 
How bright and soon his Muse's morning shone. 
Her noon how lasting, and her evening none. 
How speech exceeds not dumbircss, nor verse 

prose, 
More than his verse the low rough times of 

those, 
(For such, his seen, they scem'd.) who highest 

rear'd, 
Possest Parnassus ere his power appear'd. 
Nor shall another pen his fame dissolve, 
Till we this doubtful problem can resolve, 
Which in his works wc most' transcendant see. 
Wit, judgment, learning, art, or industry ; 
Which till is never, so all jointly tiow, 
And each doth to an equal torrent grow : 
His learning such, no author old nor new, 
Escap'd his reading that deserved his view, 
And such his judgmciit, so exact his test, 
Of what was best in books, as what books best. 
That had he join'd those notes his labors took, 
From each most prais'd and praise-deserving 

book. 
And could the world of that choice treasure 

boast, 
It need not care though all the rest were lost : 
And such his wit, he writ past what he quotes. 
And his productions far exceed his notes. 
So in his works where aught inserted grows. 
The noblest of the plants engrafted shows, 
That his adopted children equal not. 
The generous issue his own brain begot : 
So great his art, that much which he did write, 
Gave the wise wonder, and the crowd delight. 
Each sort as well as sex admir'd his wit. 
The he's and she's, the boxes and the pit; 
And wdio less lik'd within, did rather choose. 
To tax their judgments than suspect his muse. 
How no spectator his chaste stage could call 
The cause of any crime of his, but all 
With thoughts and wills purg'd and amended 

rise, 
From th' ethic lectures of his comedies, 
Where the spectators act, and the sham'd age 
Blusheth to meet her follies on the stage ; 
Where each man finds some light he never 

sought, 
And leaves behind some vanity he brought ; 
Whose politics no less the minds direct, 
Than these the manners, nor with less effect. 
When his Majestic Tragedies relate 
AU the disorders of a tottering state, 
AH the distempers which on kingdoms fall. 
When ease, and wealth, and vice are general, 
And yet the minds against all fear assure, 



And telling the disease, prescribe the cure : 
Where, as he tells what subtle Avays, what 

friends, 
(Seeking their wicked and their wish'd-for ends) 
Ambitious and luxurious persons prove. 
Whom vast desires, or mighty wants do move. 
The general frame to sap and undermine. 
In proud Sejanus, and bold CatiUne ; 
So in his vigilant Prince and Consul's parts, 
He shows the wiser and tlie nobler arts, 
By which a state may be unhurt, upheld. 
And all those works destroyed, which hell would 

build. 
Who (not like those who with small praise had 

writ. 
Had they not call'd in judgment to their wit) 
Us'd not a tutoring hand his to direct. 
But was sole workman and sole architect. 
And sure by what my friend did daily tell. 
If he but acted his own part as well 
As he writ those of others, he may boast, 
The happy fields hold not a happier ghost. 
Hijl. Strangers will think this strange, yet ho 
(dear youth) 
Where most he past belief, fell short of truth. 
Say on, what more he said, this gives relief. 
And though it raise my cause, it bates my grief, 
Since fates decreed him now no longer liv'd, 
I joy to hear him by thy friend reviv'd. 

Mel. More he would say, and better, (but I 
spoil 
His smoother v.'ords with my unpolish'd style) ' 
And having told what pitch his worth attain' d 
He then would tell us what reward it gain'd: 
How in an ignorant, and learn" d age he sway'd, 
(Of which the first he found, the second made) 
How he, when he could knew it, reap'd his 

fame. 
And long out-liv'd the envy of his name : 
To him how daily flock'd, what reverence gave, 
All that had wit, or would be thought to have, 
Or hope to gain, and in so large a store. 
That to his ashes they can pay no more. 
Except those few who censuring, thought not so, 
But aim'd at glory from so great a foe : 
How the wise too, did with mere wits agree. 
As Pembroke, Portland, and grave Aubigny ; 
Nor thought the rigid'st senator a shame. 
To contribute to so deserv'd a fame : 
How great Eliza, the retreat of those 
Who, weak and injur' d, her protection chose, 
Her subjects' joy, the strength of her aUies, 
The fear and wonder of her enemies. 
With her judicious favors did infuse 
Coiirage and strength into his younger muse. 
How learned James, whose praise no end shall 

find, 
(But still enjoy a fame pure like his mind) 
Who favor'd quiet, and the arts of peace, 
(Which in his halcyon days found larga 

encrease) 
Friend to the humblest if deserving swain, 
Who was himself a part of Phojbus' train, 
Declar'd great Jonsox worthiest to receive 
The garland which the Muses' hands did weave 
And though his bounty did sustain his days, 
Gave a more welcome pension in his praise. 
How mighty Charles amidst that weight 
care. 



J20 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



In which three kingdoms as their blessing 

share, 
Whom as it tends -with ever ^vatchful eyes, 
That neither power may force, nor art surprise, 
So bounded by no shore, grasps all the main, 
And far as NejDtune claims, extends his reign ; 
Found still some time to hear and to admire, 
The happy sounds of his harmonious lyre, 
And oft hath left his bright exalted throne. 
And to his Muse's feet combin'd his own ; ' 
As did his queen, whose person so disclos'd 
A brighter nymph than anj' part impos'd, 
AVhon she did join, bj^ an harmonious choice, 
Her graceful motions to his powerful voice : 
How above all the rest was Phoebus fired 
With love of arts, which he himself inspired, 
Nor oftener by his light our sense was cheer' d. 
Than he in person to his sight ajipear'd, 
Nor did he write a line but to supply, 
With sacred flame tlio radiant god was by. 

Hyl. Though none I ever heard this last re- 
hearse, 
I saw as much when I did see his verse. 

Mel. Since he, when living, could such honors 
have. 
What now will pietj' pay to his grave ? 
Shall of the rich (wliose lives were low and vile. 
And scarce deserv'd a grave, much less a pile) 
The monuments pos-;ess an ample room, 
And such a wonder lie without a tomb ? 
Raise thou him one in verse, and there relate 
His worth, thy grief, and our deplored state ; 
His great perfections our great loss recite. 
And let them merely weep who cannot write. 

Hyl. I like tliy saying, but oppose thy choice ; 
So great a task as this requires a voice 
Which must be heard, and listened to, by all. 
And Fame's own trumpet but appears too small. 
Then for my slender reed to sound his name. 
Would more my foil}' than his praise proclaim, 
And when you wish my wcaliness, sing his 

worth, 
You charge a mouse to bring a mountain forth. 
I am by nature form'd, by woes made, dull. 
My head is emptier than my heart is full ; 
Grief doth my brain impair, as tears supply. 
Which makes my face so moist, my pen so dry. 
Nor should this work proceed from woods and 

downs. 
But from the academies, courts, and towns ; 
Let Digby, Carew, Killigrew, and Maine, 
Godolphin, Waller, that inspired train. 
Or whose rare pen beside deserves the grace, 
Or of an equal, or a neighboring place. 
Answer thy Avish, for none so fit apx^ears. 
To raise his tomb, as who are left his heirs : 
Yet for this cause no labor need be spent, 
Writing his works, he built his monument. 

Mel. If to obey in this, thy pen be loth. 
It Avill not seem thy weakness, but thy sloth : 
Our towns prest by our foes invading might, 
Our ancient druids and young virgins light. 
Employing feeble limbs to the best use ; 
Bo JoNSON dead, no pen should plead excuse. 
For elegies, howl all who cannot smg, 
For tombs bring turf, who cannot marble bring. 
Let all their forces mix, join verse to rhyme, 

1 III his Masques. [ Old Copy. ] 



To save his fame from that invader. Time , 
Whose power, though his alone may well 

restrain, 
Yet to so wish'd an end, no care is vain ; 
And time, like what our brooks act in our sight. 
Oft sinks the weighty, and upholds the light. 
Besides, to this, thy pains I strive to move 
Less to express his glory than thy love : 
Not long before his death, our woods he meant 
To visit, and descend from Thames to Trent, 
Mete with thy elegy his i:)astoral. 
And rise as much as he vouchsafed to fall. 
Suppose it chance no other pen do join 
In this attempt, and the whole work be thine ? -- 
AVhen the fierce fire the rash boy kindled, reign' d, 
The whole world suffer'd ; earth alone com- 
plain' d. 
SujDpose that many more intend the same, 
More taught by art, and better known to fame t 
To that great deluge which so far destroy' d, 
The eartlr her springs, as heaven his showers 

employ' d. 
So may who highest marks of honor wears. 
Admit mean partners in this flood of tears ; 
So oft the humblest join with loftiest things. 
Nor only princes weep the fate of kings. 

Hi/l. i yield, I yield, thy words my thoughts 
have fired, 
And I am less persuaded than inspired ; 
Speech shall give sorrow vent, and that relief. 
The woods shall echo all the city's grief : 
I oft have verse on meaner subjects made. 
Should I give presents and leave debts unpaid ? 
Want of invention here is no excuse, 
My matter I shall find, and not produce, 
And (as it fares in crowds) I only doubt, 
So much would pass, that nothing will get out, 
Else in this work which now my thoughts 

intend 
I. shall find nothing hard, but how to end : 
I then but ask fit time to smooth my lays, 
(And imitate in this the pen I praise) [last, 

Which by the subject's power embalm' d, may 
Wliilst the sun light, the cai-th doth shadows cast, 
And, feather'd by those wings, fly among meii^ 
Far as the fame of poetry and Bex. 

FALKLAND. 



TO THE MEMOIIY OP BENJAJIIX JO.XSOX. 

If Romulus did promise in the fight. 
To Jove the Stator, if he held from flight 
His men, a temple, and perform' d his vow • 
Why should not we, learn'd Joxson, thee allow 
x\.n altar at the least ? since by thy aid, 
Learning, that would have left us, has been 

stay'd. 
The actions Avere different : that thing 
Requir'd some mark to keep't from perishing. 
But letters must be quite defaced, before 
Tliy memory, Avhose care did them restore. 

BUCKIIUKST. 



TO THE MEMOIIY OP HIM WHO CAN NEVES BH 
FOnaOTTEN, MASTER BENJAMIN JONSOX. 

Had this been for some meaner poet's herse, 
I might have then observ'd the laws of verse : 
But here they fail, nor can I hope to express 



J0N30NUS VIRBIUS. 



921 



In r.umbors, -what the world grants numberless : 

Sucli are the truths, Ave ought to speak of thee, 

Thou great refiner of our poesy, 

Who turn'st to gold that -which before was lead ; 

Then with that pure elixir rais'd the dead ! 

Nine sisters who (for all the poets lies). 

Had been decm'd mortal, did not Joxsox rise, 

And Avith celestial sparks (not stoln) revive 

Those Avho could erst keep Avinged fame alive : 

'TAvas he that found (plac'd) in the seat of Avit, 

Dull grinning ignorance, and banish'd it ; 

He on the prostituted stage appears 

To make men hear, not by their eyes, but ears ; 

"Who painted virtues, that each one might knoAV, 

And point the man, that did such treasure owe : 

So that Avho could in Jexsox's lines be high. 

Needed not honors, or a riband buy ; 

But vice he only shcAved us in a glass, 

AVhich by reflection of those rays that pass, 

Retains the figure lively, set before, 

And that Avithdrawn, reflects at us no more ; 

So, he observ'd the like decorum, Avhen 

He Avhipt the vices, and yet spar'd the men : 

When heretofore, the Vice's only note, 

And sign from virtue Avas his party-coat ; 

When devils Avere the last men on the stage. 

And pray'd for plenty, and the present age. 

Nor Avas our English language only bound 
To thank him, for he Latin Horace found 
(Who so inspired Rome, Avith his lyric song) 
Translated in the macaronic tongue ; 
Cloth'd in such rags, as one might safely voav, 
That his Muecenas Avould not own him now : 
On him he took this pity, as to clothe 
In Avords, and such expression, as for both, 
There's none butjudgeththe exchange Avillcome 
To twenty more, than Avhen he sold at Rome. 
Since then, he made our language pure and good, 
And us to speak, b\it Avhat Ave understood, 
We OAve this praise to him, that should Ave join 
To pay him, he Avere paid but Avith the coin 
Himself hath minted, Avhich Ave knoAV by this. 
That no Avords pass for current nOAV, but his. 
And though he in a blinder age could change 
Faults to perfections, yet 'twas far more strange 
To see (however times and fashions frame) 
His Avit and language still remain the same 
In all men's mouths ; grave preachers did it use 
As golden pills, by Avhich they might infuse 
Their hcaA^enly physic ; ministers of state 
Their grave dispatches in his language Avrate ; 
Ladies made curt'sies in them, courtiers, legs. 
Physicians bills ; — perhaps, some pedant begs 
He may not use it, for he hears 'tis such. 
As in few AVords a man may litter much. 
Could I have spoken in his language too, 
I had not said so much, as now I do. 
To Avhose clear Memory I this tribute send. 
Who dead's my Wonder, living Avas my Friend. 

JOHN EEAUJIONT, BAKT. 



TO THE MEMOIIY OF MASTER BENJAAIIX JOXSOX. 

To press into the throng, Avhere Avits thus strive 
To make thy laurels fading tombs survive. 
Argues thy Avorth, their love, my bold desire, 
Somewhat to sing, though but to fill the quire : 
But (truth to speak) what muse can silent be, 
Or little say, that hath for subject, thee ? 



Whose poems such, that as the sphere of fite, 
They Avarm insensibly, and force inspire, 
Knowledge, and wit infuse, mute tongues un- 
loose, [close. 
And Avays not track'd to AA-rite, and speak dis- 

But Avhen thou put'st thy tragic buskin on, 
Or comic sock of mirthful action, 
Actors, as if inS2;)ired from thy hand, 
Speak, beyond what they think, less, understand; 
And thirsty hearers, Avondcr-stricken, say, 
Thy Avords make that a truth, Avas meant a play. 
Folly, and brain-sick humors of the time, 
Distemper'd passion and audacious crime, 
Thy pen so on the stage doth personate. 
That ere men scarce begin to knoAv, they hate 
The vice presented, and there lessons learn. 
Virtue, from vicious habits to discern. 
Oft have I seen thee in a sprightly strain, 
To lash a vice, and yet no one complain ; 
Thou throAv'st the ink of malice from thy pen, 
Whose aim Avas evil manners, not ill men. 
Let then frail parts repose, Avhere solemn care 
Of pious friends their Pyramids prepare ; 
And take thou, Bex, from Verse a second breatli. 
Which shall create Thee ncAV, and conquei 

°''^ ■ SIB THOMAS 1IAAVKIN3 



TO THE MEMORY OP MY FEJEND, BEX JOXSOX. 

I see that Avreath which do Mi the Avearer aim 
'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no 

charm 
To keep off death's pale dart ; for, Joxsox, then 
Thou hadst been number'd still Avith living 

men : 
Time's scythe had fcar'd thy laurel to invade, 
Nor thee this subject of our sorroAV made. 
Amongst those many votaries that come 
To offer up their garlands at thy tomb, [verse, 
Whilst some more lofty pens in their bright 
(Like glorious tapers flaming on thy herse) 
Shall light the dull and thankless Avoiid to see, 
HoAV great a maim it suffers, Avanting thee ; 
Let not thy learned shadow scorn, that I 
Pay meaner rites unto thy memory : 
And since I nought can add but in desire. 
Restore some sparks Avhich leap'd from tliine 

OAvn fire. 
What ends soever other quills invite, 
I can protest, it Avas no itch to AATite, 
Nor any vain ambition to be read. 
But merely love and justice to the dead, 
Wliich rais'd my tameless muse : and caus'dhei 

bring 
These drops, as tribute thrown into that spiing, 
To AA'hose most rich and fruitful head we owe 
The purest streams of language Avhich can flow. 
For 'tis but truth ; thou taught'st the ruder age, 
To speak by grammar ; and reform' dst the stage ; 
Thy comic sock induc'd such purged sense, 
A Luerece might have heard Avithout oft'ence. 
Amongst those soaring Avits that did dilate 
Our English, and advance it to the rate 
And value it now holds, thyself Avas one 
Help'd lift it up to such proportion, 
That, thus reflned and robed, it shall not spare 
With the full Greek or Latin to compare. 
For Avhat tongue ever durst, but ours, translate 
Great TuUy's eloquence, or Homer's stf.te i 



922 



JONSONUS VIRBITJS. 



Both which in their unblemish'd lustre shine, 
Prom Chapman's pen, and from thy Catiline. 

All I would ask for thee, in recompense 
Of thy successful toil and time's expense 
Is only this poor boon ; that those who can, 
Perhaj^s, read French, or talk Italian ; 
Or do the lofty Spaniard affect, 
(To shew their skill in foreign dkilect) 
Prove not themselves so' unnaturally wise 
They therefore should their mother-tongue 

despise ; 
(As if her poets both for style and wit. 
Not equall'd, or not pass'd their best that writ) 
Until by studying Joxsox they have known 
The height, and strength, and plenty of their own. 

Thus in what low earth, or neglected room 
Soe'er thou slecp'st, thy Book shall be thy tomb. 
Thou wilt go down a happy corse, bestrcw'd 
With thine own flowers, and feel thyself renew' d, 
%\Tiilst thy immortal, never-withering bays 
Shall yearly flourish in thy reader's praise : 
And when more spreading titles are forgot. 
Or, spite of all their lead and sear-cloth, rot ; 
Thou wrapt and shrin'd in thine own sheets wilt 
A Relic fam'd by all posterity. [lie, 

HENRY KING. 



TO THE MEMORY OF BENJAMIN JONSON. 

Might but this slender offering of mine. 
Crowd 'midst the sacred burden of thy shrine, 
The near acquaintance with thy greater name 
Might style me wit, and privilege my fame, 
But I've no such ambition, nor dare sue 
For the least legacy of wit, as due. 
I come not t' offend duty, and transgress 
Affection, nor with bold presumption press, 
'Midst those close mourners, whose nigh kin in 

verse. 
Hath made the near attendance of thy hearse. 
I come in duty, not in pride, to shew 
Not what I have in store, but what I owe ; 
Nor shall my folly wrong thy fame, for we 
Prize, by the want of wit, the loss of thee. 

As Avhcn the wearied sun hath stol'n to rest. 
And darkness made the world's unwelcome 

guest. 
We grovelhng captives of the night, yet may 
With fire and candle beget light, not day ; 
Now he whose name in poetry controls. 
Goes to converse vrith more refined souls, 
Like country gazers in amaze Ave sit, 
Admirers of this great eclipse in wit. 
Reason and Avit we have to shew us men. 
But no hereditary beam of Ben. 
Our knock'd iuA'entions may begot a spark. 
Which faints at least resistance of the dark ; 
Thine like the fire's high element Avas pure. 
And like the same made not to burn, but cure. 
When thy enraged Muse did chide o' the stage, 
'Twas to reform, not to abuse the age. 
— But thou'rt requited ill, to have thy hcrse, 
Stain' d by profaner parricides in verse. 
Who make mortality a guilt, and scold, 
' Merely because thou'dst offer to be old : 
'TAvas too unkind a slight'ning of thy name, 
To think a ballad could confute thy fame ; 
Let's but peruse their libels, and they'll be 
But arguments they understood not thee. 



Nor is't disgrace, that in thce^ through age spent 
'TAA-as thought a crime not to be excellent : 
For me, I'll in such reverence hold thy fame^ 
I'll but by invocation use thy name. 
Be thou propitious, poetry shall knoAV, 
No deity but Thee to Avhom I'll OAve. 

HEN. COA'ENTRY. 



AN ELEGY UPON BENJAAIIN JONSON. 

Though once high Statins o'er dead Lucuii's 

hearse. 
Would seem to fear his OAvn hexameters. 
And thought a greater honor than that fear 
lie could not bring to Lucan's sepxilchre ; 
Let not our poets fear to Avrite of thee. 
Great Jonson, king of English poetry. 
In any English verse, let none Avhoe'er, 
Bring so much emulation as to fear : 
But pay Avithout comparing thoughts at all. 
Their tribute — verses to thy funeral ; 
Nor think Avhate'er they Avrite on such a name, 
Can be amiss : if high, it fits thy fame ; 
If loAv, it rights thee more, and makes men see, 
That English poetry is dead Avith thee ; 
Which in thy genius did so strongly live. — 
Nor Avill I here particularly strive, 
To i^raisfl each Avell composed piece of thine ; 
Or sheAV Avhat judgment, art and wit did join 
To make them up, but only (in the Avay 
That Famianus honor'd Virgil) say. 
The Muse herself was link'd so near to thee, 
Whoe'er saAV one, must needs the other see ; 
And if in thy expressions aught sccm'd scant, 
Not thou, but Poetry itself, did Avant. 

THOMAS MAY. 



AN ELEGY ON BEN JONSON. 

I dare not, learned Shade, bedcAV thy herse 
With tears, unless that impudence, in verse, 
Would cease to be a sin ; and Avhat Avere crime 
In prose, Avoiild be no injury in rhyme. 
My thou^-hts are so below, I fear to act 
A sin, like their black envy, Avho detract ; 
As oft as I Avould character in speech [reach. 
That Avorth, Avhich silent Avondcr scarce can 
Yet, I that but pretend to learning, OAve 
So much to thy great fame, I ought to shcAV 
My Aveakness in thy praise ; thus to approve. 
Although it be less Avit, is greater love : 
'Tis all our fancj^ aims at ; and our tongues 
At best, Avill guilty proA-e of friendly Avrongs. 
For, Avho Avould image out thy Avorth, great Ben, 
Should first be, Avhat he praises ; and his pen 
Thy active brains should feed, Avhich Ave can't 

have. 
Unless Ave could redeem thee from the grave. 
The only way that's left now, is to look 
Into thy papers, to read o'er thy book ; 
And then remove thy fancies, there doth lie 
Some judgment, Avhere we cannot make, t' ajiply 
Our reading ; some, perhaps, may call this Avit, 
And tliink, Ave do not steal, but only fit 
Thee to thyself ; of all thy marble Avear.«, 
Nothing is truly ours, except the tears. 

O could we weep like thee ! Ave might convey 
NeAV breath, and raise men from their beds of 



clay 



JOXSONUS VIIIBIUS. 



923 



Unto a life of fame ; ho "a vici, dead, 

Who by thy !Muses hat a p ^eu buried. 

Thrice happy those biat^, ?.e-oes, whom I meet 

Wrapt in thy writiugs, as their winding sheet ! 

For, when the tribute unto natiu'e due, 

Was paid, they did receive new life from you ; 

Which shall not be undated, since thy breath 

Ls able to im.mortal, after death. 

Thus rescued from the dust, they did ne'er see 

True life, until thoy were entomb'd by thee. 

You tbfit pretend to courtship, here admire 
Those pure and active flanies, love did inspire : 
And though he could have took his mistress' 

ears, 
Bej'ond faint sighs, false oaths, and forced tears ; 
His heat was still so modest, it might warm, 
But do the cloister'd votary no harm. 
The face he sometimes praises, but the mind, 
A fairer saint, is in his verse cnshrin'd. 

He that would worthily set down his praise, 
Should study lines as lofty as his plays. 
The Roman worthies did not seem to fight 
With braver spirit, than we see him write ; 
His pen their valor equals ; and that age 
Receives a greater glory from our stage. 
Bold Catiline, at once Rome's hate and fear, 
Far higher in his story doth appear ; 
The flames those active furies did inspire, 
Ambition and Revenge, his better fire 
Kindles afresh ; thus lighted, they shall burn, 
Till Rome to its first nothing do return. 
Brave fall, had but the cause been likewise good. 
Had he so, for his country, lost his blood ! 

Some like not Tully in his own ; yet while 
All do admire him in thy English style, 
I censure not ; I rather think, that wc 
May well his equal, thine we ne'er shall see. 

DUDLEY DIGGS. 



TO THE IMMORTALITY OP BIY LEAKNED FIUEXD, 
JIASTEll JOXSOX. 

I parlied once with death, and thought to yield, 
When thou advised' st me to keep the field ; 
Yet if I fell, th-ou woiildst upon my herse, 
Breathe the reviving spirit of thy verse. 

I live, and to thj' grateful Muse would pay 
A parallel of thanks, but that this day 
Of thy fair rights, thorough th' innumerous light, 
That flows from thy adorers, seems as bright, 
As when the sun darts through his golden hair, 
His beams' diameter into the air. 
In vain I then strive to encrcase thy glor/, 
These lights that go before make dark my story. 
Only I'll say, heaven gave unto thy pen 
A sacred power, immortalizing men. 
And thou dispensing life immortally. 
Dost now but sabbatise from work, not die. 

GEOllGE FOKTESCUE. 



AN ELEGY fPON THE DEAT'H OF HEX JOXSOX, 
THE MOST EXCELLEXT OF EXGLISH POETS. 

What doth officious fancy here prepare ? — 
Be't rather this rich kingdom's charge and care 
To find a virgin quarry, whence no hand 
E'er wrought a tomb on vulgar dust to stand, 
And thence bring for this work materials fit : 
Great Jonson needs no architect of wit 



Who forc'd from art, receiv'd from nature more 
Than doth survive hun, or e'er liv'd before. 

And, poets, M-ith what veil soe'er you hide. 
Your aim, 'twill not be thought jonv grief, buj 
pride, [want. 

Which, that your cj'press never growth might 
Did it near his eternal laurel plant. 

Heaven at the death of princes, by the birth 
Of some new star, seems to instruct the earth. 
How it resents our human fate. Then why 
Didst thou, Avit's most triumphant monarch, die 
Without thy comet ? Did the sky despair 
To teem a fire, bright as thy glories were ? 
Or is it by its age, unfruitful grown, 
And can produce no light, but what is known, 
A common mourner, when a prince's fall 
Invites a star t' attend the funeral ? 
But those prodigious sights only create 
Talk for the vulgar : Heaven, before thy fate, 
That thou thyself might'st thy own dirges hear, 
Made the sad stage close mourner for a yeai' ; 
The stage, Avhich (as by an instinct divine, 
Instructed) seeing its own fate in thine. 
And knowing how it ow'd its life to thee, 
Prepared itself thy sepulchre to be '; 
And had continued so, but that thy wit, 
Which as the soul, first animated it. 
Still hovers here below, and ne'er shall die, 
Till time be buried in eternity. 

But you ! whose comic labors on the stage. 
Against the envy of a froward age 
Hold combat ! how will now your vessels sail, 
The seas so broken and the winds so frail, 
Such rocks, such shallows threat'ning every 
where, [steer t 

And Jonson dead, whose art your course migh 

Look up ! where Seneca and Sophocles 
Quick Plautus and sharp Aristophanes, 
Enlighten j-on bright orb ! doth not your eye. 
Among them, one far larger fire, descry, 
At which their lights grow pale ? 'tis Jonson. 

there 
He shines your Star, who was your Pilot here. 

W. HABIXGTON. 



UrOX BEX JONSON, THE MOST EXCELLENT OP 
COMIC POETS. 

Mirror of poets ! mirror of our age ! 
Which her whole face beholding on thy stage, 
Pleas'd and displcas'd with her own faults en- 
A remedy, like those whom music cures, [dures. 
Thou not alone those various inclinations, 
Which nature gives to ages, sexes, nations, 
Hast traced with thy all-resembling pen, 
But all that custom hath impos'd on men, 
Or ill-got habits, which distort them so. 
That scarce the brother can the brother knew, 
Is represented to the wondering eyes, 
Of all that see or read thy Comedies. 
Whoever in those glasses looks may find. 
The spots return' d, or graces of his mind ; 
And by the help of so divine an art. 
At leisure view, and dress his nobler part. 
Narcissus cozen' d by that flattering well. 
Which nothing could but of his beauty tell. 
Had here, discovering the deform'd estate 
Of his fond mind, preserv'd himself with hate\ 
But virtue too, as w^ll as vice, is clad 



924 



JOXSONUS VIRBIUS. 



In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had 
Beheld M-hat his high fancy once embraced, 
Virtue Avith colors, speech, and motion graced. 
The sundry postures of thy copious muse, 
Who -would express, a thousand tongues must 
Whoso fate's no less peculiar than thy art ; [use : 
For as thou couldst all characters impart. 
So none can render thine, who still escapes. 
Like Proteus in variety of shapes. 
Who was nor this nor that, biit all we find, 
And all we can imagine iir mankind. 

E. AVALLEK. 



UPON THE POET OF HIS TIME, BENJAMIN JONSON, 
HIi5 HONORED FlUEND AND FATHEll. . 

And is thy glass run out r is that oil spent, 
Which light to such tough sinewy labors lent ? 
Well, Ben, 1 now perceive that all the Nine, 
Though they their utmost forces should com- 
bine, 
Cannot prevail 'gainst Night's three daughters. 
One still will spin, one A\ind, the other cut. [but, 
Yet in dcspight of spindle, clue, and knife, 
Thou, in thy strenuous lines, hast got a life. 
Which, like thy bay, shall flourish every age, 
While sock or buskin move upon the stage. 

JAMES HOWELL. 



AN OFFERTOHY AT THE TOMB OF THE FAMOUS 
POET BEN JONSON. 

If souls departed lately hence do know 
HoAv wo perform the duties that we owe 
Their reliquos, will it not grieve thy sj)irit 
To see our dull devotion ? thy merit 
Profencd by disproportion'd rites ? thy herse 
Rudel)' defiled with our unpolish'd verse ? — 
Necessity's our best excuse : 'tis in 
Our understanding, not our will, we sin ; 
'Gainst AA-hich 'tis now in vain to labor, we 
Did nothing know, but what was taught by 
thee. 
The routed soldiers when their captains fall 
Forget all order, that men cannot call 
It properly a battle that they fight ; 
Nor we (thou being dead) be said to write. 
'Tis noise we utter, nothing can be sung 
By those distinctly that have lost their tongue ; 
And therefore whatsoe'er the subject be, 
All verses now become thy ELEGi- : 
For, when a lifeless poem shall be read, 
Th' aftiicted reader sighs, Ben Jonson's dead. 
This is thy glory, that no pen can raise 
A lasting trophy in thy honor'd praise ; 
Since fate (it seems) would have it so exprest. 
Each muse should end with thine, who was the 

best : 
And but her flights were stronger, and so high, 
That time's rude hand cannot reach her glory, 
An ignorance had spread this age, as great 
As that which made thy learned muse so SAveat, 
And toil to dissipate ; until, at length, 
Purg'd by thy art, it gain'd a lasting strength ; 
And now sccur'd by thy all-poAVcrful writ. 
Can fear no more a like relapse of wit : 

Though (to our grief) wo ever must despair, 
That any ago can raise thee up an heu-. 

JOHN VERNON. 

p Societ. In. Tem'p. 



TO THE MEMORY OP BEN JONSOW. 

The Muses' fairest light in no dark time ; 
The wonder of a learned age ; the line 
Which none can pass ; the most proportion'd wit 
To nature, the best judge of Avhat was fit ; 
The deepest, plainest, highest, clearest pen ; 
The voice most echo'cl by consenting men : 
The soul which ansAver'd best to all Avell said 
By others, and Avhich most requital made ; 
Tuned to the highest key of ancient Rome, 
Returning all her music with his OAvn, 
In whom Avitli nature, study claim'd a part, 
And yet who to himself ow'd all his art : 

Here lies Ben Jonson ! Every age will looh 
With sorrow here, with wonder on his Book.- 



TO THE SAME. 

Who first rcform'd our stage with justcst laws. 
And was tke first best judge in your OAvn cause : 
Who, when his actors trembled for applause, 

Could (with a noble confidence) prefer 
His own, by right, to a whole theatre ; 
From principles which he kncAV could not err. 

Who to his Fable did his persons fit, 
AVith all the properties of art and wit, 
And above all, that could be acted, writ. 

AVho public follies did to covert drive. 
Which he again could cunningly retrive. 
Leaving them no ground to rest on, and thrive, 

Here Jonson lies, Avhom, had I nam'd before, 
In that one word alone, I had joaid more 
Than can be now, when plcntj'^ makes me poor. 

JOHN CLEVELAND. 



TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON. 

As when the vestal hearth went out, no fire 
Less holy than the flame that did expire, 
Could kmdle it again : so at thy fall 
Our wit, great Ben, is too apocryphal 
To celebrate the loss, since 'tis too much 
To Avrite thy Epitaph, and not be such. 
What thou Avert, like th' hard oracles of old, 
Without an extasy cannot be told. 
We must be ravish'd first ; thou must infuse 
Thyself into us both the theme and muse. 
Else, (though Ave all conspired to make thy herse 
Our AA^orks) so that 't had been but one great. 

verse, 
Though the priest had translated for that time 
The liturgy and buried thee in rhyme. 
So that in metre Ave had heard it said, 
Poetic dust is to poetic laid : 
And though, that dust being Shakspeare's, thou 

might'st have 
Not his room, but the poet for thy grave ; 
So that, as thou didst prince of numbers die 
And live, so noAV thou might'st in numbers lie^ 
'TAvere frail solemnity : verses on thee 
And not like thine, Avould but kind libels be ; 
And Ave (not speaking thy whole Avorth) should 

raise 
Worse blots, than they that euAded thy praisf« 
Indeed, thou need'st us not, since above aL 
Invention, thou Avert thine OAvn funeraL 



JONSONUS YIRBIUS. 



925 



Hereafter, when time hath fed on thy tomb, 
Th' inscription worn out, and the marble dumb, 
So that 'twould pose a critic to restore 
Half words, and words cxpir'd so long before ; 
When thy maim'd statue hath a sentenced face, 
And looks that are the horror of the place. 
That 'twill be learning, and antiquity, 
And ask a Selden to say, this was thee, 
Thou'lt have a whole name still, nor need'st 

thou fear 
That will be ruin'd, or lose nose, or hair. 
Let authors write so thin, that they can't be 
Authors till rotten, no posterity 
Can add to thy works ; they had their whole 

growth then 
When iirst borne, and came aged fom thy pen. 
Whilst living thou enjoy' dst the fame and sense 
Of all that time gives, but the reverence. 
When tliou'rtof Homer's j^ears, no man will say 
Thy poems are less worthy, but more gray : 
'Tis bastard poetry, and of false blood 
Which can't, without succession, be good. 
Things that will always last, do thus agree 
With things eternal ; th' at once perfect be. 
Scorn then their censures, who gave out, thy 
As long upon a comedy did sit [wit 

As elephants bring forth ; and that thy blots 
And mendings took more time than Fortune 

plots : [thirst, 

That such thy drought was, and so gi-eat thy 

[first f 
That all thy plays were drawn at the ^Mermaid 
That the king's yearly butt wrote, and his Avine 
Hath more right than thou to thy Catiline. 
Let such men keep a diet, let their wit 
Be rack'd, and Avhile they write, suffer a fit : 
When they've felt tortures which out-pain the 

gout, 
Such, as with less, the state draws treason out ; 
Thoiigh they should the length of consumptions 

lie 

Sick of their verse, and of their poem die, [last 

'Twould not be thy worse scene, but would at 

Confirm their boastings, and shew made in haste. 

He that writes well, writes quick, siuce the 

rule's true, 
Nothing is slowly done, that's always new. 
So when thy Fox had ten times acted been, 
Each day was first, but that 'twas cheaper seen ; 
And so thy Alchemist played o'er and o'er. 
Was new o' the stage, when 'twas not at the 
We, like the actors, did repeat ; the pit [door. 
The first time saw, the next conceiv'd thy wit : 
Which was cast in those forms, such rules, such 

arts. 
That but to some not half thy acts were parts : 
Since of some silken judgments we may saj'. 
They fill'd a box two hours, but saw no play. 
So that th' unlearned lost their money ; and 
Scholars sav'd only, that could understand. 
Thy scene was free from monsters ; no hard 

plot 
Call'd down a God t' untie th' unlikely knot ; 
The stage was still a stage, two entrances 
Were not two parts o' the world, disjoin'd by 

seas. 
Thine were land-tragedies no prince was found 
To swim a whole scene out then o' the stage 

drown' d ; 



Pitch'd fields, as Red-bull wars, still felt thy 

doom 
Thou laid'st no sieges to the music room ; 
Nor wouldst allow, to thy best Comedies, 
Humors that should above the people rise. 
Yet was thy language and thy style so high. 
Thy socle to th' ancle, buskin reach'd to th 

thigh ; 
And both so chaste, so 'bove dramatic clean, 
That we both safely saw, and liv'd thy scene. 
No foul loose line did prostitute thy wit, 
Thou wrot'st thy comedies, didst not commit. 
We did the vice arraign'd not tempting hear, 
x\nd were made judges, not bad parts by th' ear. 
For thou ev'n sin did in such words array. 
That some who came bad parts, went out good 

play. 
"Which, ended not with th' epilogue, the age 
Still acted, which grew innocent from the stage. 
'Tis true thou hadst some sharpness, but thy 

salt 
Scrv'd but with pleasure to reform the fault : 
Men were laugh'd into virtue, and none more 
Hated Face acted than were sirch before. 
So did thy sting not blood, but humors draw. 
So much doth satire more correct than laAv ; 
Which was not nature in thee, as some call 
Thy teeth, who say thy wit lay in thy gall : 
That thou didst quarrel first, and then, in spite, 
Didst 'gainst a person of such vices write ; 
That 'twas revenge, not truth, that on the stage 
Carlo was not presented, but thy rage : 
And that when thou in company wert met, 
Thy meat took notes, and thy discourse was net 
We know thj- free vein had this innocence. 
To spare the party, and to brand th' offence ; 
And the just indignation thou wert in 
Did not expose Shift, but his tricks and gin. 
Thou mightst have us"d th' old comic freedom, 

these [rates • 

Might have seen themselves play'd like Soc- 
Like Cleon, ^Mammon might the knight have 

been, 
If, as Greek authors, thou hadst turn'd Greek 

spleen ; 
And hadst not chosen rather to translate 
Their learning into English, not their hate : 
Indeed this last, if thou hadst been bereft 
Of thy humanity, might be call'd theft ; 
The other was not ; whatsoe'er was strange. 
Or borrow'd in thee, did grow thine by the 

change. 
Who without Latin helps hadst been as rare 
As Beaumont, Fletcher, or as Shakspeare were s 
And like them, from thy native stock could' st 

say. 
Poets and kings are not born every day. 

J. JIAYNE. 



IX THE MEMORY OF THE MOST WOllTUY BEMJA- 
MIX JOXSON. 

Father of poets, thohgh thine own great day, 
Struck from thyself, scorns that a weaker*ray 
Should twine in lustre with it, j'et my flame, 
Kindled from thine, flies upwards tow'rds th^ 

name. 
For in the acclamation oi the less 
There's piety, though from it no acoesa. 



926 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



And though my ruder thoughts make me of 

those, 
Who hide and cover what they should disclose ; 
Yet •where the lustre's such, he makes it seem 
Better to some, that draws the veil between. 
And what can more be hoped, since that di- 
vine 
Free filling spirit took its flight with thine ? 
Men may have fury, but no raptures now ; 
Like Avitches, charm, yet not know whence, nor 

how; 
And, through distemper, grown not strong but 

fierce, 
Instead of w-riting, only rave in verse : 
Which when by thy laws judg'd, 'twill be con- 

fess'd, 
'Twas not to be inspir'd, but be possess d. 
Where shall we find a muse like thine, that 

can 
So well present and shew man unto man. 
That each one finds his twin, and thinks thy art 
Extends not to the gestures but the heart ? 
Where one so shewing life to life, that ^xe 
Think thou taught'st custom, and not custom 

thee ? 
Manners, that were themes to thy scenes still 

flow 
In the same stream, and are their comments 

now: 
These times thus living o'er thy models, we 
I'hink them not so much \^'it, as prophecy ; 
And though we know the character, may swear 
A Sybil's finger hath been busy there. 

Tilings common thou speak' st proper, Avhich 

though known 
for public, stampt by thee grow thence thine 

own : 
Thy thoughts so order'd, so express' d, that we 
Conclude that thou didst not discoxirse, but see, 
Language so mastcr'd, tliat thy numerous feet, 
Laden with genuine words, do always meet 
Each in his art ; nothing unfit doth fall. 
Shewing the poet, like the wiseman, All. 
Thine equal skill thus wresting nothing, made 
Thy pen seem not so much to write as trade. 

That life, that Yenus of all things, Avhich we 
Conceive or shew, proi^ortion'd decency. 
Is not found scatter' d in thee here and there. 
But, like the soul, is wholly every where. 
No strange perplexed maze doth pass for plot. 
Thou always dost untie, not cut the knot. 
Thy labyrinth's doors are open'd by one thread 
That ties, and runs through all that's done or 

said : 
No power comes down with learned hat and rod, 
Wit only, and contrivance is thy god. 

'Tis easy to gild gold ; there's small skill spent 
Where even the first rude mass is ornament : 
Thy muse took harder metals, purg'd and boil'd, 
Labor'd and tried, heated, and beat and toil'd. 
Sifted the dross, hied roughness, then gave dress. 
Vexing rude subjects into comeliness. 
Be it thy glory then, that we may say, 
Thou'run'st wnere th' foot was hinder'd by the 

■way. 
N04 ilost thou pour out, but dispense thy vein, 
Skill' d when to spare, and when to entertain : 
Not like our w its, who into one piece do 
Ilirow all that they can say, and their friends too ; 



Pumping themselves, for one term's noise so dry, 
As if they made their wills in poetry. 
And such spruce compositions press the stage. 
When men transcribe themselves, and not tlae 

age : 
Both sorts of plays are thus like pictures shewn, 
Thine of the common life, theirs of their own. 

Thy models yet are not so fram'd, as "wo 
May call them libels, and not imag'ry ; 
No name on anj' basis : 'tis thy skill 
To strike the vice, but spare the person stiH. 
As he, Avho wlien he saw the serpent wreath'd 
About his sleeping son, and as he breath' d, 
Drink in his soul, did so the shot contrive, 
To kill the beast, but keep the child alive : 
So dost thou aim thy darts, which, even when 
They kill the poisons, do but wake the men ; 
Thy thunders thus but purge, and wo endure 
Thy lancings bettor than another's cure ; 
And justly too : forth' age grows more irnsound 
From the fool's balsam, than the Wiseman's 
Avound. 

No rotten talk brokes for a laugh ; no page 
Commenc'd man by th' instructions of thy stage ; 
No bargaining line there ; provoc'tive verse ; 
Nothing but Avhat Lucrctia might rehearse ; 
No need to make good countenance ill, and use 
The pica of strict life for a looser muse. 
No Avoinan ruled thy quill ; we can descry 
No verse born under any Cynthia's eye : 
Thy star was judgment only, and right sense 
Thyself being to thyself an influence. 
Stout beauty is thy grace ; stern pleasua'es do 
Present delights, but mingle horrors too : 
Thy muse doth thus like Jove's fierce girl appear; 
^Vith a fair hand, but grasping of a spear. 

Wliere are they now that cry, thy lamp did 
drink 
More oil than the author wine, Awhile he did 

think ? 
We do embrace their slander : thou hast w'rit 
Not for disj^atch but fame ; no market wit : 
'Twas not thy care, that it might pass and sell, 
But that it might endure, and be done well : 
Nor wouldst thou venture it unto the ear. 
Until the hie would not make smooth, but wear ; 
Thy verse came season'd hence, and would not 
Born not to feed the author, but to live : [give ; 
Whence 'mong the choicer judges risse a strifCj 
To make thee read as classic in thy life. 
Those that do hence ajDplause, and suffrage beg, 
'Cause they can poems form upon one leg. 
Write not to time, but to the poet's day : 
There's difl'erence between fame, and sudden pay. 
These men sing kingdoms' falls, as if that fate 
Used the, same force to a village, and a state ; 
These serve Thj'estes' bloody supper in, 
As if it had only a sallad been : 
Their Catilincs are but fencers, whose fights ri33 
Not to the fame of battle, but of prize. 
But thou still put'st true passions on ; dost write 
With the same courage that tried captains fight ; 
Giv'st the right blush and color unto things, 
Low without creeping, high without loss of 

Avings ; 
Smootli, yet not Aveak, and by a thorough carC; 
Big Avithout SAvelling, Avithout painting fair. 
They, Avretches, Avhile they cannot stand to £t 
Are not Avits, but materials of wit 



JONSONUS YIRBIUS. 



927 



What thougli thy searching wit did rake the dust 
Of time, and purge old metals of their rust ? 
Is it no labor, no art, think they, to 
Snatch shijiwrecks from the deep, as divers do ? 
And rescue jewels from the covetous sand. 
Making tlie seas hid wealth adorn the land ? 
What though thy culling muse did rob the store 
Of Greek, and Latin gardens to bring o'er 
Plants to thy native soil ? their virtues Avere 
Improv'd far more, by being planted here. 
If thy still to their essence doth refine 
So many drugs, is not the water thin,e ? 
Thefts thus become just works ; they and then- 
grace 
Are wholly thine : thus doth the stamp and face 
Make that the king's, that's ravish'd from the 
In others then 'tis ore, in thee 'tis coin, [mine ; 

Blest life of authors ! unto whom we owe 
Those that we have, and those that we want too : 
Thou art all so good, that reading makes thee 

worse. 
And to have writ so well's thine only curse. 
Secure then of thy merit, thou didst hate 
That servile base dependence upon fate : 
Success thou ne'er thoughtst virtue, nor that fit, 
Which chance, and the age's fashion did make 
Excluding those from life in after time, [liit ; 
Who into poetry first brought luck and rhyme ; 
Wto thought the people's breath good air ; 

styled name 
What was but noise ; and, getting briefs for fame, 
Gather'd the many's suffrages, and thence 
Made commendation a benevolence. 
Thy thoughts were their own laurel, and did win 
That best applause of being crown'd within. 
And though th' exacting age, when deeper 

years 
Had interwoven snow among thy hah'S, 
Would not permit thou shouldst grow old, 'cause 

they 
Ne'er by thy writings knew thee young ; we 

may 
Say justly, they're ungrateful, when they more 
Condemn'd thee, 'cause thou wert so good before. 
Thine art was thine art's blur, and they'll confess 
Thy strong perfumes made them not smell thy 

less. 
But, though to err with thee be no small skill. 
And we adore the last draughts of thy quill : 
Though those thy thoughts, which the now 

queasy age 
Doth count but clods, and refuse of the stage. 
Will come up porcelain-wit some hundreds 

hence, [sense ; 

When there will be more manners, and more 
'Twas judgment j^et to yield, and we afford 
Thy silence as much fame, as once thy M'ord : 
Who like an aged oak, the leaves being gone. 
Wast food before, art now religion ; [stor'd, 
Thought still more rich, though not so richly 
View'd and enjoy'd before, but now ador'd. 
Great soul of numbers, whom wo want and 

boast 
■ Like curing gold, most valued now thou art lost ! 
When we shall feed on refuse offals, when 
We shall from corn to acorns turn again ; 
Then shall we sec that these two names are one, 
JoNSOK and Poetiiy, which now are gone. 

W. CARXWRIGHT. 



AN ELEGY UPOX BEN JOXSON. 

Now thou art dead, and tliy great wit and name 

Is got beyond the reach of chance or fame. 

Which none can lessen, nor we bring enough 

To raise it higher, through our Viant of stuff, 

I find no room for praise, but elegy. 

And there but name the day when thou didst die; 

That men may know thou' didst so, for they wiU 

Hardly believe disease or age could kil) 

A body so inform'd, with sucli a soul. 

As, like thy verse, might fate itself control. 

But thou art gone, and we like greedy heirs, 
That snatch the fruit of their dead father's cares, 
Begin to enquire what moans thou Icft'st behind 
Tor us, pretended heirs unto thy mind : 
And mj-self, not the latest 'gan to look 
And found the inventory in thy Book ; 
A stock for writers to set up withal : 
That out of thy full comedies, their small 
And slender ^vits by vexing much thy writ 
And their own brains, may draw good saving wit ; 
And when they shall upon some credit pitch, 
May be thought well to live, although not rich. 
Then for your songsters, masquers, what a deal 
We have ! enough to make a commonweal 
Of dancing courtiers, as if poetry 
Were made to set out their activity. 
Learning great store for us to feed upon, 
But little fame ; that, with thyself, is gone, 
And like a desperate debt, bequcath'd, not paid 
Before thy death has \is the poorer made. 
Whilst we with mighty labor it pursue. 
And after all our toil not find it due. 

JO. KUTTEE. 



TO THE MEMORY OF IMMORTAL EEX. 

To write is easy ; but to write of thee 
Truth, will be thought to forfeit modest3\ 
So far beyond conceit thy strengths appear. 
That almost all Avill doubt, what all must hear. 
For, when the world shall know, that Pindar's 

height, 
Plautus his wit, and Seneca's grave weight, 
Horace his matchless nerves, and that high phrase 
Wherewith great Lucan doth his readers maze. 
Shall with such radiant illustration glide, 
(As if eacli line to life were propertied) 
Through all thy works ; and like a torrent move, 
Rolling the muses to the court of Jove, 
Wit's general tribe will soon entitle thee 
Heir to Apollo's ever verdant tree. 
And 'twill by all concluded be, the stage 
Is widow'd now ; was bed-rid by thy age. 

As well as emjjire, wit his zenith hath, 
Nor can the rage of time, or tyrant's wrath 
Encloud so bright a flame : but it will shine 
In spight of envy, till it grow divine. 
As when Augustus reign'd, and war did cease, 
Rome's bravest wits were usher' d in by peace : 
So in our halcyon days, Ave have had now 
Wits, to Avhich, all that after come, must bow. 
And should the stage com.pose herself a crown 
Of all those Avits, Avhich hitherto she has known ; 
Though there be many that about her brow, 
Like sparkling stones, might a quick Justra 

throAV ; 
Yet, Shakspeare, Beaumont, Jonson, these ..hree 

shaU 



928 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



Make up the gem in the point vertical. 
And now since Jonsdx's gone, we well may say, 
The stage hath seen her glory and decay. 
Whose judgment was't refined it ? or who 
Gave laws, by which hereafter all must go, 
But solid JoNSON ? from whose full strong quill. 
Each line did like a diamond drop distil, 
Though hard, yet clear. Thalia that had akipt 
Before, but like a maygame girl, now stript 
Of all her mimic jigs, became a sight 
With mirth to flow each plcas'd spectator's light, 
And in such graceful measures, did discover 
Her beauties now, that every eye turn'd lover. 

Who is't shall make with great Sejanus' fall, 
Not the stage crack, but th' universe and all ? 
Wild Catiline's stern fire, who now shall show. 
Or quench'd with milk, still'd down by Cicero ? 
Where shall old authors in such words be shov/n, 
As vex their ghosts, that they are not their own ? 

Admit his muse was slow. 'Tis judgment's 
fate 
To move, like greatest princes, still in state. 
Those planets placed in the higher spheres, 
End not their motion but in many years ; 
Whereas light Venus and the giddy moon. 
In one or some few days their courses run. 
Slow are substantial bodies : but to things 
That airy are, has nature added wings. 
Each trivial poet that can chant a rhyme. 
May chatter out his own wit's funeral chime : 
And those slight nothings that so soon are made. 
Like mushrooms, may together live and fade. 
The bo5'^ may make a squib ; but every line 
Must be consider'd, where men spring a mine : 
And to write things that time can never stain, 
Will require sweat, and rubbing of the brain. 
Such Avere those things he left. For some may be 
Eccentric, yet with axioms main agree. 
This I'll presume to say. When time has made 
Slaughter of kings that in the world have sway'd: 
A greener bays shall crown Ben Jonson's name. 
Than shall be wreath'd about their regal fame. 
For numbers reach to infinite. But he 
Of whom I Avrite this, has prevented me. 
And boldly said so much in his own praise. 
No other pen need any trophy raise. 

OW. TELTHAM. 



TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON. 

I do not blame their pains, who did not doubt 
By labor, of the circle to find out 
The quadrature ; nor can I think it strange 
That otliers should prove constancy in change. 
He studied not in vain, who hoped to give 
A body to the echo, make it live, [row 

Be seen, and felt; nor he whose art Avould bor- 
Belief for shaping yesterday, to-morrow : 
But here I yield ; invention, study, cost. 
Time, and the art of Art itself is lost. 
When any frail ambition undertakes 
For honor, profit, praise, or all their sakes, 
To speak unto the world in perfect sense. 
Pure judgment, Jonson, 'tis an excellence 
Suited his pen alone, which yet to do 
Requires himself, and 'twere a labor too 
Crowning the best of Poets : say all sorts 
Of bravest acts must die, without reports. 
Count learned knowledge barren, fame abhorr'd. 



Let memory be nothing but a word ; 
Gi-ant JoNSON the only genius of the times, 
Fix-him a constellation in all rhymes, 
All height, all secrecies of wit invoke 
The virtue of his name, to ease the yoke 
Of barbarism ; yet this lends only praise 
To such as write, but adds not to his bays : 
For he will grow more fresh in every story, 
Out of the pcrfum'J spi'ing of his own glory. 

GEORGE DOKNE. 

A FUN'KKAL SACRIFICE TO THE .SACRED MEMORy 

OP IIIS THRICE HONORED FATHER, 

BEN JONSON. 

I cannot grave, nor carve; else would I give 
Thee statues, sculptures, and thy name should 

live 
In tombs, and brass, until the stones, or rust 
Of thine own monument mix with thy dust: 
But nature has afforded me a slight 
And easy muse, yet one that takes her flight 
Above the vulgar pitch. Ben, she was thine, 
Made by adoption free and genuine ; 
By virtue of thy charter, which from heaven, 
By Jove himself, before thy birth was given. 
The sisters nine this secret did declare. 
Who of Jove's counsel, and his daughters are. 
These from Parnassus' hill came running down, 
And though an infant did with laurels crown. 
Thrice they him kist, and took him in their arms, 
And dancing round, encircled him with charms. 
Pallas her virgin breast did thrice distil 
Into his lips, and him with nectar fill. 
When he grew up to j-ears, his mind was all 
On verses ; verses, that the rocks might call 
To follow him, and hell itself command. 
And wrest Jove's three-fold thunder from his 

hand. 
The satyrs oft-times hemm'd him in a ring, 
And gave him pipes and reeds to hear him sing ; 
Whose vocal notes, tun'd to Apollo's lyre, 
The syrens and the muses did admire. 
The njanphs to him their gems and corals sent ; 
And did with swans and nightingales present 
Gifts far beneath his worth. The golden ore, 
That lies on Tagus or Pactolus' shore, 
Might not compare with him, nor that pure sand 
The Indians find upon Hydaspes' strand. 
His fruitful raptures shall grow up to seed, 
And as the ocean does the rivers feed, 
So shall his wit's rich veins, the world supply 
With unexhausted wealth, and ne'er be dry. 
For whether he, like a fine thread does file 
His terser jjoems in a comic style, 
Or treats of tragic furies, and him list. 
To draAV his lines out Avith a stronger tAA'ist : 
Minerva's, nor Arachne's loom can sheAV 
Such curious tracts ; nor does the spring bestuw 
Such glories on the field, or Flora's bowers. 
As his Avork smile Avith figures, and Avith fioAvers 
Never did so much strength, or such a spell 
Of art, and eloquence of papers dwell. 
For Avhilst that he in colors, full and true. 
Men's natures, fancies, and their humors drew 
In method, order, matter, sense and grace. 
Fitting each person to his time and place ; 
Knowing to move, to slack, or to make haste, 
Binding the middle Avith the first and last : 



JONSONUS YIRBIUS. 



929 



He framed all minds, and did all passions stir, 
And -with a bridle guide the thpatre. 

To say now he is dead, or to maintain 
A paradox he lives, Mere labor vain : [wear 

Earth must to earth. Eut his fair soul does 
Bright Ariadne's crown ; or is placed near 
Where Orpheus' harp turns round Avith Lseda's 

swan : 
Astro.ogers, demonstrate where you can, 
Where his star shines, and what 'part of the sky 
Holds his compendious divinity. 
There he is fix'd ; I know it, 'cause from thence. 
Myself have lately receiv'd influence. 
The reader smiles ; but let no man deride 
The emblem of my love, not of my pride. 

SHACKEKLEY MAKMIOX. 



ON THE HESX OF ENGLISH POETS, BEN JONSON, 
DECEASED. 

So seems a star to shoot : when from our sight 
Falls the deceit, not from its loss of light ; 
We want use of a soul, who merely know 
What to our passion, or our sense we owe : 
By such a hollow glass, our cozen' d eye 
Concludes alike, all dead, whom it sees die. 
Nature is knowledge here, but unrefin'd, 
Both differing, as the body from the mind ; 
Laurel and cypress else, had grown together. 
And wither'd without memory to cither : 
Thus undistinguish'd, might in every j)art 
The sons of earth vie Avith the sons of art. 
Forbid it, holy reverence, to his name, 
Whose glory hath fill'd up the book of fame ! 
Where in fair capitals, free, uncontroU'd, 
JoNSON, a work of honor lives cnroll'd : 
Creates that book a work ; adds this far more, 
'Tis finish'd what unperfect was before. 
The muses, first in Greece begot, in Home 
Brought forth, our best of poets hath call'd liome, 
Nurst, taught, and planted here ; that Thames 

now sings 
The Delphian altars, and the sacred springs. 
By influence of this sovereign, like the sp)heres. 
Moved each by other, the most low (in years) 
Consented in their harmony ; though some 
Malignantly aspected, overcome 
With popular opinion, aim'd at name 
More than desert : yet in dcspight of shame 
Even they, though foil'd by his contempt of 

wrongs, 
Made music to the harshness of their songs. 

Drawn to the life of every line and limb. 
He (in his truth of art, and that in him) 
Lives yet, and Avill, whilst letters can be read ; 
The loss is ours ; now hope of life is dead. 
Great men, and worthy of report, must fall 
Into theii- earth, and sleeping there sleep all : 
Since he, whose pen in every strain did use 
To drop a verse, and every verse a muse, 
Is vow'd to heaven ; as having with fair glory, 
Sung thanks of honor, or some nobler story. 
The court, the university, the heat 
Of theatres, with what can else beget 
Belief, and admiration, clearly prove 
Our Poet first in merit, as in love : 
Yet if he do not at his full appear, 
Survey him in his Wohks, and know him 

t'-.ere. john foei>. 

59 



VPON THE DEATH OF MASTEU BEN JONSON. 

'Tis not secure to be too learn'd, or good. 
These are hard names, and now scarce under- 
stood : 
Dull flagging souls with lower parts, may have 
The vain ostents of pride upon their grave. 
Cut with some fair inscription, and true cry. 
That both the man and Epitaph there lie ! 
Whilst tliose that soar above the vulgar pitcn, 
And arc not in their bags, but studies ricn, 
Must fall without a line, and only be 
A theme of wonder, not of poetry. 
He that dares praise the eminent, he must 
Either be such, or but revile their dust ; 
And so must we, great Genius of brave verse ! 
With our injurious zeal profane thj'' hcrso. 
It is a task above our skill, if we 
Presume to mourn our own dead elegy ; 
Wlierein, like bankrupts in the stock of fame, 
To patch our credit iip, we use thy name ; 
Or cunningly to make our dross to pass. 
Do set a jewel in a foil of brass : 
No, 'tis the glory of thy well-known name, 
To be eternized, not in verse but fame. 
JoNsoN ! that's weight enough to crown thy stone 
And make the marble piles to SM'eat and groan 
Under the heavy load ! a name shall stand 
Fix'd to thy tomb, till time's destroying hand 
Crumble our dust together, and this all 
Sink to its grave, at the great funeral. 

If some less learned ago neglect thy pen. 
Eclipse thy flames, and lose the name of Ben, 
In spight of ignorance thou must survive 
In thy fair progeny ; that shall revive 
Thy scatter'd ashes in the skirts of death. 
And to thj' fainting name give a new breath ; 
That twenty ages after, men shall say 
(If the world's story reach so long a day,) 
Pindar and Plautus with their double quire 
Have well translated Ben the English lyre. 

What sweets were in the Greek or Latin 
known, 
A natural metaphor has made thine own : 
Their lofty language in thy phrase so drest, 
And neat conceits in our own tongue oxprest, 
That ages hence, critics shall question make 
Whether the Greeks and Romans English spffke. 
And though thy fancies were too high for those 
That but aspire to Cockpit-flight, or prose. 
Though the flne plush and velvets of the age 
Did oft for sixpence damn thee from the stage. 
And with their mast and acorn stomachs ran 
To the nasty sweepings of thy serving -man. 
Before thy cates, and swore thy stronger fci'-d, 
'Cause not by them digested, was not good ; 
These moles thy scorn and pity did but r.iise, 
They ■were as fit to judge as we to praise 
Were all the choice of wit and language shown 
In one brave epitaph upon thy stone, 
Had learned Donne, Beaumont, and Randolph, 
Surviv'd thy fate, and sung thy funeral, [aL 
Their notes had been too low ; take this from me, 
None but thyself could write a verse for thee. 

K. BIUDEOAKB. 



ON MASTER BEN JONSON. 

Poet of princes. Prince of poets (we, 
If to Apollo, well may pray to thee), 



930 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



Give glo-n---vvorms leave to peep, mIio till thy 

night 
Oould not be seen, Ave darken'd were -witli light. 
For stars f appear after the fall of the sun, 
Is at the least modest presumption. 
I've seen a great lamp lighted by the small 
Spark of a Hint, found in a field or wall. 
Our thinner verse faint'y may shadow forth 
A dull reflection of thy glorious worth : 
And (like a statue homely fashion'd) raise 
.Some trophies to thy memory, though not praise. 
Those shallow sirs, Avho want sharp sight to look 
On the majestic splendor of thy book, 
That rather choose to hear an Archy's prate. 
Than the full sense of a learn' d laureat, 
May, when they see thy name thus plainly writ. 
Admire the solemn measures of thy wit. 
And like thy works beyond a gaudy show 
Of boards and canvas, wrought by Inigo. 
Ploughmen who puzzled are with figures, come 
By, tallies to the reckoning of a sun ; [lap 

And milk-sop heirs, which from their mother's 
Scarce travell'd, know far countries by a map. 
Shakspeare may make grief merry, Beau- 
mont's style 
llavish and melt anger into a smile ; 
In winter nights, or after meals they be, 
I must confess, very good company : 
But thou exact'st our best hours industrj' ; 
We may read them ; we ought to study thee : 
Thy scenes are precepts, every verse doth give 
Counsel, and teach us not to laugh, but live. 
Thou that with towering thoughts presum'st 
so high, 
(Swell'd with a vain ambitious tympany) 
To dream on sceptres, whose brave mischief calls 
The blood of kings to their last funerals, 
Learn from Sejanus his high fall, to prove 
To thy dread sovereign a sacred love ; 
Let him suggest a reverend fear to thee. 
And may his tragedy thy lecture be. 
Learn the compendious age of slij^ijery power 
That's built on blood ; and may one little hour 
Teach thy bold rashness that it is not safe 
To build a kingdom on a Cffisar's grave. 

Thy plays were whipt and libell'd, only 'cause 
They are good, and savor of our kingdom's laws. 
Histrio-Mastix (lightning like) doth wound 
Those things alone that solid are and sound. 
Thus guilty men hate justice ; so a glass 
Is sometimes broke for shewing a foul face. 
There's none that wish thee rods instead of bays, 
But such, whose very hate adds to thy praise. 

Let scribblers (that write post, and versify 
With no more leisure than we cast a dye) 
Spur on their Pegasus, and proudly cry, 
Tills verse I made in the twinkling of an eye. 
Thou couldst have done so, hadst tliou thought 

it fit ; 
But 'twas the wisdom of thy muse to sit 
And weigh each syllable ; suffering nought to 
But what could be no better than it was. [pass 
Those that keeji pompous state ne'er go in haste ; 
Thou went'st before them all, though not so fast. 
While their poor cobweb-stuff finds as quick fate 
As birth, and sells like almanacks out of date ; 
The marble glory of thy labor'd rhyme 
Shall Hve beyond the calendar of time. 
Who will their meteors 'bove thy sun advance : 



Thine are the worlis of judgment, theirs of 

chance. 
How this A\'hole kingdom's in thy debt ! Ave haA^e 
From others' periwigs and paints, to sa\-e 
Our ruin'd sculls and faces ; but to thee 
We OAve our tongues, and fancies' remedy. 
Thy poems make us poets ; Ave may lack 
(Heading thy Book) stolen sentences and sack, 
lie that can but one speech of thine rehearse.. 
Whether he Avill or no, must make a A'crse : 
Thus trees give fruit, the kernels of that fruil, 
Do bring forth trees, Avhich in more brancLei 

Our canting English, of itself alone, [shoot. 
(I liad almost said a confusion) 
Is noAV all harmony ; Avhat Ave did say 
Before Avas tuning only, this is play. [thron;:; 
Strangers, Avho cannot reach thy sense, Avill 
To hear us speak the accents of thy tongue 
As unto birds that sing ; if 't be so good 
When heard alone, Avhat is't Avhen understood I 
Tliou shalt be read as classic authors ; and. 
As Greek and Latin, taught in every land. 
Tlie cringing Monsieur shall thy language A'ent, 
When he Avould melt his Avonch Avitli compli- 
Using thy phrases he may have his Avish [ment. 
Of a coy nun, Avithout an angry pish ! 
And yet in all thy poems there is shoAA'n 
Such chastity, that every line's a zone. 
Home Avill confess that thou mak'st Ccesar talk 
In greater state and pomp than he could Avalk ; 
Catiline's tongue is the true edge of sAvords, 
We nOAV not only hear, but feel his Avords. 
Who Tully in thy idiom understands, 
Will SAvear that his orations are commands. 

But that Avhich could Avith richer language 
dress 
The highest sense, cannot thy Avorth express. 
Had I thy OAvn invention (which affords 
Words above action, matter aboA'e Avords) 

To croAvn thy merits, I should only be 

Sumptuously poor, loAV in hyperbole. 

IIICH.IRD AVEST. 



TO THE MEJIORY OP UENJAMIX JOXSOX. 

Our bays, methinks, are Avither'd, and they look 
As if, (though thunder-free) Avith envy, strook ; 
While the triumphant cypress boasts to be 
Design'd, as fitter for thy company. [write, 

. Where shall Ave noAV find one dares boldly 
Free from base flattery yet as void of spight ? 
That grovels not in's satires, but soars high, 
Strikes at the mounting vices, can descry 
With his quick eagle's pen those glorious crimes, 
That either dazzle, or affright the times ? 
Thy strength of judgment oft did tliAvart the tide 
O' the foaming multitude, Avhen to their side 
Throng'd plush, and silken censures, Avhilst it 
chose [clothes, 

(As that Avhich cculd distinguish men from 
Faction from judgment) stiil to keep thy bays 
From the susjiicion of a A'ulgar praise. 

But Avhy Avrong I thy memory whilst I strive, 
In such a verse as mine to keep't alive ? 
Well Ave may toil, and shew our Avits the rack, 
Torture our needy fancies^ yet still lack 

Worthy expressions thy great loss to moan ; 

Being none can fully praise thep but thy oavq 

R. MEADK. 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



931 



UPON' THE DEATH OF BENJAMIN JONSON. 

Lot thine own Sylla, Ben, arise, and try- 
To teach my thoughts an angry extasy, 
That I may fright Contempt, and with just darts 
Of fury stick thy palsy in their hearts ! 
But why do I rescue thy name from those 
That only cast away their ears in prose ? 
Or, if some better brain arrive so high. 
To venture rhymes, 'tis but court balladry, 
Singing thy death in such an uncouth tone, 
As it had been an execution. 
What are his faults (O envy !) — That you speak 
English at court, the learned stage acts Greek ? 
That Latin he reduced, and could command 
That which your Shakspeare scarce could un- 
derstand ? 
That he exposed you, zealots, to make known 
Your profanation, and not his own ? 
That one of such a fervent nose, should be 
Posed by a puppet in Divinity ? 
Fame, write them on his tomb, and let him have 
Their accusations for an epitaph : 
Nor think it strange if such thy scenes defy. 
That erect scaffolds 'gainst authority. 
Who now will plot to cozen vice, and tell 
The trick and policy of doing well ? 
Others may please the stage, his sacred fire 
Wise men did rather Avorship than admire : 
His lines did relish mirth, but so severe. 
That as they tickled, they did wound the ear. 
Well then, such virtue cannot die, though stones 
Loaded with epitaphs do press his bones : 
He lives to me ; spite of this martyrdom, 
Ben, is the self-same poet in the tomb. 
You that can aldermen new wits create, 
Know, Jonson's skeleton is laureat. 

H. liAMSAY. 



Ell 

JoNSONUS NOSTEH 

Lyricorum Drammaticoruinque 

Coryphcsus 

Qui 

Pallade auspice 

Laurum a Gracia ipsaque Roma 

rapicit, 

Et 

Fausto online 

In Britaiwiiam transtuUt 

nostrum : 

Nunc 

Invidia major 

Fato, non JEmulis 

cessit. 

Anm Dom.. CICCIXXXYII. 

Id. Konar. 

ni. AVORTLEY, 

Bar. 



IN OBITUM BEN JONSONI POETARUM PACILE 
PBINCIPIS. 

In quce projicior discrimma? quale trcmentem 
Traxit in officium pietas iemeraria musam ? 
Me miscrnml incusso pertentor frigore, of zimbrd 
Tcrritus ingenti videor pars faneris ipse 



Quod celebro ; famm concepta mole fafisco, 
Exiguumque strues restringuit prcegravis ignem. 

Non tamen absisfam, nam si spes talibus ausi" 
Excidat, extabo laudum Jonsone tuarum 
Uberior testis : toiidem quos secula norunt, 
Solus tu dignus, ciijus pra'conia sjnret, 
Dcliquum mnsarum, et victi facta poet<s. 

Quis nescit, Romane, tuos in utrdque triumphos 
Mint id, laurique decus mox sceptra secutum? 
Virgilius quoque Ccesar erat, necferre 2»-io)-em 
Noverat : Aug ustum fato dilatus in csvu?n. 
Tit regem vatem jactares regia, teqiie 
Suspiceres gemino 2}rcclustrem Roma monarclia. 

En penitus toto divisos orbe Britannos, 
Munera jactantes eadem, similique beatos 
Fortuna ; hcec quoque secla siium videre Maronem, 
CiPsarei vixit qui latus imagine sce2)tri, 
Implevitque suuni Romano carmine nomen. 

TJtqueviamcernas^longosque ad summaparatus ' 
En series eadem, vatumque simillimus ordo. 
Quis neget incultum Lucreti carmen, et Enni 
Deformes numeros, musm incrementa Latina? 

Ilaud aliter nostri prcemissa in principis ortum 
Ludicra Chauceri, classisque incompta sequentum ; 
Nascenti apta parum divina hcec machina regno. 
In nostrum servanda fuit tantaque decebat 
Prcslusisse Deos cevi certatnina fames ; 
Nee geminos vates, nee te Shahsp)eare sileho. 
Alii quicquid sacri nostros conjecit in annos 
Consilium fati : p)er seros ite nep>otes 
lUustres aniina;, demissaque nomina sempcii' 
Candidior fama excipiat ; sed parcite divi. 
Si majora vacant, si jiagina sanctior urget. 
Est vobis decor, et nativa gratia Musa, 
Quce trahit atque tenet, quce me moclo Iceta remiftif, 
Excitum moclo in alta rapit, versatque legentem. 

Sed quam te memorem vatum Deus : O nova 
gent is 
Gloria et ignoto turgescens miisa cothurno ! 
Quam solidat vires, quam 2)ingui robore surgens 
Invailitque hauritque animam : hand temerariua 

ille 
Qui mos est reliquis, jirobat obvia,magnaqice fundii 
Felici tantum genio ; sed destinat ictum, 
Sed vafer et sapiens cunctator prcevia sternit, 
Furtivoque gradu subvectus in ardua, tandem 
Dimittit x)leno corrcplos fulmine sensus. 

Hue, pirecor, accedat quisquis primo igne ealenteni 
Ad numeros sua musa vocat, nondumque subacti 
Ingenii novitate tumens in carmina fertur 
Non normcB legisve menior ; quisferre soluti 
Naufragium ingenii poterit, mentisque ruinam ? 
Quanto piulchrior hie 7nediis qui regnat in undis, 
Turbine correptus nullo : cui spiritus ingens 
Non artem vincit : medio sed verus in ccstro, 
Princep)S insano pugnantem numine musam 
Eclomat, et cudit suspenso metra furore. 

In rabiem Catilina. tuam conversus et artes 
Qualia molitur ; quali bacchatur hiatu? 
En mugitum oris, conjiirat ceque CamocncE, 
Divinas fnrias et noti imitabile fulmen ! 
O verum Ciceronis opus, linguceque disertce 
Elogium spirans ! O vox ceterna Catonis, 
Ccesaream reserans fraudcm, retrahensqice seqmices 
Patricias in ccedem, ctfunera certa reorum 1 
Quis fando expediat primcB solennia ponipce, 
Et circumfusi studium plaususque theatri ? 
Non tu clivini Cicero dux inclyte facti, 
Romave majores vidit servata triumphos. 



032 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



Celsior incedis nostra, Sejane, cothurno 
Quhm te Romani, qxihm te tua fata ferebant : 
Hmc magis insigni casu, celebrique ruina 
Voloeris, et (/ravins terrent exempla theatri. 

At tit stas nunquam ruituro in cUlmine vates, 
Jicspiciens auras, etfallax numen amici, 
Tutus ho)iore tuo, genitfeque volumine famm. 
A Cajtreis verbosa ct f/randls epistola frustra 
Venerat, offenso major fruorere Tonante, 
Si sic crevisses, si sic, Sejane, stetisses, 
O fortunatum, qui te, Jonsone, sequutus 
Contexit suafila, suique est nominis author. 

T. TERRENT. 



VATUM PRIXCiri BEN. JONSOXO SACRUM. 

FoStarum Maxime ! 
Site tu mortem, siva ecstasin jJassus, 
Jaces verendum et plus quam hominis funus. 
Sic post receptam sacri furoris gloriam. 
Cum exhaustuni jam numen decoxit emerita vates 
Jugique Jluxu non reditura se prodegit animd, 
Jacmt Sibyllce cadaver, 
Vel trtpidis adhuc cidtoribus considendum. 
Nulli se longius indulsit Deus, nulll cegrius vale- 
dixit ; 
Pares testatus flaminas, 
Dum exul, ac dum incola. 
Annorumque jam ingruente vespere, 
Pectus tuum, tanquam i^eseos liorizonta, 

Non sine rubore suo reliquit : 
Vatibus nonnullis ingentia prodere ; nee scire datur : 
Magnum aliis mysterium, majus sibi, 
Ferarum ritu vaticinantium 

Inclusum jactant numen quod nesciu7it, 

Et instinctu sapiunt no)i intellecto. 
Quibus dum ingenium facit audacia, 2Jrodest 
ignorare. 
Tibi jjrimo contig it furore frui propria, 
Et numen regere tuum. 
Dum pari luctd afjlatibus indicium commisisti, 
Bis entheatus : 
Aliasque musis mutas addidisti, artes et scientias, 
Tui plenus pioeta. 
Qui furorem insanits eximens 
Docuisti, et sabrie Aonios latices hauriri. 
Primus omnium. 
Qui cffrainem caloris luxuriem frugi consilio cas- 
tigaveris, 
TJt tandem ingenium sine r^nid pilaciturum 
Possideret Britannia, 
Miraretur orbis, 
Nihilque inveniret scriptis tuis donanduyn, prater 
famam. 
QuOd pirologi igitur 
Vehit magnatmn propylcea domini titulos pro- 

ferunt, 
Perpetuumque celebratur argumentum, ipse 
author, 
Non arrogantis hoc est, sed judicantis, 
Aut vaticinantis, 
Virtutis enim illud et vatis est, sibi placei'e. 
Vroinde non invidid tantum nostrd, sed laude tud 
Magnu7n te prodire jusserunt fata. 
Qui integrum nobis poetam solus exhibuisti, 
TJnusque onines exjn-imens. 
Cum frondes alii laureas deceiyunt, tu totum 
nemus vindicas, 



Nee adulator latidas, nee invidus perstri^gis . 
Utrumque exosus, 
Vel sacrificio tua mella, vel medicines acetum ini' 
miscere. 
Nee i7ite7iso nimis spiritu avenam dirujpisti, 
Nee exili nimis tubam emaculasti ; 
Servatis utrinqtie legibus, lex ipsefactus. 
Und obsequii religione imperium nactus es : 
Rerum servus, non tcmporum. 
Ita omnium musarum amasius, 
Omnibus perpetuum certamen astas. 
Sit Homeri gloria 
Urbes de se certantes habere, de te disputant mus<je. 
Qui scu cothurno niteris, inter poetas tonans pater, 
Sive soccum pede camples ratimdo, 
Et epigramtnata dicfas agenda, 
Facetiasque manibus exprimendas, 
Adoranda 2'>osteris dueis vestigia, et nobis unus ei 
theatrum metari. 
No7i arena spectacula scena exhibuit tua. 

Nee pocmata, scdpoesbi ipsam parturiit, 
Popidoque mentes, et leges ministravit, 
Quibus te damnare passent, si tu poteras peccare. 
Sic et oculos spiectanti prastas, et spectacula ; 
Scena^nque condis qua legi migis gestiat quam 
spectari. 
Non histrioni suum delitura ingenium. 

Alii, quels nullus Apollo, sed Mercurius 

numen, 
Quibus afflatus prastant vinum et amasia, 
Truduntque m scenam vitia, morbo poeite 
Quibus musa pagis primisque plaustris apta, 
Pramoriturum vati carmen, 
Non edunt, sed abartiunt ; 
Cui ipsuin efiam pralum conditorium est, 
Novdque lucincB fraude in tetiebras emittuntur 
authores, 
Dum pocmata sic ut diaria, 
Suo tantum anno et regioni efflngunt. 
Sic quoque Plauti onoderni sales, 
Ipsi tantum Plauto i,'i'yj(Qovoi : 
Et vernaculce nimium Aristophanis facetia. 
Non extra smim thecdrum plausus invenerunt : 
Tu interim 
Sceculi spiras quoque post futuri genium, 
Idemque tuum et orbis theatrum est. 
Dum immensum, citmque lectore crescens carmen, 
El perenne uno fundis poema verba, 
Tuas tibi gratulamur fcelices moras! 
Quanquam quid moras reprehendimus, quas nostri 
fecit reverentia ? 
Sternum scribi debuit qtdcquid (eiernuni legi. 

Poteras tu solus 
Stylo sceptris majore orbeni modcrari. 
Romce Britannos subjugavit gladius, 

Romam Britannis calamus tuus, 
Quam sic vinci gesiientem, 
Cothurno Angliaco subiimiorem quam suls collihus 

cernimus. , 

Dcmum quod majus est, cetatcm nobis nostram sub- 
jicis ; 
Oraculique vicarius, 
Quodjussit Deus, fides prcestat sacerdos, 
Homines seipsos noscere instituetis. 

Lingua nostra 
Tibi collectanea tecum crevit, 
Vocesgue patrias, et tuas simid formasti. 
Nee indigenam ampKus, sed Jonsoni jactamus 
facundiam, 



JONSONUS VIRBIUS. 



933 



Ut indi semper tibi contingat fud UnguA cele- 
brari ; 
Qui et Romam 
Disertiores docuisii voces, 
Mancipiali denud iocomate saperbientem, 
Graciamque etiam 
Orbis magistram excoliiistl. 
Nunc alid quam Atticd Mlnervd eloquentetn, 
Te solo dives poteras aliorum ingenia conteninere, 
Et vel sine illis evasisses ingcnii cotnpenaliem : 
Sed ut ille piictor, 
Mundo daturus 2Mr idem exemp)lar, 
Quas /line et inde pulchritudines 
Sparserat natura, 
CoUegit art if ex : 
Fonnreque rimdos palantcs in ununi cogens oceanum, 
Inde exirejussit alteram sine ncevo Venerem. 
Ita tibi 2Mrem machinam molito, 
In hoc etiam ut pictura eratpoesis : 
Alii inde authores materies ingenia tuo accedunt, 
Tu illis ars, et lima adder is. 
Et si poetcB audient illi, tu ipsa jJOesis ; 
Authorum non alius calamus, sed autlior. 
Scriptores diu sollicitos teipso tandem doeens, 
Que?n debeat genium habere victurus liber. 
Qui piracesserunt, quotquot erant, viarum tantkm 
judices fuerunt : 
Tu solum Columna. 
Qure prodesf aliis virtus, obstat domino ; 
Et qui cmteros emendatius transcripseras 

Ipse transcribi ncscis. 
Par prioribus congressus, futuris impar 
Scence Perpetuus Dictator. 

KOB. ■WAKING. 



EPITAPIIIUXI IN BEN. JONSON. 

Adsta, Jiospes I 2>retium morca est, sub isto 
Quid sit, diseere, conditum sepulchro, 
Socci delicice ; decus cothurni ; 
ScencB po?npa ; cor et caput theatri ; 
Linguarum sacer helluo ; jierennis 
Defluxus venerum ; scatebra salsi 
Currens lene joci, sed innocentis ; 
Artis perspicuum jubar ; coruscum 
Sgdus ; judicii 2nimex, profundus 
Doctrince puteus, tamen sercnus ; 
Scripforu7n genius ; jioeticus dux. 
Quantum O sub rigido latet lapillo ! 

AVILLIAM BE-W. 

N. Coll. Oxon. Sac. 



IN OBITU.M BEN. JONSON. 

Nec sic excidimus : pars tantlun vilior audit 
imperium Libitina tuum, ccelestior urget 
Mthereos tractus, mediasque supervolat auras, 
Et velut effasum spissa inter nubila lumen 



Ingenii strictura micat : fcelicior ille, 
Quisqnis ab hoc victura/n actatit lamimda Phabo. 
In famulanto faces accendimus, idque severe, 
Quod damns alterius vita; concedimus umbra. 
Sic caput Ismarii, ccesa cervice, Poetce, 
Nescio quid rapido vocale immxirmurat Hebro, 
Mcmnonis adverso sic stridit chordfila Phocbo, 
Datque modos magicos, tenuesque reciprocat auras, 
Seu tu grandiloqui torques vaga frana theatri. 
En tibi vox geminis ajijJlaudit publica 2Mbnis ; 
Sen Juvat in numeros, palantcs cogere voces 
Mceonid Jonsone cheli, te promts amatitmii 
Prosequitur cmtus, studioso imitamine vatum. 
Benjamini insignis quondam quintuplice ditis 
Suffilu mens(P, densAque 2Mropside, sed tu 
Millend plus parte alios excedis, et auctis 
Accumulas dapibus, 2^r02)riA de dote, placentam. 
Sam. Evans, LL. Bacc. 
No. Coll. Oxon. Soc. 



IN BEN. JONSON. 

Quod martes Epico tonat cothumo, 

Sive a2}fat Elegis leves amores. 

Sou sales E2ngra7nmaium jocosos 

Promif, seu numerosiora 2}lectro 

Jungit verba, sibi secundat orsa 

Cyrrhaus, nec Ilgantia sorores 

Ulli dexterius favent 2}oetcB, 

Hoc cum M(eo7iide sibi et Marone, 

Et cum Callimacho, et simul Tibullo 

Comniime est, aliisque cum trecentis : 

Sed qudd Anglia quotquot eruditos 

Fcccundo ediderit sinu 2}oetas 

Acceptos referat sibi, sua omnes 

IIos ijidustriajinxerit, labosque 

JoNSONi, hoc 2}ro2)rium est suumque totu7iii 

Qui PoSmata fecit et Poetas. 

E. brideoakb. 



loyvaoivi't ttots (^vvti napcar)] TTOTVia Moiaa, 

Kai Jiponios, Kai Epcof, koi KiipiTWv Otaaos, 
EuVoj apTiTOKOv Xafii: vtffpiSt, a-natp^c tc kkkjoi, 

Aoixraf Kat -oTiaaq vCKrap tm 0OTpvos. 
Kimcrav Si' al Xaptrs;, Kai atiOaXcccrai poSoiaiv 

E(!TC(pov, riS' UpoTs fiaKXCp'Sos ttctoXois. 
Ktcrrov tvtOu; cpoii, avXrjaa; prircpa 'SoiKev, 

'Ayvov OcX^ivoo) (fiiXrpov aoiSoiroXoi' 
ToT; S' cm Mcijjra (TO(p<,) ipiOvpiupaTi waiS' CfivnoRf 

'Xpvaciai TTTspvya; Xikvov vncpcrxopcvri 
HaTpc dcioi/ Kripv^, yairj; pcya xoippc- Bofrai/iifj. 

HaTp' eXnis Skijj'jji' tcov cti yvpvo~oSojv 
A's (TV xopfiyrjiTMi/ eir' epfiaSws, £itc Kodopvovs, 

''EXXaSa Kai 'PMpr]v £? ^Oovov oicrrpcXaatii' 
Tavpioion dpiyKoTai veoSpriroto Osarpov, 

iKpi' apF.iipap£iiov pappapziov ^a.XiJcoi/. 
H Kai a-nnrrapevri, 0pc(pco; vaXaprjaiv evrjKS 

nXifOov, apeioTCpt); avplSoXov oiKoSopSis, 




GLOSSARY. 



JCOP, conical ; terminating in a point. 

Seme, used in prologue to " The Staple 
of News " to express mature age. 

Sdalantado, tile lord deputy or president 
of a Spanish province. 

Mrop, azar lapis ipse. — Cheni. Die. 

Advised, a proverbial phrase, Are you 
advised, i. e. Have you found out 
that .' Has it struck you .' 

Effects ; affections, dispositions. 

^jfront. to meet and look another in 
the face. 

djaz. Sir, Sir John Harington, author 
of the treatise called .Misacinos orthe 
Metamorphosis of A-jax fa jaqucs.J 

Alfarez, an ensign or standard-bearer. 

Aludel, in alchemists' language, vilrum 
sublimatorium, subliming pots with- 
out "bottoms, fitted into each other 
without luting. 

limbre, ambergris. 

Smbrce Mary, a celebrated female sol- 
dier, who fought at the siege of Ghent. 

Amused, sometunes used for amazed. 

Jlitadcin, crown or wreath. 

.Snenst, against. 

Jlngel, a gold coin, worth about ton 
shillings. 

Jlntimasque, the antimasque was " a 
foil or false masque," directly opposed 
to the principal masque. If this was 
lofty and serious, that was light and 
ridiculous — Gifford. 

,9iitiperistasis, the opposition of a con- 
trary quality, by which the quality it 
opposes becomes heiiihteued or in- 
tended. COWLEV, Did. 

Apollo, a room in tlie Devil Tavern in 
Fleet-street, kept by Simon VVadloe, 
where Jonson's club met. 

.Apprentice at law, a barrister at law, as 
distinguished from a serjcant. 

Jrclies, the court of Arches, held in 
Bow Church, Cheapside, which being 
as it is said the first church in the 
f.ity raised on arches of stone, was 
tlierefore called Sancta Maria dc Ar- 
ciibus, or Le Bow — Gifford. 

.Archie, Archibald Armstrong, jester to 
James I. and Charles I. 

£rms, to set vp, a custom used by for- 
eign princes and ambassadors, and in 
more recent times by the lords lieu- 
tenant of Ireland, to set up their 
arms and titles in places through 
which they have passed, or iims 
Where they have lodged. 

iirride, please. 

drsedinc^ explained by Mr. Gifford as a 
yellow paint, composed of orpiment 
or arsenic ; but from a paper in 
Hone's Every Day Book upon this 
word, its true signification appears to 
be the thin plates of yellow metal 
still used to ornament toys, and 
kiiown as " Dutch gold " or asideio. 

^ssaij, to take, to draw a knife along 
the belly of the deer, beginning at the 
brisket, to discover how fat he is — 
Whallev. 
ithanor, a digesting furnace, calcu- 
lated for the retention of heat. 



Alone, to make friends, to make one 

again. 
Audacious, liberal, spirited. 
Aunt, in cant language, a bawd. 
Away with, I cannot away with her, I 

cannot endure her. 



B. 



Baal, the prophet ; probably one John 
Ball, a tailor, who put money out, to 
receive double or treble back when 
King James should be pope — Gif- 
ford. 

Babion, baboon. 

Baffip, to act with contempt. 

Baa-atinc, an Italian coin, worth about 
the third part of a farthing. 

Balloo, a game at ball. 

Bale of dice, a pair of dice. 

Balneum, a bath ; a term of alchemy, 
«'here a vessel was heated through 
the medium of surrounding water or 
sand, termed a bath. 

Banbury-man, a puritan ; so termed 
from the prevalence of that persua- 
sion at Banbury. 

Barbican, burh-kcnning; a beacon, for- 
tress or watch-tower. 

Barbing- gold, clipping it. 

Bartholomew pig, roasted i>igs wore the 
chief entertainment at Bartholomew 
fair. 

Bases, sometimes used for hose or 
breeches, but strictly a kind of short 
petticoat like the Highland kilt or the 
Roman military dress. 

Bason, beat the, when bawds were 
carted, frying-pans, barber's basons, 
&c. were beaten before them to in- 
crease the clamor. 

Batcson, a bear. 

Bay-leaf, in the mouth. It was a notion 
of the ancients that a bay-leaf placed 
under the tongue was conducive to 
eloquence. 

Bear in hand, to flatter hopes, to keep 
in expectation. 

Beech coal, charcoal made from beech 
wood. 

Benchers, idle sots, sleeping and waking 
upon ale-house benches. 

Bescumber, a term applied to dogs, 
when taken out to exercise ; to run 
about snuffing the air. 

Besognoso, a beggar, needy wretch. 

Be-.oar stone, supposed to be an antidote 
to poison. 

Bid-stand, a highwayman. 

Biggin, a kind of coif or nightcap. 

BUice, freely, actively, readily. 

Bilk, " nothing — also to deceive." — 
Cole's Ungl. Diet 

Black fellow, mischievous, malignant. 

Black sanctus, a profane parody on 
some hymn in the mass-book. 

BUn, withoutcn, without ceasing. 

Blue waiter, servants who wore blue 
livery coats. 

Blue order, i. e. servants. 

Blunt, at the, with the flat side of the 
sword. 

Bolt^s head, a long straiglit-necked ves- 



sel or receiver, gradually r.-;ing to 3 
conical figure. 

Bonny-clabber, sour butterrauk. 

Boukkolder, the prompter. 

Borachio, a bottle, commonly of a pig'a 
skin, with the hair inward, dressed 
inwardly with rosin to keep wine ot 
liquor sweet. 

Bordello, brothel. 

Bosom^s inn, the Blossom's Inn. 

Boss, a head or reservoir of water. 

Bourd, to jest, to be merrily familiar. 

Bovoli, either snails or cockles dressed 
in the Italian manner. 

Brack, a bitch. 

Braggat, a drink made of honey, ale, 
and spices. 

Brake, this word is applied to three dif- 
ferent instruments : firstly, the gear 
used to make a colt cany his head 
well ; secondly, a peculiar kind of 
curb ; and thirdly, a wooden frame 
used to confine the feet of a restive 
hors% whilst he is being shod. 

Branched cassock, witii detached sleeve 
ornaments projecting from each 
shoulder. 

Brave, the, the bravo, the ruffian. 

Bravery, extravagant gaiety of apparel. 

Braveries, the, the beaux of the age. 

Breast, a fine, a fine voice. 

Breathe upon, to sully, or to speak din 
praisingly of. 

Britlc-ale, marriage festival. 

Brief, an abstract. 

Bri-.e, the gad-fly. 

Bufo, the alchemists' black tincture. 

Bulled, full blown. 

Bullions, a dress of spurious finery, or- 
namented with hollow gilt buttons, 
&c., adopted by gamblers to impose 
on the unwary with an appearance 
of wealth. 

Bumbard, a servant of the buttery 
hatch, whose duty was to carry the 
huge cans of ale to the dlfTerent 
offices. 

Bungy's dog, a familiar that followed 
hi hi. 

BurgulUon, or Burgonian, a bully, a 
braggadocio. 

Burratines : burratine is mentioned by 
I'urchas as a strange stuff, newly 
invented and brought into wear, and 
the name appears to have been trans- 
ferred from the stuff to the wearers. 

Burroughs, pledge, security. 

Butt-shaft, strong unbarbed arrowa, 
used lijr shooting at a mark. 

C. 

Cccsarian, Madam, the name of a bawd. 
Callet, a strumpet of the basest kind. 
Caliver, a weapon answering to oiil 

blunderbusses or horse-pistols. 
Callot, the coif worn on the wigs of 

judges and Serjeants at law. 
Cam used, broad, flat. 
Con, is sometimes used instead of 

know ; it is genuine Saxon, and ia 

.still retained by the Scots as " ken." 
Cans, to bu7-n, to mark them with a iiof 

iron, as holding the legal quantity. 
035 



936 



GLOSSARY. 



Oatitcr, a beggar, a stiirdv vagrant. 
Cant, the gibberish of beggars and vaga- 
bonds — tliieves' latin. 
Carcanets, necklaces, and sometimes 

bracelets for the arm. 
Carrros, bullies, bravoes. 
Carry coals, submit to an affront. 
Case, of visors or otlier things, a pair. 
Cassock, a soldier's loose outward coat. 
CastiiMr-glass, or Casting-bottle, a small 
bottle for holding essences and per- 
fumes. 
Cntsos, a petty oath, a cant exclama- 
tion, generally expressive, among the 
Italian populace (who have it con- 
stantly in their mouths) of defiance 
or contempt. — Gifford. 
Cautelous, is frequently used as imply- 
ing not merely wariness, but also 
something artful and insidious. 
Cast, a fowler's term for a couple, as a 

cast of hawks. 
Chambers, small pieces of ordnance. 
Charm, to, to silence. 
Chartcl, a challenge. 
Cheap, better, at a less price. Cheap 
means market, and the adjective 
good was formerly used in connec- 
tion with it, although in modern use 
the substantive is transformed into 
an adjective. 
Cheat loaf, coarse bread. 
Cheater, gamester: the terms v.-ere 

synonymous in Jonson's time. 
Chevril, stretching: the allusion is to 
kid's leather, which is yielding, 
elastic. 
China-houses, places where china, then 
a great rarity, was sold ; they were 
most frequently private houses, and 
afforded a good shelter to intrigue. 
CIdoppini, high clogs, worn by the 

Si)anish and Italian ladies. 
Christ-tide, the aiFected puritanical term 

lor Christmas. 
Oiarlitani, charlatans, juagling impos- 
tors. 
Cippus, the stocks or pillory. 
Cittern, a sort of guitar with wire 
strings, generally fouiii in barbers' 
shops. 
Olap-clish, a beggar's dish with a cover 
to it, wljicli he clapt up and down to 
give notice of his necessities ; this 
sort of dish was first used by lazars 
(or lepers), who received their alms 
in the dish to avoid infecting those 
whose charity they received. 
Clapper Dudgeon, a thorough-bred beg- 
gar, a beggar born of a beggar. 
Cleis, claws. 
Clem, starve. 
Cloth-workers, weavers. 
Coach-horse companion, close associate. 
Cob-swan, a swan of the largest size. 
Cxk Lo-n-el, the master-rogue : the 
term derives its origin from a pil- 
fering tinker of the time of Henry 

vni. 

Cock shut light, twilight : the term de- 
rives its origin from the name of a 
kind of clap-net for woodcocks, used 
in the twilight. 

Coffin, the raised crust of a pic. 

Cokes, a simpleton, an easy gull. 

CuUieil, blackened, begrimed with soot. 

Jjmmunicate our loss, share in our loss 
(a latinism). 

Vomplimcnts, accomplishments. 

Concealments, when the monasteries, 
&c., were dissolved, and their pos- 
sessions vested in the crown, many 
estates were covertly kept by private 
persons, corporations, and churches ; 
snd a commission was issued by 
Uueen Elizabeth, to search for these 
concealments, which, when found, 
were often begged by the courtiers. 

Concntcd, full of conceits, witty, dis- 
posed to jest. 



Concent, agreement or harmony 
Concluded, included or conlined. 
Condition, the time's, temper, quality, 

or disposition of the times. 
Conduct, conductor. 

Confute, to reprove, to control (a latin- 
ism) 
Connive, wink or make faces at. 
Control the point, bear or beat it down. 
Convert, turn. 
Convince, subdue or overpov.er by its 

beauty. 
Copeman, a chapman : from the Dutch 

koopman. 
Copy,^ plenty, abundance: from the 

Latin copia. 
Cormorants, a name given to servants. 
Costermonger, a vender of apples, called 

costards, about the streets. 
Costs, of a ship, the ribs • from the 

Latin costcs. 
Cosset, is a lamb, colt, &c., brought up 

by liand. — Cole's Engl. Did. 
Cotquean, a corruption of Cuckquean, 
a woman whose inisband is unfaith- 
ful to her bed. 
Counsel, secret. 

Countenance, a law-term, from the 
French contentement, or the Latin 
contencmentum, and denotes the cred- 
it and reputation which a person hath 
by reason of his freehold j and most 
commonly what is necessary for his 
support and maintenance according 
to his condition of life. In this sense 
it occurs in several old statutes. — 
Observations on the more .Ancient 
Statutes, p. n. 
Counterpane, one part of a pair of deeds 
or indentures ; it is the legal term 
counterpana indcnturte. The name is 
derived from the shape of the inden- 
ture or division between the two 
deeds, anciently written on one piece 
of parchment, and afterwards sepa- 
rated in a ziz-zag, or indented form, 
at the line of division. This zig-zag 
was termed pane, from its resem- 
blance to a pane of glass, whence 
counterpane, now applied to a patch- 
work covering for a bed, and inden- 
ture, from its imitation of the mark 
of the teeth (denies) on a seal, a very 
ancient mode of authenticating a deed. 
Counters, letting out of, supplying the 
gamesters with pieces of ivory, or 
base metal, to count with at play ; 
for which the servants received a 
sinall gratuity. 
Court-dish: the meaning of this term 
is not certain ; it probably means 
short allowance: a curt-dish, a shal- 
low or rather broken dish. 
Cocciitry-biuc, this city was early cele- 
brated for its blue Ilirciad. 
Crack, a sprightly forward boy. 
Cracked in the ring, the gold coin of our 
ancestors was very thin, and there- 
fore liable to crack. It still, how- 
ever, continued passable until the 
crack extended beyond tlie ring, i, c. 
beyond the inmost round whicti cir- 
cumscribed the inscription, when it 
became uncurrent, and might legally 
bo refused. — Giffokd. 
Crambo, a game at short verses, in 
which a word is given, and the jiar- 
ties coPrtend who can find most 
rhymes to it. 
Cramp-ring, fetters, shackles. 
Cranion-legs, small spider-like legs ; 
but cranion is the fairy appellation 

fur a fly Giffokd. 

Croaker, an old raven. 
Cross, the ancient penny bad a double 
cross with a crest stamped on it; 
lience the term cross, for the coin. 
Ci-ow, a term used by alchemists to 
signify a certain process of what they 
called fermentation. 



Crowd, a three-stringed fiddle 

Cry, to cry Italian, to sjjeak it as Ital 
ian poetry is generally r>;ad, in a nm- 
sical cadence. 

Cuban ebolition, a fantastical phrase foi 
a particular and sflectcd stvle of 
smoking. 

Cucking stool, corrupted into ducking 
stool ; a chair at the end of a lona 
beam, supported on a kind of upricia 
post by a pivot or swivel, so as to bo 
everywhere movable, used anciently 
for the punishment of scolds and un 
quiet people, by ducking or plunging 
them in the water. As cuckqueans 
(see antej are naturally inclined to 
the offensive use of their tongues, the 
term probably originated from, the 
frequency of their punishment. 

CuUisen, cognizance, distinguishing 
mark, the badge worn by serving- 
men. 

Cunning, knowing; kenning, skill. 

Cunning man, a knowing man, a con- 
juror, a fortune-teller. 

Custard jiolitic, the large custard pre- 
pared for the Lord Mayor's feast, in- 
to which it was a standing joke, (if 
the expression maybe allov\ed,) fo( 
the Lord Slayer's fool to leap. 

D. 

Dagonct, Sir, a considerable personaca 
in the old romance of the " Mori 
d'Arthur." 
Daw, daunt, or put out of counte 

nance. 
Dauphin my boy, the burden of an old 

ridiculous song. 
Decimo sexto, my daring braggart in 
clccimo sexto. This expression for a 
youth, a stripling, occurs in many of 
our old writers. 
Decline, declining their way, turning out 

of their way. 
Deft, adroit, clever, handy. 
Delate, accuse or complain of. 
■Dele-wine, a species of Ilhenish wine 
Depart, part with. 

Dependence, in the language of the du- 
ello, the ground or cause of a Guar 
rel. 
Device, a puppet ; any piece of macbi 

neiy moved by wheels or wires. 
Diameter, in, the lie direct ; one of tlia 
degrees of giving the lie humorously 
recounted in " As you like it." 
Diapasms, aromatic herbs dried and re- 
duced to powder ; see " pomander," 
Diffused, wild, irregular, careless 
Dimensum, full measure. 
Ding it open, break it open ; tlie word 
i is still used in Scotland. 
I Discolored flowers, flowers of different 

colors. 
Disclaiming in, disclaiming ; the ex- 
pression disclaim in, i. e. anj' j)art in, 
is common in old writers, and con- 
veys the same meaning as the more 
modern term disclaim, wiliiout the 
preposition. 
Dislike, displease. 

Disparagement, matching an heir under 

his or her degree, or against decency 

Dis'plc, teach by the whip ; disciple ol 

discipline. 
Distaste, I had a distaste; i.e.an insult 

offered me. 
Dop, bow, dip, very low curtsey. 
Dopper, dipper or she-baptist. 
Dor, (derived from the flight of the 
chafier,} to mock or play upon, U> an- 
noy. 
Dutrs, endowments ; good qualities. 
Double-cloaJ:, a stage disgiiisemont 
which might be turned either way, 
each side being of a different color. 
Double-reader, a degree in the inns of 
court now disused. " In those days, 



GLOSSARY. 



937 



says Sir William Dugdale, " men 
came to be single readers (or lectur- 
ers) at flfleen or sixteen years stand- 
ing in tiie house, and read double 
about seven years afterwards." — 
Orig. Jar. p. 21)9. 



Earine, derived from a Greek word, sig- 
nifying tlie spring. 

Eaters, serv-ants. 

Eggs on the spit, a proverbial expression 
for, I liave business to attend to. 

Elder tree, the tree on which (by tradi- 
tion) Judas hanged himself. 

Eltlwvi thing, a famous puppet-show 
exhibited at Eltliam. 

Enfant perdu, forlorn hope : a militaiy 
phrase. 

Enghlcs, angle, hook, a bait hung down. 

En^inous, crafty, full of devices ; some- 
twnes witty, and in the sense of the 
modern word ingenious. 

Ens, a term of the schools, signifying a 
substance or existence. 

Entry, a term of the chase ; the place 
wliere a deer has lately passed or en- 

_tercd into the cover. 

r.nvotj, the conclusion. 

Epitasis, tho busy part of a comedy, 
according to the terms of the ancient 
critics. 

Euripus, a term for a particular mode 
of smoking ; in what its peculiarity 
consisted it is not easy now to deter- 
mine ; tho name appears to be de- 
rived from the narrow and rapid 
iiirait between the island of Eubcea 
and the continent, proverbial for its 
frequent flux and reflux ; hence it 
may perhaps mean a rapid inhaling 
and emitting of the smoke. 

Ezainpless, beyond all example. 

Exhale, to drag out. 

Exhibition, stipend, annual allowance. 

Expiate, to \inplait, to open, unfold. 



Fading, the burden of a popular licen- 
tious Irish song, which gave name to 
a dance of the same character. 

Fagioli, French beans. 

FaU, a ruft' or band, turned back on the 
shoulders. 

Familiar, a spirit, or devil, who con- 
stantly accompanied the necroman- 
cer, and was his servant, slave, and 
adviser, during his life. 

Farce, stutT, fill out, make fat. 

Fayles, " a very old table game, one of 
the numerous varieties of backgam- 
mon." — Douce. 

Feeders, servants. 

Feize, to drive. 

Fere, or ptiere, Companion ; bed-fere, 
bedfellow. 

Vormentalion, one of tho processes of 
alchemy. 

FeicmsU, the dung of deer. 

Fcwterer, a dog-keeper. 

Fico, used in allusion to the poisoned 
tigs of Italy and Spain. 

Fierce, rash, inconsiderate, violent. 

Figgum, tho jugglers' trick of breath- 
fug flames, by means of lighted tow, 
c-Medfid in some of the old diction- 
aries. 

Fineness, an overstrained and factitious 
scrupulousness. 

Fittous, a fabricated tale. 

Flat-cap, a derisive term for citizens. 

Flaions, custards. 

Flies, familiar spirits. 

Flights, long and light-feathered ar- 
rows, which went level to the mark. 

Foist, a cut-purse. 

Foi'a-es, juggling tricks, frauds. 

Fond, foolish, simple, injudicious 



Forespealc, to bewitch. 

Foreslow,to slacken or delay. 

Frail, a rush basket in which figs or 
raisins were packed. 

Frapler, a quarreller, a bully. 

Prayings, the pillings of a deer's horns : 
a stag is said to fray his head, when 
lie rubs it against a tree to renew it, 
or to cause the outward coat of the 
new horns to fall ofT. 

Frippery, a place where old clothes are 
exposed fi>r sale. 

G. 

Oaielte, a small Venetian coin, worth 
about three farthings. 

Ocance, jaunt or errand. 

Oct-pcnny, a phrase among the players 
fur a successful piece, which drew 
much money to the theatre. 

Oiglot, a wanton girl. 

Oing, gang. 

Qice law, a term of the chase ; allow a 
fair start, before pursuing. 

Oioe words, deceive or impose. 

Gleek, a term in card playing, signify- 
ing three aces, kings, queens, or 
knaves. It is also the name of a game. 

Olibbery, slippery. 

Glides, ogling or leering looks. 

Olidder, to glaze over with some tena- 
cious lacquer. 

Gloriously, vain-gloriously. 

God's gift, an allusion to the name Dor- 
othea, which has that meaning. 

Godfathers in /aw, jurymen. 

Gold-cnd-man, one who buys broken 
gold and silver, a goldsmith's appren- 
tice. 

Gold weights, know all to the gold 
weights, i. e. with the utmost exact- 
ness ; in allusion to the very exact 
weights used in weighing gold. The 
expression frequently occurs in old 
writers, and appears to have been 
proverbial. 

Good-time, festival. 

Gossip, godfather ; from god-sib, of kin 
together through God. 

Oowkcd, stupitied; struck foolish. 

Gripe's-egg, a vessel in this form used 
by the alchemists: gripe is another 
name for the vulture. 

Orice, the young of the badger. 

Gulch, a stupid fat-headed fellow. 

Gyre, elves apply to your gyre again ; 
your roundel, your circular dance. 

II. 

Hall, a hall, the usual exclamation at 
masques, &c. to make room for the 
dancers. 

Hangers, the fringed loops appended to 
the girdle in which the dagger or 
small-sword usually hung. 

Hippy, used in " The Poetaster," in the 
sense of rich ; it is a latinism. 

Harper, a coin of the value of nine- 
pence, struck in Ireland. 

Hurrot, herald. 

Hart of ten, a hart six years old, and 
with ten croches or branches on his 
horns. 

Havings, possessions. 

Hay ! "a term in fencing, signifying a 
hit; it is from the Italian kai, you 
have it. 

Hay in his horn, he carries, he is a petu- 
lant dangerous person. 

Hays, nets for catching rabbits. 

Hear so ill, are so ill spoken of; a mere 
latinism (tain male audiunt). 

Heifer, applied to a wife, my yoke-mate. 

Hi'ghmen, dice loaded for high throws. 

Hilled, thy wings o'er hilled with snow, 
covered over. 

Hobby horse, one of the actors in the 
morice dance ; the foot-cloths reach- 



ing to the ground, concealed the feel 
of the man wlio managed it and ap 
peared to ride on if. 

Hoiden, a wild romping girl : the word 
was formerly api)lied to both sex- 
es. 

Hold, is frequently used in the sense of 
take ; thus, when Cato (" Catiline, 
Act V. Scene 6) gives back the lette. 
to Caesar, he says ^f Hold thee, drunk- 
ard," that is, take the letter. 

Ham, beer and spirits mixed together. 

Humor: what was usually called the 
vianners in a play or poem, began i): 
Jonson's time to be called tlie hu- 
mors, the word was new : the use, 
or rather abuse, of it was excessive. 
It was applied on all occasions wit& 
as little jiidgment as wit. — Gifford. 

Humorous, applied to the air means 
moist, fiaccid from humiditv, flexi- 
ble, &c. 

Hunt at force, to ran the game down 
with dogs. 

Hunt change .- hounds are said to hunt 
change when they take a fresh sceJ" 
and follow another chase. 

I. 

Ill days, days marked in the calendar 
as unlucky. 

Imbibition, a tenn in alchemy. Imbi- 
bilio est ablatio, quando liijuor corpori 
adjunctus clevatur, et czitum non in- 
veniens in corpus recidit. — Lexicor 
Mehem. 

Imbroccato, a thrust in tierce, in mod- 
ern fencing language. 

Impotently, madly, without the control 
of reason. 

/;i and in, a game played by two ol 
three persons, with four dice. 

laceration, a term in alchemy. Inccra- 
tio est mistio humoris c.um resicca, per 
combibitionem lentmn ad consisten- 
tiam cera remollitcs. — Lexicon Al- 
chem. 

Incony, fine or curious ; it is fre- 
quently used as a term of endear- 
ment. 

Ingine, wit, understanding ; from tlio 
Latin ingenium. 

Ingle, fire ; ingle-nook, the fire-side ; 
also, a bosom fri[pnd. 

Inhabitable .- this is used for uninhabit- 
able, by Shakspeare as well as Jon- 
son. 

Innocent, a fool ; a simpleton. 

Instructed, designed, appointed ; (a lat- 
inism.) 

Intention, the act of fixed and earnest 
gazing on an object. 

Intend, to note heedfuUy. 

Interessed, deeply implicated. 

Invincibly, invisibly. 

Irpe, a fantastic grimace, or contortion 
of the body. 



Jacob's staff, a mathematical instni 
ment used for taking heights and dis- 
tances. 

Jason's helm, the alembic ; this lattei 
word was in Jonson's time confined 
to the top of the instrument now 
known as the alembic, whence tha 
term helm. 

.Tewel, a brooch or other ornament for 
the person ; still used in this sense by 
freemasons. 

Jig, a ballad or low ludicrous dialogua 
in metre. 

Justice-hall, the name of the sessions* 
house in the eld Bailey. 

K. 

Keslril, a base degenerate hawK. 



93S 



GLOSSARY. 



Kind, nature. 

Klrtle : tliU word is used in a twofold 
sense, sometimes lor tlie jacket 
merely, and sometimes for the train 
or upper petticoat attached to it : a 
iiill kirtle was always a jacket and 
■petticoat, a half kirtle was either the 
one or the other ; Init the simple term 
was commonly used on all occasions : 
a man's jacket was also called a 
kirtle. 

Knack tcith the fingers, snapping the 
fingers: considered a necessary ac- 
complishment in a skilful barber. 

Knitling-cup, a cup of wine jianded 
round immediately after the mar- 
riage cereiaony. 

L. 

Laced mutlon, a cant name for a wan- 
ton. 

[iOde mc ; " you lade me, sir ; " you do 
not spare me. 

Laid, jilotled, designed, well contrived. 

Lance-knights, or more properly lanz- 
knechts, Flemish horse-soldiers. 

Lattice, the window of an ale-house, 
wliich was not in those days glazed, 
but latticed with cross strips of wood 
painted ditTcrent colors, but usually 
red, hence " red lattice phrases." 

Laundering gold, washing it in aqua- 
regia. 

Leer, empty. 

Leer-side, the left side. 

Leese, lose. 

Left-handed erics, inauspicious or un- 
lucky. 

Leiger, a resident ambassador : Ae's 
Iciger at Horn's ordinary, he has 
taken up his abode there. 

Lemma, the subject proposed, or title 
of the epigram. 

Level coyl, riot or disturbance; taken 
from the name of a game. 

Lewd, ignorant, unlearned. 

Hey stats, receptacles of tilth : in mo- 
dern s|)elling, lay-stalls. 

Lie in lavender, a cant term for lying in 
pawn. 

Lifting, stealing. 

Lightly, commonly. 

Like, please; dislike, displease. 

Limmer, vile, worthless. 

Loggeis, a diminutive of log; sticks 
thrown up to beat down apples and 
pears from the trees. 

Lord of Liberty, the lord of misrule in 
Christmas games. 

Lord's rooms, in the ancient play- 
houses answered to the present 
stage-boxes. 

Love-lock, long locks cultivated by the 
gallants, frequently plaited and orna- 
mented with ribbons, hanging down 
over the ear. 

LuUianist, a follower of Eaytnond Lul- 
ly, a celebrated alchemist and natu- 
ral philosopher, who it was said dis- 
covered the elixir vit«. 

Lungs, a name given to an alchemist's 
servant, either from his being tiie 
medium of his master's communica- 
tion with the world, or from his 
hlowing the bellows of t!ie furnace. 

Luxury, lust. 

M. 

Mab, the queen of the fairies. 

.t/ocs, the badge of a city-scrjeant, 
which he constantly carried when he 
arrested a man for "debt. 

Made, prepared for. 

Maintenance, supporting a cause or per- 
son by any kind of countenance or 
encouragement ; generally taken in 
a bad sense. 

Uake, acquaint with. 



Makes, mates. 

Mammothrept, a spoiled child. 

J[Ian icith the beard, the jug on which, 
as at the present day, a bearded head 
was frequently represented. 

Mangonizing, from mango, Lat. : a 
slave-merchant. 

Mankind, fierce. 

Maniples, bundles, handfuls. 

Maple-face, a term of contempt ; it ap- 
pears synonymous with broad-face, 
perhaps from the broad maple dishes, 
used in farm-houses. 

Marchpane, a confection of pistachio- 
nuts, almonds, sugar, &c. 

Marrows, companions, friends ; some- 
times mates or lovers. 

Mary Ambree, a woman who fought at 
the siege of Ghent, and is celebrated 
in an old ballad. 

Marry-gip, a familiar expression of 
contempt, equivalent to " marry come 
up ! " 

Mass, an abbreviation of the Italian 
ftlcsser, applied as the title of a gen- 
tleman. 

Misttry, the magisterium ; the great 
work when brought to perfection : 
the philosopher's stone. 

■Material, full of solid sense and obser- 
vation. 

Maund, to beg : " to maund on the pad, 
is to beg on the highway, somewhat, 
I believe, after the impressive man- 
ner of Gil Bias' disabled soldier." — 

GiFFOKD. 

Mauther, a young girl, a maid ; from 
the Danish vioer. 

Measure, a dance of a grave and digni- 
fied kind. 

Mealh, mead or metheglin. 

Meet with, to be even with. 

Melicotton, a late kind of peach. 

Merchant, sometiriies used to express 
broker, or banker. 

Mercurius Britannicus, the title of a 
newspaper. 

Middling gossip, a go-between. 

Migniardise, affected delicacy of speech 
or behavior. 

Mirror in hat, mirrors v/ere worn by 
the men as brooches in their liats; 
and by the women at tlieir girdles. 

Moecinigo, a sm-dll coin, used in Venice, 
worth about nine-pence. 

Month's mind, a strong inclination. 

Moonling, a fool, a lunatic. 

Mortmal, an old sore, a gangrene. 

Mot, motto, a motto. 

Motions, puppets. 

Mutions of a clock, figures at the top of 
the clock, moved by the pendulum. 

Jl/oHjirf, an orb or globe. 

Moiirnival, a term in card-playing; 
eitiier all the aces, the four kings, 
queens, or knaves. — Cumpl. Game- 
ster. 

.Muckinder, a handkerchief. 

Mallets, small pincers. 

Mumehance, a rude Kind of play with 
dice. 

Muss, a mouse, also a scramble. 

Mi/robolane, a foreign conserve, " a 
dried pluMi, brought from the Indies." 
— Cotokave. 

N. 

.Vij/ZfiY;/ pip, the puritanical term fur a 
Ciiristmas pie. 

JV'Ophyte, youngster, novice. 

Jfepkcw, is frequently used (as in Latin) 
for a grandchild. 

Jfew disease, violent pains in the head 
were the diagnostics of a disorder 
which made its first appearance 
about this time, (the acting of " Every 
Blan in his IJumor,") and bore the 
appellaiion the poet has given it — 

WnALLEy. 



J^eiB fellow, novus homo, u parvenu. 

JVC!//, hand or fist. 

JViase, literally an eyas or young hawfe 
metaphorically, a simple, witl«ss, in 
experienced gull. 

JVoise of fiddlers ; a party of street mu- 
sicians, who used to go about tha 
city and play at the faverns, was 
called "a noise:" they were often 
distinguished by the name of their 
leader, as " Mr. Sneak's noise," &c. 

JVomejttack, an Indian chief from Vir- 
ginia. 

J^oncc, for the, for the present occasion, 
for tlie immediate purpose, for tite 
once. 

JVot-heads, closely shorn or polled. 

JVonght, to be, Peace and be nought, a. €. 
peace and bo hanged. 

Mullifidian, an unbeliever; an atheist 

JVupson, an oaf, a simpleton. 

O. 

Oade, woad : a plant from which a blue 
dye is extracted. 

Obarni, a preparation of meath. 

Obsession, the besieging and tormenting 
of a spirit from without, on the body 
of a demoniac ; used in opposition to 
possession, when the spirit was sup- 
posed to be in the body. 

Odling, a word of uncertain meaning, 
used in conjunction with skeldering, 
a cant term for impudent begging. 
" Odling seems to mean sidling and 
shifting about in quest of propel 
objects for preying upon." — Gif- 

FORD. 

O's, an heraldic term for a kind of 

spangles. 
Oil of talc, a cosmetic prepared from 

talc. 
Old doctrine, the doctrines commonly 

received before the Reformation. 
Once, is frequently used for once for all. 
Ore of Lempster, the woo! of Hereford, 

celebrated as " absolutely the finest 

in all England." 
Orient, bright, sparkling, pellucid. 
Osteria, the inn or hotel. 
Outcry, an open sale. 
Outreeuidance, pride, arrogance, or pre- 
sumption. 
Owlspiegel, the name of a celebrated 

German rogue. 



P. 

Paggingtnns or Paekington's pound, 
the name of an old tune. 

Paint, you malic me paint; i. e. blush. 

Pair, frequently used to signify a set : 
a iiair of cards, a pair of chessmen, 
a pack of cards, a set of chessmen. 

Palm : this carries the palm, this bears 
the bell. 

Prt)i, the outer part, the extremities; 
this word cannot well be distin- 
guished from skirts, although it is 
found used in opposition to that word. 

Paned slops, full breeches, formed of 
pieces cut in diamonds or panes, 
sown together: see ^'■counterpane," 

Pantalone di Besogniosi, the pantaloon, 
zany or fool of the beggars. 

Parcel-guilty, partly guilty. 

Pargets, daubs or plasters her face. 

Parlous, perilous, dangerously ; also 
shrewd. 

Parted well, endowed with good nat- 
ural abilities. 

Passage, a game at dice. 

Passion, M'ay, do not speak in passion 
so, i. e. in so melancholy a tone, so 
pathetically. 

Putoun, a doubtful word, found only in 
Jonson. ^^ Patons, in French, are 
those small pellets of paste v/ith 
which poultry are cnimmed : mating 



GLOSSAKY. 



939 



of the patoun, may therefore be 
moulding of the tobacco, wliich was 
then always cut small into some fan- 
tastic or fashionable form, for the 

pipe." GiFFORD. 

Patrico : among strolling beggars and 
gipsies, the patrico is tlie orator of 
the gang, the hedge-priest, &c. 

pedant, a teacher of the languages. 

Pcdarii, the classical expression for 
those wlio never spoke in tlie senate, 
but only went over to tlie side for 
V?liich they voted ; hence they were 
said pedibus ire in seiitcntiam. 

Ptnsil on your chin, one of the many 
fantastical forms in which beards 
were worn ; this was probably a 
double-peaked beard, in tlie form of 
the swallow-tailed pencil or pcnsclle 
worn by knights on their spears. 

J'crpctuana : this seems to bo that 
glossy kind of stuti' now called ever- 
lasting, and anciently worn by Ser- 
jeants and other city officers. 

Perspicil, optic glass. 

Persway, mitigate. 

Petronel, a kind of blunderbuss or car- 
bine ; a horse-soldier's vi'eapon. 

Plicre, see Fere. 

Philosopher's wheel, a very Jiopeful state 
of the alchemical process, but what 
it precisely was, is very uncertain. 

Picardil, a stiff upright collar fastened 
on to the coat. 

Piece, the double-sovereign ; which 
went for two-and-twenty shillings. 

Pie-powder court, a court held for the 
decision of differences arising during 
the fair. 

Pilckers, Serjeants of the Counter: 
eitiier from the glossy everlasting or 
leather coats which they usually 
wore. Pilches or pitchers are skins 
(from pcllisj and in a more general 
sense, coverings of fur, woollen, &c. 
— GiFFORD. Perhaps also piiclics 
from pilchards, a fish remarkably 
like the herring for giving a " glint " 
(light in the water) as they swim in 
shoals ; and thence applied to the 
officers who wore shining coats. 

Pinnace, a go-between on infamous er- 
rands. 

Plaisc-mouth, primness ; affected pru- 
dery ; contempt. 

Plants, of clay, feet of clay : from the 
Latin planta. 

Plover : I have neither plover, 7!or quail ; 
cant terms for light women. 

Plumed-stcan, one of the terms made 
use of in alchemy to express the dif- 
ferent degrees of fermentation. 

Points, the fringed or tagged laces with 
which the breeches were fastened or 
trussed (as the expression was) to the 
doublet. 

Pokahontas, the daughter of an Indian 
chief of Virginia, celebrated by John 
Smith, a famous traveller, and by far 
the most enterprising of the first Vir- 
ginian settlers. 

Poult-foot, lame or club-foot. 
Pomander chains, little balls of per- 
fumed paste, worn in the pocket, or 
strung round the neck, as amulets, 
to prevent infection in times of the 
plague ; they were also an article of 
luxuiy among people of rank or 
fashion, or who have aspired to be 
thought such. 
Pommado: the pommado is vaulting on 
a horse without the aid of stirrups, 
by resting one hand on the saddle- 
bow. 
Popular, vulgar. 
Purtamie, a gold coin, worth about 

m. i2s. 

Portcullis, a coin issued in the time of 
Elizabeth, stamped on one side with 
the portcullis. 



Possess, inform. 
Post and pair, a game at cards. 
Practice, confederacy, concerted fraud. 
Predominant, your; your foretop, the 

fashionable mode of dressing the 

hair. 
Present, immediate, important to our 

ends. 
Prevent, anticipate. 
Prickles, light open wicker baskets, in 

wbicli flowers are brought to market. 
Primcro, a game at cards. 
Print : O, you are a gallant in print 

noic, brother. You are a perfect, 

complete, gallant. 
Private, my, my own interest or safety. 
Projection, the twelfth and last process 

in alchemy. 
Proper, peculiar to oneself. 
Provant, a provant rapier, a common 

rapier. 
Provide, to look to by anticipation : a 

latinism. 
Puckjist, a fungous excrescence of the 

mushroom kind ; an insipid, insignif- 
icant fellow. 
Pulpamcnta, delicacies, nice-bits. 
Punk devise, an arrant whore. 
Purchase, a cant term for goods stolen. 
Purl, a wire whipt with cotton or silk, 

for puffing out fringe, lace, hair, 

&c. ; in some places it seems to 

mean tfee fringe itself. 



Q. 

Quail, a cant term for a loose woman, 

Q,uar, (an abbreviation of quarry,) a 
stone-pit. 

Queasy, nice, tender, delicate. 

Quested, a sporting term for a dog's 
opening, or giving his tongue, when 
he scents the birds. — Whallev. 

Quiblins, little attempts to deceive us. 

Quodlin, a too soon ripe-headed boy. 

Quote, to notice, to write down. 



R. 

Raked up, smothered, hidden. 

Rash, to, to strike obliquely with vio- 
lence, as a wild boar does with his 
tusk. 

Rochet or ronget, so named from the 
red color, is a fish of the gurnet kind. 

Ray, array, dress. 

Ready, to make, to dress one's self. 

Rcbatu, a kind of ruff or collar band, 
which turned back and lay in plaits 
on the shoulders. 

Reformado, a broken or disbanded sol- 
dier. 

Regiment, government. 

Register, the iron plate or slider, which, 
on being pushed forward, increases 
the heat of the fire in small chim- 
neys, by accelerating the current of 
air. 

Resiant, resident. 

Resolved, convinced. 

Returns, ventures sent abroad. 

Rheum, a cant term for spleen, caprice, 
fir fretful resentment. 

Ribibe, bawd, or mistress of a brothel. 

Ride: you rid that week, you were 
carted for a bawd. 

Rosakcr, a preparation of arsenic. 

Round, gentleman of the, invalid or dis- 
banded men, who, to procure them- 
selves a livelihood, had taken up the 
trade of begging. 

Rouse, a mode of drinking, in which 
the full cup or other drinking vessel 
was to be emptied at a draught; a 
bumper toast. 

Rovers, arrows shot compass-wise or 
with a certain degree of elevation. 

RuJJle, flaunt, swagger. 



S. 

Sadness, seriousness, earnest. 

Sadly, With a confirmed, serious conn 
tenance. 

Sampsuchine, sweet marjoram. 

Sauna, a Latin word implying a gesfura 
of contempt. 

Say, try, assay. 

Scarabs, beetles. 

Sartoccios, covers, folds of paper ; 
whence our cartonch or cartridge. 

Scotomy, Scotomia, a dizziness or swim- 
ming in the head. 

Scourse, deal for horses ; swap, et- 
change : the terra horse-courser is 
still in use. 

Scroyles, scrophulous, scabby fellows. 

Seamrent, ragged. 

Seel, a term in falconry, when a hawk 
was first taken it was " blinded by a 
thread run through the eye-lids that 
she might see not, or very little, the 
better to make her endure the hood ; " 
this was termed seeling. 

Seminarij, a Romish priest, educated 
abroad. 

Serene, " a mildew, or that harmful 
dew of moist summer evenings, 
which occasions blights." — Cot- 
grave. 

Sericon, a term in alchemy for a red 
tincture. 

Serjeant, one of the officers belonging 
to the Compter, a serjeant at mace. 

Servant, was the title which, in Jon- 
son's days, every lady bestowed 
upon her professed lover. 

Sets, the deep plaits of the ruff. 

Set up a side, become partnei"3 at cards. 

Several, separate. 

Shape, a suit by way of disguise. 

Shelf, a bank of sand. 

Shine or sheen, brightness, splendor. 

Shot-sharks, tavern waiters. 

Shot-clog, an incumbrance on the reck- 
oning. 

Shove-groat, a piece of monej used for 
playing at the game of shovel-board. 

Sick Man's Salve, a devotional tract 
written by Thos. Becon, an old cal 
vinistical divine. 

Side-long, trailing. 

Simper the cocket : " cockci was a fine 
species of bread as distinguished 
from common bread ; hence perhaps 
the name was given to an over- 
strained affectation of delicacy. Tc 
simper at, or over, a thing, is to touch 
it as in scorn." — Gifford. 

Single-money, small money tliat requires 
no change. 

Single, weak, silly. 

Sir .Bjaz, see " Ajax." 

Skcld'er, a cant term for impudent beg- 
ging- 

Skills not, it matters not, it is of no 
consequence. 

Slip, a false piece of monc}'. 

Slops, large loose breeches. 

Slot, the print of a deer's foot upon the 
ground. 

Small voice, a feminine voice. 

Smelt, a gull, a simpleton. 

Snujf: he tocni away in snuff, i. e. anger. 

^"ffS'Uf " ^"ggy is not a very common 
word, nor does it ajipear elsewhere in 
Jonson (" Every JMan out of his 
Humor"), or, as I think, in any of 
our old dramatists • yet I have heard 
it applied (with what propriety X 
know not), to hay that has been cut 
too early and 'sweats 'as it lies m 
heaps." — GiFFoim. 

Soil, to take ; a stag is said to take soil 
when he takes to the water to escape 
the hounds. 

Sort, rank or degree in life, also a 
company; a sort of gallants, a com 
pany of gallants. 



940 



GLOSSARY. 



Sovereirrn^ a teii-sliilling piece. 
Soundless, bottomless, tliat cnnnot be 

sounded. 
Spar, bar or bolt. 

Speak at vnllcij (d-la voice, Fr.) heed- 
lessly, without due consideration. 
Spinet, a copse of young wood. 
Spittle, altliougli often applied indiffer- 
ently to all hospitals, was strictly 
limited to one for lazars, &c. 
Spruntly, sprucelj'. 

Spur-royal, a gold coin ; in the 3rd 
James I. it passed for fifteen shillings. 
Squire, a carpenter's scpiare. 
Stale, a decoy or cover. 
Stale to, to make cheap or common. 
Stamtl, a kind of red, inferior both in 

quality and price to scarlet. 
Stale, sometimes means the raised 
platform and canopy under which 
the ornamented chair was placed ; 
sometimes (as in " Cynthia's Rev- 
els "), the chair itself. 
Statist, statesman. 

Statumiiiate, this word is pure Latin ; 

statuminibus firmare is found in Pliny, 

and means to support vines by poles 

or stakes. 

Sticklers, sidesmen to fencers, or seconds 

in a duel. 
Stoceata, a term in fencing, meaning a 

thrust. 
Stork's bill, a gesture of contempt ; to 
point at, extending the finger like a 
stork 's-bill : in Latin, cicouia. 
State, or, according to modern spelling, 

stoat, a kind of weazle. 
Slound, time or season. 
Slramazoun, (stramazzonc, Italian, cs- 
tramazon, French,) a descending 
blow with the edge of the sword, as 
^ opposed to stoceata, a thrust. 
Strange woman, an immodest woman, 

a prostitute. 
Streivhts, a labyrinth of narrow alleys 
and courts in the Strand, frequented 
liy cut-piu'ses, prostitutes, &c. 
Stroke, soothe, encourage, flatter. 
Strokcr, flatterer. 
Students of Bear's College, the dogs at 

the bear-gardens. 
Subtle, thill, fine. 



Tables, table-book, a packet-book for 
making memoranda. 

Taint a staff, break a lance, but not in 
the most honorable and scientific 
manner. 

Take in, capture, subdue. 

2'u/.e mc with you, or take me along, 
go no faster than I can go with you ; 
i. e. let me understand you. 

Take : he whom the whole world could 
not take, i. e. contain : a latinism. 

Tall man, a strong powerful man. 

Tankard-bearer, a water-carrier who 
fetched water from the conduits for 
the supply of tne nnviscs. 

Taverii-tohen, he sioalloioed a, a cant 
term for getting drunk. 

Tell, 1 cannot, I know not what to say 
or think. 

Terra Jlrma,. the term by which the 
Venetians distinguished their conti- 
nental possessions. 

Tertias, (tertia Sjianish,) is that portion 
of an army levied out of one partic- 
ular district, or division of a coun- 

Pcslon, or tester, a coin first struck in 
the reign of Heniy 8th, worth at first 
12d , but afterwards brought down to 
6a 



Thewcs, manners, accomplishments ; 

also used for sinews, strength. 
Three pound thrum, one whose livery 
was made of the end of a weaver's 
warp (thrums), or coarse yarn, of 
which three pounds were sufficient 
to make him a suit: or one whose 
livery, which in those days was usu- 
ally laced and badged, cost but three 
pounds. 
Thrcaves, droves, heaps. 
Throng : went out master of arts in a 
throng, i. e. when honorary degrees 
were conferred, in compliment to 
some person of high rank, foreign 
prince, &c. who visited the Univer- 
sity. 
Tick-tack, a kind of complicated back- 
gammon, played with pegs at the 
side of the board, as well as with 
the men and dice in the ordinary 
mode. 
Tidings, was considered a mercantile 
phrase; the courtiers said intelli- 
gence. " Sir, he says by your word 
tidings, he knows you are no states- 
man." — Tlie Fuz. 
Time, tunc. 
Tire, head-dress. 
Tire, to, to peck eagerly, feed on. 
Titivilitium, paltry, good-for-nothing. 
Tod, a fox. 

Tokens, copper coins, which were per- 
mitted to be struck by the trades, 
when the coin of the realm ran 
short ; their value was usually a far- 
thing. 
Token's worth, a farthing's worth. 
Torncd, in modern spelling turned ; 
rounded and polished on the wheel, 
or on tlie lathe. 
Touch, the common kind of black mar- 
ble, frequently made use of in funer- 
al monuments. 
Treachour, traitor. 

Tricking : to trick arms, was to draw 

them with a pen, in opposition to 

blazoning, which is painting them 

in their proper colors. 

Trig, neat, spruce, affected. 

I'rowscs, close drawers, over which the 

hose or slops were drawji. 
Truckman, interpreter. 
Trundling cheats, cant term for carts 

or coaches. 
Trunk, a tube or pipe. 
Trunks, round, large loose breeches, 
such as are worn by sailors ; trunk- 
hose. 
Tucket, a corruption of toccata, Italian, 

a slight flourish on the trumpet. 
Tumbler, a particular kind of dog, so 
called from the mode of his hunt- 
ing. 
Turned, diverted, changed. 
Turn-tippet, a phrase applied to a 

change of conduct or condition. 
Turnpike, a turnstile. 
Tico-pemuj room, the lowest-priced 
place to the theatre, a two-penny gal- 
lery. 
Two-penny ward, a ward in the Comp- 
ter, the debtor's prison. This prison 
had four compartments or "sides," 
the knight's ward, the master's ward, 
the two-jienny ward, -and the hole ; 
and it was not uncommon for the 
debtors, as their means wasted, to 
descend gradually from the first to 
the last. 
Two-penny tearmoutli, a term for an 
actor, Irom the two-penny gallery in 
the theatres. 
Twirc, to leer affectedly, glance at ob- 
liquely. 



U. 

Ulcn Spiegle, the name of a celebrated 
German rogue. 

Umbo; " There's amber in the umbre," 
(Cynthia's Revels ") i. e. in the brown 
dye of the gloves. 

Uncouth, strange, unknown, unproved. 

Undermeal, an afternoon's meal : slight 
repast. 

Undertaker, one who undertook by liis 
influence in the house of commons 
to carry things agreeably to his Ma- 
jesty's wishes. — Whallet. 

Unequal, unjust. 

Unkindly, unnaturally. 

Unready, to, to undress. 

Unrude, very rude : the particle un ia 
used to hicrease the force of the 
word. 

Up-tails-all, the burden of a popiilai 
song. 



Vail, to lower the sails. 

Vallies, (valise, French.) portmanteau 

or cloak-bag. 
Vapor, a cant term for a mere hcctoy, 

a bully. 
Varlet, a servant. 
Venue, a term in fencing, a thrust 
Vorlnffe, furlough. 

W. 

Watch: '^Observe him as his watcli 
observes his clock," (" Scjanus,") an 
allusion to the pocket-watch, which 
was constantly regulated by the mo 
tion of the clock, at that time tha 
more accurate machine of the two. — 

GiFFORD. 

IVazen epitaph, an epitaph affixed to 

the hearse, or on the monument of 

the deceased, with wax. 
Wealthy witness, (a latinism ; testislocur 

pies) a full and sufficient evidence. 
Wedlock, wife. 

Welt, a hem or border of fur. 
What is lie for a vicar 7 (" Silent Wo- 
man,") Saxon phraseology, signify 

ing. What vicar is he .' 
Wher, contraction of whether 
Where, whereas. 
While, until. 

JFhite money, silver moncj'. 
Wind-sucker, a kind of kite. 
Wing, a part of the dress extending 

from each shoulder. 
Wise woman, a fortune-teller, a recov- 

erer of stolen goods, &c. 
Wish, to, to recommend. 
Withal, to do, " I cannot do withal,' 

I cannot help it. 
Without, beyond. 
IFitucss, a godmother. 
Woodcock, a cant term for a fool. 
Woodcock' s-head, a tobacco pipe, from 

its shape. 
Word, motto — " Let the word be," let 

the motto be. — ("Every Man out ' 

of his Humor.") 
Worm, a snake. 
Wrctchock, the least and weakest of a 

large brood of chickens. 
Writing-tables, pocket-books. 



Yeoman-feuterer, a dog-keeper. 
Yet, this word has somewhat of thi 
power of notwithstandfng, nevettha 

less. — GiFFOHD. 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

A^cHiaiisT, the 340 

Barriers, the C75 

Bartholoiiicw Fair 411 

Ben, do not leave tlio stage, (an answer to Ben Jon- 
son's ode, to persuade hiin not to leave the stage,) by 
T. Randolph 545 



Carew, T., his lines to Ben Jonson, upon occasion of 
his ode of defiance, annexed to his play of the 

New Inn 540 

Case is Altered, tlie 618 

Catiline his Conspiracy 37G 

Challenge at Tilt, at a Marriage 706 

Charis, a celebration of 810 

Chloridia 774 

Cleveland, J., his Ode to Ben Jonson upon his Ode to 

Himself 540 

Come leave the loathed stage (Ode by the Author to 

himself)..., 544 

Come leave tliis saucy way, (an answer to the Ode, 
" Come leave the loathed stage,") by Owen Felt- 
ham 545 

Cvnthia's Revels 106 

Devil is an Ass, the 451 

Discoveries 865 

Ekglish Grammar, tlie 8?3 

Entertainments, containing — 

Part of King James's Entertainment in pass- 
ing to liis Coronation 640 

A Panegyie on the happy Entrance of James, our 
Sovereign, to his first high session of Parlia- 
ment 650 

The Satyr 652 

The Penates 655 

The Entertainment of the two Kings of Great 
Britain and Denmark at Theobalds, July 24, 

160") 057 

An Entertainment of King James and Clueen 

Ann at Theobalds 658 

EpicflBne 307 

E?l grams, Containing — 

1. To the Reader 785 

2. To my Book ib. 

3. To my Bookseller ib. 

4. To King James il). 

5. On the Union ib. 

6. To Alchemists 785 

7. On the New Hot-liouse ib. 

e. On a Robbery ib. 

To all to whom I Write 786 

10. To my Lord Ignorant ilv 

11. On Something that Walks Somewhere ib. 

12. On Lieutenant Shift ib. 

13. To Doctor Empiric ib. 

14. To William Camden ib. 

15. On Court Worm ib. 

16. To Brain Hardy ib. 

17. To the Learned Critic ib. 

18. To my Jlere English Censuier ib. 

19. On Sir Cod, the Perfumed ib. 

20. To the same ib. 

21. On Reformed Gamester ib. 

22. On my First Daughter 787 

23. To John Donne ib. 

24. To the Parliament lb. 

25 On Sir Voluptuous Beast , , . ib. 



Epiubams, continued — 

26. On the same , 787 

27. On Sir John Hoe ' " ' " ib. 

28. On Don Surly .'.".'..'.. ib. 

29. To Sir Annual Tilter ib 

30. To Person Guilty ib. 

31. On Banks, the Usurer . j> 

32. On Sir John Roe n. 

33. To the same ib. 

34. Of Death i|, 

35. To King James ib 

36. To tlie Ghost of Martial 78i3 

37. ( In Cheveril the Lawyer ib 

38. To Person Guilty iU 

39. On Old Colt ift 

40. On aiargaret RatclifTe jb 

41. On Gipsy ib. 

42. On Giles and Joan ib. 

43. To Robert, Earl of Salisbury ib 

44. On Chufte, Banks the Usurer's Kinsman i.; 

45. On my First Son ib. 

40, To Sir Luckless Woo-all ib. 

47. To the same ib. 

48. On Mungril Esquire ib 

49. To Playwright ib 

50. ToSirCod 78'J 

51. To King James jb. 

52. To Censorious Courtling ib. 

53. To Oldend Gatherer ib 

54. On Cheveril jh. 

55. To Francis Beaumont lb. 

50. On Poet-ape ib. 

57. On Bawds and Usurers jb. 

58. To Groom Idiot ib, 

59. On Spies jb. 

60. To William, Lord Mounteagle ib. 

61. To Fool, or Knave io 

62. To Fine Lady Would-be ib 

63. To Robert, Earl of Salisbury ib. 

64. To the same, upon the accession of the 

Treasurership to iiim 790 

65. To my Muse jb 

66. To Sir Henry Carv ib 

67. To Thomas Earl of Sutrulk ib 

68. On Playwright jb 

69. To Pertinax Cob ib 

70. To William Roe ib. 

71. On Court Parrot ib. 

72. To Courtling ib. 

73. To Fine Grand ib. 

74. To Thomas Lord Chancellor Egerton 791 

75. On Lippe the Teacher ib. 

76. On Lucy, Countess of Bedford ib. 

77. To one that desired me not to name hiir. . . . ib. 

78. To Hornet ib 

79. To Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland ib 

80. Of Life and Death ... . ib. 

81. To Prowle, the Plagiary ib 

82. On Cashiered Captain Surly ib. 

83. ToaFriend ib. 

84. To Lucy, Countess of Bedford ib. 

85. To Sir Henry Goodyere ib. 

86. To the same ib. 

87. On Captain Hazard the Cheater 792 

88. On English Monsieur ib. 

89. To Edward Allen ib. 

90. On Mill, my Lady's Woman ib. 

91. To Sir Horace Vere ib. 

92. The New Cry ib. 

93. To Sir John Radcliffe 79a 

94. To Lucy Countess of Bedford, with Master 

Donne's Satires ib 

95. To Sir Henry Savile. .. . ib 

941 



942 



INDEX. 



PAGi: 
Epigrams, continued — 

90. ToJuliii Uunne 793 

97. On tlie new Motion ib. 

98. To Sir Thomas Roe ib. 

99. To tlie same 794 

100. On Playwiigiit ib. 

101. Invitinj; a friend to supper ib. 

102. To William, Earl of Pembroke ib. 

103. To Mary Lady Wroth ib. 

104. To Susan, Countess of Montgomery ib. 

10.5. To Marv Lady Wroth ib. 

106. To Sir Edward Herbert 795 

107. To Captain Hungry ib. 

108. To True Soldiers ib. 

109. To Sir Henry Nevil ib. 

110. To Clement Edmonds, on his Cossar's Com- 

mentaries observed and translated ib. 

111. To the same, on tlie same ib. 

1 12. To a Weak Gamester in Poetry 796 

113. To Sir Thomas Overbury ib. 

114. To Mistress Philip Sidney ib. 

115. On the Town's Honest Man ib. 

116. To Sir William Jephson ib. 

117. On Groine ib. 

118. On Gut ib. 

119. To Sir Ralph Shelton ib. 

120. An Efiitaph on Salathiel Pavy, a child of 

Queen Elizabeth's Ciiapel 797 

121. To Benjamin Rudyerd ib. 

123. Tothesame ib. 

123. To the same ib. 

194. Epitaph on Elizabeth, L. H ib. 

125. To Sir William Uvedale ib. 

126. To his Lady, then JMistress Gary ib. 

127. To Esme Lord Aubigny ib. 

128. To William Roe ib. 

129. To Mime ib. 

130. To Alphonzo Ferrabosco, on his book 798 

131. To tjje same ib. 

132. To Mr. Joshua Silvester ib. 

133. On the Famous Voyage ib. 

Hpillialaniion 840 

Eu;-lieme j or the Fair Fame left to Posterity of that 

truly noble lady, tlie Lady Venetia Digby 845 

F-very Man in his Humor 95 

Every Man out of his Humor 125 

Fall of Mortimer, the 616 

Fellliani, Owen, liis Answer to llie Ode " Come leave 

tlie loathed Stage " 515 

Forest, the, containing — 

1. AVhy 1 write^iotoflove 801 

2. To Penshurst ib. 

3. To Sir Robert Wruth 802 

4. To the World ib. 

5. Song. — ToCclia 803 

6. To the same ib. 

7. Pong. — That Women are but Men's Shadows ib. 

8. Song. — To Sickness ib. 

9. Song.— ToCelia 804 

10. Prffiludiuni — The Phoenix analyzed — Ode 

cvdovdia'JTLKr] ib. 

11. Epode ib. 

12. Epistle to Elizabeth, Countess of Rutland.. 805 

13. Epistle to Katherine Lady Aubignv 806 

14. Ode to Sir William Sidney on his Birth-day.. 807 

15. To Heaven ; ib. 

For the Plonor of Wales 728 

Fortunate Isles, the 767 

Fox, the 272 

Gipsies Metamorphosed, the 73G 

Qolden Age Restored, the 714 

Horace his Art of Poetry, Translation of. 851 

Ode 2, Book 5, the Praises of a Country Life, 

Translation of. ." 802 

Ode 1, Book 4. To Venus, Translation of 8{;3 

Ode 9, Book 3. To Lydia, Translation of 863 

Hue and Cry after Cupid, the C78 

Uyniena;! 008 

l.NKJo Jones, Expostulation with 777 

—— Jones, Epigram on 778 

— Marquis Would-be, to 773 



PA03 

JoNsoNus ViRBius, or the Memory of Ben Jonson, re- 
vived by the Friends of the Muses, contain- 
ing — 

Eclosue on the death of Ben Jonson, by Lord 
Falkland 913 

To the Memory of Ben Jonson, by Lord Buck- 
hurst 920 

To the Memory of him who can never be forgot- 
ten, by John Beaumont, Bart ib 

To the Memory of Master Benjamin Jonson, 
by Sir Thomas Hawkins 92i 

To the Memory of my Friend, Ben Jonson, by 
Henry King ib. 

To the Memory of Master Benjamin Jonson, by 
Hen. Coventry 922 

An Elegy upon Benjamin Jonson, by Thomas 
May ib 

An Elegy on Ben Jonson, by Dudley Diggs.... ib. 

To the immortality of my learned Friend, Master 
Jonson, by George Fortosque S23 

An Elegy upon the death of Ben Jonson, the 
most excellent of English Poets, by W. Habing- 
ton ib. 

Upon Ben Jonson, the most excellent of Comic 
Poets, by E. Waller ib. 

Upon the Poet of his Time, Benjamin Jonson, 
his honored friend and father, by James 
Howell '. 924 

An Oftertory at the Tomb of the famous Ben Jon- 
son, by John Vernon ib. 

To the Memory of Ben Jonson, by J. C ib. 

To the same, by John Cleveland ib. 

To the same, by J. Mayne ib 

In the Memory of the most worthy Benjamin Jon- 
son, by VV. Cartwright '. . 025 

An Elegy upon Ben Jonson, by Jo. Rutter 327 

To the Memory of immortal Ben, by Ovi^. Felt- 
ham ib. 

To the Memory of Ben Jonson, by George Donne 92>} 

A Funeral Sacrifice to the sacred Msmory of his 
tlirice-honored father, Ben Jonson, by Shack- 
erly Marmion it». 

On the best of English Poets, Ben Jonson, de- 
ceased, by John Ford 92^ 

Upon the Death of Master Ben Jonson, by R. 
Brideoake ib. 

On Master Ben Jonson, by Kichaid West ib. 

To the fllemory of Benjamin Jonson, by R. Meade 930 

Ujion the Death ol Benjamin Jonson, by H. 

Ramsay 931 

. En Jonsonus, &c. by Fr. Wortley, Bar ib. 

Inobitum Ben Jonsoni,poetarum facile principis, 
by T. Terrent ib. 

Vatuin principi Ben. Jonsono sacrum, by Rob. 
Waring 932 

Epitaphium in Den. Jonson, by William Bevv.... 933 

In obituni Ben. Jonson, by Sam. Evans, LL. B.. . ib. 

In Ben. Jonson, by R. Brideoake ib. 

Icji'(7(.ji/(0 jru7£ ipvi>Ti ■napccTr] tiotvio. MoOca, 

Anon' ib. 

Irish Masque, the 703 

Leges Convivales 849 

Love freed from Ignorance and Folly, a Masque of her 

Majesty 's 700 

Love Restored, in a Masque at Court 703 

Love's Triumph through Callipiilis. 772 

Love's VVelcome ; the King's Entertainment at Wel- 

beck 779 

Love's Welcome; the King and dueen's Entertainment 

at Bolsover 783 

Magnetic Lady, the 543 

Martial, Epigram of, translated 804 

Masque of Augurs, the 748 

Masque of Christmas, the 717 

Masque of Lethe, the 720 

Masque of Owls, the 705 

Masque of Queens, the C82 

Mercury Vindicated from the Alchemists. 711 

Neptuhe's Triumph V5S 

New Inn, the 516 

News from the New World discovered by the Man in 
the Moon, a Masque 732 



INDEX. 



94a 



Oberon tlie Fairy Prince, a Masque of Prince Henry's 696 
Ode, Pindaric, to the immortal memory and friendship 

of that noble pair, Sir Lucius C'ary and Sir H. 

jUorisoii S33 



Pan's Anniversary 

Penates, the 

Petronius Arbiter, fragment of, translated 

I'lcasure reconciled to Virtue ; a JMasque 

Poetaster, the 

Poem, commendatory, — 

on Ben Jonsons Alchemist, by G. Lucy 

" " " " Jas. Sliirley 

" " Catiline, " F.Beaumont 

" " " " J. Fletcher 

■■' " " " Nat. Field 

" " Scjanus " Geo. Chapman.... 

« " " " Hugh Holland 

" " " " Cygnus 

" " " " rii. R 

" " " " J. Marstnnius 

' " " " Wni. Strachey 

" ■' " " *IAOS 

" ■' '< " Ev. B 

" " Silent Woman F. Beaumont 

« .( Translation j Sir Edw. ) 

of Horace \ Herbert j 

" " Voli)one "J.Donne 

" " " " E. Bolton 

" '• " " F.Beaumont 

" " " '• T. R 

" " " " n. D 

" " " "J. C 

" " " " G. C 

'• " " " E. S 

<■ " " " J. F 

" " " " Jas. Shirley 

" " " " J. Selden 

" '• " " Ed. Hayward 

" " " " Will. Hodgson 

or; Ben Jonson and Iiis Works by Will. Hodgson. 

" " " " Anonymous 

" " " " Barton Holyday 

" " " " Zouch Townley 

" " " " R. Waller 

" " " " Hcrrick 9: 

Proceed in thy brave rage, (Ode to Ben Jonson upon hi 
ode to himself) by J. Cleveland 



Queen's Masques, the, containing 
The Masque of Blackne.^s... 
The JIasque of Beauty 



7ca 

6.i5 
8G-1 
795 
304 



ib 
ib. 

84 
ib. 
85 
86 
83 
ib. 
88 
89 
90 
91 
• 92 
2,93 

546 



GCO 
663 



Randolph, T., his answer to Ben Jonson's Ode to per- 
suade him not to leave the stage 545 



Sad Sliepherd, the ; or a Tale of Robin Hood 603 

Satyr, the 652 

Scjanus his Fall 936 

Silent Woman, the 307 

Sinner's Sacrifice, the 809 

Speeches at Prince Henry's Barriers 692 

Sta|)le of News, the 484 

Sylva .r. .. ;. ' .".: ■ 865 



Tale of a Trb, a 576 

Timber, or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter. . 865 
Time Vindicated 753 

'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand, (to Ben 
Jonson npon occasion of his Ode of Defiance an- 
nexed to his Play of the New Inn) by T. Carew.. 546 

I'ranslations from the Latin Poets 851-864 



IInderwoods ; containing — 

Poems of Devotion. — The Sinner's Sacrifice.... 809 

1. To the Holy Trinity ib. 

2. An Hymn to God the Father ib. 

3. An Hymn on the Nativity of my Savior 810 

A Celebration of Charis ib. 

1. His Excuse for Loving ib. 

2. How He Saw Her ib. 

3. What lie SufTered ib. 

4. Her Triumph 811 



I'AGR 

Underwoods, continued — 
A Celebration of Charis — 

5. His Discourse with Cupid bll 

6. Claiming a Second' Kiss by Desert ib 

7. Begging Another on Color of Mending the 

Former 812 

8. Urging Her of a Promise ill. 

9. Her Man Described by Her Own Dictaraen.. ib 
10. Another Lady's E.vception Present at the 

Hearing ib. 

Miscellaneous Poems — 

3. The Musical Strife, a Pastoral Dialogue.... 813 
■■>. A Song ib 

3. In the Person of Womankind, a Song Apol- 

ogetic ib. 

4. Anothei, in Defence of their Inconstancy. ... ib. 

5. A Nymph's Passion ib. 

6. The Hour Glass 81 

7. My Picture left in Scotland ib 

8. Against Jealousy ib 

9. The Dream ib 

10. An Epitaph on Master Vincent Corbet ib. 

11. On the Portrait of Shakspeare. To the Reader ib. 

12. To Hie Memory of my Beloved Master Wil- 

liam t^liakspeure, and what he hath left us ib. 

13. On Honored Poems of his Honored Friend, 

Sir John Beaumont, Baronet 815 

14. To 5Ir. John Fletcher, upon his Faithful 

Shepherdess ib 

15. Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke ib. 

I'j. A Vision on the Muses of his Friend Jlichael 

Drayton 810 

17. Epitaph on Michael Drayton ib 

IS. To my truly beloved Friend, Master Browne, 

on his Pastorals ib. 

19. To his much and worthy Esteemed Friend, 

the Author 817 

20. To my Worthy and Honored Friend, Master 

George Chapman ib 

21. To my Chosen Friend, the Lear^ied Trans- 

lator of Lucan, Thomas May, Esquire. . . . ib, 

22. To my Dear Son, and Right Learned Friend, 

Mas,ter Joseph Rutter ib 

23. Epigram. — In Authorein. (JVicholas Breton) ib. 
.24. To the worthy Author, on the Husband.... ib. 

25. To the Author. ( T/ws. Wrirrht) ib 

2fi. To the Author. Cr. Warre.) 818 

27. To Edward Filnier on his Musical Work ded- 

icated to the Queen , ib. 

28. To Richard Brome, on his Comedy of the 

Nortiiern Lass iU 

29. A Speech at a Tilting ib. 

30. An Epistle to Sir Edward Sackvile, now 

Earl of Dorset ib, 

31. An Epistle to Master John Selden S20 

32. An Epistle to a Friend (Master Colby) to per- 

suade him to the Wars ib. 

33. An Epitapli on Master Philip Gray 322 

34. An Epistle to a Friend ib. 

35. An Elegy ib 

3fi. An Elegv ib 

.37. A Satiri'cal Slirub ib. 

38. A little Shrub growing by 821 

39. An Elegy ib 

40.- An Elegy ib 

41. An Ode. — To Himself. ib. 

42. The Jlind of the Fronjispiece to a Book 824 

43. An Ode to James Earl of Desmond ib 

44. An Ode il, 

4.5. An Ode 82c 

46. A Sonnet to the Noble Lady, the Lady Mary 

Wroth ib. 

47. A Fit of Rhyme against Rhyme ib 

48. An Epigram on William Lord Burleigh, Lord 

High Treasurer of England ib. 

49. An Epigram to Thomas Lord Elesraere, t!l8 

last term he sat Chancellor 826 

50. Another to the same ib, 

51. An Epigram to the Counsellor that pleaded 
and carried the cause ib. 

52. An Epigram to the Small-pox ib 

53. An Epitaph ib. 

54. A Song ib 

55. An Epistle to a Friend 827 

56. .\n Elcay iT). 

57. An Elegy 825 

58. An Elegy ■ ib. 

59. An Elegy 829 

GO. An Elegy ib 



// -J? "7 ,9/ - 



044 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

Ukderwood3, continued — 
Miscellaneo\is Poems — 

CI. All Execration upon Vulcan 830 

C2. A Speech according to Horace 831 

63. An Epistle to Master Arthur Pipiib 633 

64. An Epigram on Sir Edward Coke when he 

wa.s Lord Chief Justice of England ib. 

65. An Epistle, answerin^to one that asked to 

he sealed of the tribe of Ben 833 

GG. The Dedication of the King's new Cellar to 

Bacchus ih. 

C7. An Epigram on the Court Pucelle 834 

C8. An Epigram to the honored Countess of* * * ih. 

69. On Lord Bacon's Birtli-day ih. 

70. The Poet to the Painter. An Answer ih. 

71. An Epigram to William Karl of Newcastle 833 

72. Epistle to Master Arthur Squib ib. 

73. To Master John Biirges ib. 

74. Epistle to my Lady Covell ib. 

75. To .Master John Barges il). 

76. Epigram to my Bookseller 830 

77. An Epitaph on Henry Lord La-Ware ib. 

78. An Epigram to the Lord Keeper ib. 

79. An Epigram to King Charles, for an Imndred 

pounds he sent me in my sickness, 
Mucxxix ib. 

80. To King Charles and <iu«et> Mary, for the 

loss of their first-born — An Epigram Con- 
solatory, MDCxxix ib. 

81. An Epigram to our great and good King 

Charles, on his Anniversary Day, mdcxxix ib. 
80. .'Vn Epigram on the Prince's birth, mdcxxx.. ib. 

83. An Epigram to the Queen, then lying in, 

MDCXXX 837 

84. An Ode or Song, by all the Muses, in celebra- 

tion of Her Majesty's birth-day ib. 

85 An Epigram to the Household, mdcixi ib 

86 An Epigram to a Friend and Son ib. 



Undekwoods, continued — 
Miscellaneous Poems — 
ST. A Pindaric ode on the death of Sir TI.Morison b38 
&S. An Ejiigvam to William, Earl of Newcastle, 

on his Fencing 839 

89. To the liigUt Honorable the Lord Hig-Ii 

Treasurer of England; an Epistle Mendi- 
cant, MDCXSSI ib. 

90. To the King on his birthday, Nov. 19,' 

MDCxxxii, an Epigram anniversary ib. 

91. On the Kight Honorable and Virtuous Lord 

Weston ib. 

92. To the Eight Honorable Ilierome Lord 

Weston S40 

93. Epithalamion ib. 

94. The Humble Petition of Poor Ben ; to the 

best of monarchs, masters, men, King 
Charles "I S43 

95. To the llight Honorable the Lord Treas- 

lu-ev of England. An Ejjigrara ib. 

90. An Epigram to my Muse, the Lady Digby, 

on her husbaiul, Sir Kenelm Digby ib. 

97. A New Year's Gift, sung to King Charles, 

jiDcxxsv ib. 

9S. On the King's Birth-day 843 

99. To toy Lord the King, on the Christening 

his second son James ib. 

100. An ElOgy on the Lady Jane Pawlet, M.ar- 

chioness of Winton ib. 

101. Eupheine; or the fair Fame left to Poster- 

ity of that truly noble Lady, the Lady 
Vene'iia Digby 8-15 

Veksks placed over the Door at the Entrance into 

the Apollo SDO 

Visions of Delight, the 722 

Volpone ; or the Fox 275 




THE END. 




